10069	----	Proofreaders [Handwriting: F. Druce, the gift of the author.] _An Account of the Romansh Language._ _By Joseph Planta, Esq. F. R. S._ _In a Letter to Sir John Pringle, Bart. P. R. S._ [Handwriting: Phil. Trans. vol LXVI. A.D. 1776] British Museum, June 30, 1775. SIR, The Bible lately presented to the Royal Society by Count de Salis, being a version into a language as little attended to in this country, as it may appear curious to those who take pleasure in philological inquiries; I embrace this opportunity to communicate to you, and, with your approbation, to the Society, all that I have been able to collect concerning its history and present state. This language is called _Romansh_, and is now spoken in the most mountainous parts of the country of the Grisons, near the sources of the Rhine and the Inn. It consists of two main dialects; which, though partaking both of the above general name, differ however so widely as to constitute in a manner two distinct languages. Books are printed in both of them; and each, though it be universally understood in its respective district, is yet sub-divided into almost as many secondary dialects as there are villages in which it is spoken; which differ, however, but little except in the pronunciation. One of the main dialects, which is spoken in the Engadine, a valley extending from the source of the Inn to the frontiers of the Tyrolese, is by the inhabitants called _Ladin_. It admits of some variation, even in the books, according as they are printed either in the upper or the lower part of this province. The abovementioned Bible is in the dialect of the lower Engadine; which, however, is perfectly understood in the upper part of that province, where they use no other version. The other dialect, which is the language of the Grey, or Upper. League, is distinguished from the former by the name of _Cialover_:[A] and I must here observe, that in the very centre, and most inaccessible parts of this latter district, there are some villages situated in the narrow valleys, called Rheinwald, Cepina,[B] &c. in which a third language is spoken, more similar to the German than to either of the above idioms, although they be neither contiguous, nor have any great intercourse with the parts where the German is used. It being impossible to form any idea of the origin and progress of a language, without attending to the revolutions that may have contributed to its formation and subsequent variations; and this being particularly the case in the present instance, wherein no series of documents is extant to guide us in our researches; I shall briefly recapitulate the principal events which may have affected the language of the Grisons, as I find them related by authors of approved veracity.[C] Ambigatus, the first king of the Celtic Gaul upon record, who[D] about 400[E] years before Christ, governed all the country situated between the Alps and the Pyrenaean mountains, sent out two formidable armies under the command of one of his nephews; one of whom, named Segovisius, forced his way into the heart of Germany: and the other, Bellovisius, having passed the Alps, penetrated into Italy as far as the settlements of the Tuscans, which at that time extended over the greatest part of the country now called Lombardy. These, and several other swarms of invaders whom the successes of the former soon after attracted, having totally subdued that country, built Milan, Verona, Brescia, and several other considerable towns, and governed with such tyrannic sway, especially over the nobility, whose riches they coveted and sought by every means to extort from them, that most of the principal families, joining under the conduct of Rhætus[F], one of the most distinguished personages among them, retired with the best part of their effects and attendants among the steepest mountains of the Alps, near the sources of the Rhine, into the district which is now called the Grey League. The motive of their flight, their civil deportment, and perhaps more so, the wealth they brought with them, procured them a favourable reception from the original inhabitants of that inhospitable region, who are mentioned by authors[G] as being a Celtic nation, fabulously conjectured from their name [Greek: leipontio][H] to have been left there by Hercules in his expedition into Spain. The new adventurers had no sooner climbed over the highest precipices, but thinking themselves secure from the pursuits of their rapacious enemies, they fixed in a valley which, from its great fertility in comparison of the country they had just passed, they called Domestica[I]. They intermixed with the old inhabitants, and built some towns and many castles, whose present names manifestly bespeak their origin.[J] They soon after spread all over the country, which took the name of Rhaetia from that of their leader; and introduced a form of government similar to their own, of which there are evident traces at this day, especially in the administration of justice; in which a _Laertes_ or president, now called landamman or ministral, together with twelve _Lucumones_[K] or jurors, determine all causes, both civil and criminal:[L] and Livy,[M] although he erroneously pretends that they retained none of their ancient customs, yet allows that they continued the use of their language, though somewhat adulterated by a mixture with that of the Aborigines. I must here interrupt the thread of this narration by observing, that the only way to account for the present use of a different language in the centre and most craggy parts of the Grey League, is by allowing that the Tuscans, who, from the delicacy of their constitutions and habits, were little able, and less inclined, to encounter the hardships of so severe a climate and so barren a soil, never attempted to mix with the original and more sturdy inhabitants of that unfavoured spot; but left them and their language, which could only be a Celtic idiom, in the primitive state in which they found them.[N] But to proceed;--several Roman families, dreading the fury of the Carthaginians under Hannibal, and perhaps, since during the rage of the civil wars, and the subsequent oppressive reigns, interior commotions and foreign invasions, forsook the Latium and Campania, and resorted for a peaceful enjoyment of their liberty, some into the islands where Venice now stands, and many into the mountains of the Grisons, where they chiefly fixed their residence in the Engadine,[O] as appears not only from the testimonies of authors,[P] but also from the names of several places and families which are evidently of Roman derivation.[Q] The inhabitants these emigrants found in that place of refuge could not but be a mixture of the Tuscans and original Lepontii; and the two languages which met upon this occasion must, at the very first, have had some affinity; as the Tuscan, which derived immediately from the Greek, is known to have had a great share in the formation of the Roman. But as it is generally observed, that the more polished people introduce their native tongue wherever they go to reside in any considerable numbers, the arrival of these successive colonies must gradually have produced a considerable change in the language of the country in which they settled;[R] and this change gave rise to the dialect since called Ladin, probably from the name of the mother country of its principal authors.[S] Although the name of _Romansh_, which the whole language bears, seems to be a badge of Roman servitude, yet the conquest of that nation, if ever effected, could not have produced a great alteration in a language which must already have been so similar to their own; and its general name may as well be attributed to the pacific as to the hostile Romans. But when we consider that a coalition of the two main dialects, which differ so far as not to be reciprocally understood, must have been the inevitable consequence of a total reduction; and that such a coalition is known never to have taken place, we may lay the greater stress upon the many passages of ancient authors,[T] in which it is implied that the boasted victories of the Romans over the Rhaeti, for which public honours had been decreed to L. Munatus, M. Anthony, Drusus, and Augustus, amounted to no more than frequent repulses of those hardy people into their mountains; out of which their want of sufficient room and sustenance, (which in our days drives considerable numbers into the services of foreign powers) compelled them at times to make desperate excursions in quest of necessaries. And we may also from these collected authorities be induced to give the greater credit to the commentator of Lucan,[U] and to the modern historians,[V] who positively assert, that the people living near the sources of the Rhine and the Inn were never totally subdued by the Roman arms; but only repelled in their attempts to harass their neighbours. This whole country, however, from its central situation, could not but be annumerated to one of the provinces of the empire; and accordingly we find that Rhaetia itself (which by the accounts of ancient geographers[W] appears to have extended its limits beyond the lake of Constance, Augsburg, and Trent, towards Germany, and to Como and Verona towards Italy) was formed into a Roman province, governed by a pro-consul or procurator, who resided at Augsburg; and that when in the year 119, the Emperor Adrian divided it into Rhaetia _prima_ and _secunda_, the governor of the former, in which the country I am now speaking of must have been comprized, took up his residence in two castles situated where Coire now stands, whilst the other continued his seat at Augsburg. But notwithstanding these appearances, no trace or monument of Roman servitude is to be met with in this district, except the ambiguous name of one mountain,[X] situated on the skirts of these highlands, and generally thought to have been the _non plus ultra_ of the Roman arms on the Italian side. From the difficulty those persevering veterans experienced in keeping this stubborn people in awe, I mean to infer that such strenuous asserters of their independence, whom the flattering pens of Ovid and Horace represent as formidable even to Augustus, and preferring death to the loss of their liberties,[Y] favoured by the natural strength and indigence of their country, were not very likely to be so far subdued by any foreign power inferior to the Roman, as to suffer any considerable revolution in their customs and language: for as to the irruptions of the Goths, Vandals, and Lombards, in the fifth and sixth centuries, besides a profound silence in history concerning any successful attempt of those barbarians upon this spot, it is scarce credible, that any of them should have either wished or endeavoured to settle in a country, perhaps far less hospitable than that which they had just forsaken, especially after they had opened to themselves a way into the fertile plains of Lombardy. Some stress must be laid upon this inference, as the history of what befel this country after the decline of the Roman empire is so intimately blended with that of Suabia, the Tyrolese, and the lower parts of the Grisons, which are known to have fallen to the share of the rising power of the Franks, that nothing positive can be drawn from authors as to the interior state of this small tract. The victory gained in the year 496 near Cologn, by Clovis I. king of the Franks, over the Alemanni, who had wrested from the Romans all the dominions on the northern side of the Alps; and the defeat of both Romans and Goths in Italy, in the year 549, by the treacherous arms of Theodebert king of Austrasia, whose dominions soon after devolved to the crown of France, necessarily gave the aspiring Merovingian race a great ascendency over all the countries surrounding the Grisons; and accordingly we find, that this district also was soon after, without any military effort, considered as part of the dominions of the reviving western empire. But it does not appear that those monarchs ever made any other use of their supremacy in these parts than, agreeably to the feudal system which they introduced, to constitute dukes, earls, presidents, and bailiffs, over Rhaetia; to grant out tenures upon the usual feudal terms; and consequently to levy forces in most of their military expeditions. It must, however, be observed, that these feudal substitutes were seldom, if ever, strangers: those who are upon record to the latter end of the eighth century, having all been chosen from among the nobility of the country.[Z] And that no foreign garrisons were ever maintained for any continuance of time in these parts, appears from a circumstance related by their annalists;[AA] who say, that an inroad of the Huns in 670, when external forces would probably have been very acceptable to the natives, was repulsed merely by a concourse of the inhabitants. History continues to furnish us with proofs of the little connexion this people had with other nations in their domestic affairs, notwithstanding their dependance upon a foreign power. In the year 780, the Bishop of Coire, who by the constitution of that see can only be a native,[AB] obtained from Charlemain, besides many considerable honours and privileges in the empire, a grant of the supreme authority in this country, by the investiture of the office of hereditary president or bailiff over all Rhaetia. His successors not only enjoyed this prerogative to the extinction of the Carlovingian race of emperors in 911; but received accumulated favours from other succeeding monarchs, as the bigoted devotion of those times or motives of interest prompted them. And so far did their munificence gradually extend, that the sole property of one of the three leagues[AC] was at one time vested in the hands of the bishop. This prelate and the nobles, the greatest part of whom became his retainers, availed themselves, like all the German princes, of the confusion, divisions, and interreigns which frequently distracted the empire in the succeeding centuries, in order to establish a firm and unlimited authority of their own. Henceforth the annals of this country furnish us with little more than catalogues of the bishops and dukes, who were still, at times, nominated by the emperors; and of the domains granted out by them to different indigenate families; with accounts of the atrocious cruelties exercised by these lords over their vassals; and with anecdotes of the prowess of the natives in several expeditions into Italy and Palestine, in which they still voluntarily accompanied the emperors. The repeated acts of tyranny exercised by those arbitrary despots, who had now shaken off all manner of restraint, at length exasperated the people into a general revolt, and brought on the confederacy; in which the bishop and most of the nobles were glad to join, in order to screen themselves from the fury of the insurgents. The first step towards this happy revolution was made by some _venerable old men dressed in the coarse grey cloth_ of the country, who in the year 1424 met privately in a wood near a place called Truns, in the Upper League; where, _impressed with a sense of their former liberties_,[AD] they determined to remonstrate against, and oppose, the violent proceedings of their oppressors. The abbot Dissentis was the first who countenanced their measures; their joint influence gradually prevailed over several of the most moderate among the nobles; and hence arose the league which, from the colour of its first promoters, was ever called the Grey League; which, from its being the first in the bold attempt to shake off the yoke of wanton tyranny, has ever since retained the pre-eminence in rank before the two other leagues; and which has even given its name to the whole country, whose inhabitants, from the circumstances of their deliverance, pride themselves in the appellation of _Grisones_, or the _grey-ones_.[AE] From this period nothing has ever affected their freedom and absolute independence, which they now enjoy in the most unlimited sense, in spite of the repeated efforts of the house of Austria to recover some degree of ascendency over them. From this concise view of the history of the Grisons, in which I have carefully guarded against favouring any particular hypothesis, it appears, that as no foreign nation ever gained any permanent footing in the most mountainous parts of this country since the establishment of the Tuscans and Romans, the language now spoken could never have suffered any considerable alterations from extraneous mixtures of modern languages. And to those who may object, that languages like all other human institutions will, though left to themselves, be inevitably affected by the common revolutions of time, I shall observe, that a language, in which no books are written, but which is only spoken by a people chiefly devoted to arms and agriculture, and consequently not cultivated by the criticisms of men of taste and learning, is by no means exposed to the vicissitudes of those that are polished by refined nations;[AF] and that, however paradoxical it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that the degeneracy of a language is more frequently to be attributed to an extravagant refinement than to the neglect of an illiterate people, unless indeed external causes interfere. May we not hence conclude, that as the Romansh has never been used in any regular composition in writing till the sixteenth century, nor affected by any foreign invasion or intimate connexion, it is not likely to have received any material change before the period of its being written? And we have the authority of the books since printed to prove, that it is at present the identical language that was spoken two hundred years ago. These arguments will receive additional weight from the proofs I shall hereafter give of the great affinity there is between the language as it is now spoken, and the Romance that was used in France nine centuries ago. When we further consider the facts I have above briefly related, the wonder will cease, that in a cluster of mountains, situated in the centre of Europe, a distinct language (not a dialect or jargon of those spoken by the contiguous nations, as has been generally imagined) should have maintained itself through a series of ages, in spite of the many revolutions which frequently changed the whole face of the adjacent countries. And indeed, so obstinately tenacious are these people of their independency, laws, customs, and consequently of their very language, that, as has been already observed, their form of government, especially in judicial matters, still bears evident marks of the ancient Tuscan constitution; and that, although they be frequently exposed to inconveniences from their stubbornness in this respect, they have not yet been prevailed upon to adopt the Gregorian reformation of the calendar. As to the nature of this language, it may now be advanced, with some degree of confidence, that the _Cialover_ owes it origin to a mixture of the Tuscan and of the dialect of the Celtic spoken by the Lepontii; and that the introduction of the vulgar Roman affected it in some degree, but particularly gave rise to the _Ladin_; the vocabulary of which, as any one may be convinced by inspecting a few lines of the bible, has a great affinity with that of the Latin tongue. But these assertions rest merely upon historical evidence; for as to the _Cialover_, all that it may have retained of the Tuscan or Roman, is so much disfigured by an uncouth pronunciation and a vague orthography, that all etymological inquiries are thereby rendered intricate and unsatisfactory. And as to the _Ladin_, although its derivation be more manifest, yet we are equally at a loss from what period or branch of the Latin tongue to trace its real origin; for I have found, after many tedious experiments, that even the vocabulary, in which the resemblance is most evident, differs equally from the classical purity of Tully, Caesar, and Sallust, as it does from the primitive Latin of the twelve tables, of Ennius, and the _columna rostralis_ of Duillius, which has generally been thought the parent of the Gallic Romance; as also from the trivial language of Varro, Vegetius, and Columella. May we not from this circumstance infer, that, as is the case in all vernacular tongues, the vulgar dialect of the Romans, the _sermo usualis, rusticus, pedestris_,[AG] of which there are no monuments extant, differed very widely both in pronunciation and construction from that which has at any time been used either in writing or in the senate? The grammatical variations, the syntax, and the genius of the language, must in this, as well as in several other modern European tongues, have been derived from the Celtic; it being well known, that the frequent use of articles, the distinction of cases by prepositions, the application of two auxiliaries in the conjugations, do by no means agree with the Latin turn of expression; although a late French academician[AH] who has taken great pains to prove that the Gallic Romance was solely derived from the Roman, quotes several instances in which even the most classical writers have in this respect offended the purity of that refined language. It cannot here be denied, that as new ideas always require new signs to express them, some foreign words, and perhaps phrases, must necessarily, from time to time, have insinuated themselves into the Romansh, by the military and some commercial intercourse of the Grisons with other nations; and this accounts for several modern German words which are now incorporated into the language of the Engadine.[AI] The little connexion there is in mountainous countries between the inhabitants of the different valleys, and the absolute independence of each jurisdiction in this district, which still lessens the frequency of their intercourse, also accounts, in a great measure, for the variety of secondary dialects subsisting in almost every different community or even village. The oldest specimens of writing in this language are some dramatical performances in verse upon scriptural subjects, which are extant only in manuscript. The Histories of Susanna, of the Prodigal Son, of Judith and Holofernes, and of Esther, are among the first; and are said to have been composed about the year 1560. The books that have since been printed are chiefly upon religious subjects; and among those that are not so, the only I have ever heard of are a small code of the laws of the country in the Cialover dialect, and an epitome of Sprecher's Chronicle, by Da Porta, in the Ladin. * * * * * The language spoken in Gaul from the fifth to the twelfth centuries being evidently a mixture of the same Roman and Celtic ingredients, and partaking of the same name with those of the Grisons; it will, I hope, not be thought foreign to the subject of this letter, if I enter into a few particulars concerning it, as it seems to have been an essential part, or rather the trunk, of the language, the history of which I am endeavouring to elucidate. One of the many instances how little the laboured researches of philologists into the origin of languages are to be depended upon, is the variety of opinions entertained by French authors concerning the formation of the Gallic Romance. A learned Benedictine[AJ] first starts the conjecture, and then maintains it against the attacks of an anonymous writer, that the vulgar Latin became the universal language of Gaul immediately after Caesar's conquest, and that its corruption, with very little mixture of the original language of the country, gradually produced the Romance towards the eighth century. Bonamy,[AK] on the other hand, is of opinion, that soon after that conquest, a corruption of vulgar Latin by the Celtic formed the Romance, which he takes to be the language always meant by authors when they speak of the _Lingua Romana_ used in Gaul. The author of the Celtic Dictionary[AL] tells us, that the Romance is derived from the _Latin_, the _Celtic_, which he more frequently calls Gallic, and the _Teutonic_; in admitting of which latter he deviates from most other authors,[AM] who deny that the Teutonic had any share in the composition of the Romance, since the Franks found it already established when they entered Gaul, and were long before they could prevail upon their new subjects to adopt any part of their own mother tongue, which however appears to have been afterwards instrumental in the formation of the modern French. Duclos,[AN] guided, I imagine, by du Cange,[AO] whose opinion appears to be the most sober and best authenticated, maintains that the vulgar Latin was undoubtedly the foundation of the Romance; but that much of the Celtic gradually insinuated itself in spite of the policy of the Romans, who never failed to use all their endeavours in order to establish their language wherever they spread their arms. Among this variety of conjectures and acute controversies, I find it however agreed on all hands, that the vocabulary of the Roman, and the idiom of the Celtic, have chiefly contributed to the formation of the Gallic, Romance, which is sufficient to prove that it partakes of a common origin with that of the Grisons. There are incontestable proofs that this language was once universal all over France; and that this, and not immediately the Latin, has been the parent of the Provençal, and afterwards of the modern French, the Italian, and the Spanish. The oath taken by Lewis the Germanic, in the year 842, in confirmation of an alliance between him and Charles the Bald his brother, is a decisive proof of the general use of the Romance by the whole French nation at that time, and of their little knowledge of the Teutonic, which being the native tongue of Lewis, would certainly have been used by him, in this oath, had it been understood by the French to whom he addressed himself. But Nithardus,[AP] a contemporary writer and near relation to the contracting parties, informs us, that Lewis took the oath in the Romance language, in order that it might be understood by the French nobility who were the subjects of Charles; and that they, in their turn, entered into reciprocal engagements in _their own language_, which the same author again declares to have been the Romance, and not the Teutonic; although one would imagine that, had they at all understood this latter tongue, they could not but have used it upon this occasion, in return for the condescension of Lewis. As a comparison between this language and the Romansh of the Grisons cannot be considered as a mere object of curiosity, but may also serve to corroborate the proofs I have above alleged of the antiquity of the latter, I have annexed in the appendix,[AQ] a translation of this oath into the language of Engadine, which approaches nearest to it; although I must observe, that there are in the other dialect some words which have a still greater affinity with the language of the oath, as appears by another translation I have procured, in which both dialects are indifferently used. To prevent any doubts concerning the veracity of these translations, I must here declare, that I am indebted for them, and for several anecdotes concerning that language, to a man of letters, who is a native and has long been an inhabitant of the Grisons, and is lately come to reside in London. I have added to this comparative view of those two languages, the Latin words from which both seem to have been derived; and, as a proof of the existence of the Gallic Romance in France down to the twelfth century, I have also subjoined the words used in that kingdom at that period, as they are given us by the author of the article _(Langue) Romane_, in the French Encyclopedie. To the comparison of the two Romances, and the similarity of their origin, I may now with confidence add the authority of Fontanini[AR] to prove, that they are one and the same language. This author, speaking of the ancient Gallic Romance, asserts that it is now spoken in the country of the Grisons; though, not attending to the variety of dialects, some of which have certainly nothing of the Italian, he supposes it to have been altogether adulterated by a mixture of that modern tongue. Whilst the Grisons neglected to improve their language, and rejected, or indeed were out of the reach of every refinement it might have derived from polished strangers, the taste and fertile genius of the Troubadours, fostered by the countenance and elegance of the brilliant courts and splendid nobility of Provence, did not long leave theirs in the rough state in which we find it in the ninth century. But the change having been gradual and almost imperceptible, the French historians have fixed no epocha for the transition of the Romance into the Provençal. That the former language had not received any considerable alteration in the twelfth Century may be gathered from the comparison in the appendix: and, that it still bore the same name, appears from the titles of several books which are said to have been written in, or translated into, the Romance. But though mention is made of that name even after this aera, yet upon examining impartially what is given us for that language in this period, it will be found so different from the Romance of the ninth century, that to trace it any further would be both a vain and an extravagant pursuit. Admitting, however, the universal use of the Romance all over France down to the twelfth century, which no French author has yet doubted or denied; and allowing that what the writers of those times say of the Gallic is to be understood of the Romance, as appears from chronological proofs, and the expressions of several authors prior to the fifth century;[AS] who, by distinguishing the _Gallic_ both from the _Latin_ and the _Celtic_, plainly indicate that they thereby mean the Romance, those being the only three languages which, before the invasion of the Franks, could possibly have been spoken, or even understood in Gaul: admitting these premises, I say, it necessarily follows, that the language introduced into England under Alfred, and afterwards more universally established by Edward the Confessor, and William the Conqueror, must have been an emanation of the Romance, very near akin to that of the abovementioned oath, and consequently to that which is now spoken in the Alps. The intercourse between Britain and Gaul is known to have been of a very early date; for even in the first century we find, that the British lawyers derived the greatest part of their knowledge from those of the continent;[AT] while on the other hand, the Gallic Druids are known to have resorted to Britain for instruction in their mysterious rites. The Britons, therefore, could not be totally ignorant of the Gallic language. And hence it will appear, that Grimbald, John, and the other doctors introduced by Alfred,[AU] could find no great difficulty in propagating their native tongue in this island; which tongue, at that interval of time, could only be the true Romance, since they were contemporaries with Lewis the Germanic. That the Romance was almost universally understood in this kingdom under Edward the Confessor, it being not only used at court, but frequently at the bar, and even sometimes in the pulpit, is a fact too well known and attested[AV] to need my further authenticating it with superfluous arguments and testimonies. Duclos, in his History of the Gallic' Romance,[AW] gives the abovementioned oath of Lewis as the first monument of that language. The second he mentions is the code of laws of William the Conqueror,[AX] whom the least proficient in the English history knows to have rendered his language almost universal in this kingdom. How little progress it had yet made towards the modern French; and how great an affinity it still bore with the present Romansh of the Grisons, will appear from the annexed translation of the first paragraph of these laws into the latter tongue.[AY] If we may credit Du Cange,[AZ] who grounds his assertion upon various instruments of the kings of Scotland during the twelfth century, the Romance had also penetrated into that kingdom before that period. The same corruption, or coalescence, which gave rise to the Gallic Romance, and to that of the Grisons, must also have produced in Italy a language, if not perfectly similar, at least greatly approaching to those two idioms. Nor did it want its northern nations to contribute what the two other branches derived from that source.[BA] But be the origin what it will, certain it is, that a jargon very different from either the Latin or the Italian was spoken in Italy from the time of the irruptions of the barbarians to the successful labours of Dante and Petrarca; that this jargon was usually called the _vulgar idiom_; but that Speroni,[BB] the father of an Italian literature, and others, frequently call it the _common Italian Romance_. And if Fontanini's[BC] authorities be sufficient, it appears that even the Gallic Romance, by the residence of the papal court at Avignon, and from other causes, made its way into Italy before it was polished into the Provençal. As to Naples and Sicily, the expulsion of the Saracens by the Normans, under Robert Guiscard in 1059, must have produced in that country nearly the same effect, a similar event soon after brought about in England. And in fact we have the authority of William of Apulia[BD] to prove, that the conquerors used all their efforts to propagate their language and manners among the natives, that they might ever after be considered only as one people. And Hugo Falcland[BE] relates, that in the year 1150, Count Henry refused to take upon him the management of public affairs, under pretence of not knowing the language of the French; which, he adds, was absolutely necessary at court. That the language of the Romans penetrated very early into Spain, appears most evidently from a passage in Strabo,[BF] who asserts that the Turditani inhabiting the banks of the Boetis, now the Guadalquivir, forgot their original tongue, and adopted that of the conquerors. That the Romance was used there in the fourteenth century appears from a correspondence between St. Vincent of Ferrieres and Don Martin, son of Peter the IVth of Arragon;[BG] and that this language must once have been common in that kingdom appears manifestly from the present name of the Spanish, which is still usually called Romance.[BH] These circumstances considered, I am not so much inclined to discredit a fact related by Mabillon,[BI] who says, that in the eighth century a paralytic Spaniard, on paying his devotions at the tomb of a saint in the church of Fulda, conversed with a monk of that abbey, who, _because he was an Italian_, understood the language of the Spaniard. Neither does an oral tradition I heard some times ago appear so absurd to me, as it did when it was first related to me, which says, that two Catalonians travelling over the Alps, were not a little surprized when they came into the Grison country, to find that their native tongue was understood by the inhabitants, and that they could comprehend most of the language of that district. This universality of the Romance in the French dominions during the eleventh century, also accounts for its introduction in Palestine and many other parts of the Levant by Godfrey de Bouillon, and the multitude of adventurers who engaged under him in the Crusade. The assizes of Jerusalem, and those of Cyprus, are standing monuments of the footing that language had obtained in those parts; and if we may trust a Spanish historian of some reputation[BJ] who resided in Greece in the thirteenth century, the Athenians and the inhabitants of Morea spoke at that time the same language that was used in France. And there is great reason to imagine, that the affinity the _Lingua Franca_ bears to the French and Italian is intirely to be derived from the Romance, which was once commonly used in the ports of the Levant. The heroic atchievements and gallantry of the knights of the cross also gave rise to the swarm of fabulous narratives; which, though not an invention of those days, were yet, from the name of the language in which they were written, ever after distinguished by the appellation of _Romances_.[BK] I shall now conclude this letter by observing, that far from presuming that the Romance has been preserved so near its primitive state only in the country of the Grisons, there is great reason to suppose that it still exists in several other remote and unfrequented parts. When Fontanini informs us[BL] that the ancient Romance is now spoken in the country of the Grisons, he adds, that it is also the common dialect of the Friulese, and of some districts in Savoy bordering upon Dauphiné. And Rivet[BM] seriously undertakes to prove, that the Patois of several parts of the Limousin, Quercy, and Auvergne (which in fact agrees singularly with the _Romansh_ of the Grisons) is the very Romance of eight centuries ago. Neither do I doubt, but what some inquisitive traveller might still meet with manifest traces of it in many parts of the Pyrenaeans and other mountainous regions of Spain, where the Moors and other invaders have never penetrated. I have the honour to be, &c. * * * * * # No. I. Oath of Lewis the Germanic. # 1. Latin from which the Romances are derived. 2. Gallic Romance in which the oath was taken. 3. French of the twelfth century. 4. Romansh of Engadine, called Ladin. 5. Romansh of both dialects. 1. Pro Dei amore, et pro Christiano populo, et nostro 2. _Pro Deu amur, et pro Christian poblo, et nostro_ 3. Por Deu amor, et por Christian people, et nostre 4. _Per amur da Dieu, et per il Christian poevel, et noss_ 5. Pro l'amur da Deus, et pro il Christian pobel, et nost 1. communi salvamento, de ista die in abante, in quan- 2. _commun salvament, d'ist di en avant, in quant_ 3. commun salvament, de ste di en avant, en quant 4. _commun salvament, da quist di in avant, in quant_ 5. commun salvament, d'ist di en avant, in quant 1.tum Deus sapere et posse mihi donat, sic salvabo ego 2. _Deus savir et podir me dunat, si salvarai io_ 3. Deu saveir et poïr me donne, si salvarai je 4. _Dieu savair et podair m'duna, shi salvaro ei_ 5. Deus savir et podir m'dunat, shi salvaro io 1. eccistum meum fratrem Karlum, et in adjutum ero 2. _cist meon fradre Karlo, et in adjudab er_ 3. cist mon frere Karle, et en adjude serai 4. _quist mieu frær Carlo, et in adgiud li saro_ 5. quist meu frad'r Carl, et in adjudh saro 1. in quaque una causa, sic quomodo homo per directum 2. _in cadhuna cosa, si cum on per dreit_ 3. en cascune cose, si cum on per dreict 4. _in chiaduna chiossa, shi seho l'hom per drett_ 5. in caduna cosa, si com om per drett 1. suum fratrem salvare debet, in hoc quod ille mihi 2. _son fardre salvar dist, in o quid il me_ 3. son frere salver dist, en o qui il me 4. _sieu frær salvar d'uess, in que chél a mi_ 5. seu frad'r salvar dess, in que chél me 1. alterum sic faceret; et ab Lothario nullum placitum 2. _altresi fazet; et ab Laudher nul plaid_ 3. altresi fascet; et a Lothaire nul plaid 4. _altresi fadschess; et da Lothar mai non paendrò io un_ 5. altresi fazess; et da Lothar nul plaid mai 1. nunquam prehendam quod meo volle eccisti meo fratri 2. _nunquam prindrai qui meon vol cist meon fradre_ 3. nonques prendrai qui par mon voil a cist mon frere 4. _plæd che con mieu volair a quist mieu frær_ 5. non prendro che con meu voler a quist meu frad'r 1. Karlo in damno sit. 2. _Karle in domno sit._ 3. Karle en dam seit. 4. _Carlo sai in damn._ 5. Carl in damn sia. * * * * * # No. II. The first Paragraph of the Laws of William the Conqueror. # 1. The Latin translation. 2. The French original. 3. A translation into the Romansh of both dialects. 1. Hae sunt Leges et Consuetudines quas Willelmus Rex 2. _Ce sont les Leis et les Custumes que li Reis William grantut_ 3. Que sun las Leias e'ls Custums que il Rei Willelm ga- 1. concessit toto populo Angliæ post subactam terram 2. _a tut le peuple de Engleterre aprés le conquest de la terre_ 3. rantit a tut il poevel d'Engelterra dapo il conquist della 1. Eædem sut quas Edwardus Rex Cognatus ejus obser- 2. _Ice les meismes que la Reis Edward sun Cosin tint_ 3. terra. E sun las medemas que il Rei Edward su cusrin 1. vavit ante eum. Scilicet: Pax Sanctæ Ecclesiæ, 2. _devant lui. Co est a saveir: Pais a Sainte Eglise_, 3. tenet avant el. Co es da savir: Pæsh alla Sainta Ba- 1. cujuscunque forisfacturae quis reus sit hoc tempore, et 2. _de quel forfait que home out fait en cel tens, et_ 3. selg.[BN] da quel sfarfatt que om a fatt en que tem, et 1. venire potest ad sanctum: Ecclesiam, pacem habeat vitae 2. _il pout venir a sainte Eglise, out pais de vie_ 3. il pout venir alla Sainta Baselga, haun pæsh da vitta 1. et membri. Et si quis injecerit manum in eum qui 2. _et de membre. E se alquons meist main en celui qui_ 3. et da members. E si alcun metta man a quel que la 1. matrem Ecclesiam quaesierit, sive sit Abbatia sive 2. _la mere Eglise requireit, se ceo fust u Abbeie u_ 3. mamma Baselga requira, qu'ella fuss Abbatia u 1. Ecclesia religionis, reddat eum quem abstulerit et 2. _Eglise de religion, rendist ce que il javereit pris_ 3. Baselga da religiun, renda que qu'el savares prais, et 1. centum solides nomine forisfacturae, et matri Ecclesiae 2. _e cent sols de forfait, e de Mer Eglise de_ 3. cent solds da sfarfatt, et alla mamma Baselga da 1. parochiali 20 solidos, et capellae 10 solidos: Et qui fregerit 2. _paroisse 20 solds, e de Chapelle 10 solds; E que enfraiant_ 3. parochia 20 solds, e da capella 10 solds: E que in frignand 1. pacem Regis in Merchenelega 100 solidis emendet; 2. _la pais le Rei en Merchenelae 100 solds les amendes;_ 3. la pæsh del Rei in Merchenelae 100 solds d'amenda; 1. similiter de compensatione homicidii et de insidiis 2. _altresi de Heinfare e de aweit_ 3. altresi della compensatiun del omicidi et insidias 1. præcogitatis. 2. _purpensed_. 4. perpensadas. * * * * * [Footnote A: This is rather a trivial name; but the dialect has no other distinctive appellation.] [Footnote B: Tschudi, Rhæt. Descrip. p. 43, MERIN Topogr. Helvet. p. 64.] [Footnote C: Sprecher, Simler, Tschudi, Scheuchzer. Campell's Chronicle is looked upon as the most authentic and circumstantial; but there being only a few manuscript copies of it extant in the hands of private persons in the Grisons, I have not been able to avail myself of his researches. Guller and Stumpfius might also have furnished some material information; but neither of them have I had an opportunity of inspecting.] [Footnote D: Liv. lib. v. c. 34.] [Footnote E: Other authors place the reign of this king 180 years earlier.] [Footnote F: Plin. lib. iii. c. 5. Justin. lib. xx. c. 5.] [Footnote G: Cluver, Ital. Antiq. lib. i. c. 14.] [Footnote H: A spurious derivation from the verb [Greek: leipo].] [Footnote I: Probably by them pronounced _Tomiliasca_, the name it now bears.] [Footnote J: _Tusis_ (Tuscia) and in Italian _Tosana_, the principal place; _Rhealta_ (Rhetia alta); _Rheambs_ (Rhetia ampla); _Rhazunz_ (Rhetia ima); and above twelve other castles, the remains of which are now to be seen in the valley _Tomiliasca_.] [Footnote K: In some communities there are fourteen jurors besides the Landamman.] [Footnote L: Serv. in Æneid. lib. viii. 65. lib. x. 202. Sprech. Pall. Rhæt p. 9. Siml. Rep. Helv. p. 281. ed. 1735.] [Footnote M: Liv. lib. v. c. 33.] [Footnote N: Sprech. p. 214. Mer. l. c.] [Footnote O: _En Code Ino_, perhaps the vulgar Roman phrase expressing _In Capite Oeni_. There are other etymologies, but all equally uncertain.] [Footnote P: Sprech. p. 10.] [Footnote Q: _Lavin_ (Lavinium), _Sus_ (Susa), _Zernetz_ (Cerneto), _Ardetz_ (Ardea), &c.] [Footnote R: Sprech. p. 10.] [Footnote S: A parallel instance of the formation of a language by Roman colonies is the idiom of Moldavia; which, according to Prince Cantemir's account of that country, has still many traces of its Latin origin, and which, though engrafted upon the Dacian, and since upon the Sclavonian dialects of the Celtic, may still be considered as a sister language to that I am, here treating of.] [Footnote T: Videre Rhaeti bella _sub_ Alpibus Drusum gerentem et Vindelici. HOR. lib. 4. Od. iv. ------------- immanesque Rhaetos Auspiciis _repulit_ secundis. Ibid. Od. xiv. Fundat ab extremo flavos aquilone Suevos Albis, et _indomitum Rheni Caput_. Luc. lib. ii. 52. ------------- Rhenumque minacem _Cornibus infractis_. CLAUD. Laud. Stilich. lib. i. 220.] [Footnote U: Horten. in Lucan, p. 163. edit. 1578. fol.] [Footnote V: Sprech. p. 18. &c.] [Footnote W: Strabo, lib. IV, sub. fin. Cluver. Ital. vet. lib. I. c. 16.] [Footnote X: _Julius Mons_, Scheuchzer Iter. Alp. p. 114.] [Footnote Y: Rhaetica nunc praebent Thraciaque arma metum. OVID. Trist. lib. ii. 226. Devota morti pectora liberae. HOR. 4. lib. Od. xiv.] [Footnote Z: Sprech. p. 52-55.] [Footnote AA: Sprech. p. 58.] [Footnote AB: This privilege has at times been waved; but never without some plausible pretence, and a formal rescript acknowledging the exclusive right.] [Footnote AC: The League _Cadéa_, or of the _House of God_, so called from the cathedral of the bishopric of Coire, which is situated in its capital.] [Footnote AD: Canitie griseoque amictu venerandi.--Memores adhuc antiquae libertatis. Sprech. p. 189.] [Footnote AE: The following barbarous distich is sometimes inscribed on the arms of the three leagues. Foedera sunt cana, cana fides, cana libertas: Haec tria sub uno continentur corpore Rhaeto.] [Footnote AF: See Dr. Percy's preface to his translation of Mallet's Northern Antiquities, p. xxii. where this question is more amply discussed.] [Footnote AG: Conf. Mem. des Inscrip. tom. xxiv. p. 608.] [Footnote AH: Bonamy, v. Mem. des Inscrip. l. c.] [Footnote AI: _Tapferdà_, Trapferkeit, Bravery; _Nardà_, Narheit, Folly; _Klinot_, Kleinod, a Jewel; _Graf_, Graf, a Count; _Baur_, Baur, a Peasant, &c.] [Footnote AJ: Rivet, Hist. Litt. de la France, tom. vii. p. 1. et seq.] [Footnote AK: Mem. des Inscrip. tom. xxiv. p. 594.] [Footnote AL: Bullet, Mem. de la Langue Celtique, tom. i. p. 23.] [Footnote AM: Mem. des Inscrip. tom. xxiv. p. 603.] [Footnote AN: Mem. des. Inscrip. tom. xv. p. 575. et seq.] [Footnote AO: Praef. Gloss. n. xiii.] [Footnote AP: Du Chesne, Hist. Franc. tom. ii. p. 374.] [Footnote AQ: No. I.] [Footnote AR: Eloq. Ital. p. 44.] [Footnote AS: Fidei commissa quocunque Sermone relinqui possunt, non solum _Latino_ vel Graeco, sed etiam Punico vel _Gallicano_. Digest. l. xxii. tit. 1. sec. 11. Tu autem vel _Celtice_, vel si mavis _Gallice_, loquere. Sulp. Sev. Dial, i, sec. 6. sub sin.] [Footnote AT: Gallia Causidicos docuit facunda Britannos. Juv. Sat. xv. 111.] [Footnote AU: William of Malmsb. l. ii. c. 4.] [Footnote AV: Ingulph. passim. Du Chesne, tom. iii.] [Footnote AW: Mem. des Inscrip. tom. xvii. p. 179.] [Footnote AX: Wilkins, Leges Anglo-Sax.] [Footnote AY: Append. No, II.] [Footnote AZ: Praef. Gloss, n. xxi.] [Footnote BA: Fontanini, p. 4.] [Footnote BB: Speron. Dial, passim.--Conf. Menage, Orig. della Ling Ital. voce Romanza.] [Footnote BC: Font. p. 17.] [Footnote BD: Murat. Scrip. Ital. tom. v. p. 255.] [Footnote BE: Ibid. tom. vii. p. 322.] [Footnote BF: Lib. iii.] [Footnote BG: Mabil. an. l. 64, n. 124.] [Footnote BH: Orozco, Tes. Castill. voce Romance--Conf. Crescimb. Volg. Poes. l. v. c. 1.] [Footnote BI: Act. Ben. Saec. 3. p. 2. p. 258.] [Footnote BJ: Raym. Montanero Chronica de Juan I.] [Footnote BK: Huet, Orig. des Rom. p. 126. ed. 1678.] [Footnote BL: P. 43, 44.] [Footnote BM: Hist. Litt. de la Fr. tom. vii. p. 22.] [Footnote BN: The word _Ecclesia_ being more modern in the Latin tongue than _Basilica_, the Romansh word _Baselga_ derived from the latter is an additional proof of the antiquity of this language.] 
11047	----	Credits: John Hagerson, Kevin Handy, Renald Levesque and PG Distributed Proofreaders LIBRO SEGUNDO DE LECTURA POR ELLEN M. CYR ESPAÑOL E INGLÉS amiguita--linda--fiesta--resfriarse. --¡Buenos días, amiguita Luisa! ¿Adónde vas con una muñeca tan linda? --¡Buenos días, abuelito! Voy a ver a María. --¿Porqué no vas a la escuela? --¡Pero, abuelito! Hoy es día de fiesta. No tenemos escuela, hoy. ¿No lo sabía V.? María y yo vamos a jugar a las muñecas. ¿Ha visto V. mi muñeca nueva? --No, no creo haberla visto. ¿Te ha dado mamá esta muñeca? --Sí, me la dió el día de mi cumpleaños. V. sabe que ahora tengo seis años. --¡Qué muñeca tan bonita! ¿Dónde está el sombrero de tu muñeca? --No tiene sombrero, abuelito. --Tu pobre muñeca va a resfriarse. Pídele a tu abuelita que le haga uno. Yo sé que ella se lo hará. hol'iday--hand'some--years.--Lou'ise. "Good morning, little Louise! Where are you going with such a handsome doll?" "Good morning, grandpa! I am going to see Mary." "Why aren't you going to school?" "Why, grandpa! To-day is a holiday. We do not have school to-day. Didn't you know? Mary and I are going to play with our dolls. Have you seen my new doll?" "No, I don't think I have. Did mamma give you that doll?" "Yes, she gave it to me on my birthday. You know I am six years old now." "What a pretty doll! Where is your doll's hat?" "She hasn't any hat, grandpa." "Your poor doll will take cold. Ask grandma to make one for her. I know she will." chiquita--jabón--muñequitas ampollas--recogedor. Mire V. qué coche tan raro tiene mi muñeca. Estoy en casa de mi abuelo. Ahora él no tiene niñas chiquitas. Mamá era su niña chiquita. Traje a mi muñeca conmigo. No podía traer el coche de mi muñeca. Mamá dijo que era demasiado grande. Mi abuela me buscó un coche. Ella dijo que el recogedor serviría. Me parece un coche muy raro. ¡No se caigan, muñequitas mías! No caerían de muy alto. Vamos a ver a María. ¡Mire V.! me está buscando. María y yo vamos a hacer ampollas de jabón. ¿Ve V. mi pipa? La he puesto en la pala. A mí me gusta hacer ampollas de jabón. ¡Son tan bonitas! car'riage--soap--fall--pipe--blow; dust'pan--bub'bles.--brought. See what a funny carriage my doll has. I am at grandpa's house. He hasn't any little girls now. Mamma was his little girl. I brought my doll with me. I couldn't bring my doll's carriage. Mamma said it was too big. Grandma looked for a carriage for me. She said that the dustpan would do. I think it's a very funny carriage. Don't fall off, dollies! They wouldn't fall very far. We are going to see Mary. See! she is looking for me. Mary and I are going to blow soap bubbles. Do you see my pipe? I put it on the dustpan. I like to blow soap bubbles. They are so pretty! sábado--merienda--ferrocarril compañera--violetas--cuchillo. Mamá nos llevó al campo el sábado pasado. Trajimos nuestra merienda en una cesta. Dimos un largo paseo en ferro-carril. Después llegamos a un campo muy bonito. Anita no pudo venir con nosotras. Ella está enferma. Ahora no puede ir a ninguna parte. Anita es mi compañera de juego. Encontramos unas cuantas violetas bonitas. Había otras flores también. Me gustan más las violetas. Encontré una mata de violetas muy bonita. Dije que me gustaría que Anita la pudiese ver. --Y la verá,--dijo mamá. --Puedes llevársela a su casa. Ella arrancó la planta con su cuchillo. Yo la llevé a casa de Anita. ¡Le dió tanto gusto tenerla! car'ried--vi'o lets--play'mate plant--knife. Mamma took us to the country last Saturday. We carried our lunch in a basket. We had a long ride on the cars. Then we came to a very pretty field. Annie couldn't come with us. She is sick. She can't go anywhere now. Annie is my playmate. We found some pretty violets. There were other flowers too. I like the violets best. I found a very pretty violet plant. I said I wished Annie could see it. "So she shall," said mamma. "You can take it to her house." She took the plant up with her knife. I took it to Annie's house. She was so glad to have it! Mayito--plumaje--compañerita--oscuro--yerbas Jazmines--arroz--insectos--moscas--verano. Yo soy un mayito. Hago mi nido en los prados. Mira mi hermoso plumaje. Es blanco y negro. ¿Ve V. a mi compañerita? Tiene un plumaje oscuro. A mí me gustan las margaritas y las yerbas. Me balanceo en los jazmines y en las zarzas. Soy tan dichoso y tan alegre. Vuelo hacia los campos de arroz. Como todo el arroz que puedo. Yo creo que el arroz crece para mí. Cojo insectos, moscas y gusanos. Y creo que yo podría tener arroz también. En el verano voy al norte. ¡Mayito, mayito! ésta es mi canción. Buscame en los prados. Bob'o’link--feath'ers--jas'mine--rice Gras'ses.-–white--to’ward--col'ored. I am a bobolink. I make my nest in the meadows. Look at my fine coat of feathers. It is black and white. Do you see my little mate? She has a dress of dark-colored feathers. I like the daisies and the grasses. I swing on the jasmines and on the blackberry bushes. I am so happy and so gay. I fly toward the rice fields. I eat all the rice I can. I think the rice grows for me. I catch bugs, flies, and worms. And I think I might have rice too. In summer I go north. Bobolink, bobolink! this is my song. Look for me in the meadows. burro--cardos--arroyo--lilas divertimos--columpio--maduras. Hemos estado en los bosques. ¿Ve V. todas nuestras flores? ¿Le gusta a V. nuestro burro? Se llama Perico. Perico lleva puestas algunas flores. Es un burro viejo muy manso. Le gusta comer cardos. Encontramos un arroyo muy bonito. Las lilas crecían cerca del arroyo. Atravesamos el arroyo sobre piedras. Merendamos cerca del arroyo. Jugamos a la gallina ciega en los bosques. ¡Cuánto nos divertimos! Nuestro burro merendó en el campo. Comió todos los cardos y toda la, yerba que pudo. Enrique nos hizo un columpio. Lo puso en un castaño grande. Vamos a coger nueces cuando estén maduras. ¿No le gustaría a V. venir con nosotros? don'key--this'tles--brook--li'lacs blind--buff--stones--crossed. We have been in the woods. Do you see all our flowers? Do you like our donkey? His name is Pete. Pete is wearing some flowers. He is a very gentle old donkey. He likes to eat thistles. We found a very pretty brook. The lilacs were growing near the brook. We crossed the brook on stones. We had lunch near the brook. We played blind man's buff in the woods. What fun we had! Our donkey had lunch in the field. He ate all the thistles and all the grass he could. Henry made us a swing. He put it on a big chestnut tree. We are going nutting when the nuts are ripe. Shouldn't you like to come with us? abeja--colmenas--recoger miel--pica--observa. ¡Mire V. las abejas! Mire V. cómo vuelan a sus colmenas. Recogen la miel de las flores. La ponen en sus colmenas. A María le gusta mirar las abejas. Le gusta verlas recoger la miel. No la pican. A ella le gusta ayudarlas. María coge una bonita flor. Se la trae a una abeja. La abeja vuela hacia la flor. No la pica. María observa la abeja recogiendo miel. Quiere ver cómo lo hace. Éstas son abejas que hacen miel. * * * * * polen--amarillo--cera Una abeja sale de un huevo. Primeramente es un gusano pequeño. Las abejas lo alimentan de polen. Recogen el polen de las flores. El polen parece polvo amarillo. El gusano se alimenta durante cinco días. Entonces parece que va a dormir. Las abejas lo cubren con cera. Al poco tiempo se despierta. Sale de su cama de cera. Es una abeja chiquitina. bees--hives--hon'ey--gath'er sting--watch. Look at the bees! See how they fly to their hives. They gather the honey from flowers. They put it into their hives. Mary likes to watch the bees. She likes to see them gather honey. They do not sting her. She likes to help them. Mary picks a pretty flower. She takes it to a bee. The bee flies toward the flower. It does not sting her. Mary watches the bee gather honey. She wants to see how it does it. These are honey bees. * * * * * dust--pol'len--wax--yel'low. A bee comes out of an egg. At first it is a little worm. The bees feed it on pollen. They gather the pollen from flowers. Pollen looks like yellow dust. The worm is fed for five days. Then it seems to go to sleep. The bees cover it with wax. By and by it wakes up. It comes out of its wax bed. It is a little baby bee. zumbido fuerte colibrí--musgo---azúcar. María jugaba en el jardín un día. Oyó un zumbido fuerte. Era demasiado fuerte para una abeja. Era un colibrí. María se quedó quieta para mirarlo. ¡Qué bonitas eran sus plumas! ¡Qué aprisa movía las alitas! Tenía un pico muy largo. Podía llegar con él al fondo de las flores. El colibrí come miel. La recoge de las flores. Es un pájaro muy pequeño. Tiene un nido de musgo. El nido contiene dos huevecitos. ¡Qué pequeños deben ser los pajaritos! María esperaba al colibrí todos los días. Un día tomó una de las tazas de su muñeca. Puso un poco de azúcar y agua en la taza. Después puso la taza en el jardín. El colibrí voló hacia la tacita. Puso su largo pico en la taza. Le gustó el agua con azúcar. ¡Qué contenta estaba María! Tenía azúcar para él todos los días. could moss humm'ming--bill--loud--sug'ar. Mary played in the garden one day. She heard a loud humming. It was too loud for a bee. It was a humming-bird. Mary kept still to watch it. How pretty its feathers were! How fast it moved its little wings! It had a very long bill. It could reach to the bottom of the flowers with it. The humming-bird eats honey. It gathers it from the flowers. It is a very little bird. It has a nest of moss. The nest holds two little eggs. How tiny the baby birds must be! Mary watched for the humming-bird every day. One day she took a doll's cup. She put a little sugar and water in the cup. Then she put the cup in the garden. The humming-bird flew to the cup. It put its long bill into the cup. It liked the water with sugar. How pleased Mary was! She had sugar for it every day. parda--roble--ahínco--otoño manso--carrillos--invierno--claridad. Yo soy una ardilla parda. Me llamo Bunía. Vivo en un roble. Corro por los árboles todo el verano. Trabajo con ahínco en el otoño. Mi roble está cerca de un granero. En aquel granero hay un caballo manso. Tiene todos los días maíz para comer. Él me da un poco de su maíz. Lleno mis carrillos de maíz. Después lo traigo a mi nido. Recojo nueces para el invierno. En el invierno duermo en el roble. A veces viene un día de calor. Entonces me despierto. Salgo a la claridad del sol. Después me vuelvo a dormir. Algún día quizás tú me encuentres en mi nido. Ten la bondad de no quitarme mis nueces. Me costó mucho trabajo conseguirlas. Yo necesitaré esas nueces en el invierno. gray--oak--cheeks among--hard. I am a gray squirrel. My name is Bunny. I live in an oak tree. I run among the trees all summer. I work hard in the fall. My oak tree is near a barn. In that barn there is a gentle horse. He has corn to eat every day. He gives me a little of his corn. I fill my cheeks with corn. Then I carry it to my nest. I gather nuts for the winter. In winter I am asleep in the oak tree. Sometimes there comes a warm day. Then I wake up. I come out into the sunshine. Then I go back to sleep. Some day maybe you will find me in my nest. Please do not take away my nuts. It was a great deal of work for me to get them. I shall need those nuts in the winter. bosque--camino--conejo--monísimo. --Cómo, Gracia, ¿dijo mamá que podrías venir? --Sí, lo dijo. Quiero coger moras. --¿Cómo nos encontraste? --Duque me enseñó el camino. --¿Dónde está él ahora? --Corrió hacia el bosque. Vio allí un conejo pequeño. --¡Oh, querida mía! Lo asustará. --Lo llamé, pero no quiso venir. ¿Tenéis muchas moras en vuestros cubos? --Sí, hemos encontrado algunos arbustos grandes. Catalina encontró un nido monísimo en una rama. Hay cinco huevos en el nido. Ven, y te lo enseñaremos. No cojamos moras en ese arbusto. Asustaríamos a la madre. Coge tus moras ahora, Gracia. Luego nos iremos a casa. --Quiero llenar mi taza para mamá. Le daré a ella todas mis moras. ber'ries--might--bush'es.--fright'en. "Why, Grace, did mamma say you might come?" "Yes, she did. I want to pick berries." "How did you find us?" "Duke showed me the way." "Where is he now?" "He ran toward the woods. He saw a little rabbit there." "Oh, my dear! He will frighten it." "I called him, but he wouldn't come. Have you many berries in your pails?" "Yes, we found some big bushes." Kate found a dear little nest on a branch. There are five eggs in the nest. Come, and we will show it to you. Let's not pick berries on that bush. We should frighten the mother. Pick your berries now, Grace. Then we will go home." "I want to get my cup full for mamma. I will give her all my berries." paredes--escritorio--ratonera--jaula. Un ratoncito vivía en nuestras paredes. Todas las noches salía para jugar. Venía al cuarto de Sofía. Le gustaba jugar sobre su escritorio. Sofía ponía a veces azúcar allí para él. El ratoncito la encontraba. Un día mamá lo vio. Dijo que el gatito debía cogerlo. Sofía estaba muy triste. No quería que se lo comiese el gatito. Habló a papá del ratoncito. Él le dio una ratonera pequeñita. Parecía una jaula. El ratoncito podía vivir en ella. Puso azúcar en la ratonera. El ratoncito entró en la ratonera. Sofía lo mimaba mucho. Le daba de comer todos los días. Le daba agua en la tacita de su muñeca. El ratoncito quiere a Sofía. Está feliz en su jaula. wall--desk--ought--cage. A little mouse was living in our walls. Every night it came out to play. It would come into Sophy's room. It liked to play on her desk. Sophy would put sugar there for it. The little mouse would find it. One day mamma saw the mouse. She said the kitty ought to catch it. Sophy was very sorry. She didn't want the kitty to eat it. She talked to papa about the mouse. He gave her a little bit of a trap. It looked like a cage. The little mouse could live in it. He put sugar in the trap. The little mouse went into the trap. Sophy made a great pet of it. She fed it every day. She gave it water in her doll's cup. The little mouse loves Sophy. It is happy in its cage. Navidad--regalos--médico--hospital. ¡Qué día de Navidad tan feliz tuvo Juanita! Recibió algunos regalos bonitos. Le dieron tres muñecas grandes. --Bien, Juanita,--dijo papá,--¿qué vas a hacer con tres muñecas? --Jugaré con ellas,--dijo Juanita. --Tres muñecas no son demasiado. ¿No le gustaría a V. tener tres niñas, papá? A esto papá no podía responder: No. El padre de Juanita era médico. Iba al hospital todos los días. Un día Juanita fué al hospital con él. Allí vió a dos niñas. Tenían que quedarse en cama todo el día. A Juanita le dió mucha lástima. Cuando volvió a casa, cogió sus muñecas. Vistió dos de ellas con sus trajes más bonitos. Después se las llevó a su padre. --¿Puedo regalar mis muñecas a las niñas?--le preguntó. --Sí, puedes,--dijo su papá. Juanita llevó las muñecas a las niñas. Mira qué contentas están. Juanita también estaba muy contenta. pres'ents--an'swer--hos'pital--clothes. What a happy Christmas Day Jennie had! She received some pretty presents. They gave her three big dolls. "Well, Jennie," said papa, "what are you going to do with three dolls?" "I will play with them," said Jennie. "Three dolls are not too many. Shouldn't you like to have three little girls, papa?" Papa couldn't answer "no" to that. Jennie's father was a doctor. He went to the hospital every day. One day Jennie went to the hospital with him. She saw two little girls there. They had to stay in bed all day. Jennie was very sorry about it. When she went home, she took her dolls. She dressed two of them in their prettiest clothes. Then she took them to her father. "May I make the little girls a present of my dolls?" she asked him. "Yes, you may," said papa. Jennie took the dolls to the girls. See how pleased they are. Jennie was very much pleased too. amable--anciana--semillas--ventana. Elena es una niña amable. A ella le gusta hacer dichosos a los demás. Una pobre señora anciana vive cerca de ella. Elena va a verla. Ella dice,--Buenos días, doña Florencia. ¿Está V. bien esta mañana? --No muy bien,--responde ella. --Pero me alegro de verte. Un día doña Florencia dió a Elena un paquetito. Era un paquetito de semillas. --Siémbralas bajo tu ventana,--le dijo. --Antes de mucho tiempo brotarán las flores. Se asomarán y te mirarán. Yo no puedo ir para decirte: Buenos días. Las flores lo dirán por mí. A Elena le gustaron mucho las semillas. Las sembró debajo de su ventana. Pronto salieron las hojas. A los pocos días brotaron las flores. Elena cogió algunas para la anciana. --Yo digo buenos días una vez solamente,--dijo Elena. --Sus flores lo dicen muchas veces. before--pack'age--blos'soms--seeds Flor'ence--mor'ning--peep. Helen is a dear little girl. She likes to make the other people happy. A poor old lady lives near her. Helen goes to see her. She says "Good morning, Mrs. Florence. Are you well this morning?" "Not very well," she answers. "But I am glad to see you." One day Mrs. Florence gave Helen a little package. It was a little package of seeds. "Sow them under your window," she told her. "Before long the blossoms will come out. They will peep in at you. I cannot come to say good morning to you. The blossoms will say it for me." Helen liked the seeds very much. She sowed them underneath her Window. Soon the leaves came out. In a few days the flowers came. Helen picked some for the old lady. "I say good morning only once," said Helen. "Your flowers say it over and over." amanecía--migajas--echaba--tordo. Elena daba los buenos días también a los pájaros. Cantaban para ella así que amanecía. Ella tomaba una cesta de migajas de pan. Llevaba las migajas a la ventana. --¡Venid, pajaritos!--decía. --Mirad lo que tengo para vosotros. Entonces los pájaros volaban a la ventana. Elena les echaba las migajas para que ellos comiesen. --Aquí hay todo un almuerzo para vosotros, pajaritos. Los pájaros aprendieron a conocer a Elena. Volaban muy cerca de ella. Elena les daba de comer. Aprendió los nombres de todos los pájaros. --¡Buenos días, sinsonte!--decía ella. --Y aquí hay un tordo. Quiero ver tus huevos, sinsonte. Son muy bonitos tus huevos. El mayito hace su nido en los prados. Puedo mirar dentro del nido. Voy a los prados para verle. Él nunca viene a verme. crumbs--learned--near--mock'ing. Helen used to say good morning to the birds too. They sang for her as soon as it was light. She used to get a basket of bread crumbs. She took the crumbs to the window. "Come, birdies!" she said. "Look what I have for you." Then the birds flew to the window. Helen threw them the crumbs to eat. "Here is a whole breakfast for you, birdies." The birds learned to know Helen. They would fly very near her. Helen would feed them. She learned the names of all the birds. "Good morning, mocking-bird!" she would say. "And here is a thrush". I want to see your eggs, mocking-bird. Your eggs are very pretty. The bobolink makes his nest in the fields. I can look into the nest. I go to the fields to see him. He never comes to see me... Oeste--indios--_squaw_ (scuó) _papoose_ (papús)--tabla--colgaba. El padre de Gilberto vivía lejos en el Oeste. Un día llevó a Gilberto a ver a los indios. Una india tenía un bebé. Una india se llama una _squaw_. Un bebé indio se llama un _papoose_. El _papoose_ estaba atado a una tabla que colgaba de un árbol. Miró a Gilberto con sus ojos vivos. --¡Qué bonito es!--dijo Gilberto. La _squaw_ dejó a Gilberto que lo cogiese, --Mi pequeño _papoose_,--dijo ella. --Me gustaría que mamá lo viese,--dijo Gilberto. --¿Puedo llevárselo a mamá? --No, no te lleves mi _papoose_,--dijo la _squaw_. Gilberto le dió el _papoose_. Volvió a ponerlo en el árbol. ¡Qué sitio tan raro para un niño! El viento puede mecerlo. Los pájaros pueden cantarle. ¿Cree V. que le gustaría a su hermanita? hang'ing--West--In'dian--board papoose'--squaw. Gilbert's father lived far off in the West. One day he took Gilbert to see the Indians. One Indian woman had a baby. An Indian woman is called a squaw. An Indian baby is called a papoose. The papoose was tied to a board hanging on a tree. It looked at him with its bright eyes. "How pretty it is!" said Gilbert. The squaw let Gilbert hold it. "My little papoose," said she. "I should like to have mamma see it," said Gilbert. "May I take it to mamma?" "No, don't carry off my papoose," said the squaw. Gilbert gave her the papoose. She put it back on the tree. What a funny place for a baby! The wind can rock it. The birds can sing to it. Do you think your little sister would like it? _wigwam_ (uíguom) jaca--pieles--arco--flechas tirar--tumbar. Gilberto vió a un muchacho indio. Estaba cuidando una jaca. Gilberto empezó a hablar con él. No podían hablar muy bien. El indio le enseñó su _wigwam_. Un _wigwam_ es la casa de un indio. Es una casita hecha de pieles. El indio dejó a Gilberto entrar en su casa. Le dio un arco y flechas. Los indios saben tirar muy bien. Él enseñó a Gilberto a tirar la flecha. Gilberto le dió algunas canicas muy bonitas. Le enseñó a jugar a las canicas. El indio puso una canica en el árbol. Podía tumbarla con su flecha. Gilberto no podía hacer lo mismo. Su flecha se clavó en el árbol. wig'wam mar'bles--shoot--bow--ar'rows. Gilbert saw an Indian boy. He was taking care of a pony. Gilbert began to talk with him. They couldn't talk very well. The Indian showed him his wigwam. A wigwam is an Indian's house. It is a little house made of skins. The Indian let Gilbert go into his house. He gave him a bow and arrows. Indians can shoot very well. He taught Gilbert to shoot an arrow. Gilbert gave him some very pretty marbles. He showed him how to play marbles. The Indian put a marble on the tree. He could shoot it off with his arrow. Gilbert could not do the same. His arrow stuck in the tree. lago--crecían--remar--falda. Juan y Catalina viven cerca del lago. Juan tiene un bonito bote nuevo. Él puede remar muy bien. Llevó a mamá, a Lucía y a Catalina a dar un paseo en bote. Los lirios acuáticos crecían en el agua. --¿Quieren Vds. algunos lirios?--preguntó Juan. --¡Oh sí!--respondieron todas. Juan remó hacia donde estaban los lirios. --¡Qué bonitos lirios blancos!--dijo Lucía. --Tengo que llevarlos a casa conmigo. Cogió cuantos pudo. Catalina tenía su falda llena de lirios. --¡Qué bonitos son!--dijo ella. --Las hojas son bonitas. En el lago había peces. A Catalina le gustaba ver nadar a los peces. Les daba a comer migajas de pan. row--lake--lil'ies--leaves. John and Kate live near the lake. John has a handsome new boat. He can row very well. He took mamma, Lucy, and Kate for a row. The water-lilies were growing in the water. "Do you want some lilies?" asked John. "O yes!" they all answered. John rowed toward where the lilies were. "What pretty white lilies!" said Lucy. "I must take them home with me." She picked as many as she could. Kate had her lap full of lilies. "How pretty they are!" said she. "The leaves are pretty." In the lake there were fishes. Kate liked to see the fishes swim. She fed them bread-crumbs. charco--roca marinas--erizos pescador--olas chapaleaban--brazos--tentáculos boca--lomo. En el fondo de un charco pequeño vivían algunas estrellas de mar. El charco estaba en una gran roca. Algas marinas crecían en el charco. Había bonitos erizos allí. Parecían botones de cardos. Dos niños jugaban sobre la roca. Su padre era pescador. Vivían en una casa vieja y parda. Huían de las olas. Ellos chapaleaban en el agua. Les gustaba mirar el fondo del charco. Un día vieron una linda estrella de mar. La estrella tenía cinco brazos. Estos brazos se movían. Tenían pequeños tentáculos. Estos tentáculos la ayudaban a moverse. La boca estaba en el centro de la estrella. Mira las estrellas marinas en el dibujo. En la de abajo se ven las antenas y la boca. En la de arriba se ve el lomo de la estrella. rock--pool feel'ers--mouth ur'chins--waves Fish'er’man---sea'weeds Pad'dled. Down in a little pool lived some starfish. The pool was in a large rock. Seaweeds grew in the pool. There were pretty sea urchins there. They looked like thistle buds. Two children played on the rock. Their father was a fisherman. They lived in an old brown house. They ran away from the waves. They paddled in the water. They liked to look down in the pool. One day they saw a pretty starfish. The starfish had five arms. These arms moved. They had little feelers. These feelers helped it to move about. The mouth was in the middle of the starfish. Look at the starfish in the picture. In the lower one you see the feelers and the mouth. In the upper one the back of the starfish is seen. delicado--agradable--material--suave brillante--seguramente--aunque. Estoy haciendo un nido en un árbol alto. ¡Va a ser un nido tan delicado y Agradable! Busco material para tejer el nido. Quiero usar un poco de esta brillante seda amarilla. Mi nido estará colgado, para que la brisa lo balancee. Yo me sentaré en el árbol y cantaré alegremente. La madre y los pequeños dormirán dulcemente. Entre tanto, yo cuidaré mucho a mis queridos pájaros. Mire V. donde está mi nido cuando pase por el árbol. Verá V., seguramente, la suave seda amarilla. Entonces sabrá V. que es mío, aunque V. no me vea. moth'er--weave--soft--mean'while silk--co'zy--ma’te'ri’al--sure'ly. I am making a nest in a tall tree. It is going to be such a soft, cozy nest! I am looking for material to weave the nest. I want to use a bit of this bright yellow silk. My nest shall be hung for the breeze to swing. I will sit on the tree and sing gayly. The mother and the little ones will sleep sweetly. Meanwhile I will take good care of my dear birds. Look where my nest is, when you pass by the tree. You will surely see the soft yellow silk. Then you will know it is mine, even if you do not see me. ganso--patio--trayés--valla--cabeza miedo--grandísimo--malvado. Pepita tiene un vestido nuevo color de rosa. Ella y Enrique se fueron a jugar. Un ganso viejo se paseaba por el patio. Vió el vestido color de rosa a través de la palizada. El ganso viejo quería aquel vestido color de rosa. Metió su cabeza por entre la valla. Cogió el vestido con su pico grande. La pobra Pepita tenía miedo. --¡Oh Enrique, ven!--dijo ella. --Aquí hay un grandísimo pájaro. Quiere mi vestido nuevo. Enrique cogió un buen palo. Y dijo: ¡Suéltala, pájaro malvado! Tú no puedes llevarte el vestido de Pepita. El viejo ganso soltó el vestido. Salió corriendo del patio. Pepita se alegró de verlo huir. Y dió las gracias a Enrique. Jo'sie--pink--gan'der--caught stick--yard--through. Josie has a new pink dress. She and Henry went to play. An old gander was walking through the yard. He saw the pink dress through the fence. The gander wanted that pink dress. He put his head through the fence. He caught the dress in his big bill. Poor Josie was afraid. "O Henry, come!" said she. "Here is a great big bird. He wants my new dress." Henry got a good big stick. And he said, "Let her go, you naughty bird! You can't have Josie's dress." The old gander let go of the dress. He went running out of the yard. Josie was glad to see him run away. She said "Thank you" to Henry. playa--bañado--arena--quemará cara--faro--velas--conchas. Ana y Paquita están en la playa. Se divierten mucho. Se han bañado en el mar. Ahora están jugando con arena. Paquita acaba de ir a buscar agua. La trae en su cubo. Ana ha hecho dos pasteles de arena. Ahora está haciendo otro. Ponte tu sombrero, Ana. El sol te quemará la cara. No me hará daño. Juego al sol todo el día. Dentro de poco tiempo iremos a pasearnos en bote. Iremos al faro. Papá tiene un bote grande con velas. Tenemos bonitas algas marinas. Tenemos una caja de conchas. Paquita tiene un erizo de mar. Yo tengo una estrella de mar. Vamos a llevarlos al hospital. Allí hay algunos niños enfermos. ¿No crees que les gustará verlos? beach--bath'ing--sand--a moth'er pies--burn--sail--shells. Annie and Fannie are at the beach. They are having a very good time. They have been bathing in the sea. Now they are playing with sand. Fannie has just been for water. She is bringing it in her pail. Annie has made two sand pies. Now she is making another. Put on your hat, Annie. The sun will burn your face. It will not hurt me. I play in the sunshine all day. By and by we shall go for a sail. We shall go to the lighthouse. Papa has a big sailboat. We have some pretty seaweeds. We have a box of shells. Fannie has a sea urchin. I have a starfish. We are going to take them to the hospital. There are some sick children there. Don't you think they will like to see them? pollos--escarbar--palangana ahogarte--gordo--piernas. Diego puso un huevo de pato en un nido de gallina. Un patico se crió con los pollos. ¡Qué gracioso era el patico! Los pollos corrían por todos lados y escarbaban la tierra buscando gusanos. El patico no podía escarbar tan bien. Tenía las patas palmeadas. Estaban hechas para nadar. Él quería agua para nadar. Un día Enriqueta lo encontró. Lo cogió en sus manos. --¿Qué tienes, pobre patico? --¡Pip, pip!--dijo el patico. --¿Quieres nadar?--dijo Enriqueta. --¡Pip, pip! Sí, que quiero. --Tendrás agua. Enriqueta fué corriendo a casa. Trajo agua en una palangana. Puso la palangana en el zacate. El patico corrió hacia la palangana. Le gustaba estar en el agua. La gallina vieja dijo,--¡Clo, clo! Vas a ahogarte, patico malvado. Los pollos corrieron hacia la palangana. Bebieron el agua; pero no podían nadar. La gallina tenía miedo de que se ahogasen. --¡Clo, clo!--dijo ella. --Aquí está un gusano gordo. Entonces los pollos corrieron hacia ella. El patico se quedó y nadó. Le hubiera gustado que pudiesen nadar los pollos también. Todos los pájaros nadadores tienen las patas palmeadas. Algunos pájaros andan en el agua. Tienen las piernas largas. mat'ter--swim'ming--scratched drown--hatched--web feet. James put a duck's egg into a hen's nest. A duckling hatched out with the chickens. How funny the duckling was! The chickens ran every way and scratched for worms. The duckling could not scratch so well. It had web feet. They were made for swimming. It wanted water to swim in. One day Hattie found it. She took it up in her hands. "What is the matter, poor ducky?" "Peep, peep!" said the duckling. "Do you want to swim?" said Hattie. "Peep, peep! Yes, I do." "You shall have some water." Hattie went running to the house. She brought some water in a pan. She set the pan on the grass. The duckling ran to the pan. It liked to be in the water. The old hen said, "Cluck, cluck! You will be drowned, you naughty ducky." The chickens ran to the pan. They drank the water; but they could not swim. The hen was afraid that they would drown. "Cluck, cluck!" said she. "Here is a big worm." Then the chickens ran to her. The duckling stayed and swam. It would have liked it if the chickens could swim too. All swimming birds have web feet. Some birds wade in the water. They have long legs. locomotora--orilla--baúl--coches. Aquí viene el tren. Carlos y mamá van a tomarlo. Van a la orilla del mar. Carlos está muy alegre. Le gusta viajar en el tren. ¡Mira qué locomotora tan grande! ¡Qué aprisa anda! Carlos tiene miedo de que no pare. --¡Oh sí, parará!--dijo mamá. --¿Cargarán nuestro baúl en el tren?--preguntó Carlos. --Sí, hay un coche para los baúles. La locomotora para y los suben. ¡Qué aprisa van los coches! --¡Oh, mamá!--dijo Carlos,--¡qué divertido es esto! * * * * * PREGUNTAS QUE EXIGEN RESPUESTA. ¿No estuviste nunca en el tren? ¿Adonde fuiste? ¿Cuánto tiempo estuviste en el tren? ¿Qué viste? ¿Cómo se llama el coche para los baúles? ¿Cómo se llama el coche para pasajeros? train--trunks--en'gine. Here comes the train. Charles and mamma are going to take it. They are going to the seashore. Charles is very glad. He likes to ride in the train. See what a big engine! How fast it goes! Charles is afraid it will not stop. "O yes, it will!" said mamma. "Will they put our trunk on the train?" asked Charles. "Yes, there is a car for the trunks." The engine stops and they are put on. How fast the cars go! "O mamma!" said Charles, "what fun this is!" * * * * * QUESTIONS TO ANSWER. Were you ever on the train? Where did you go? How long were you on the train? What did you see? What is the name of the car for the trunks? The name of the car for passengers? sitios--río--señas--mano Aquí están Carlos y su mamá en el tren. ¡Qué bonito coche es éste! Es un coche de primera. A Carlos le gusta mirar por la ventana. ¡Cuántos sitios bonitos hay!--dice Carlos. Ahora se ve un río. --Mira esos niños. Tienen un bote. Mira, ya pasamos por delante de ellos. Quisiera que el tren parase aquí. He visto algunas flores muy lindas. Allí hay algunos caballos. ¡Mira cómo corren! La locomotora les da miedo. Mira, mamá, a esos niños. Mira cómo me hacen señas con las manos. --¿Les has hecho señas tú, Carlos? --Oh, sí, les hice señas con la mano primero. ¿Habrá niños en la playa, mamá? --Sí, creo que habrá algunos. Podrás jugar en la playa con ellos. pla'ces.--riv'er--those--hand--first. Here are Charles and his mamma on the train. What a pretty car this is! It is a parlor car. Charles likes to look out of the window. "How many pretty places there are!" says Charles. Now a river is seen. Look at those children. They have a boat. Look, now we have passed them. I wish the train would stop here. I saw some very pretty flowers. There are some horses. See how they run! The engine frightens them. Look at those children, mamma. Look how they wave their hands to me. "Did you wave to them, Charles?" "O yes, I waved my hand to them first. Will there be children at the beach, mamma?" "Yes, I think there will be some. You can play on the beach with them." luces--apaga--viento faroles--hadas--gusanos. Roberto estaba en el campo. Una noche vió algunas luces en la yerba. Parecían estrellitas. --Tengo que coger una de esas estrellas,--dijo él. Las luces no estaban quietas. Algunas veces no lucían. --¿Adonde vais?--dijo Roberto. --¿Os apaga el viento? Creo que sois faroles de hadas. Preguntaré a mamá lo que sois. Entonces corrió hacia su casa. --Mamá, el campo está lleno de estrellitas. No lucen siempre. Hazme el favor de venir y decirme lo que son. --Son gusanos de luz, Roberto,--dijo su mamá. --Procuraré coger uno para ti. Cogió uno y se lo puso en la mano a Roberto. --¿Dónde están sus alas?--dijo Roberto. --Ésta es la madre de los gusanos de luz,--dijo la mamá. --Sus alas son muy pequeñas. No puede volar muy de prisa. Mira cómo la luz va y viene. coun'try--wind--fire shine--lan'terns--fair'y. Robert was in the country. One night he saw some lights in the grass. They looked like little stars. "I must catch one of those stars," said he. The lights did not keep still. Sometimes they did not shine. "Where do you go?" said Robert. "Does the wind blow you out? I think you are fairy lanterns. I will ask mamma what you are." Then he ran to his house. "Mamma, the field is full of little stars. They do not always shine. Please come and tell me what they are." "They are fireflies, Robert," said his mamma. "I will try to catch one for you." She caught one and put it in Robert's hand. "Where are its wings?" said Robert. "This is the mother of the fireflies," said mamma. "Its wings are very small. It cannot fly very fast. See how the light comes and goes." rayo--deslizo--beso--fruta--rocío nubes--lluvia--servicios--nada. Yo soy una hada del sol. Me llamo Rayo de Luz. Mi casa está en el sol. Me deslizo por sus rayos. Las flores se despiertan cuando las toco. Por la mañana despierto a los pájaros. Sus casas están en la cima de los árboles. Cuando me ven, empiezan a cantar. Abro los lirios en el lago. Saco los botones de lirios de debajo del agua. Cuando toco las semillas las plantas brotan. Beso la fruta, la hago madurar y la hago dulce. Bebo el rocío de la mañana. Llevo agua a las nubes. Algunos días vienen las hadas de la lluvia. Entonces no me ves. Necesitas los servicios de las hadas de la lluvia. Riegan las lindas flores. Nada podría crecer sin ellas. Nada podría crecer sin mí. pesadas--encarnadas--naranja morado--senda--iris--gota. Algunas veces las hadas de la lluvia se encuentran con las hadas del sol. ¡Cómo se divierten! Ya no son oscuras ni pesadas. Lucen y brillan con colores. Unas son encarnadas, otras color de naranja, y algunas amarillas. Hay otras de color verde, azul, morado o violeta. Forman una senda a través del cielo. Esta senda se llama arco iris. Está formada por el sol y las gotas de agua. Cada gota de agua ayuda a formarla. Las nubes son oscuras de por sí. La claridad del sol las hace brillantes y hermosas. dew--clouds--noth'ing--glide rip'en--touch--fruit--lovely. I am a sun fairy. My name is Ray of Light. My home is in the sun. I glide along its rays. The flowers wake up when I touch them. In the morning I wake the birds. Their home is in the tree-tops. When they see me they begin to sing. I open the lilies on the lake. I bring the lily buds up from under water. When I touch the seeds the plants sprout. I kiss the fruit, ripen it, and make it sweet. I drink the morning dew. I carry water to the clouds. Some days the rain fairies come. Then you do not see me. You need the things the rain fairies do for you. They water the lovely flowers. Nothing could grow without them. Nothing could grow without me. dark--heavy--path--across indigo--drops--beautiful. Sometimes the rain fairies meet the sun fairies. What a good time they have! They are not dark or heavy now. They shine and are bright with colors. Some are red, others orange, and some of them yellow. There are others green, blue, indigo, or violet. They form a path across the sky. This path is called a rainbow. It is formed by the sun and the drops of water. Each drop of water helps form it. The clouds are dark by themselves. The sunshine makes them bright and beautiful. dulces--centavo--calle. ¿Qué crees que hizo nuestra chiquitina? Hay un hombre viejo que vende dulces. Un día llevamos a la chiquitina allí. Le dejamos comprar algunos dulces. Dió un centavo al viejo y él le dió algunos dulces. El otro día la encontramos en la calle. Se había puesto su gorra y su abrigo. Tenía su muñeca en una mano. --¡Pero chiquitina! ¿adónde vas?--dije yo. --¡A comprar dulces!--respondió la chiquitina. --¿Porqué te llevas la muñeca? --La muñeca quiere dulces también. --No puedes comprar dulces, querida mía. No tienes un centavo. --Sí, sí, mira mi centavo. ¿Qué crees que tenía? Tenía un botón. Iba a comprar dulces con un botón. ¿No era graciosa la chiquitina? Creo que el viejo le habría dado algunos dulces. Es un hombre muy bueno. button--candy--took--cent--buy. What do you think our baby did? There is an old man who sells candy. One day we took baby there. We let her buy some candy. She gave the old man a cent and he gave her some candy. The other day we found her in the street. She had put on her cap and cloak. She had her doll in one hand. "Why, baby! where are you going?" said I. "To buy candy!" the baby answered. "Why do you take the doll?" "The doll wants candy too." "You cannot buy candy, dear. You haven't any cent." "Yes, yes, see my cent." What do you think she had? She had a button. She was going to buy candy with a button. Wasn't baby funny? I think the old man would have given her some candy. He is a very kind man. aprendiese cocinar enseñar santo. Me gustaría que Ana aprendiese a cocinar,--dijo papá. ¡Oh! mamá, ten la bondad de enseñarme,--dijo Ana. --Algún día aprenderás,--dijo mamá. --No tengo tiempo de enseñarte ahora. Ana fué a ver a su abuela. --¿Abuelita, quieres enseñarme a cocinar?--le dijo. --Sí, querida mía,--dijo su abuela. --Puedes cocinar algo hoy. --¡Oh, gracias!--dijo Ana. --A papá le dará mucho gusto que yo aprenda a cocinar. --Su santo será dentro de poco tiempo,--dijo su abuela. --Le harás un pastel para su santo. Yo los hacía cuando él era niño. Ana hizo todo lo que pudo para aprender. Pasados algunos días llegó el del santo. Ana hizo el deseado pastel. Lo llevó a su papá. Lo puso cerca de su plato. --¡Vaya! ¿qué es esto?--dijo papá. --Un pastel para el día de tu santo. --¿Quién me ha hecho este pastel? --Yo lo he hecho,--dijo Ana;--mi abuela me enseñó a hacerlo. --¡Es posible! ¿has hecho tú este hermoso pastel? ¡Tú eres una niña preciosa! Hace mucho tiempo que no tenía pastel el día de mi santo. Pues mira, me gusta mucho. PARA ADIVINAR. renacuajo--respirar--agallas--cola. Yo nado en el agua. Yo no soy un pez. Yo tengo dos patas palmeadas. Yo no soy un pato. Yo salto en la yerba. Yo no soy un conejo. Entono una canción que es mía. Yo no soy un pájaro. Primero soy un renacuajo. Yo nado y respiro como los peces. Tengo agallas para respirar. Después tengo cuatro patitas. Pierdo más tarde mis agallas y mi cola. Salgo del agua. Salto por el campo. used learn cook teach. "I should like to have Anna learn to cook," said papa. "O mamma, please teach me!" said Anna. "Some day you shall learn," said mamma. "I haven't time to teach you to-day." Anna went to see grandma. "Grandma, will you teach me to cook?" she said. "Yes, dear," said grandma. "You may cook something to-day." "O, thank you!" said Anna. "It will please papa very much to have me learn." "It will be his birthday very soon," said grandma. "You shall make him a birthday cake. I used to when he was a boy." Anna did her best to learn. In a few days the birthday came. Anna made the cake as she wished. She took it to papa. She set it near his plate. "Well! what is this?" said papa. "A birthday cake for you." "Who made this cake for me?" "I did," said Anna; "grandma showed me how." "Is it possible? did you make this beautiful cake? You are a dear girl! I haven't had a birthday cake for a long time. It is very nice indeed." TO GUESS. gills--breathe--tad'pole. I swim in the water. I am not a fish. I have two webbed feet. I am not a duck. I jump in the grass. I am not a rabbit. I sing a song of my own. I am not a bird. At first I am a tadpole. I swim and breathe as fishes do. I have gills to breathe with. Afterward I have four little feet. Later I lose my gills and my tail. I come out of the water. I hop about in the fields. tía--acariciar--nata--fresas--untó mantequilla--ternero--mono. Elena quería mucho a Maruja. Maruja era la vaca de nuestra tía Ana. Era una vaca muy buena. Dejaba a Elena acariciarla. Elena le daba yerba para comer. Le gustaba ver a Juan ordeñarla. Elena bebió leche fresca. Puso un poco de nata en sus fresas. Le untó mantequilla a su pan. --Maruja me da muchas cosas,--dijo Elena. Elena fue a ver a su tía Ana el verano siguiente. --Maruja tiene algo que enseñarte,--dijo su tío Enrique. La llevó al campo. Allí había un bonito ternero. --¡Oh, qué mono eres, ternerito!--dijo Elena. Elena le dio yerba. Comía en su mano. Al ternero le gustaba mucho Elena. aunt--stroke--cream--straw'berries grass--bread--but'ter--calf. Helen was very fond of Molly. Molly was Aunt Ann's cow. She was a very good cow. She let Helen stroke her. Helen gave her grass to eat. She liked to see John milk her. Helen drank fresh milk. She put a little cream on her strawberries. She spread butter on her bread. "Molly gives me a great many things," said Helen. Helen went to see Aunt Ann the next summer. "Molly has something to show you," said Uncle Henry. He took her to the field. There was a pretty calf in the field. "O, little calf, how nice you are!" said Helen. Helen gave it grass. It ate out of her hand. The calf liked Helen very much. dulcería--delante--carreta. Lucía iba a la dulcería a comprar dulces. Su papá le había dado diez centavos. --Yo puedo comprar muchos dulces con diez centavos,--dijo ella. --Me gustaría que Marianita pudiese comer algunos dulces. Ha estado enferma mucho tiempo. Quizá encuentre algo que darle. Delante de la dulcería había una carreta. En la carreta había plantas. --Compra una planta, chiquita,--dijo el hombre. --Aquí tienes, una planta bonita por diez centavos. --A Marianita le gustaría tener una planta,--dijo Lucía. --Ella podría verla crecer. Creo que le compraré una. Tenga V. la bondad de darme una que tenga botones. Quiero darla a una niña enferma. Tomó la planta y corrió a ver a Marianita. --Mira lo que te traigo,--dijo ella. --¡Oh, qué bonita es! Muchas gracias, Lucía. Me gustará verla crecer. Mira los libros de dibujos que me ha traído Enrique. --Sí, me dijo que los tenía para ti. ¿Te encuentras mejor? Queremos que estés buena. --Sí, espero estar buena pronto. Mañana voy a dar un paseo en coche con el médico. Todos han sido muy buenos conmigo. Casi me alegro de haber estado enferma. * * * * * ¿Conoces a algunas personas que estén enfermas? ¿Podrías llevarles algunas flores? Te sentirás dichoso si lo haces. cents--pic'ture--cart--per’haps al'most--front. Lucy was going to the candy shop to buy candy. Papa had given her ten cents. "I can buy lots of candy with ten cents," she said. "I wish Marion could eat some candy. She has been sick a long time. Perhaps I shall find something to give her." In front of the candy shop there was a cart. In the cart there were plants. "Buy a plant, little girl," said the man. "Here is a pretty plant for ten cents." "Marion would like to have a plant," said Lucy. "She could see it grow. I think I will buy her one. Please give me one that has buds. I want to give it to a sick girl." She took the plant and ran to see Marion. "See what I have brought you," said she. "O, how pretty it is! Thank you very much, Lucy. I shall like to see it grow. Look at the picture books Henry brought me." "Yes, he told me he had them for you. Are you better? We want you to be well." "Yes, I hope to be well soon. To-morrow I am going to ride with the doctor. Everybody has been very good to me. I am almost glad I have been sick." * * * * * Do you know any persons who are sick? Could you carry them some flowers? You will feel happy if you do. tertulia--corral tranquilo--propósito lodo--alrededores. La Señora Pata dió una tertulia. Todos los patos del corral estaban allí. Se fueron todos a nadar en el río. Hallaron un sitio tranquilo. --Comeremos nuestra merienda aquí,--dijo la Señora Pata. --Aquí hay muchos insectos. Es un sitio muy a propósito para hallar comida. Y se tiró de cabeza al agua. Y al agua se tiraron también los otros patos. Y luego subieron de nuevo. Los patos tienen el pico grande y plano. Llenan sus picos de lodo. En el lodo hay insectos. ¡Cómo se divierten los patos! Algunas ranas viejas estaban sentadas cerca de los lirios. Miraban a los patos nadando por los alrededores. --¡Qué extraños son los patos! --dijeron ellas. --¿Cómo está V., Señora Pata?--dijo una de las ranas. --¿Vive V. siempre en el agua? --No, de ninguna manera,--dijo la Señora Pata. --Nuestra casa está en la hacienda. Tenemos una casa como la gente. --¡Vaya! ¡vaya! ¿porqué les hacen a Vds. una casa? A nosotras no nos hacen casa. --Nosotras ponemos huevos para la gente,--dijo la Señora Pata. --Y nosotras también ponemos huevos,--dijo la rana. --Vds. ponen sus huevos en el agua. A la gente no les gustan sus huevos. Nuestros huevos son grandes y buenos para comer. qui'et--in'sects beaks--food queer--peo'ple. Mrs. Duck gave a party. All the ducks in the yard were there. They all went swimming in the river. They found a quiet place. "We will have our lunch here," said Mrs. Duck. "There are a great many insects here. It is a first-rate place to find food." And she plunged into the water head first. And into the water plunged the other ducks too. And then they came up again. Ducks have large flat beaks. They fill their beaks with mud. In the mud there are insects. What a good time ducks have! Some old frogs were sitting near the lilies. They looked at the ducks swimming all around. "How queer ducks are!" they said. "How are you, Mrs. Duck?" said one of the frogs. "Do you live in the water all the time?" "No indeed," said Mrs. Duck. "Our home is at the farm. We have a house like people." "Well! well! why do they make you a house? They don't make a house for us." "We lay eggs for the people," said Mrs. Duck. "And so do we lay eggs," said the frog. "You lay your eggs in the water. People do not like your eggs. Our eggs are big and good to eat." huérfanos--campesino--desnatar rastrillar--heno--maravillosas. Jaime y Dolores eran niños pobres. Nunca habían visto el campo. Vivían en una casa de huérfanos. Esperaban poder ir un día al campo. El señor Blas era un campesino rico que tenía una casa muy agradable. Él deseaba ver niños en ella. Mandó a varias personas a la ciudad. Les pidió que le enviasen dos niños pobres. Le enviaron a Jaime y Dolores. ¡Qué felices eran los niños! Corrían siempre por el campo. Cogían frutas y flores. Oían cantar a los pájaros. Podían ayudar al señor Blas y a su señora en muchas cosas. Jaime aprendió a ordeñar las vacas. Dolores aprendió a desnatar la leche. Jaime podía rastrillar el heno. Dolores también podía rastrillar el heno. Los niños paseaban en la carreta del heno. El señor Blas les dejaba guiar los caballos. Les divertía mucho pasear en coche. Veían muchas cosas maravillosas. --¡Qué hermoso mundo es éste!--decían ellos. --No sabíamos antes que fuese tan hermoso. --No volverán a la casa de huérfanos,--dijo la señora. --Se quedarán a vivir con nosotros. Jaime y Dolores estaban muy contentos. La madre de Federico le había dicho que algunos gusanos se volvían mariposas. Él quería ver a uno transformarse en mariposa. Un día cogió un gusano en el jardín. Lo trajo sobre una hoja a su mamá. Ella le dio una cajita para guardarlo. Federico le daba a comer hojas frescas todos los días. Poco después el gusano cesó de comer. Federico creyó que se moriría. Su mamá le dijo: No, Federico, va a dormir. Cuando se despierte será una mariposa. El gusano hiló un tejido alrededor de su cuerpo. Estaba pegado a un lado de la caja. --Se ha muerto, mamá,--dijo Federico. --No se mueve ni come. --No se ha muerto,--dijo mamá. Un día Federico miró la caja. Vió un insecto de forma extraña. Sus alas no eran bonitas ni brillantes. Llamó a su madre para que lo viera. --Es tu mariposa,--dijo mamá. ---¡Qué extraña y fea es!--dijo Federico. --Yo creía que sería más bonita. A los pocos momentos empezó a moverse y desplegó las alas. Los colores se volvieron más brillantes. --¡Oh, qué hermosa!--dijo Federico. Desplegó sus alas y voló a la ventana. Federico abrió la ventana y la dejó escaparse. --Ves tú cómo no se había muerto,--dijo mamá. --La mariposa había estado allí siempre. won'derful--far'mer--or'phan--hay A’sy'lum--cit'y--drive--rake. James and Dolores were poor children. They had never seen the country. They lived in an orphan asylum. They hoped to go to the country some day. Mr. Blas was a rich farmer who had a very pleasant home. He wished to see children in it. He sent to several people in the city. He asked them to send him two poor children. They sent him James and Dolores. How happy the children were! They were always running in the fields. They picked fruits and flowers. They heard the birds sing. They could help Mr. and Mrs. Blas in many ways. James learned to milk the cows. Dolores learned to skim the milk. James could rake the hay. Dolores could rake the hay too. The children rode on the hay cart. Mr. Blas let them drive the horses. They enjoyed taking drives about the country very much. They saw many wonderful things. "What a beautiful world this is!" they said. "We didn't know before that it was so beautiful." "They shall not go back to the asylum," said Mrs. Blas. "They shall stay to live with us." James and Dolores were very glad. Fred's mother had told him that some worms turn to butterflies. He wanted to see one change to a butterfly. One day he got a worm in the garden. He carried it to his mamma on a leaf. She gave him a box to keep it in. Fred gave it fresh leaves to eat every day. Pretty soon the worm stopped eating. Fred thought it would die. His mamma told him, "No, Fred, it is going to sleep. When it wakes up it will be a butterfly." The worm spun a web round its body. It was stuck to one side of the box. "It is dead, mamma," said Fred. "It does not move nor eat." "It is not dead," said mamma. One day Fred looked at the box. He saw a strange-looking insect. Its wings were not pretty or bright. He called his mother to see it. "It is your butterfly," said mamma. "How queer and ugly it is!" said Fred. "I thought it would be prettier." In a few moments it began to move, and spread out its wings. The colors turned brighter. "O, how beautiful!" said Fred. It spread its wings and flew to the window. Fred opened the window and let it fly out. "You see it wasn't dead," said mamma. "The butterfly had been there all the time." escribir--carta--pluma. tinta--derramado. Mamá, Inés y el niño fueron a visitar al abuelo. El pobre papá no pudo ir. Tuvo que quedarse en casa. --¿Qué haré yo sin ti?--dijo él. --Te escribiré una carta,--contestó Inés. --Te diré lo que estemos haciendo. --¿Sabes escribir una carta?--dijo papá. --¡Oh! sí, la puedo escribir,--dijo Inés. --Ya tengo siete años. Verás que puedo escribir una carta. Inés se divirtió mucho. Un día dijo ella:--Abuelita, ¿puedo tomar una pluma? Quiero escribir a papá. --Sí,--dijo su abuela,--en el escritorio hay plumas. Inés corrió al escritorio de su abuelo. --¡Oh abuelita! aquí hay una pluma muy rara. --Ésta es una pluma de ave,--dijo la abuela. --Tu abuelo la cortó para mí. Es una pluma de ganso. En tiempos pasados todo el mundo escribía con plumas de ave. --Me parece muy bonita,--dijo Inés. --No creo que pueda escribir con ella. Tomó otra pluma y se fué. Al poco tiempo volvió al escritorio. ¿Qué vió allí? La chiquitina había tomado la pluma de ave. Había escrito con ella a su papá. ¡Y qué carta había escrito! Había derramado la tinta sobre el escritorio. --¡Oh chiquitina, chiquitina! ¿porqué has hecho esto? Mamá envió la carta de la chiquitina a su papá. Él dijo que se alegraba de recibir las dos cartas. CARTA DE INÉS A SU PADRE. SITIO GRANDE, 8 de Julio de 1917. MI QUERIDO PAPÁ: Nos estamos divertiendo mucho. Mi abuelito tiene un gran caballo oscuro. Algunas veces me monta en el caballo. ¡Es tan divertido! Juego mucho en el campo. Mi abuelito me deja pasear sobre los montones de yerba. Cojo moras para mi abuelita. Nos dan queso con el café. Quisiera que estuvieses aquí con nosotros. La chiquitina te ha escrito una carta. Cogió la pluma de ave de nuestra abuela, y derramó la tinta. ¿Puedes leer su carta? Dice que ha escrito: ¿Cómo estás, papá? Te quiero mucho. Tu hijita INÉS. write--let'ter--pens--goose quill--spilled. Mamma, Agnes, and baby went to visit grandpa. Poor papa could not go. He had to stay at home. "What shall I do without you?" said he. "I will write you a letter," Agnes answered. "I will tell you what we are doing." "Can you write a letter?" said papa. "O yes, I can," said Agnes. "I am seven now. You shall see that I can write a letter." Agnes had a very good time. One day she said, "Grandma, may I take a pen? I want to write to papa." "Yes," said grandma, "there are pens on the desk." Agnes ran to grandpa's desk. "O grandma! here is such a funny pen!" "That is a quill pen," said her grandma. "Grandpa made it for me. It is a goose quill. In old times everybody used to write with quill pens." "I think it is very pretty," said Agnes. "I don't think I can write with it." She took another pen and went off. In a little while she went back to the desk. What did she see there? Baby had taken the quill pen. She had been writing to papa with it. And what a letter she had written! She had spilled the ink over the desk. "O baby, baby! what did you do that for?" Mamma sent baby's letter to papa. He said he was glad to get both Letters. AGNES'S LETTER TO HER FATHER. SITIO GRANDE, JULY 8, 1917. DEAR PAPA: We are having a very good time. Grandpa has a big bay horse. Sometimes he puts me on the horse's back. It is such fun! I play in the field a great deal. Grandpa lets me walk on the haycocks. I pick berries for grandma. They give us cheese with our coffee. I wish you were here with us. Baby has written you a letter. She took grandma's quill pen, and she spilled the ink. Can you read her letter? She says she wrote "How are you, papa? I love you a great deal." Your little girl, AGNES. delantal--cubrirá--arrepintió. Una niña pobre fué a la escuela con Consuelo. Su vestido era muy viejo. Su madre no le podía comprar otro vestido. Consuelo se había puesto un nuevo delantal blanco. Se lo puso para ir a la escuela un día. La pobre Juana la miró. Hubiera querido tener un delantal como aquél. Cuando Consuelo volvió a casa, se fué adonde estaba su mamá. Y le dijo: Mamá, ¿puedo dar mi delantal a Juana? Su vestido es muy viejo y pobre. Es una niña tan buena. Permíteme darle mi delantal. Su mamá dijo: Sí, puedes dárselo, si quieres. Consuelo dijo a Juana que fuera a su casa con ella. Le regaló el delantal blanco. La mamá de Consuelo se lo puso a Juana. La pequeña Juana estaba muy contenta. --Muchas gracias, Consuelo,--dijo ella. --Cubrirá mi vestido viejo. Nunca me he puesto un delantal tan bonito. Juana se puso el delantal para ir a la escuela. A Consuelo le gustaba verla usándolo. --No me parecía tan bonito cuando yo lo usaba,--se dijo. --Ahora puedo mirarlo tanto como quiera. Nunca se arrepintió de habérselo dado. wore--a'pron--Consue'lo. A poor girl went to school with Consuelo. Her dress was very old. Her mother could not buy her another dress. Consuelo had put on a new white apron. She put it on to go to school one day. Poor Jane looked at her. She wished she had an apron like that. When Consuelo got home, she went where mamma was. And she said to her, "Mamma, may I give Jane my apron? Her dress is very old and poor. She is such a good girl. Let me give her my apron." Her mamma said, "Yes, you may if you want to." Consuelo told Jane to come home with her. She gave her the white apron. Consuelo's mamma put it on Jane. Little Jane was very happy. "Thank you very much, Consuelo," said she. "It will cover up my old dress. I never had on such a pretty apron." Jane wore the apron to school. Consuelo liked to see her using it. "It did not look so pretty to me when I wore it," she said to herself. "Now I can look at it as much as I want to." She was never sorry she had given it to Jane. pulmones--aire montañas--cielo. --¡Qué fresca está el agua en el arroyo! Los peces parecen estar muy contentos. ¿Cómo podéis vivir ahí, pececitos? Yo no podría respirar en el agua. --Tú tienes pulmones, niña. Tú respiras con tus pulmones. Nosotros respiramos con nuestras agallas. Las agallas están en ambos lados de nuestra cabeza. Hay un poco de aire en el agua. Tomamos agua en nuestras bocas. El agua pasa por nuestras agallas. De esta manera respiramos. Cuando nos sacan del agua nos morimos. No podemos respirar aire sin agua. Lo siento mucho por ti, niña. Me gustaría que pudieses vivir en el agua. Hay muchas cosas hermosas que ver. --Me alegro de ser una niña. Yo sé que hay cosas hermosas en el agua. Me gusta mirar al fondo de los arroyos. Me gusta mirar las cimas de las montañas y el cielo. El mundo todo es muy maravilloso. lungs--pas'ses. Mouths. "How cool the water in the brook is! The fishes seem to be very happy. How can you live there, little fishes? I could not breathe in the water." "You have lungs, little girl. You breathe with your lungs. We breathe with our gills. The gills are on both sides of our heads. There is a little air in water. We take water into our mouths. The water passes over our gills. That is how we breathe. When they take us out of the water we die. We cannot breathe air without water. I am very sorry for you, little girl. I wish you could live in the water. There are many beautiful things to see." "I am glad I am a girl. I know there are beautiful things in the water. I like to look down into the brooks. I like to look at the mountain-tops and the sky. All the world is very wonderful." * * * * * potrero--plátanos--marinero--cotorra. Carlos vivía cerca de la ciudad de la Habana. Su padre tenía un potrero. Hermosos plátanos crecían alrededor de la casa. El padre de Carlos tenía muchos caballos, bueyes y puercos. Un día Carlos vió a un marinero viejo sentado debajo de una palma. El marinero tenía una cotorra. Carlos nunca había visto cotorras. La vió trepar sobre el marinero viejo. Una cotorra trepa con su pico al mismo tiempo que lo hace con sus patas. --¿Cómo está V.?--dijo la cotorra. A Carlos le sorprendió mucho oir hablar a un pájaro. --¿ Quién es V.?--dijo la cotorra. Carlos le dijo su nombre. Al marinero viejo esto le hizo reir. --¿Quiere V. venderme esa cotorra? --preguntó Carlos. --La venderé por ocho pesos,--dijo el marinero. Carlos corrió hacia su padre con la cotorra. --Aquí está un pájaro que habla, --dijo él. --Hágame el favor de comprármelo, papá. --Yo soy un pájaro hermoso,--dijo la cotorra,--déme azúcar. Al padre de Carlos le pareció el pájaro muy bien enseñado. Lo compró para su niño. La cotorra fué su gran favorita. stock--ba’na'na--sailor--par'ra’keet palm--talk--fa'vor’ite--sur’prised. Charles lived near the city of Havana. His father had a stock farm. Beautiful banana trees grew around the house. Charles's father had many horses, oxen, and hogs. One day Charles saw an old sailor sitting under a palm tree. The sailor had a parrakeet. Charles had never seen parrakeets. He saw it climb over the old sailor. A parrakeet climbs with its bill at the same time as with its feet. "How do you do?" said the parrakeet. Charles was much surprised to hear a bird talk. "Who are you?" said the parrakeet. Charles told it his name. This made the old sailor laugh. "Would you sell me that parrakeet?" asked Charles. "I will sell it for eight dollars," said the sailor. Charles ran to his father with the parrakeet. "Here is a bird that talks," said he. "Please buy it for me, papa." "I'm a pretty bird," said the parrakeet; "give me some sugar." Charles's father thought the bird was very well trained. He bought it for his boy. The parrakeet was his favorite pet. niebla--cerro--riachuelo. Una gota de agua es muy pequeña. ¿Qué bien puede hacer esa cosa pequeñita? La niebla en el aire forma una nube. Poco a poco las nubes se ponen muy espesas. Empieza a llover. La lluvia cae sobre el cerro. Forma un riachuelo. Los riachuelos corren y se juntan. Forman un bonito arroyo. Los arroyos se deslizan por los lados de los cerros. Riegan los campos y los bosques. Desembocan en los ríos. Los ríos desembocan en el mar. * * * * * Eres una niña pequeña o un niño pequeño. ¿Puedes hacer algún bien? Puedes estar alegre y ser bueno. Puedes obedecer a papá y a mamá. Puedes ser bueno con tu hermano y tu hermana. Esto ayudará a que el mundo sea mejor. cloud--hill'side--to’geth'er. A drop of water is very small. What good can that tiny little thing do? The mist in the air forms a cloud. Little by little the clouds get very thick. It begins to rain. The rain falls on the hill. It forms a brooklet. The brooklets run together. They form a pretty brook. The brooks glide down the hillsides. They water the fields and the woods. They flow into the rivers. The rivers flow into the sea. * * * * * You are a small girl or boy. Can you do any good? You can be happy and kind. You can mind papa and mamma. You can be kind to brother and sister. This will help make the world better. araña--matar--telaraña--hilando fijar--hilo---reforzar--rueda--red. --¿Ves esta araña fea?--dijo Emilia. --Hazme el favor de venir y matarla, mamá. --No, Emilia,--dijo mamá. --Vamos a observar a la araña. Creo que está haciendo su telaraña. Ahora está hilando. Mírala fijar el hilo a la ventana. Lo trae, y lo fija abajo. Vuelve otra vez para reforzarlo. Ahora está hilando de través. La telaraña empieza a parecer una rueda. Mírala llevar el hilo alrededor de los otros. Ahora está acabada su telaraña. Se situará en el centro de la telaraña. Algún insecto caerá en su red. Y quedará preso en ella. thread--fas'tens--streng'then--wheel. "Do you see that ugly spider?" said Emily. "Please come and kill it, mamma." "No, Emily," said mamma. "We'll watch the spider. I think she is making her web. Now she is spinning. See her fasten the thread to the window. She carries it and fastens it below. She goes back again to strengthen it. Now she is spinning across. The web begins to look like a wheel. See her carry the thread around the others. Now her web is done. She will settle in the center of the web. Some insect will fall into her net. And it will be caught in it." arrecifes--coral--Florida especie--isla. En el mar se encuentran cosas maravillosas. En los arrecifes yacen hermosas plantas marinas y conchas. Allí se encuentra el coral. El coral parece una planta con ramas, hojas y flores. En los arrecifes de la Florida se encuentran campos de coral. Se pueden ver en el agua. ¡Cómo nadan por allí los peces de colores! Parecen ser tan dichosos como los pájaros en los bosques. El coral es una especie de animal. Cientos de estos corales se pegan en el fondo del mar. Crecen y se ramifican como árboles pequeños. Los erizos, las estrellas de mar y otros animales se guarecen entre ellos. Poco a poco se amontonan los corales unos sobre otros y se forma una isla. Los pájaros y las olas traen semillas a la isla. Las semillas echan raíces y crecen. Muchos años después vienen gentes a vivir en algunas de estas islas. cor'al--reefs--hun'dred--is'land Flor'ida--an'imal--shel'ter--formed. Wonderful things are to be found in the sea. On the reefs lie beautiful seaweeds and shells. Coral is found there. Coral looks like a plant with branches, leaves, and flowers. Beds of coral are found on the Florida Reefs. They can be seen in the water. How the bright-colored fishes swim about there! They look as happy as the birds in the trees. The coral is a sort of animal. Hundreds of these corals stick themselves to the sea-bottom. They grow and branch like little trees. The sea urchins, the starfish, and other animals take shelter among them. Little by little the corals pile up and an island is formed. The birds and the waves carry seeds to the island. The seeds make roots and grow. Many years afterward people come to live on some of these islands. bandada--estanque--vecino. La anciana doña Matilde tenía una bandada de gansos. Quería a sus gansos y los cuidaba mucho. Un día los gansos se escaparon. ¡La pobre anciana! No supo qué hacer. Fué a la puerta y miró hacia el camino. No pudo ver ni un solo ganso. Temía que se hubiesen extraviado. Juanito y Catalina estaban jugando en el patio vecino. Doña Matilde les preguntó si habían visto a sus gansos. --Los he visto,--dijo Juanito,--iban para el estanque. --¡Dios mío! ¡Dios mío!--dijo doña Matilde. --¿Creéis que volverán? --Iremos a buscarlos,--dijo Catalina. Los niños se marcharon en dirección del estanque. Juanito vió los gansos apenas se acercó al estanque. flock--sin'gle--fond--star'ted Matil'da--pit'y--road. Old Miss Matilda had a flock of geese. She was fond of her geese and took great care of them. One day the geese got out. Poor old lady! She didn't know what to do. She went to the gate and looked toward the road. She could not see a single goose. She was afraid they were lost. Johnny and Kate were playing in the yard next door. Miss Matilda asked them if they had seen her geese. "I saw them," said Johnny, "they were going toward the pond." "Dear! dear!" said Miss Matilda. "Do you think they will come back?" "We'll go looking for them," said Kate. The children went off toward the pond. Johnny saw the geese almost as soon as he came near the pond. capullos--puntiagudas--tallos--cuece. Mira esta flor blanca. ¿Sabes qué flor es? Es la flor de la yuca. Nos gusta verla brillar en el sol. Les gusta a las abejas y a las polillas. Ellas cogen comida de sus capullos. La planta de la yuca tiene hojas largas y puntiagudas. Es una planta muy útil. Catalina tiene una soga para su cabra. La soga está hecha de las hojas y de los tallos de la yuca. Su madre halla útiles las raíces. Las arranca y las seca. Después las usa para jabón. Lava el cabello de Catalina con ellas. Catalina tiene un hermoso cabello negro. La yuca lo pone suave y lustroso. El fruto de la yuca es bueno para comer. La madre de Catalina cuece el fruto. --¡Qué hermosa es la yuca!--dicen los niños. --¡Qué útil es!--dice su madre. --Nos alegra a todos ver la planta de la yuca. yucca--pointed--dries--soap--glossy. See this white flower! Do you know what it is? It is the flower of the yucca. We like to see it shining in the sun. The bees and the moths like it. They gather food from its blossoms. The yucca plant has long and pointed leaves. It is a very useful plant. Katherine has a rope for her goat. The rope is made from the leaves and the stems of the yucca. Her mother finds the roots useful. She digs them up and dries them. Then she uses them for soap. She washes Katherine's hair with them. Katherine has beautiful black hair. The yucca makes it soft and glossy. The fruit of the yucca is good to eat. Katherine's mother cooks the fruit. "How beautiful the yucca is!" the children say. "How useful it is!" says their mother. "We are all glad to see the yucca plant." regar--alfalfa--azadón--pala--alfalfa anduvieron--brotes--acequia. --Pablo,--dijo papá,--¿vienes? Tenemos que regar la alfalfa hoy. --¡Bueno!--dijo Pablo,--yo quiero ayudar. --Tú puedes traer tu azadón,--dijo papá. --Yo llevaré mi pala grande. Pablo y papá anduvieron por el alfalfar. --Los brotes están dulces,--dijo Pablo. --Sí,--dijo papá,--las abejas lo saben. Mira a ésta cogiendo miel. Cuando papá llegó a la acequia estaba llena de agua clara de las montañas. --Abre la puerta, Pablo,--dijo papá. Pablo abrió la puerta de prisa. El agua entró corriendo dentro del campo de alfalfa. Pablo y papá trabajaron todo el día. Por la noche estaban muy cansados, pero el campo estaba regado. --¡Qué fresca y verde se ve la alfalfa!--dijo Pablo. --Me alegro que le dimos agua. --Sí, dice papá,--se moriría sin agua. --A mí me gusta el agua, también,--dijo Pablo. irrigate--alfalfa--hoe--shovel ditch--clear. "Paul," said papa, "are you coming? We must irrigate the alfalfa to-day." "Good!" said Paul. "I want to help." "You may take your hoe," said papa. "I will take the big shovel." Paul and papa walked through the alfalfa. "The blossoms are sweet," said Paul. "Yes," said papa, "the bees know it. See this one gathering honey." When papa came to the ditch it was full of clear water from the mountains. "Open the gate, Paul," said papa. Paul opened the gate quickly. The water ran into the alfalfa field. Paul and papa worked all day. At night they were very tired, but the field was irrigated. "How fresh and green the alfalfa looks!" said Paul. "I am glad we gave it some water." "Yes," said papa. "It would die without the water." "I like the water, too!" said Paul. ciudad--rancho--redil--afilada peluda--coyote--alejó--aullido. María vive en una ciudad grande. Ella tiene una amiga que se llama Luisa. Luisa vive en un rancho en el campo. En el rancho hay muchas ovejas. Un día María fué a visitar a Luisa. La niñita de la ciudad no había estado en el campo nunca. Le gustaba ver jugar a los corderos. Una tarde las niñas fueron a pasear. Estaban paseando cerca del redil de las ovejas. --Mira a ese perro extraño,--dijo María. --Mira qué nariz tan afilada tiene. Sus orejas son puntiagudas también. Mira qué peluda es su cola. Luisa miró al perro extraño y se rió. --Ése no es un perro,--dijo ella. --Ése es un coyote. Llamaré a Turco para que le eche fuera. Turco corrió ladrando tras el coyote. El coyote se alejó muy de prisa. Por la noche María oyó un aullido extraño. --¿Qué es eso?--le preguntó a Luisa. --Ése es el coyote,--dijo Luisa. --Él aulla porque quiere su cena. ranch--evening--sharp--bushy coyote--drive--supper. Mary lives in a large city. She has a friend named Louise. Louise lives on a ranch in the country. On the ranch are many sheep. One day Mary went to visit Louise. The little city girl had never been in the country before. She liked to see the lambs play. One evening the girls went to walk. They were walking near the sheep pen. "Look at that strange dog!" said Mary. "See what a sharp nose he has! His ears are pointed, too. See how bushy his tail is!" Louise looked at the strange dog and laughed. "That is not a dog," she said. "That is a coyote. I'll call Turk to drive him away." Turk ran after the coyote and barked. The coyote ran off very fast. In the night Mary heard a strange cry. "What is that?" she asked Louise. "It is the coyote," said Louise. "He is crying for his supper." valle--cuidar--montañas--arroyo. Juan vive en un rancho. Su casa está en el verde valle. El padre de Juan tiene muchas cabras en su rancho. Juan ayuda a su padre a cuidar las cabras. En el verano Juan lleva las cabras a las montañas. A Juan le gustan las montañas. Él tiene allí una rústica cabaña. Está entre los árboles cerca de un arroyo. Todos los días las cabras trepan por la ladera de la montaña. Ellas comen zacate y matojos. Juan va con ellas a la montaña. Por la noche las guía abajo de nuevo. Las guía al redil. Allí ellas están seguras del peligro. La cabra da rica y dulce leche. Juan bebe leche para la cena. Él hace queso de la leche, también. Una noche un león saltó dentro del redil donde estaban las cabras. Él intentó coger una cabra. Juan estaba dormido en su cabaña. Al oír el ruido, él corrió fuera con su escopeta. El león tuvo miedo y se alejó. valley--nibble--afraid. John lives on a ranch. His home is in a green valley. John's father has many goats on his ranch. John helps his father care for the goats. In the summer John takes the goats to the mountains. John loves the mountains. He has a log house there. It is among the trees near a stream. Every day the goats climb up the side of the mountain. They nibble the grass and the bushes. John goes with them up the mountain. At night he drives them down again. He drives them into a pen. There they are safe from harm. The goats give rich and sweet milk. John drinks the milk for his supper. He makes cheese from the milk, too. One night a mountain lion jumped into the pen where the goats were. He tried to catch a goat. John was asleep in his log house. When he heard the noise, he ran out with his gun. The lion was afraid and ran away. 
15353	----	[Illustration: El Alcázar de Segovia] A FIRST SPANISH READER _WITH QUESTIONS AND VOCABULARY_ BY ERWIN W. ROESSLER, PH.D. =CHAIRMAN OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE DEPARTMENT HIGH SCHOOL OF COMMERCE, NEW YORK, N.Y.= AND ALFRED REMY, A.M. HIGH SCHOOL OF COMMERCE, NEW YORK, N.Y. _Pen Drawings by CLARENCE ROWS_ AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO This Reader is the outgrowth of a desire for a textbook that combines simplicity with variety. To make it available for use almost at the very beginning of the Spanish course only the present tense has been employed in the first twenty-three selections and difficult constructions have been consistently avoided. With one or two exceptions, many changes have been made in the selections taken from Spanish authors in order to adapt them to the needs of the beginner. The greater part of the reading material, however, is either original or adapted from other languages. The questions are intended to aid the pupil in the preparation of his lessons. Teachers may alter or amplify these questions as they see fit. Suggestions as to the method of treating the text may seem impertinent to some. The authors however merely wish to suggest a method which they have successfully employed: I. Regular preparation of the advance lesson should be made as follows: _a_. Reading of the text by the teacher, a sentence at a time. Each sentence to be translated by a pupil after the new words have been explained by the teacher, in Spanish if possible. _b_. A second reading by the teacher, followed by chorus reading of the class. II. At home the pupil should read the text aloud several times and copy the text once or twice, then study it carefully. III. In the recitation, translation should be reduced to a minimum, thus allowing a maximum of time for conversation based upon the text. There should also be considerable blackboard work consisting of the questions and answers that were given orally. Repetition of answers by the entire class as well as chorus reading are also profitable. After the reading selection has been thoroughly mastered, oral and written résumés should be given by the pupils. The authors wish to thank the firm of A. P. Schmidt of Boston for permission to reprint the songs _Bolero_ and _Me gustan Todas_. They are especially indebted to Dr. Manuel Barranco for many valuable suggestions and for assistance in proof reading. ERWIN W. ROESSLEE ALFRED REMY CONTENTS 1. La Escuela 2. El Discípulo 3. La Sala de Clase. (I) 4. La Sala de Clase. (II) 5. El Discípulo en la Escuela 6. Una Lección de Español 7. Una Lección de Geografía 8. La Familia 9. Las Monedas de los Estados Unidos 10. Las Monedas de España 11. El Año y los Meses 12. Los Días de la Semana 13. La Casa 14. Proverbios. (I) 15. El Invierno 16. La Primavera 17. El Verano 18. El Otoño 19. El Cuerpo Humano 26. Méjico 21. Frases de Cortesía 22. Los Recreos 23. Una Visita 24. El Teatro 25. Los Órganos del Cuerpo Humano 26. El Brasil 27. Los Pobres Sastres 28. Tres Palabras 29. Anuncio del Estreno de una Ópera 30. Un Portero Exacto 31. Una Pierna 32. ¿Qué dice David? 33. El Canal de Suez 34. Dura Suerte 35. El Muchacho Inteligente 36. El Criado Erudito 37. Concepto Falso 38. Chile 39. Los Cuatro Hermanos 40. Adivinanzas. (I) 41. Argentina 42. El Barbero de la Coruña 43. El Perro del Ventrílocuo 44. El Canal de Panamá 45. Proverbios. (II) 46. El Competidor 47. El Estudiante de Salamanca 48. Adivinanzas. (II) 49. Cuba 50. El Tonto 51. El Peral 52. El Estudiante Juicioso 53. Proverbios. (III) 54. El Espejo de Matsuyama 55. Los Zapatos de Tamburí 56. La Portería del Cielo POESÍAS 57. Refranes en Verso 58. El Papagayo, el Tordo y la Marica (_Iriarte_) 59. La Abeja y los Zánganos (_Iriarte_) 60. Los Huevos (_Iriarte_) 61. La Rana y la Gallina (_Iriarte_) 62. El Asno y su Amo (_Iriarte_) 63. La Víbora y la Sanguijuela (_Iriarte_) CANCIONES 64. Me gustan Todas (_Spanish Folksong_) 65. Bolero (_Spanish Folksong_) 66. Himno Nacional de España. _Manuel Fenollosa_ 67. Himno Nacional de Méjico. _Jaime Nuñó_ 68. Himno Nacional de Guatemala. _Rafael Alvarez_ PREGUNTAS VOCABULARIO 1. LA ESCUELA Voy a la escuela. Voy a la escuela el lunes, el martes, el miércoles, el jueves y el viernes. El sábado y el domingo no voy a la escuela. El sábado y el domingo estoy en casa. Soy un discípulo y estoy en la escuela. El discípulo aprende. Aprendo la aritmética, a leer y a escribir. Vd. aprende el español. Todos nosotros aprendemos diligentemente. Algunos discípulos no son diligentes. Algunos son perezosos. El maestro elogia a los discípulos diligentes y a los discípulos obedientes. Él no elogia a los alumnos perezosos. El maestro enseña. Mi maestro enseña el español. Este maestro enseña las matemáticas y aquel maestro el inglés. El señor Blanco enseña la biología y la química. La señorita Herrera enseña la geografía y la historia. ¿Qué aprende Vd. en la escuela? Aprendo el español, el francés, el álgebra, la biología y la estenografía. 2. EL DISCÍPULO En nuestra escuela hay muchos discípulos. Carlos, Enrique y Pablo son discípulos. Ana, María y Elvira son discípulas. Juan es diligente. Carlos no es muy diligente. Algunas veces está muy perezoso. Elvira es más diligente que Juan. ¿Quién es más diligente, el discípulo o la discípula? Juan está atento y es obediente. Carlos está desatento y es desobediente. No escucha atentamente. Cuando el maestro habla y explica Carlos no escucha. Él no aprende nada. En muchas escuelas hay discípulos y discípulas. En algunas escuelas hay sólo discípulos y en otras escuelas hay sólo discípulas. 3. LA SALA DE CLASE (I) La escuela es grande y bonita y tiene muchas salas de clase. La sala de clase es grande y clara y tiene cuatro paredes. Las paredes son blancas o amarillas o verdes. El techo está arriba de nosotros. El techo es siempre blanco. El suelo está debajo de nosotros. El suelo es de madera. La pizarra está en la pared delante de la clase. La pizarra es negra y debajo de ella están la tiza y los cepillos. La tiza es generalmente blanca pero algunas veces es verde, o azul o roja. Limpiamos la pizarra con el cepillo. En las paredes hay bonitos cuadros. Los cuadros representan vistas de España. En nuestra sala de clase hay también un cuadro del rey Alfonso, uno de Calderón y uno de Cervantes. En la pared detrás del maestro hay un mapa de España y de Portugal. 4. LA SALA DE CLASE (II) Entramos en la sala de clase por la puerta. La puerta es grande y ancha. Nuestra sala de clase tiene dos puertas y tres ventanas. Las ventanas son de vidrio y por ellas entran en la sala de clase la luz y el aire. En la sala de clase hay muchos bancos para los discípulos. Hay también una mesa para el maestro. La mesa del maestro está delante de la clase y en ella hay muchos libros, lápices y plumas. Las mesas de los discípulos no son tan grandes como la mesa del maestro. En la mesa del discípulo hay también libros y lápices y plumas. Algunos discípulos tienen plumas fuentes. En mi mesa hay un cuaderno y una gramática. En su mesa de Vd. hay una pluma y papel. En la mesa de él hay un tintero y muchos libros. En el tintero está la tinta que es negra, azul o roja. 5. EL DISCÍPULO EN LA ESCUELA El discípulo entra en la sala de clase. Él va a su banco y se sienta. Suena la campanilla y principia la lección de español. El maestro pregunta. El discípulo se levanta y responde. Él se sienta, abre su libro y lee una frase, dos frases. Él cierra su libro y repite las frases. Él habla alto y distintamente. Algunas veces habla bajo e indistintamente. Otras veces habla muy lentamente porque no ha estudiado su lección con diligencia. Hace calor en la sala de clase y un discípulo abre la ventana. Él abre también la puerta. Ahora hace demasiado frío y otro discípulo cierra la ventana y la puerta. Él escribe con la pluma o con el lápiz lo que dicta el maestro. Él va a la pizarra y escribe con la tiza en la pizarra. Después la limpia y va a su banco, se sienta y copia lo que está escrito en la pizarra. Él escucha siempre con atención y no copia lo que su vecino ha escrito. Él no sopla en la clase. En casa estudia sus lecciones y en la escuela escucha atentamente. Es muy bueno y diligente. 6. UNA LECCIÓN DE ESPAÑOL _El maestro_:--¿Qué lección tenemos para hoy? _El discípulo:_--Tenemos la quinta lección para hoy. Debemos también aprender de memoria los nombres de los meses y de los días. _El maestro_:--¿Dónde empezamos hoy, Federico? _Federico_:--Empezamos en la página 20, renglón 6. Debemos traducir dos páginas. _El maestro_:--¿Han escrito todos Vds. la traducción? _Pablo_:--No he escrito la traducción. _El maestro_:--¿Por qué no, Pablo? _Pablo_:--- Porque estoy malo y tengo todavía dolor de cabeza. _El maestro_:--Escriba Vd. la traducción antes de salir de la escuela. Fernando, empiece Vd. a leer. Lea Vd. distinta y lentamente. _Fernando_:--El año tiene doce meses. Los meses se llaman: enero, etcétera. _El maestro_:--Muy bien. Lean Vds. todos lo que ha leído Fernando. Rodolfo, repita Vd. lo que ha leído la clase. _Rodolfo_:--El año tiene doce meses, etc. _El maestro_:--León, vaya Vd. a la pizarra y escriba Vd. esta frase. León se levanta, va a la pizarra, la limpia y escribe la frase en ella y después va a su banco. _Ricardo_:--Hay un error. Él tiene una falta de ortografía en la palabra año. _El maestro_:--- Correcto. Deletree Vd. la palabra. La clase, ¿cuáles son los días de la semana? _La clase_:--Los días de la semana son: domingo, lunes, martes, miércoles, jueves, viernes y sábado. _El maestro_:--Muy bien. La lección para mañana es: Traducir las páginas 22 y 23. Aprendan Vds. de memoria la descripción del conde. Ahora debemos terminar, la campanilla ha sonado. Hasta mañana, niños. 7. UNA LECCIÓN DE GEOGRAFÍA La tierra tiene cinco partes o continentes. Ella se divide en cinco partes. Cada parte forma un continente. Las cinco partes son: América, Europa, Asia, África y Oceanía. La América se divide en tres partes, que son: la América del Norte, la América Central y la América del Sur. Los Estados Unidos están en la América del Norte. La población de los Estados Unidos es de cerca de ciento y diez millones. La capital de los Estados Unidos es Wáshington. En la ciudad de Wáshington hay muchos edificios hermosos. En esa ciudad hay también muchos monumentos conmemorativos. El presidente de los Estados Unidos vive en esa ciudad. Este país es una república. El presidente es elegido por los ciudadanos de la nación y es elegido por cuatro años. 8. LA FAMILIA Nuestra familia es grande. Tengo tres hermanos y dos hermanas. Me llamo Carlos. Tengo doce años. Mis tres hermanos se llaman Federico, Antonio y Felipe. Federico tiene quince años, Antonio tiene diez y Felipe tiene seis. Federico es más grande que Antonio y Felipe. Federico es mayor que yo. Soy menor que Federico. Antonio y Felipe son menores que yo. Nosotros cuatro muchachos somos hijos del señor y de la señora Herrera. Nuestro padre se llama Antonio Herrera y nuestra madre se llama Juana Herrera. No sólo tengo hermanos, tengo también dos hermanas. Mis hermanas se llaman Ana y María. Ana tiene veinte años y María tiene ocho años. Los hijos y las hijas de una familia se llaman hermanos. Hermanos significa por consiguiente todos los hijos y todas las hijas de la misma familia. De la misma manera la palabra "padres" significa el padre y la madre. El padre, la madre, los hijos y las hijas forman una familia. Mi padre y mi madre tienen seis niños o hijos. El hermano de mi padre es mi tío y el hermano de mi madre es también mi tío. La hermana de mi padre es mi tía. Mi madre tiene también dos hermanas que son también mis tías. Mis tíos y mis tías me traen siempre hermosos regalos. Algunas veces me traen un libro o un juguete, y otras veces me traen alguna cosa de comer, como una torta o una naranja o chocolates. El padre de mi padre es mi abuelo. La madre de mi padre es mi abuela. Ellos viven todavía. Ellos son mis abuelos paternos. Mis abuelos maternos no viven, han muerto. Mi abuelo paterno es siempre feliz y alegre. Mi abuela paterna está triste porque está enferma. Mi abuelo paterno me cuenta muchos cuentos interesantes. El hijo de mi tío o de mi tía es mi primo. La hija de mi tío o de mi tía es mi prima. Soy el sobrino de mi tío y de mi tía. Mi hermana Ana es la sobrina de mi tío y de mi tía. Soy el nieto de mis abuelos. Mi hermana María es la nieta de mis abuelos. 9. LAS MONEDAS DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS Las monedas americanas son de oro, de plata, de níquel y de cobre. El oro es un metal. El oro es un metal de mucho valor. La plata es también un metal. La plata no es del mismo valor que el oro, pero es de mucho valor. El níquel y el cobre son metales muy útiles. ¿De qué color son estos metales? El níquel es plomizo, la plata es blanca, el cobre es cobrizo y el oro es amarillo. La moneda americana de cobre es el centavo. La moneda americana de níquel es la pieza de cinco centavos. Las monedas de plata son las piezas de diez centavos, de veinticinco centavos, de cincuenta centavos o el medio dólar, y el dólar. Las piezas de oro son: la moneda de cinco dólares, la de diez dólares y la de veinte dólares. Hay también billetes de banco. Los billetes de banco son de papel. Los billetes americanos son de uno, de dos, de cinco, de diez, de veinte, de cincuenta, de cien, de quinientos y de mil dólares. 10. LAS MONEDAS DE ESPAÑA En España la moneda común es la peseta. La peseta vale diez y nueve centavos, dinero americano. Tiene el mismo valor que un franco. El franco es una moneda francesa. Las monedas de oro son de cinco, de diez, de veinte, de cuarenta, de ochenta y de cien pesetas. Las monedas de plata son de cinco, de dos, de una y de media peseta. Las de bronce son de diez, de cinco, de dos y de un céntimo. El céntimo es la centésima parte de una peseta. No hay monedas de níquel en España. Los billetes de banco son de mil, quinientos, cien, cincuenta y veinticinco pesetas. El duro es de plata y vale cinco pesetas. 11. EL AÑO Y LOS MESES El año tiene trescientos sesenta y cinco días o trescientos sesenta y seis días. Un año común tiene trescientos sesenta y cinco días, pero un año bisiesto tiene un día más. El año bisiesto viene cada cuarto año. Viene una vez en cuatro años. El año tiene doce meses. Los doce meses del año son: Enero, febrero, marzo, abril, mayo, junio, julio, agosto, septiembre, octubre, noviembre y diciembre. Los meses no tienen el mismo número de días. Algunos meses tienen treinta días y son: Abril, junio, septiembre y noviembre. Otros meses tienen treinta y un días. Estos meses son: Enero, marzo, mayo, julio, agosto, octubre y diciembre. ¿Qué mes tiene menos días? El mes de febrero no tiene más que veintiocho días, pero en los años bisiestos tiene veintinueve. 12. LOS DÍAS DE LA SEMANA El año tiene cincuenta y dos semanas. Un mes tiene cuatro semanas y dos o tres días más. La semana tiene siete días. Los siete días se llaman: Domingo, lunes, martes, miércoles, jueves, viernes y sábado. El domingo es el primer día. Es el día de reposo. El domingo la gente no trabaja porque es el día de reposo. Los otros seis días son días de trabajo. La gente trabaja los otros días. Algunos discípulos no están satisfechos con un día de reposo. Ellos reposan también en la escuela. En los Estados Unidos los discípulos van a la escuela los lunes, los martes, los miércoles, los jueves y los viernes. En España los discípulos van a la escuela todos los días de trabajo; pero los miércoles y los sábados ellos van solamente por la mañana. 13. LA CASA La casa en que vivo está en la calle de Wáshington. El número de la casa es doscientos cuarenta; nuestro cuarto está en el tercer piso. El tercer piso en España no es la misma cosa que en los Estados Unidos. En España el primer piso está arriba. Tengo que subir un tramo de la escalera para llegar al primer piso, dos tramos de la escalera para llegar al segundo piso y tres tramos para llegar al tercer piso. En el piso bajo hay una tienda y una panadería. Debajo del piso bajo está el sótano. Allí vive nuestro portero. En España el portero vive en el piso bajo, no en el sótano. Ninguna persona puede pasar por allí sino los que viven en la casa o que visitan a alguien. En nuestra casa hay un ascensor. Vamos arriba y abajo en el ascensor. Esto es mucho más fácil que subir o bajar a pie. La casa es de piedra. No todas las casas son de piedra. Muchas casas en nuestro país son de madera. El tejado de nuestra casa es plano. No son planos todos los tejados. Los tejados de las iglesias son generalmente en declive. En el verano subimos al tejado por la noche, porque allí hace más fresco que en la casa. En frente de la casa está un pequeño parque. Allí jugamos a la pelota en la primavera y en el verano. Jugamos también al tenis y en el otoño jugamos al foot-ball. 14. PROVERBIOS (I) 1. No hay rosa sin espinas. 2. No es oro todo lo que reluce. 3. Más vale pájaro en mano que cien volando. 4. Más vale tarde que nunca. 5. La caridad empieza por nosotros mismos. 6. Todas las aves con sus pares. 7. Tal padre, tal hijo. 8. El hombre propone y Dios dispone. 9. Sobre gusto no hay nada escrito. 15. EL INVIERNO El invierno es la estación fría. En el invierno los días son muy cortos y las noches son muy largas. Cuando hace mucho frío el agua se hiela y cae nieve. En la zona tórrida no hay hielo ni nieve, y hace siempre calor. En las zonas templadas no hay hielo ni nieve sino en el invierno. En las zonas glaciales hay hielo y nieve durante todas las estaciones. Los muchachos están alegres cuando hiela y cae la nieve. Entonces patinan en los ríos y en los lagos helados. Hacen pelotas de nieve y se las arrojan unos a otros y juegan a la guerra. Hacen también imágenes de nieve. Cuando ha caído la nieve los muchachos traen sus trineos sobre la nieve. Cuando deshiela y la nieve desaparece, los niños están muy tristes porque no pueden patinar ni jugar más con pelotas de nieve. Pero los pobres están muy alegres, porque durante el invierno hace demasiado frío para ellos. En la primavera ellos no tienen frío. El invierno dura desde el veintiuno de diciembre hasta el veintiuno de marzo. 16. LA PRIMAVERA La primavera principia el veintiuno de marzo y dura hasta el veintiuno de junio. La primavera es muy agradable y hermosa. Las flores crecen. Los árboles y los campos se cubren de verdura y los pájaros cantan en ellos. Todos los hombres, las mujeres y los niños están alegres. Algunas veces hace frío en abril y aún en mayo. Algunas veces, pero no frecuentemente, hay nieve y hielo en abril, y entonces muchas flores y plantas se mueren. 17. EL VERANO Hemos hablado del invierno y de la primavera. Hay otras dos estaciones que se llaman el verano y el otoño. El verano dura del 21 de junio hasta al 21 de septiembre. En el verano hace mucho calor. Por todas partes se encuentran flores hermosas. Los granos abundan en los campos y los árboles están llenos de fruta. Al principio del verano los días son más largos y las noches más cortas. Después los días se hacen pequeños y las noches largas. 18. EL OTOÑO En el otoño se recogen las frutas como las manzanas, las peras, los melocotones y las ciruelas. Los labriegos cosechan el trigo, el maíz, la avena y las patatas. En el otoño se hace el vino de las uvas. Después de la cosecha los árboles pierden sus hojas. Primero las hojas se ponen castañas, amarillas, rojas o purpúreas y después caen al suelo. Las flores y la vegetación duermen durante el invierno. 19. EL CUERPO HUMANO El cuerpo humano se compone de tres partes principales que son la cabeza, el tronco y las extremidades. La cabeza es la parte más importante. La cabeza tiene dos partes, la cara y el cráneo. La cara es la parte anterior de la cabeza. En la cara tenemos la frente, la nariz, la boca, la barba, los ojos, las orejas y las mejillas. La frente es ancha o angosta. La nariz es recta o curva. La boca es grande o pequeña. Los labios son gruesos o delgados. Los ojos son negros, azules, pardos o grises. Con los ojos vemos todas las gentes y los objetos. Con los oídos oímos la voz humana y todos los sonidos. La oreja es la parte externa del órgano del oído. ¿Ha visto Vd. las orejas de un burro? Tengo mejillas rojas porque estoy bueno. Los que están malos de salud tienen las mejillas pálidas. Entre la cabeza y el tronco está el cuello. El corazón, los pulmones y el estómago están en el tronco. Los brazos y las piernas se llaman las extremidades. Los brazos son las extremidades superiores y las piernas son las extremidades inferiores. El codo está a la mitad del brazo. La mano tiene cinco dedos. El dedo más grueso se llama pulgar. Cada pie tiene también cinco dedos. La rodilla está a la mitad de la pierna. Con las manos trabajamos. Comemos también con las manos. ¿Qué otra cosa hacemos con las manos? Las piernas y los pies sirven para andar. Ellos sostienen al cuerpo. ¿Dónde está la lengua? ¿Dónde están los dientes? ¿Cuántos dientes tenemos? ¿Para qué sirven los dientes? Para morder y masticar. ¿Para qué sirve la lengua? ¿Qué tenemos en la cabeza? ¿Con qué está cubierta la cabeza? Con los cabellos. 20. MÉJICO Méjico ocupa casi toda la parte de la América del Norte que está al sur de los Estados Unidos y entre el golfo de Méjico y el océano Pacífico. El clima es cálido, húmedo y malsano a lo largo de la costa, pero fresco y más seco en la parte alta del país. Hay dos estaciones, la lluviosa y la seca. La mayor parte de las lluvias caen entre los meses de mayo y octubre. Las tierras no muy altas se llaman tierras calientes; las tierras más altas se conocen con el nombre de tierras templadas. En las tierras calientes, donde el clima es cálido y húmedo, la vegetación es tropical. Allí hay árboles que producen maderas preciosas y duras, tales como la caoba, palo de rosa y ébano. Hay también otros árboles, tales como la palma de coco, el cacao y la quina. Los cafetos abundan en estado silvestre. En esa zona caliente se cosecha maíz, añil, algodón, café, tabaco, caña de azúcar, cacao, plátanos, piñas y fríjoles. Esta región es muy productora de maíz, obteniéndose de dos a cuatro cosechas en un solo año. Colima se distingue por su café superior, Veracruz y Tabasco por la excelente calidad de su tabaco, Oaxaca y Chiapas por su buen café. Una quinta parte de la población es blanca, descendiendo principalmente de españoles. La mitad de los habitantes son mestizos, descendientes de españoles e indios. La mayor parte son indios o sus descendientes. La población blanca posee la mayor parte del territorio, y la clase obrera es casi toda mestiza. La población entera es de más de 16,000,000. La ocupación principal es la agricultura. En la región meridional, donde el clima cálido hace la gente perezosa, y donde no hay caminos buenos, muchos de sus habitantes se contentan con obtener suficiente maíz, fríjoles y arroz para satisfacer sus necesidades, y no trabajan ni desean más. En la región de la meseta los habitantes se dedican a la explotación de la agricultura en grandes fincas o haciendas. Gran parte de la tierra está cubierta de hierba, donde se cría gran cantidad de ganado vacuno, caballos, ovejas y cerdos. [Illustration: La Catedral y la Plaza] En el norte hay extensos ranchos donde se crían caballos y ovejas y ganado vacuno. Hay en Méjico más de 20,000 ranchos dedicados a la cría de ganado vacuno. Al presente las minas ricas de Méjico no están desarrolladas completamente. Entre los productos minerales son la plata, el oro, el plomo, el hierro, el cobre, el mercurio, el estaño, el azufre, el petróleo y el carbón. [Illustration: en la Ciudad de Méjico] Entre las más antiguas manufacturas del país se encuentran molinos de trigo y aserraderos de valiosas maderas. Es una importante industria la fabricación y destilación de bebidas. El pulque es la bebida nacional de Méjico, y se obtiene del jugo del maguey. Hay también fábricas de papel y de objetos de barro. Hay numerosas fundiciones de hierro y fábricas donde se trabaja lana y el algodón. Dos terceras partes del valor de las exportaciones provienen de los metales preciosos; la exportación de cueros y ganado sigue en importancia. La exportación de café aumenta constantemente. Los productos manufactúrados se reciben principalmente de los Estados Unidos, Alemania, Inglaterra y Francia. La Ciudad de Méjico es la capital y mayor ciudad de la república; está situada en el Distrito Federal que tiene 220 kilómetros cuadrados. Es una ciudad magnífica. Sus cúpulas y campanarios se elevan majestuosamente. El palacio nacional, fabricado en 1693, domina una plaza hermosa cubierta de árboles y flores. En este edificio se encuentran la residencia del Presidente y las oficinas del gobierno. La catedral, fundada en 1573, es una de las más famosas iglesias del mundo. Hay también la Universidad, fundada en 1553, la Biblioteca Nacional, museos, teatros. Uno de los edificios más bellos es el de la ópera. Se encuentra en la ciudad todo lo que pertenece a un gran centro comercial. 21. FRASES DE CORTESÍA _El señor Blanco:_--Buenos días, señor Valdés. ¿Cómo está Vd.? _El señor Valdés:_--Muy bien, señor Blanco, gracias, ¿y Vd.? _El señor B.:_--Sin novedad, muy bien, gracias. ¿Y la familia de Vd.? ¿Juan está todavía enfermo? _El señor V.:_--Estamos todos bien. Juan está de nuevo en la escuela. _El señor B.:_--Recuerdos en casa. ¡Adiós! _El señor V.:_--Gracias, hasta mañana. 22. LOS RECREOS Ninguno trabaja todo el tiempo. Después del trabajo la gente se recrea con diferentes diversiones. Algunos van a paseo por los parques y por los jardines cuando hace buen tiempo. Otros se pasean a lo largo del río o del lago. La gente rica va en coche o automóvil. Algunos montan a caballo o en bicicleta. Durante el verano los ricos van al campo o al balneario. Otros van a la playa para refrescarse algunas semanas o meses. En el campo la gente juega al tenis y al golfo. Otros reman, navegan, pescan y nadan. El aire en el campo y en la playa es muy fresco y puro y vigoriza a la gente cansada y fatigada. Algunos ricos hacen un viaje todos los veranos y todas las primaveras a Italia, España, Francia, Alemania, Inglaterra o la Suiza. 23. UNA VISITA Quiero hacer una visita al señor Valera. Voy a la casa del señor Valera a las dos. Toco la campanilla o llamo a la puerta. Ana, la criada, abre la puerta. Yo pregunto:--¿Está el señor Valera en casa? Ana contesta:--Sí, señor, él está en casa. Digo:--Hágame Vd. el favor de decirle que quiero hablarle. Si él está ocupado en este instante, dígale Vd. que no le incomodaré sino unos tres minutos. Un momento después la criada viene y dice:--Hágame Vd. el favor de esperar un momento. El señor viene al instante. El señor Valera viene y dice:--Dispénseme Vd., pero estoy muy ocupado. ¿Qué desea Vd? Digo:--Vengo a pedir a Vd. un favor. Tengo necesidad de una carta de recomendación. Él dice:--Con mucho gusto se la daré a Vd. Contesto:--Mil gracias. Buenas tardes. 24. EL TEATRO En las ciudades hay muchos teatros. Los teatros principales de Madrid y sus producciones están incluidos en la lista siguiente: FUNCIONES PARA HOY REAL.--A las 8 y media (función 48 de abono, 30 del turno segundo): _Paolo e Francesco_, (estreno). APOLO.--A las 6 (doble): _El entierro de la sardina_, troupe imperial rusa _Olaf_ y _Alicia_.--A las 10 y media (sencilla): _El entierro de la sardina_ y troupe imperial rusa _Olaf_.--A las 11 y tres cuartos (sencilla): _Alicia_. PRINCESA.--A las 6 (función especial, a precios especiales): _El hombre que asesinó_.--A las 10 (función especial, a precios especiales): _El hombre que asesinó_. ESPAÑOL.--A las 5: _El alcalde de Zalamea_ y _El señor López._--A las 10 (función popular): _Malvaloca_. COMEDIA.--A las 5: _Los vecinos_ y _El tren rápido._--A las 10 (función popular): _Los vecinos_ y _El tren rápido_. LARA.--A las 6 (doble especial): _El amo_ (tres actos) y _Pastora Imperio_.--A las 10 y media (doble especial): _Por las nubes_ (dos actos) (reprise) y _Pastora Imperio_. ZARZUELA.--Cinematógrafo.--A las 4 y media: _Salambó_.--A las 6 y media: _Salambó_.--A las 10 y media: _Salambó_. El mayor éxito de Madrid. PRICE.--A las 5 y media de la tarde: _La corte del Rey Octavio_. (Éxito grandioso.)--A las 10 de la noche: _Sherlock Holmes contra John Raffles_ (cuatro actos). ESLAVA.--A las 4: _La suerte de Salustiano o del Rastro a Recoletos_.--A las 6: _León Zamora y Salamanca_.--A las 10 y media: _León Zamora y Salamanca_. CÓMICO.--A las 6 (doble): _La sobrina del cura_ (dos actos).--A las 9 y media (sencilla): _¡Arriba, caballo moro!_ e _Ideal Ricuelo_.--Alas 11 (doble): _La sobrina del cura_ (dos actos). CERVANTES.--A las 6 y media (sección vermouth): _Los ídolos_ (dos actos).--A las 10 y media (doble): _Fúcar XXI_ (dos actos). GRAN TEATRO.--Palacio del cinematógrafo. Grandes secciones. A las 4 y media (sencilla), éxito formidable y extraordinario, _El caballo "Fantasma"_ (estupendas aventuras policíacas) y otras.--A las 6 y cuarto (doble): _Noche lúgubre_, interpretada por la bellísima actriz Henny Porten (exclusiva); _El caballo "Fantasma"_ (proyectada ante SS. MM. y AA.), también exclusivas, y otras.--Palcos, 4 pesetas; butaca, 0,50; general, 0,20. El jueves, interesantísimo estreno: _El secreto del águila negra._ INFANTA ISABEL.--_La bailarina velada, Por su paz_. ROYALTY.--(Génova, 6)--Secciones sencillas a las 4 y 6 de la tarde y 9 y media de la noche. Estreno: _La bailarina velada_. Gran éxito: _Zigomar_.--Butacas, 0,40 y 0,50. Sillones, 0,50. BENAVENTE.--De 5 a 12 y media, sección continua de cinematógrafo. Todos los días estrenos. ROMEA.--Cinema y varietés.--A las 7 y a las 11 y media, gala. _Regina, La Troyana, La Argentinita_. TRIANON-PALACE.--Cinematógrafo selecto a las 5, 7 (gran gala) y 9 y tres cuartos de la noche.--Magnífico programa, renovado diariamente. Los teatros del cinematógrafo son Zarzuela, Price, Gran Teatro, Infanta Isabel, Royalty, Benavente, Romea y Trianon. En el teatro Romea hay también variedades. Se va al Real para oír las óperas y los conciertos sinfónicos. En el Cervantes, Cómico, Lara, Princesa y Comedia se presentan drama y comedia. Se dedican a las representaciones de zarzuela o de opereta el Apolo y el Español. 25. LOS ÓRGANOS DEL CUERPO HUMANO Una vez los obreros o ciudadanos pobres de la ciudad de Roma se rebelaron contra los ricos. Su queja era, que mientras que ellos trabajaban siempre y pagaban los impuestos, los ciudadanos ricos de la clase noble nunca trabajaban, y su única ocupación era la de mandar y gobernar. Muy descontentos, resolvieron los obreros abandonar a Roma e irse a un monte cercano, jurando no volver a la ciudad. Entonces los nobles enviaron a un sabio romano para convencer a los obreros de que debían regresar a la ciudad. El sabio habló a los obreros de esta manera: Una vez los órganos del cuerpo humano se rebelaron contra el estómago, y muy indignados le dijeron: --Nosotros trabajamos siempre mientras que tú nunca trabajas. Los pies se quejaron de que ellos tenían que llevar al cuerpo y andar por todas partes; los ojos se quejaron de que ellos tenían que ver siempre todas las cosas y vigilar constantemente. Las manos dijeron: --¿Por qué debemos de estar siempre trabajando si tú descansas? Y la boca gruñó: --Toda mi vida he sido una tonta. He masticado todas tus viandas, mientras que tú no has hecho más que recibirlas ya preparadas. Busca otra boca. De esta manera hablaron todos los órganos del cuerpo humano, resolviendo no trabajar más para el estómago. Pronto, con gran sorpresa, empezaron a sentir el efecto de su rebelión. Los pies se sentían débiles, los ojos se obscurecían y no podían ver, las manos se ponían débiles; y, en fin, todo el cuerpo se iba debilitando, porque el estómago, no habiendo recibido viandas, no podía enviar alimentos y fuerzas a los órganos. Entonces comprendieron los órganos que habían sido muy necios. Ahora entendían claramente que el estómago también trabajaba y servía a todos, y muy arrepentidos principiaron todos a trabajar nuevamente. Los obreros romanos oyeron esta parábola y comprendieron su significado, regresando muy contentos a la ciudad a trabajar de nuevo. Los nobles fueron más prudentes después de esto, y dieron a los obreros mejor paga y mejor trato. 26. EL BRASIL El Brasil tiene cuatro veces la extensión de Méjico. Es casi tan grande como los Estados Unidos de América, pero tiene solamente una quinta parte de su población. La mayor parte del Brasil no está poblada, porque está cubierta de densas selvas. La vegetación tropical abunda en estas selvas. La mayor parte de la población se halla en la costa sudeste. En las selvas del Brasil se encuentran casi todas las plantas tropicales y los animales de la América del Sur. Hay más de 300 variedades de palmas. Hay también abundancia de maderas de ebanistería y se encuentra allá el árbol de la goma elástica. En la parte meridional del Brasil se extraen el hierro y el carbón. En la región más al norte, cerca de la costa se encuentran la caña de azúcar, el algodón, el tabaco y el arroz. Los cafetos se encuentran en muchas partes, pero la mayor producción y la mejor calidad de café se obtiene en los campos cerca de Río de Janeiro. El Brasil produce más café que todo el resto del mundo junto. En el sur del país se cosecha el maíz y el trigo. En el extremo meridional hay extensos criaderos de ganado, y se exporta mucho cuero, sebo, cuernos y huesos de animales. Hay muy pocas fábricas de artículos para la exportación, pero esta industria va en aumento. El Brasil tiene un comercio más extenso que ningún otro país de la América del Sur. Sus ciudades y puertos principales son el centro de 13,000 kilómetros de ferrocarriles. La ciudad de Río de Janeiro, situada en un magnífico puerto, es la capital del Brasil y una de las mayores ciudades de la América del Sur. Tiene algunas fábricas y un comercio extenso, especialmente en café. [Illustration: La Ciudad y el Puerto de Río de Janeiro] Bahía es la segunda ciudad del Brasil y tiene una buena situación en la bahía de Todos los Santos. Tiene gran comercio en algodón, tabaco y azúcar. 27. LOS POBRES SASTRES Un herrero de una pequeña ciudad había hurtado un caballo. El dueño halló el caballo en el establo del herrero y le hizo buscar con un guardia municipal. Fué arrestado el herrero y conducido delante de un magistrado. El magistrado le condenó a ser ahorcado. Entonces se agitó la gente de la ciudad, porque no había más que un solo herrero en la ciudad. Nombraron una delegación, y la delegación fué a ver al magistrado. Uno de ellos dijo al magistrado: --No tenemos más que este herrero en toda la ciudad, y nos es indispensable. Pero tenemos tres sastres en la ciudad. Podemos perder a uno de estos sastres. Alguno ha de ser ahorcado, esto es claro. Por consiguiente, háganos Vd. el favor de ahorcar a uno de los sastres. [Illustration] 28. TRES PALABRAS Un jornalero pobre llegó por la noche a una posada. Estaba muy cansado y tenía hambre y sed. Pero no tenía dinero. Sin dinero no pudo obtener nada. ¿Cómo obtener dinero para comer? Se sentó a una mesa. A la mesa estaban sentados dos panaderos que comían y bebían. El jornalero les contaba de sus viajes. Su cuento era muy interesante y ellos lo escuchaban atentamente. Finalmente él les dijo: --- Propongo una apuesta. Diré tres palabras que Vds. no pueden repetir. --Es absurdo,--contestaron los panaderos.--Vd. no puede hacerlo. --¿Cuánto apuestan Vds.?--dijo el jornalero. --Un duro,--contestaron los panaderos. El jornalero empezó:--_Popocatepetl_.--Los panaderos repitieron:--_Popocatepetl_.--El jornalero dijo:--_mercader_.--Los panaderos dijeron:--_mercader_.--Entonces dijo el jornalero con una sonrisa:--_error_. Los panaderos meditaron mucho, pero no pudieron hallar su error. El jornalero dijo: --Ensayemos de nuevo. --Sí, cierto,--dijeron los panaderos. El jornalero empezó otra vez y dijo:--_hipopótamo._--Los panaderos:--_hipopótamo._--El jornalero:--_jirafa_.--Los panaderos:--_jirafa_. --Otra vez el jornalero dijo con una sonrisa:--_error_. Intentáronlo tres o cuatro veces. Después de la cuarta vez los panaderos pagaron el duro, pero preguntaron: --¿Cuál ha sido nuestro error? El jornalero dijo:--Nunca han pronunciado Vds. la tercera palabra. La tercera palabra fué cada vez: _error_. Por eso Vds. han perdido la apuesta. 29. ANUNCIO DEL ESTRENO DE UNA ÓPERA _TEATRO REAL_ La función de esta noche es _Paolo e Francesca_. De gran acontecimiento artístico puede calificarse la función anunciada para esta noche en el Real. La dirección artística ha puesto especial atención en que el estreno de _Paolo e Francesca_ tenga la importancia que merece. A este fin se ha compuesto un programa wagneriano, que, con el estreno de la obra de Mancinelli, completará el espectáculo. El programa es el siguiente: _Primera parte_:--_Parsifal_, preludio; _Tannhäuser_, obertura, Wágner. _Segunda parte_:--La ópera en un acto del maestro Mancinelli, _Paolo e Francesca_. _Reparto:_--'Francesca', señorita Fitziu; 'Paolo', Sr. Crini; 'Gianciotto', Sr. Segura Tallien; 'Il Matto', Sr. Cortés. Cuatro damas de Francesca, señoritas Raúl, Aceña, Roldán y García. Coro de caballeros, cazadores, etc. _Tercera parte_:--_Tristan e Iseo_, Preludio y Muerte de Iseo. _Sigfredo_, Los Murmullos de la Selva, y _La Walkyria_, Cabalgata, Wágner. Dirigirá la orquesta el maestro Saco del Valle. La función empezará a las nueve. 30. UN PORTERO EXACTO Una señora dió orden un día a su portero: --Di a todas personas que no estoy en casa. Por la noche, al referirle el portero los nombres de las personas que habían estado a la puerta, pronunció el de la hermana de la señora, y entonces la señora dijo: --Ya te he dicho que para mi hermana siempre estoy en casa, hombre; debiste haberla dejado entrar. Al día siguiente salió la señora a hacer unas visitas, y poco después llega su hermana. --¿Está tu señora en casa?--le pregunta al portero. --Sí, señora,--contesta éste. Sube la señora, y busca en balde por todas partes a su hermana. Vuelve a bajar, y le dice al portero: --Mi hermana debe de haber salido, porque no la he hallado. --Sí, señora, ha salido, pero me dijo anoche que para Vd. siempre estaba en casa. 31. UNA PIERNA Un paje sirvió en la comida a su señor una grulla. Esta grulla no tenía sino una pierna, porque la otra se la había comido el paje. El señor dijo:--¿Cómo no tiene esta grulla más que una pierna? Respondió el paje:--Señor, las grullas no tienen sino una pierna. El amo dijo:--Pués, mañana yo llevaré a Vd. a caza, y verá Vd. que tienen dos, y entonces me lo pagará. Al otro día fueron a caza y toparon con unas grullas que estaban todas sobre un pie. Entonces dijo el paje a su amo:--¡Mire Vd.! como no tienen más de un pie. Refrenó el amo su caballo, diciendo:--¡Ox, ox! y entonces las grullas sacaron la otra pierna y empezaron a volar. El amo dijo al paje:--¿Ve Vd. como tienen dos? y el paje contestó:--Si Vd. oxea a la grulla del plato, ella también sacará la otra pata. 32. ¿QUÉ DICE DAVID? Un obispo tenía un criado vizcaíno. Dijóle una vez:--Vaya Vd. al carnicero que se llama David y compre al fiado carne para mañana. Después de haber comprado Vd. la carne vaya Vd. a la iglesia, por ser domingo. Predicando en la iglesia el obispo citaba autoridades de profetas en el sermón, diciendo:--Dice Isaías, profeta...; dice Jeremías, profeta...;--y mirando entonces hacia donde estaba su criado, dijo con énfasis prosiguiendo su sermón:--Pero, ¿qué dice David? El vizcaíno, su criado, pensando que a él le hablaba el obispo, respondió muy alto:--David dice: 'No daré carne al obispo si primero no paga.' [Illustration:] 33. EL CANAL DE SUEZ El proyecto del canal moderno a través del istmo de Suez, para facilitar el paso de los buques desde el Mediterráneo al Mar Rojo, nació de Napoleón el Grande durante su invasión de Egipto. Pero muchísimos siglos antes de él, esto es, 1,300 años antes de la Era cristiana, se construyó un canal desde un ramal del Nilo hasta el Mar Rojo. Ese canal fué obstruido varias veces por la arena y en el año 767 de nuestra Era fué destruido por el califa Almanzor. En 1854, un ingeniero francés, Fernando de Lesseps, obtuvo del virrey de Egipto, Said-Bajá, una concesión a favor de una Compañía por espacio de noventa y nueve años para construir un canal navegable a través del istmo. Organizóse la Compañía en 1858 con un capital en acciones de 200,000,000 de francos, que en 1867 fué necesario ampliar con otros 100 millones. Las obras duraron once años. El canal tiene de un extremo a otro 162 kilómetros de largo; pero una cuarta parte de esa longitud consiste en lagos naturales. La mayor anchura del canal es de unos 100 metros. En algunos puntos es de 60 en la superficie y de 20 al fondo. La profundidad es de 8 metros. El canal se inauguró oficialmente, con gran solemnidad, el 17 de noviembre de 1869, pasando por él 50 buques de un mar a otro. En 1871 utilizaron el canal 765 buques, entre ellos 63 buques de guerra. Por esta vía se acortan considerablemente los viajes de Europa a las Indias y otros puntos de Asia, que antes se hacían por el Cabo de Buena Esperanza. [Illustration: El Canal de Suez] 34. DURA SUERTE Una vez el Conde de Cero hizo una visita al Barón de Pereza que se lamentó de su dura suerte. Su amigo, el Conde, se admiró mucho y le dijo:--Por Dios, ¿cómo puede Vd. lamentarse? Vd. está bueno. Vd. no tiene que trabajar y abunda en dinero tanto como puede Vd. desear. --Sí, es verdad,--respondió el Barón, pero no obstante tengo dura suerte. Tengo que vestirme todas las mañanas, y que desvestirme todas las noches. Tengo que masticar todo lo que como y que tragar laboriosamente toda gota de agua y de vino que bebo. Su amigo respondió:--Pero Vd. no sale de la casa. Por consiguiente Vd. no se pone o quita más que la bata. Su cocinero no prepara sino manjares blandos. Ciertamente el tragar no es trabajo tan terrible. A esto respondió el Barón con voz lagrimosa:--¡El eterno respirar! ¿No es esto nada? Ni siquiera puedo descontinuar esto cuando duermo. 35. EL MUCHACHO INTELIGENTE Un muchacho era muy hermoso e inteligente. Mirándole un caballero dijo:--¡Cosa rara! ¡que todos los muchachos hermosos que son inteligentes cuando pequeños son grandes necios cuando son adultos! El muchacho dijo entonces:--¡Muy inteligente debe haber sido Vd. cuando muchacho! 36. EL CRIADO ERUDITO Varios amigos, un militar, un poeta, un cura, un usurero y un pintor, estaban de sobremesa discurriendo acerca del valor relativo de algunos grandes hombres. El criado de la fonda los escuchaba encantado. --Propongo un brindis,--dijo el militar,--por el primer hombre del mundo, por Alejandro Magno. --¡Protesto!--exclamó el poeta;--el primer hombre del mundo fué Byron! --¡Profano!--dijo el cura;--el primer hombre del mundo fué San Ignacio de Loyola. --Proclamo,--chilló el usurero,--por primer hombre del mundo a Malthus. --¡Protervo!--vociferó el pintor;--el primer hombre del mundo fué Miguel Ángel. [Illustration] --¡Pobres señores!--se permitió decir el criado de la fonda.--El primer hombre del mundo fué Adán. Este despropósito cayó tan en gracia a los amigos, que al acabar de reír ya no se acordaron de su discusión, ni de dar propina al Criado. 37. CONCEPTO FALSO Fué a matricularse en la antigua Universidad de Alcalá un estudiante de la Alcarria. --¿Cómo se llama Vd.?--le preguntó el secretario. --Juan Bautista Combé,--dijo el estudiante. --¿Viene Vd. a enseñarme ortografía, señor novicio? ¿Cómo se llama Vd.? esto es lo que le pregunto. --Bautista Combé... --No sea Vd. impertinente; ya sé que Bautista se escribe con b. ¡Quiero saber el apellido! 38. CHILE La república de Chile es un país largo y estrecho que está situado entre los Andes y el Océano Pacífico. Aunque en el mapa parece pequeño, sin embargo es tres veces más grande que el Estado de Washington. La región del norte es desierta y estéril, pero hay allí muchas minas de cobre, plata y oro; estas riquezas minerales no están todavía en completa explotación. La principal riqueza del país es el guano y el salitre que también se encuentran en esta región. [Illustration: Una Mina de Nitrato] La región central del país es una zona eminentemente agrícola de clima excelente. Allí se cosecha trigo y otros cereales y se cría gran cantidad de ganado vacuno y lanar. Esta región es la parte mas poblada del país. En la parte del sur hay grandes bosques donde se hallan maderas preciosas de cedro y ciprés. Las exportaciones principales incluyen plata, cobre, nitratos, bórax, azufre, cereales y vinos. El comercio exterior de Chile en 1913 tuvo un valor de más de $264,000,000. La población de esta república era cerca de 3,550,000 de habitantes en 1913. La mayor parte de su población desciende de los españoles. Se encuentran en este país descendientes de muchas antiguas y aristocráticas familias de España. Valparaíso es la ciudad comercial más importante y el principal puerto de mar en el Pacífico. Tiene una magnífica vista en las montañas que rodean a la bahía, y es una ciudad progresista con gran comercio. Santiago, la capital, tiene una población de cerca de 380,000 de habitantes y es una ciudad hermosa, justamente llamada el "París de los Andes." 39. LOS CUATRO HERMANOS Un zapatero tenía cuatro hijos que deseando buscar su fortuna por el mundo, dijeron un día a su padre: --Padre, somos mayores de edad y deseamos viajar por el mundo y buscar fortuna. --Muy bien,--dijo el zapatero y dio a cada uno de sus hijos un caballo y cien duros para la jornada. Los jóvenes, muy contentos, se despidieron de su padre y partieron en busca de fortuna. Caminaron los hermanos algún tiempo y al llegar a una encrucijada, donde partían cuatro caminos, el hermano mayor dijo: --Hermanos míos, separémonos; cada uno tome un camino, busque su fortuna y después de un año nos reuniremos otra vez aquí. Los cuatro caminos conducían a cuatro ciudades muy hermosas, adonde llegaron los hermanos y cada uno en su ciudad buscó quehacer inmediatamente. El hermano mayor aprendió a zapatero, el segundo estudió para astrólogo, el tercero se convirtió en un buen cazador y el hermano menor se hizo ladrón. Después de un año los cuatro hermanos se reunieron de nuevo en la encrucijada. --Gracias a Dios,--dijo el hermano mayor,--todos estamos sanos y salvos y cada uno ha aprendido a hacer algo. Y juntos regresaron a casa. El padre se puso muy contento al verlos llegar y pidió a sus hijos que le contaran sus aventuras. Julio, el hijo mayor, dijo que había estado en Toledo y que había aprendido el oficio de zapatero. --Muy bien,--dijo su padre, es un oficio honrado. --Pero yo no soy un zapatero vulgar, respondió Julio,--remiendo a la perfección, y no tengo más que decir estas palabras: '¡Remiéndate!' y las cosas viejas quedan como nuevas. El padre, dudando lo que decía su hijo, le dió un par de zapatos viejos. Julio tomó los zapatos, los puso en frente y dijo: '¡Remiéndate!' Al instante los zapatos se convirtieron en otros relucientes y casi nuevos. El atónito padre exclamó:--¡Excelente, has aprendido más en Toledo que en la escuela! Entonces el viejo zapatero preguntó a su segundo hijo, Ramón:--Y tú, Ramón ¿qué has aprendido?--Padre mío, estuve en Madrid y estudié para astrólogo y soy un astrólogo extra-ordinario. No hago más que ver al cielo para saber inmediatamente lo que sucede sobre la tierra. --¡Maravilloso!--exclamó el padre y dirigiéndose a su tercer hijo Enrique, dijo:--¿Qué oficio has aprendido, Enrique?--Soy cazador, pero un cazador sorprendente. Cuando veo a un animal no hago más que decir: '¡Muérete!' y el animal se muere en seguida. El padre viendo una ardilla le dijo:--Mata aquella ardilla y creeré lo que dices.--Enrique dijo: '¡Muérete!' y la pobre ardilla cayó muerta. Por fin el zapatero preguntó a su hijo menor Felipe:--¿Qué oficio has aprendido tú?--He aprendido a robar,--respondió Felipe;--pero no soy un ladrón ordinario; no hago más que pensar en la cosa que deseo tener, y esta cosa viene por sí mismo a mis manos. Como el padre quería ver la ardilla muerta por Enrique, dijo al astrólogo:--¿Dónde está la ardilla?--Debajo de aquel árbol,--respondió Ramón. En seguida Felipe, el ladrón, pensó en la ardilla y ésta apareció al instante sobre la mesa. El viejo zapatero estaba muy contento y orgulloso de las habilidades de sus hijos. Un día los cuatro hermanos supieron que la princesa Eulalia, la única hija del rey, se había perdido. El rey ofreció su reino y la mano de su hija al caballero que pudiese hallarla y traerla al palacio. Los hermanos fueron al palacio, y dijeron al rey que ellos podían hallar a la princesa. El rey muy contento les repitió su promesa. Durante la noche el astrólogo miró al cielo y vio en una isla lejana a la princesa, a quien un dragón tenía prisionera. Los cuatro hermanos después de un viaje penoso y largo llegaron a la isla. Cuando el ladrón vio a la princesa que se paseaba por la playa, exclamó: [Illustration] --¡Deseo a la princesa en nuestro barco!--e inmediatamente la princesa estuvo en el barco; pero como el dragón vio esto, con rugido terrible se precipitó sobre el barco. El cazador exclamó al instante: '¡Muérete!' y el dragón cayó muerto en el agua. Al caer el dragón chocó con el barco y casi lo hizo pedazos, y cuando ya se hundía el barco, el zapatero dijo: '¡Remiéndate!' y el barco fue remendado. Apenas regresaron al reino, empezaron los hermanos a altercar entre sí. --Yo he hallado a la princesa,--dijo el astrólogo,--por lo tanto debe ser mi esposa. --De ninguna manera,--respondió el ladrón,--la mano de la princesa es mía, porque yo se la robé al dragón. --¡Necios!--exclamó el cazador,--yo debo ser el marido de la princesa porque yo maté al dragón,--a lo que el zapatero replicó coléricamente: --La princesa debe ser esposa mía, porque yo remendé el barco y sin mi ayuda todos Vds. estarían muertos. Después de mucha discusión, y sin poder arreglar nada, los hermanos decidieron ir a ver al rey a su palacio. --Señor,--le dijeron,--Vuestra Majestad decida quien de nosotros debe casarse con la princesa. --Muy bien,--dijo el rey,--la cuestión es muy simple; he prometido la princesa al caballero que la encontrase. Por lo tanto ella debe casarse con el astrólogo. Pero como cada uno de Vds. ayudó a la salvación de ella, cada uno debe recibir la cuarta parte de mi reino. Los hermanos, muy satisfechos con esta distribución, vivieron felices en sus reinos. Cada vez que nacía un príncipe o una princesa los tres solteros aumentaban los impuestos para comprar magníficos regalos para el recién nacido. 40. ADIVINANZAS. (I) 1. ¿En qué se parece un esqueleto a una comida de viernes? En que le falta la carne. 2. ¿Qué es lo que va de Madrid a Toledo sin moverse? El camino. 3. ¿En qué se parece un gallo a un monte? En la cresta. 4. ¿Por qué en invierno sale tarde el sol? Porque, como hace frío, no le da la gana de madrugar. 5. ¿Por qué es más frío el aire en el invierno que en el verano? Porque en el invierno le cierran las puertas de las casas, y tiene que estarse en la calle. 6. ¿Qué es lo que se nos aparece una vez en un minuto, dos veces en un momento, y nunca en un siglo? La letra M. 7. ¿En qué estado se coge un cordero para matarlo? Vivo. 41. ARGENTINA Argentina es el país más importante de la América del Sur después del Brasil. Está limitada al este por el Atlántico, al oeste por los Andes, al norte y nordeste por Bolivia, el Paraguay, el Brasil y el Uruguay, al sur por Chile y el Atlántico. Este país es más grande que todo el territorio de los Estados Unidos al este del río Misisipí. Su población en 1912 era de cerca de 7,470,000 de habitantes y va aumentando rápidamente. Argentina podría sostener 70,000,000 de habitantes con mucha facilidad. Argentina es una república federal, formada por catorce estados, diez territorios y un distrito federal. El poder ejecutivo está confiado a un presidente quien es elegido por seis años. El Congreso nacional, que consiste en la Cámara de Senadores y la Cámara de Diputados, ejerce el poder legislativo. Las provincias se gobiernan por sí solas. [Illustration: Marcándose el Ganado en Argentina] La mayor parte de la población se compone de descendientes de los antiguos colonos españoles y de los inmigrantes llegados de algunos países de Europa; especialmente de Italia, Alemania, Francia y España. Gran parte de la población vive en las ciudades; la capital, que es Buenos Aires, tiene por sí sola casi la quinta parte de la población total. La república Argentina tiene recursos agrícolas inmensos, pero en gran parte todavía no están desarrollados. La mayor parte del país es plana, y en esas planicies o pampas cubiertas de pastos se encuentran millones de reses vacunas, caballos, carneros y cabras. La industria principal, por consiguiente, se relaciona con estos animales. Sus exportaciones principales son trigo, maíz, avena, lana, cueros, pieles de cabra, carne de res en conserva y helada. Vino y azúcar son también cultivados y exportados. El comercio de Argentina en 1913 representó un valor de $877,000,000 que fué mayor que el de China o del Japón. Cerca de 33,000 kilómetros de caminos de hierro ponen en comunicación la costa con las ciudades del interior y con Chile. Buenos Aires es la mayor ciudad de la América del Sur y una de las más grandes del mundo. Es el gran puerto de mar de la Argentina. La mitad de su población es europea, y la ciudad está construida a la manera de las grandes ciudades de la América del Norte y de Europa. Tiene avenidas hermosas, paseos bellos, parques magníficos y edificios monumentales, notablemente el capitolio. Deben también mencionarse los muelles modernos, un teatro magnífico de la ópera, casinos suntuosos y diarios modernos como "La Prensa." Además de ser un centro comercial, es el lugar donde se hallan excelentes institutos de educación. 42. EL BARBERO DE LA CORUÑA Un día llegó a una fonda de la Coruña un forastero de gran talle, corpulento y fuerte, con centellantes ojos negros y rostro cubierto de larga y espesa barba. Su vestido negro añadía algo de siniestro a su apariencia. --¡Posadero!--gritó en voz alta,--tengo mucha hambre y me estoy muriendo de sed. Tráigame algo que comer y una botella de vino. ¡Pronto! El posadero, medio espantado, corrió a la cocina, y pocos minutos después sirvió una buena comida y una botella de vino al extranjero. Este se sentó a la mesa y comió y bebió con tanto gusto que en menos de diez minutos había devorado todo. Una vez terminada su comida, preguntó al posadero:--- ¿Hay en este pueblo un buen barbero que pueda afeitarme? --Ciertamente, señor,--contestó el posadero, y llamó al barbero que vivía no lejos de la fonda. Con su estuche en una mano y el sombrero en la otra, entró el barbero, y haciendo una profunda reverencia preguntó:--¿En qué puedo servir a Vd., señor? --Aféiteme Vd.,--gritó el forastero con voz de trueno.--Pero le advierto que tengo la piel muy delicada. Si no me corta le daré cinco pesetas, pero si me corta le mataré sin piedad. Ya he matado más de un barbero por esa causa; ¡con que tenga cuidado!--añadió por vía de explicación. El pobre barbero que se había espantado al oír la aterradora voz de su cliente, ahora temblaba como la hoja de un árbol agitada por el viento otoñal. El terrible hombre había sacado del bolsillo de su levita un grande y afilado cuchillo y lo había puesto sobre la mesa. Era muy claro que la cosa no era para bromas. --Perdone Vd., señor,--dijo el barbero con voz trémula,--yo soy viejo y me tiembla la mano un poco, pero voy a enviar a Vd. a mi ayudante, que es joven. Puede Vd. fiarse de su habilidad. Diciendo esto, salió casi corriendo de la fonda. Cuando estuvo fuera, dando gracias a Dios de haber escapado, decía para sí:--Ese hombre es malo como un demonio; no quiero tener negocios con él. Tengo una esposa y ocho niños y debo pensar en ellos. Es mejor que venga mi ayudante. A los diez minutos se presentó el ayudante en la fonda.--Mi maestro me ordenó que viniera aquí para...--Sí, su maestro dice que es Vd. un hombre hábil y espero que tenga razón,--le interrumpió el forastero con voz ronca.--Le advierto que tengo la piel muy delicada. Si me afeita sin cortarme le daré cinco pesetas, pero si me corta, le mataré con este cuchillo tan cierto como mi barba es negra. Al oír esto el ayudante palideció un poco, pero recobrando el ánimo replicó:--Ciertamente, señor, soy muy hábil y tengo una mano muy segura. Tendría mucho gusto en afeitarlo, pero Vd. tiene una barba muy espesa y necesito una navaja muy afilada. Desgraciadamente no tengo ninguna en mi estuche ahora, pero afortunadamente el aprendiz afiló sus navajas esta misma mañana. Le voy hacer venir al instante. [Illustration] Con esto escapó precipitadamente diciendo para sí:--¡Cáspita! ¡Ese barbón se parece al mismísimo diablo! Lo que es a mí, no me mata. Que vaya el aprendiz, que es joven. Aquí tiene una buena ocasión de aprender algo. Por fin vino el aprendiz. Era un muchacho de unos diez y seis años, con ojos vivos y cara inteligente. --¡Ola!--gritó el forastero, soltando una carcajada que hizo retemblar las paredes. --¿Te atreves tú a afeitarme? Pues bien, muchacho. ¡Mira! Aquí tienes esta pieza de oro y este cuchillo. La moneda de oro vale cinco pesetas y será tuya si me afeitas sin cortarme; pero como eso no es muy fácil, porque tengo la piel muy delicada, te advierto que si me cortas te mataré con este cuchillo. Y miró al pobre aprendiz con unos ojos que parecían salir chispas centellantes. Mientras tanto, el muchacho reflexionaba de esta manera:--¡Cinco pesetas! Eso es más de lo que gano en seis meses. Con esa suma me puedo comprar un traje nuevo para la feria y, además, un nuevo estuche. Con que me voy a atrever. Si este bruto mueve el rostro y lo corto, ya sé lo que debo hacer. Con gran calma saca todo lo necesario de su estuche; sienta al forastero en una silla, y sin el menor miedo pero con mucho cuidado termina el muchacho felizmente la operación. --Aquí tienes tu dinero,--dijo el terrible matasiete.--¡Chispas, niño! tú tienes más valor que tu maestro y su asistente, y a la verdad mereces el oro. Pero dime: ¿no tenías miedo? --¿Miedo? ¿Por qué? Vd. estaba enteramente en mi poder. Tenía yo las manos y mi más afilada navaja en la garganta de Vd. Supongamos que Vd. se mueve y yo le corto. Vd. intenta asir el cuchillo para matarme. Yo lo impido y con una sola tajada lo deguello. Eso es todo. ¿Entiende Vd. ahora? Esta vez fue el forastero el que se puso pálido. 43. EL PERRO DEL VENTRÍLOCUO Entró una vez en una fonda un ventrílocuo acompañado de su hermoso y muy inteligente perro. Se sentó a una mesa, llamó al mozo y dijo: --Tráigame Vd. un biftec. Estaba ya al punto de irse el mozo para ejecutar la orden, cuando se detuvo pasmado. Oyó distintamente que dijo el perro: --Tráigame a mí también un biftec. [Illustration] Estaba sentado a la misma mesa en frente al ventrílocuo un ricazo que tenía más dinero que inteligencia. Éste dejó caer el tenedor y el cuchillo y miró al perro maravilloso. Mientras tanto había vuelto el mozo. Puso un biftec sobre la mesa delante del dueño, y el otro en el suelo delante del perro. Sin hacer caso del asombro general, hombre y perro comieron con buen apetito. Después dijo el dueño: --Mozo, tráigame Vd. un vaso de vino.--Y añadió el perro:--Tráigame a mí un vaso de agua. En esto todos en la sala cesaron de comer, y se pusieron a observar esta escena extraordinaria. Volviéndose al ventrílocuo preguntó el ricazo: --¿Quiere Vd. vender este perro? Nunca he visto animal tan inteligente. Pero el amo contestó: --Este perro no se vende. Es mi mejor amigo, y no podemos vivir el uno sin el otro. Apenas hubo concluido éste, cuando dijo el perro: --Es verdad lo que dice mi amo. No quiero que me venda. Entonces el ricazo sacó la bolsa, y poniendo sobre la mesa un billete de quinientos duros sin decir palabra, dirigió al ventrílocuo una mirada interrogativa. --A fe mía,--dijo éste,--esto ya es otro cantar. Veo ahora que puede hablar también el dinero. Es de Vd. el perro. Después de haber concluido la comida el ricazo, muy alegre y ufano, partió con el animal, que al momento de salir pronunció con voz casi ahogada de disgusto y de cólera estas palabras: --Miserable, me ha vendido Vd. Pero juro por todos los santos, que en toda mi vida no diré otra palabra. 44. EL CANAL DE PANAMÁ Ni los franceses ni los norteamericanos han sido los primeros en intentar esa grande obra. Ya en tiempo de los Reyes Católicos (1515) se buscó una línea acuática a través del istmo. El emperador Carlos V en 1534 pensaba en hacer este canal. Pero las guerras en Europa distrajeron su atención de los asuntos de América y aquel canal no pasó de ser un proyecto. Pero el éxito alcanzado con la construcción del canal de Suez hizo pensar de nuevo en la conveniencia de construir un canal desde el océano Atlántico al Pacífico, y en el año 1870 envió el gobierno de los Estados Unidos dos comisiones de ingenieros a reconocer el terreno de los istmos de Darién en Colombia, y de Tehuantepec en Méjico, para determinar cuál de las dos vías presentaba menores dificultades y ofrecía mayores ventajas. Después de varios estudios y no pocos gastos se abandonó la idea de construir el canal por esos dos istmos. Entonces Fernando de Lesseps y otros ingenieros franceses trazaron el proyecto de un canal por el istmo de Panamá y formaron una compañía por acciones para llevarlo a cabo. Se invirtieron en las obras muchos millones, pero el fracaso era inevitable. Entonces el gobierno de los Estados Unidos compró a los franceses y al gobierno de Panamá la concesión en 250 millones de francos. El día 4 de Mayo de 1904 se hicieron cargo los ingenieros civiles norteamericanos de las obras del canal. Por fin, el día 10 de octubre de 1913, el Presidente de los Estados Unidos, oprimiendo un botón eléctrico, a una distancia de 3,000 kilómetros, hizo saltar el último obstáculo que quedaba en el canal con una carga de 20 toneladas de dinamita. Entonces las aguas del Atlántico se juntaron con las del Pacífico. El primer buque pasó por el canal el 14 de mayo de 1914. El canal fué inaugurado para el tráfico general el 13 de agosto de 1914. [Illustration: El Canal de Panamá] El canal, que representa un esfuerzo colosal de ingeniería, tiene unos 72 kilómetros de uno a otro extremo. Su anchura es desde la mínima de 90 metros hasta la máxima de 300, y su menor profundidad es de 12.5 metros. Como su parte más elevada está a 25 metros sobre el nivel del mar, para llegar a ella tendrán que remontar los buques tres esclusas por una vertiente y descender otras tantas por la otra vertiente. Un buque de tonelaje regular emplea de diez a doce horas en ir de un océano a otro. El costo de esta obra colosal, incluyendo el dinero pagado a la compañía francesa y a la República de Panamá, es de 330 millones de dólares. 45. PROVERBIOS. (II) Cuanto sabes no dirás, cuanto ves no juzgarás, si quieres vivir en paz. Cuanto mayor es la subida, tanto mayor es la descendida. Entre padres y hermanos no metas tus manos. En tierra de ciegos el tuerto es rey. En cada tierra su uso, y en cada casa su costumbre. En boca cerrada no entran moscas. En buen día, buenas obras. El viejo en su tierra y el mozo en la ajena, mienten de una misma manera. El tiempo cura al enfermo, que no el ungüento. El que tiene tejado de vidrio, no tire piedras al de su vecino. El mozo perezoso por no dar un paso da ocho. El melón y la mujer, malos son de conocer. El gato escaldado del agua fría huye. 46. EL COMPETIDOR Un día a eso de las seis de la tarde llegó a una posada un hombre. Se sentó y demandó: --¿Puedo obtener que comer por mi dinero? El posadero, hombre muy cortés y oficioso, replicó con una reverencia profunda: --Sin duda, señor; mande Vd. lo que desee, y contentaré a Vd.--Y a la verdad, no era mala la cena. Mientras comía con mucho gusto, el posadero preguntó al huésped: --¿Acaso le gustará a Vd. una botella de vino? --Me conviene si puedo obtener algo bueno por mi dinero,--repuso el hombre. Concluida la cena, sirvió el café el posadero y demandó otra vez: --¿Sin duda le gustará a Vd. un excelente tabaco? --A mí me gusta todo, si puedo obtener algo bueno por mi dinero,--fué la contestación. Al fin el posadero presentó la cuenta que ascendió a cinco pesetas. Sin examinarla ni mirarla el hombre entregó al posadero una vieja pieza de cinco centavos. Éste la rechazó preguntando con cólera: --¿Qué quiere decir esto? Vd. ha ordenado las mejores cosas. Vale tres pesetas la cena, una peseta el vino y otra peseta los tabacos. --Yo no he mandado nada,--repuso el hombre.--He pedido que comer por mi dinero, y esta pieza es todo el dinero que tengo. Estaba el posadero para ponerse muy colérico, cuando se le ocurrió una buena idea. --Amigo,--dijo con una sonrisa muy fina,--ya no hablaremos más de eso. No me pagará Vd. nada. Le presento a Vd. graciosamente la cena, el vino y los tabacos. Además, tome Vd. este billete de diez pesetas, si quiere hacerme un gran favor. Dos calles más arriba está la posada del León de Oro, cuyo amo es mi competidor. Vaya Vd. al León de Oro, y haga la misma calaverada. [Illustration] Tomó el dinero, se lo metió en el bolsillo y se despidió el huésped. Llegado a la puerta se volvió y dijo con burla mal disimulada: --Muchas gracias y buenas noches. Pero es su competidor de Vd. quien me ha hecho venir aquí. 47. EL ESTUDIANTE DE SALAMANCA Un estudiante volvía desde Salamanca para su tierra después de haber concluido su curso. Llevaba poco dinero, y así en todas las posadas ajustaba su bolsa con la huéspeda, para que no se le acabase antes de, concluir su viaje. La economía de que usaba era suma. Sucedió que iba a pasar la noche en una posada donde la huéspeda era mujer de lindo entendimiento, lindo modo y mucho agrado. Ella le preguntó qué quería cenar. Respondió que quería un par de huevos. --¿Nada más, señor licenciado?--dijo la huéspeda. El estudiante contestó:--Me basta, pues yo ceno poco. Trajéronle los huevos. Mientras comía, la huéspeda le propuso unas truchas muy buenas que tenía. El estudiante resistía a la tentación. --Mire Vd., señor licenciado,--dijo ella--que son excelentísimas, porque tienen las cuatro efes. --¿Qué quiere decir eso, las cuatro efes? --¿Pues no sabe Vd. que las truchas han de tener las cuatro efes para ser magníficas? --Nunca he oído tal cosa,--repuso el estudiante--y quisiera saber qué cuatro efes son ésas. ¿Qué significa este enigma? --Yo se lo diré, señor,--respondió la huéspeda.--Quiere decir, que las truchas más sabrosas son las que tienen las cuatro circunstancias de Frescas, Frías, Fritas y Fragosas. A esto replicó el estudiante:--Ahora comprendo. Pero, señora, si las truchas no tienen otra efe más, no sirven nada para mí. --¿Qué otra efe más es ésa? --Señora, que sean Fiadas; porque en mi bolsa no hay con que pagarlas por ahora. La agudeza del estudiante agradó tanto a la huéspeda, que no sólo le presentó las truchas graciosamente, sino también le llenó la alforja para lo que le restaba de camino. 48. ADIVINANZAS. (II) 1. ¿Quién es él que sin ceremonia, y con el sombrero calado, se sienta delante del rey, del emperador o del presidente de una república? El cochero. 2. ¿En qué años hablan menos las mujeres? En los comunes, porque tienen un día menos que los bisiestos. 3. ¿Dónde se halla el Gran Turco cuando se pone el sol? A la sombra. 4. ¿En qué se parece un viernes a un martes? En que tiene 24 horas. 5. ¿Qué es lo que ponemos sobre la mesa, partimos por la mitad, y sin embargo no comemos? Una baraja de naipes. 6. ¿En qué se parecen una boca y un molino? En las muelas. 7. ¿En qué se parecen un elector y una pelota? En que aquél vota, y ésta bota. 8. ¿En qué se parece Madrid a un cuchillo? En que tiene corte. 49. CUBA La república de Cuba, llamada la "perla de las Antillas" es la más fértil y la más hermosa de las Antillas. Esta isla es más grande de lo que generalmente se cree, pues tiene casi tantos kilómetros cuadrados como el estado de Pensilvania. El suelo de Cuba es fecundísimo. Abundan en sus hermosos bosques maderas ricas y en su suelo se encuentran el hierro, el platino y el asfalto. La gran riqueza de la isla, sin embargo, consiste en las vegas de tabaco, de caña de azúcar, de café y de algodón. Grandes ingenios de caña de azúcar cubren sus ricos valles donde se encuentran las mejores y más modernas maquinarias para la preparación del azúcar. Los campos de tabaco, situados principalmente en la parte occidental de la isla en la provincia Pinar del Río, producen abundante y rico tabaco del cual se hacen los famosos cigarros de la Habana. [Illustration: El Cultivo de Tabaco, Cuba] Cuba exporta enormes cantidades de tabaco y de azúcar. Sus exportaciones a los Estados Unidos en 1913 fueron más de $131,000,000; as importaciones de los Estados Unidos fueron cerca de $75,000,000. El valor total del comercio fué cerca de $300,000,000. Durante muchos años de guerra y revoluciones trataba Cuba de libertarse del dominio español. La última revolución empezó en 1895 y fué terminada con una guerra entre España y los Estados Unidos. Esta guerra terminó en 1898, fecha en que España abandonó todos sus derechos sobre la isla. La Habana es la capital y el puerto más importante de Cuba. Está situada en una de las más hermosas bahías del mundo. La vista de la bahía es magnífica. El aspecto de la ciudad es también hermoso. La Habana posee edificios hermosos, paseos espléndidos, una universidad y muchas fábricas, principalmente de tabacos. Otros puertos importantes son: Santiago de Cuba, Cienfuegos y Guantánamo. 50. EL TONTO Vivían en cierto pueblo un labriego y su mujer. Su única fortuna eran su cabana, una vaca y una cabra. El marido, que se llamaba Juan, era muy tonto, tanto que sus vecinos le habían puesto por apodo "El Tonto". Pero María, la esposa, era muy inteligente y a menudo remediaba las tonterías que había hecho su marido. Una mañana María dijo a Juan: --Juan, ahora hay feria en la aldea. Vendamos nuestra vaca. Ya es muy vieja, da poca leche y el precio del heno ha subido mucho este año. Juan después de pensar un poco opinó como su mujer. Se puso su vestido de domingo, tomó su sombrero y se fué al establo para llevar la vaca al mercado. --Aviva el ojo, Juan, y no te dejes engañar,--dijo la mujer. --No tengas cuidado, mujer. Tiene que madrugar mucho el que me quiera engañar,--contestó el tonto campesino, que se tenía por muy inteligente. Juan se fué al establo; pero una vez allí no sabía claramente distinguir cual era la vaca y cual la cabra. --¡Caramba!--dijo para sí después de cavilar largo rato.--La vaca es más grande que la cabra. Por lo tanto me llevo al animal más grande. Diciendo esto desató la vaca y se la llevó. No había andado Juan muchos kilómetros cuando le alcanzaron tres jóvenes, que también iban a la feria. Llevaban estos jóvenes poco dinero, e iban hambrientos y con mucha sed. Cuando vieron al lugareño con su vaca resolvieron darle un chasco. Uno de ellos había de adelantarse y tratar de comprarle la vaca. Poco después el segundo debía hacer lo mismo, y por último el tercero. --¡Ola, amigo!--saludó el primero.--¿Quiere Vd. vender su cabra? ¿Cuánto vale? --¿La cabra?--replicó el aldeano atónito.--¿La cabra, dice Vd.?--y con expresión incrédula miraba al comprador y al animal. --Véndamela--continuó el joven muy serio,--le doy seis pesetas por ella. --¿La cabra?--continuó repitiendo el lugareño, moviendo la cabeza de un lado a otro.--Yo pensaba que era mi vaca la que llevaba a la feria, y aún ahora mismo, después de mirarla bien, creo que es la vaca y no la cabra. --¡Caracoles, hombre! No diga Vd. disparates. Ésta es la cabra más flaca que he visto en mi vida. Es mejor que guarde mis seis pesetas. Adiós. Después de algunos minutos el segundo joven alcanzó a Juan. --Buenos días, amigo,--le dijo afablemente.--Hace muy buen tiempo. ¡Toma! [Illustration] ¿Qué lleva Vd. aquí? ¿Una cabra? Yo iba a la feria precisamente a comprar una cabra. ¿Quiere Vd. venderme la suya? Le doy cinco pesetas por ella. El campesino se detuvo, y rasgándose la oreja dijo para sus adentros: --¡Canario! Aquí esta otro sujeto que dice que traigo la cabra. ¿Será esto posible? Durante todo el camino este animal no ha abierto el hocico. Si sólo hiciera ruido yo podría entonces saber si era la cabra o la vaca. ¡Maldita suerte! La próxima vez que vaya al establo me llevo a mi mujer. --Pues bien,--continuó el tunante joven,--si no me quiere Vd. vender la cabra, tendré que comprarla en la feria. Pero creo que cinco pesetas es bastante dinero por una cabra tan flaca. Adiós. Por último llegó el tercer joven. --¡Ola, amigo! ¿Quiere Vd. vender su cabra? El pobre campesino no sabía que responder, pero al cabo de un momento de silencio replicó: --Vd. es el tercero que me habla de una cabra. ¿No puede Vd. ver que el animal que traigo es una vaca? --Mi buen hombre, es Vd. ciego o está embriagado,--repuso el embustero.--¡Vaya! Un niño puede decirle que su animal no es una vaca, sino una cabra; y, por cierto, muy flaca. --¡Canastos!--contestó el tonto aldeano.--Recuerdo claramente que he tomado el animal que estaba atado cerca de la puerta. Además, este animal tiene la cola larga, y una cabra tiene la cola más corta. --No diga Vd. tonterías,--contestó el tunante.--Le ofrezco cuatro pesetas por su cabra. Diciendo y haciendo, el pícaro sacó del bolsillo cuatro piezas de plata y las hizo sonar. El pobre lugareño completamente aturdido y ya casi convencido, vendió el animal, recibió el dinero y se volvió a su casa, mientras que los jóvenes siguieron camino a la feria. La mujer del campesino se indignó mucho cuando su marido le entregó las cuatro pesetas. --¡Tonto! ¡Estúpido!--exclamó colérica.--Llevaste la vaca que vale a lo menos cincuenta pesetas. --Pero, ¿que podía hacer yo? Tres hombres, uno después de otro, me aseguraban que llevaba la cabra, y... --¿Tres hombres? ¡Papanatas!--interrumpió la mujer.--Apuesto a que esos hombres fueron los mismos que pasaron por aquí, y me preguntaron cuál era el camino de la aldea. Sin duda han vendido ya la vaca al primer marchante que encontraron, y se regalan en este momento en alguna posada con el dinero. ¡Pronto! No perdamos tiempo. Múdate de vestido. Ponte tu mejor sombrero para que no te reconozcan. Vamos a devolverles el chasco a esos pícaros, y puede ser que aun podamos recobrar nuestro dinero. A eso de las doce el tonto y su mujer llegaron a la aldea. Visitaron varias fondas y, como lo sospechó la mujer, los tres pícaros fueron encontrados festejándose en una de aquéllas. El lugareño y su mujer se sentaron cerca de la mesa donde estaban los pícaros. La mujer llamó al posadero y le refirió en pocas palabras lo que había pasado a su marido. --Si Vd. nos ayuda,--dijo la mujer al posadero,--podremos recobrar nuestro dinero. Yo propongo esto: Mi marido pide un vaso de vino. Se levanta, revuelve su sombrero, llama a Vd., y Vd. saca de su bolsillo este dinero que yo le doy ahora, y pretende Vd. que la cuenta está pagada. Mientras tanto los tres pícaros seguían comiendo y bebiendo alegremente sin prestar atención al lugareño. Pero cuando éste se levantó por tercera vez, uno de los tres cayó en ello, y preguntó al posadero la causa de tan extraña conducta. --¡Calle Vd! ¡Silencio!--respondió éste, haciendo el misterioso.--Ese hombre tiene un sombrero mágico. He oído hablar muchas veces de ese sombrero, pero ésta es la primera vez que veo tal maravilla con mis propios ojos. Viene este campesino, me ordena un vaso de vino, revuelve el sombrero, y al momento suena en mi bolsillo el dinero. Al principio no me parecía eso posible, pero los hechos son más seguros que las palabras. El bribón, muy sorprendido, se reunió con sus camaradas y les refirió lo que había oído. --Debemos obtener ese sombrero a cualquier precio,--dijeron los tres al instante. Se sentaron en la misma mesa que el lugareño, a quien no reconocieron, y trabaron conversación con él. --Tiene Vd. un sombrero muy bonito, y me gustaría comprarlo. ¿Cuánto vale?--dijo el primero. El lugareño le miró desdeñosamente y repuso:--Este sombrero no se vende, pues no es un sombrero ordinario como cualquier otro. ¡Ola, posadero!--gritó con voz firme.--Traiga más vino. Cuando el vino fué servido el lugareño se levantó, revolvió el sombrero, y el posadero sacó al instante el dinero de su bolsillo. Los tres bribones se quedaron pasmados de asombro, y tanto importunaron al lugareño que éste acabó por exclamar: --Pues bien, por cincuenta pesetas les venderé el sombrero. Ésta era la exacta suma en que habían vendido la vaca. Muy alegres entregaron el dinero al lugareño, que tan pronto como tuvo el oro en su bolsillo partió, más contento que unas pascuas. Los tres bribones también partieron. No habían andado gran distancia cuando llegaron a otra fonda. Uno de ellos propuso que entrasen a probar el sombrero. Después de haber bebido algunas botellas de vino, llamaron a la huéspeda para pagarle. El primero de ellos se levantó, revolvió el sombrero, y todos ansiosamente esperaron el efecto. Pero no sucedió nada. La huéspeda, extrañando tal conducta, les dijo: --Como Vds. me han llamado yo creía que me iban a pagar. --Pues meta Vd. la mano en su faltriquera y hallará Vd. el dinero. La huéspeda lo hizo así, pero no encontró ningún dinero. --¡Diantre!--dijo el segundo joven, un poco alarmado,--tú no comprendes de esto. Dame el sombrero a mí. El joven tomó el sombrero, se lo puso, y lo revolvió de derecha a izquierda. Pero todo en balde. La faltriquera de la huéspeda estaba tan vacía como antes. --Son Vds. unos bobos,--gritó el tercero con impaciencia.--Voy a enseñar a Vds. como debe ser revuelto el sombrero. Y diciendo esto, revolvió el sombrero muy despacio y con mucho cuidado. Pero observó con gran desaliento que no tuvo mejor éxito que sus compañeros. Al fin comprendieron que el lugareño les había dado un buen chasco. Su indignación fué tanta que mejor es pasar por alto los epitetos con que adornaron el nombre del lugareño. Éste al llegar a su casa contó las monedas de oro sobre la mesa exclamando: --¿No lo dije esta mañana? Tiene que madrugar el que quiera engañarme. Su mujer no dijo nada, porque era juiciosa, y sabía que el silencio algunas veces es oro. 51. EL PERAL Recuerdo que a la salida de mi pueblo había un hermosísimo peral que daba gusto verle, particularmente a la entrada de la primavera. No lejos hallábase situada la casa del dueño, y allá vivía Dolores, novia mía. Tenía mi novia apenas diez y nueve años, y era una niña muy hermosa. Sus mejillas se parecían a las flores del peral. En la primavera y allí, bajo aquel árbol, fué donde yo le dije a ella: --Dolores mía, ¿cuándo celebraremos nuestras bodas? Todo en ella sonreía: sus hermosos cabellos con los cuales jugaba el viento, el talle de diosa, el desnudo pie aprisionado en pequeños zapatos, las lindas manecitas que atraían hacia sí la colgante rama para aspirar las flores, la pura frente, los blancos dientes que asomaban entre sus labios rojos,--todo en ella era bello. ¡Ah, cuánto la amaba! A mi pregunta contestó con un rubor que la hacía mas encantadora todavía: --Cuando empieza la próxima cosecha nos casaremos, si es que no te toca ir al servicio del rey. [Illustration] Llegó la época de las quintas. Llegó mi turno y saqué el número más alto. Pero Vicente, mi mejor amigo, tuvo la mala suerte de salir de soldado. Le hallé llorando y diciendo: --¡Madre mía, mi pobre madre! --Consuélate, Vicente, yo soy huérfano, y tu madre te necesita. En tu lugar me marcharé yo. Cuando fuí a buscar a Dolores bajo el peral, encontréla con los ojos humedecidos de lágrimas. Nunca la había visto llorar, y aquellas lágrimas me parecieron mucho más bellas que su adorable sonrisa. Ella me dijo: --Has hecho muy bien; tienes un corazón de oro. Véte, Jaime de mi alma; yo esperaré tu regreso. --¡Paso redoblado! ¡Marchen! Y de un tirón nos metimos casi en las narices del enemigo. --¡Jaime, manténte firme y no seas cobarde! Entre las densas nubes de humo negro que oprimían mi pecho descubrí las relucientes bocas de los cañones enemigos, que clamaban a la vez, produciendo grandes destrozos en nuestras filas. Por dondequiera que pasaba, se deslizaban mis pies en sangre aún caliente. Tuve miedo y miré atrás. Detrás estaba mi patria, el pueblo y el peral cuyas flores se habían convertido en sabrosas frutas. Cerré los ojos y vi a Dolores que rogaba a Dios por mí. No tuve ya miedo. ¡Héme aquí hecho un valiente! --¡Adelante!... ¡fuego!... ¡a la bayoneta! --¡Bravo, valiente soldado! ¿Cómo te llamas? --Mi general, me llamo Jaime, para servir a vuestra señoría. --Jaime, desde este momento eres capitán. ¡Dolores! Dolores querida, vas a estar orgullosa de mí. Habiendo terminado la campaña victoriosa para nosotros, pedí mi licencia. Henchido el pecho de gratas ilusiones emprendí mi viaje. Y aunque la distancia era larga mi esperanza la hizo corta. Ya casi he llegado. Allá abajo, trás de ese monte, está mi país natal. Al pensar que pronto las campanas repicarán por nuestra boda empiezo a correr. Ya descubro el campanario de la iglesia, y me parece oír el repicar de las campanas. En efecto, no me engaño. Ya estoy en el pueblo, pero no veo el peral. Me fijo mejor, y noto que ha sido cortado, según parece, recientemente, pues en el suelo y en el sitio donde antes estaba aparecen algunas ramas y flores esparcidas aquí y allá. ¡Qué lástima! ¡Tenía tan hermosas flores! ¡He pasado momentos tan felices cobijado en su sombra! --¿Por quién tocas, Mateo? --Por una boda, señor capitán. Mateo ya no me conocía, sin duda. ¿Una boda? Decía verdad. Los novios entran en este momento en la iglesia. La prometida es--Dolores, mi Dolores querida, más risueña y encantadora que nunca. Vicente, mi mejor amigo, aquél por quien me sacrifiqué, es el esposo afortunado. A mi alrededor oía decir: --Serán felices, porque se aman. --Pero ¿y Jaime?--preguntaba yo. --¿Qué Jaime?--contestaban. Todos me habían olvidado. Entré en la iglesia, me arrodillé en el sitio más oscuro y apartado, y rogué a Dios me diera fuerzas para no olvidarme de que era cristiano. Hasta pude orar por ellos. Terminada la misa me levanté, y dirigiéndome al lugar donde había estado el peral, recogí una de las flores que en el suelo hallé,--flor ya marchita. Entonces emprendí mi camino sin volver la cabeza atrás. --Ellos se aman. ¡Que sean muy dichosos!--pude aún decir. --¿Ya estás de vuelta, Jaime? --Sí, mi general. --Oye, Jaime. Tú tienes veinticinco años y eres capitán. Si quieres, te casaré con una condesa. Saco de mi pecho la marchita flor del peral, y contesto: --Mi general, mi corazón está como esta flor. Lo único que deseo es un puesto en el sitio de más peligro para morir como soldado cristiano. Se me concede lo que solicito. A la salida del pueblo se levanta la tumba de un coronel muerto a los veinticinco años en un día de batalla. 52. EL ESTUDIANTE JUICIOSO Caminaban juntos y a pie dos estudiantes desde Peñafiel a Salamanca. Sintiéndose cansados y teniendo sed se sentaron junto a una fuente que estaba en el camino. Después de haber descansado y mitigado la sed, observaron por casualidad una piedra que se parecía a una lápida sepulcral. Sobre ella había unas letras medio borradas por el tiempo y por las pisadas del ganado que venía a beber a la fuente. Picóles la curiosidad, y lavando la piedra con agua, pudieron leer estas palabras: _Aquí está enterrada el alma del licenciado Pedro García._ El menor de los estudiantes, que era un poco atolondrado, leyó la inscripción y exclamó riéndose: --¡Gracioso disparate! Aquí está enterrada el alma. ¿Pues una alma puede enterrarse? ¡Qué ridículo epitafio! Diciendo esto se levantó para irse. Su compañero que era más juicioso y reflexivo, dijo para sí: --Aquí hay misterio, y no me apartaré de este sitio hasta haberlo averiguado. Dejó partir al otro, y sin perder el tiempo, sacó un cuchillo, y comenzó a socavar la tierra alrededor de la lápida, hasta que logró levantarla. Encontró debajo de ella una bolsa. La abrió, y halló en ella cien ducados con un papel sobre el cual había estas palabras en latín: "Te declaro por heredero mío a tí, cualquiera que seas, que has tenido ingenio para entender el verdadero sentido de la inscripción. Pero te encargo que uses de este dinero mejor de lo que yo he usado de él." Alegre el estudiante con este descubrimiento, volvió a poner la lápida como antes estaba, y prosiguió su camino a Salamanca, llevándose el alma del licenciado. 53. PROVERBIOS. (III) Dos amigos de una bolsa, el uno canta y el otro llora. Dicen los niños en el solejar, lo que oyen a sus padres en el hogar. De tal palo tal astilla. De quien pone los ojos en el suelo, no le fíes tu dinero. Del dicho al hecho hay mucho trecho. De la mano a la boca se pierde la sopa. De hombres es errar, de bestias perseverar en el error. De dineros y bondad, siempre quita la mitad. Dame donde me siente, que yo haré donde me acueste. Niño criado de abuelo, nunca bueno. Costumbres y dineros hacen los hijos caballeros. Con lo que sana Sancha, Marta cae mala. Compañía de tres, no vale res. Cien sastres y cien molineros y cien tejedores son tres cien ladrones. Cada uno extiende la pierna como tiene la cubierta. 54. EL ESPEJO DE MATSUYAMA Mucho tiempo há vivían dos jóvenes esposos en lugar muy apartado y rústico. Tenían una hija y ambos la amaban de todo corazón. No diré los nombres de marido y mujer, pero diré que el sitio en que vivían se llamaba Matsuyama, en la provincia de Echigo. Cuando la niña era aún muy pequeñita, el padre se vió obligado a ir a la gran ciudad, capital del Imperio. Como era tan lejos, ni la madre ni la niña podrían acompañarle, y él se fué solo, despidiéndose de ellas y prometiendo traerles, a la vuelta, muy lindos regalos. La madre no había ido nunca más allá de la cercana aldea, y así no podía desechar cierto temor al considerar que su marido emprendía tan largo viaje; pero al mismo tiempo sentía orgullosa satisfacción de que fuese él, por todos aquellos contornos, el primer hombre que iba a la rica ciudad, donde el rey y los magnates habitaban, y donde había que ver tantos primores y maravillas. En fin, cuando supo la mujer que volvía su marido, vistió a la niña de gala, lo mejor que pudo, y ella se vistió un precioso traje azul que sabía que a él le gustaba en extremo. Gran fué el contento de esta buena mujer cuando vió al marido volver a casa sano y salvo. La chiquitina daba palmadas y sonreía con deleite al ver los juguetes que su padre le trajo. Y él no se hartaba de contar las cosas extraordinarias que había visto, durante la peregrinación, y en la capital misma. --A ti--dijo a su mujer--te he traido un objeto de extraño mérito; se llama espejo. Mírale y dime que ves dentro. Le dió entónces una cajita chata, de madera blanca, donde, cuando la abrió ella, encontró un disco de metal. Por un lado era blanco como plata mate, con adornos en realce de pájaros y flores, y por el otro, brillante y pulido como cristal. Allí miró la joven esposa con placer y asombro, porque desde su profundidad vió que la miraba, con labios entreabiertos y ojos animados, un rostro que alegre sonreía. --¿Qué ves?--preguntó el marido encantado del pasmo de ella y muy ufano de mostrar que había aprendido algo durante su ausencia. --Veo a una linda moza, que me mira y que mueve los labios como si hablase, y que lleva ¡caso extraño! un vestido azul, exactamente como el mío. [Illustration] --Tonta, es tu propia cara la que ves,--le replicó el marido, muy satisfecho de saber algo que su mujer no sabía.--Ese redondel de metal se llama espejo. En la ciudad cada persona tiene uno, por más que nosotros, aquí en el campo, no los hayamos visto hasta hoy. Encantada la mujer con el presente, pasó algunos días mirándose a cada momento, porque, como ya dije, era la primera vez que había visto un espejo, y por consiguiente, la imagen de su linda cara. Consideró, con todo, que tan prodigiosa alhaja tenía sobrado precio para uso de diario, y la guardó en su cajita y la ocultó con cuidado entre sus mas estimados tesoros. Pasaron años, y marido y mujer vivían aún muy dichosos. El hechizo de su vida era la niña, que iba creciendo y era el vivo retrato de su madre, y tan cariñosa y buena que todos la amaban. Pensando la madre en su propia pasajera vanidad, al verse tan bonita, conservó escondido el espejo, pensando que su uso pudiera engreír a la niña. Como no hablaba nunca del espejo, el padre le olvidó del todo. De esta suerte se crió la muchacha tan sencilla y candorosa como había sido su madre, ignorando su propia hermosura, y que la reflejaba el espejo. Pero llegó un día en que sobrevino tremendo infortunio para esta familia hasta entonces tan dichosa. La excelente y amorosa madre cayó enferma, y aunque la hija la cuidó con tierno afecto y solícito desvelo, se fué empeorando cada vez más, hasta que no quedó esperanza, sino la muerte. Cuando conoció ella que pronto debía abandonar a su marido y a su hija, se puso muy triste, afligiéndose por los que dejaba en la tierra y sobre todo por la niña. La llamó, pues, y le dijo: --Querida hija mía, ya ves que estoy muy enferma y que pronto voy a morir y a dejaros solos a ti y a tu amado padre. Cuando yo desaparezca, prométeme que mirarás en el espejo, todos los días al despertar y al acostarte. En él me verás y conocerás que estoy siempre velando por ti. Dichas estas palabras, le mostró el sitio donde estaba oculto el espejo. La niña prometió con lágrimas lo que su madre pedía, y ésta, tranquila y resignada, expiró a poco. En adelante, la obediente y virtuosa niña jamás olvidó el precepto materno, y cada mañana y cada tarde tomaba el espejo del lugar en que estaba oculto, y miraba en él, por largo rato e intensamente. Allí veía la cara de su perdida madre, brillante y sonriendo. No estaba pálida y enferma como en sus últimos días, sino hermosa y joven. A ella confiaba de noche sus disgustos y penas del día, y en ella, al despertar, buscaba aliento y cariño para cumplir con sus deberes. De esta manera vivió la niña, como vigilada por su madre, procurando complacerla en todo como cuando vivía, y cuidando siempre de no hacer cosa alguna que pudiera afligirla o enojarla. Su más puro contento era mirar en el espejo y poder decir: --Madre, hoy he sido como tú quieres que yo sea. Advirtió el padre, al cabo, que la niña miraba sin falta en el espejo, cada mañana y cada noche, y parecía que conversaba con él. Entonces le preguntó la causa de tan extraña conducta. La niña contestó: --Padre, yo miro todos los días en el espejo para ver a mi querida madre y hablar con ella. Le refirió además el deseo de su madre moribunda y que ella nunca había dejado de cumplirle. Enternecido por tanta sencillez y tan fiel y amorosa obediencia, virtió él lágrimas de piedad y de afecto, y nunca tuvo corazón para descubrir a su hija que la imagen que veía en el espejo era el trasunto de su propia dulce figura, que el poderoso y blando lazo del amor filial hacía cada vez más semejante a la de su difunta madre. 55. LOS ZAPATOS DE TAMBURÍ Había en el Cairo un mercader llamado Abou Tamburí, que era conocido por su avaricia; aunque rico, iba pobremente vestido, y tan sucio, que parecía un mendigo. Lo más característico de su traje eran unos enormes zapatones, remendados por todos lados, y cuyas suelas estaban provistas de gruesos clavos. Paseábase cierto día el mercader por el gran bazar de la ciudad, cuando se le acercaron dos comerciantes a proponerle: el uno la compra de una partida de cristalería, y el otro una de esencia de rosa. Este último era un perfumista que se encontraba en grande apuro, y Tamburí compró toda la partida por la tercera parte de su valor. Satisfecho con su compra, en lugar de pagar el alboroque a los comerciantes como es costumbre en Oriente, creyó más oportuno el ir a tomar un baño. No se había bañado desde hacía mucho tiempo, y tenía gran necesidad de ello, porque el Corán manda a los creyentes de Mahoma bañarse frecuentemente en agua limpia. Cuando se dirigía al baño, un amigo que le acompañaba le dijo: --Con los negocios que acabas de hacer tienes una ganancia muy pingüe, pues has triplicado tu capital. Así es que deberías comprarte un calzado nuevo, pues todo el mundo se burla de ti y de tus zapatos. --Ya lo había pensado; pero me parece que mis zapatos pueden tirar aún cuatro o cinco meses. Llegó a la casa de baños, se despidió de su amigo y se bañó. El Cadí fué también a bañarse aquella mañana y en el mismo establecimiento, y como Tamburí saliera del baño antes que él, se dirigió a la pieza inmediata para vestirse. Pero con sorpresa vió que a lado de su ropa, en lugar de sus antiguos zapatos había otros nuevos, que se apresuró a ponerse, creyendo que eran un regalo de alguno de sus amigos. Como ya al encontrarse con zapatos nuevos no tenía necesidad de comprar otros, salió muy satisfecho de la casa de baños. El Cadí, después de terminar su baño, fué a vestirse; pero en vano sus esclavos buscaron su calzado, tan sólo encontraron los viejos y remendados zapatos de Tamburí. Furioso el Cadí mandó a un esclavo a cambiar el calzado, y encerró en la cárcel al avaro Tamburí. Éste, al día siguiente, después de pagar la multa que le impuso el Cadí, fué dejado en libertad. Cuando llegó a su casa Tamburí arrojó por la ventana al río los zapatos que habían sido causa de su prisión. Después de algunos días, unos pescadores, que habían echado sus redes en el río, cogieron entre las mallas los zapatos de Tamburí, pero los clavos de que estaba llena la suela destrozaron los hilos de las redes. Indignados los pescadores, recurrieron al Juez para reclamar contra quien había echado al río indebidamente aquellos zapatos. El Juez les dijo que en aquel asunto nada podía hacer. Entonces los pescadores cogieron los zapatos, y, viendo abierta la ventana de la casa de Tamburí, los arrojaron dentro, rompiendo todos los frascos de esencia de rosa que el avaro había comprado hacía poco, y con cuya ganancia estaba loco de contento. [Illustration: Los Zapatos de Tamburí] --¡Malditos zapatos!--exclamó,--¡cuántos disgustos me cuestan!--Y cogiéndolos, se dirigió al jardín de su casa y los enterró. Unos vecinos que vieron al avaro remover la tierra del jardín y cavar en ella, dieron parte al Cadí, añadiendo que sin duda Tamburí había descubierto un tesoro. Llamóle el Cadí para exigirle la tercera parte que correspondía al Sultán, y costó mucho dinero al avaro el librarse de las garras del Cadí. Entonces cogió sus zapatos, salió fuera de la ciudad y los arrojó en un acueducto; pero los zapatos fueron a obstruir el conducto del agua con que se surtía la población de Suez. Acudieron los fontaneros, y encontrando los zapatos se los llevaron al Gobernador, el cual mandó reducir a prisión a su dueño y pagar una multa más crecida aún que las dos anteriores, entregando, no obstante, los zapatos a Tamburí. Así que se vio Tamburí otra vez en posesión de sus zapatos, resolvió destruirlos por medio del fuego; pero como estaban mojados no logró su objeto. Para poder quemarlos los llevó a la azotea de su casa con el propósito de que los rayos del sol los secasen. El destino, empero, no había agotado los disgustos que le proporcionaban los malditos zapatos. Cuando los dejó, varios perros saltaron a la azotea por los tejados y, cogiéndolos, se pusieron a jugar con ellos. Durante el juego, uno de los perros tiró un zapato al aire con tal fuerza que cayó a la calle en el momento en que pasaba una mujer. El espanto, la violencia y la herida que le causó fueron tales que quedó desmayada en la calle. Entonces el marido fué a quejarse nuevamente al Cadí y Tamburí tuvo que pagar a aquella mujer una gruesa multa como indemnización de daños. Esta vez, desesperado, Tamburí se propuso quemar los endiablados zapatos y los llevó a la azotea, donde se puso de vigilante para evitar que se los llevasen. Pero entonces fueron a llamarlo para finalizar un negocio de cristalería, y la codicia le hizo abandonar su puesto. No bien dejó la azotea cuando un halcón que revoloteaba sobre la casa, creyendo que los zapatos eran buena presa, los cogió con sus garras y se remontó en los aires. Cansado el halcón, desde cierta altura dejó caer los zapatos sobre la cúpula de la mezquita mayor y los pesados zapatos hicieron considerables destrozos en la cristalería de la cúpula. Los sirvientes del templo acudieron al ruido, y vieron con asombro que la causa de aquel destrozo eran los zapatos de Tamburí, y expusieron su queja al Gobernador. Tamburí fué preso y llevado a presencia del Gobernador, el que, enseñándole los zapatos, le dijo: --¿Es posible que no escarmientes? ¡Merecías ser empalado! Pero tengo lástima de ti y sólo te condeno a quince días de cárcel y a una multa para el tesoro del Sultán, y al pago de los destrozos que has causado en la cúpula de la mezquita. Tamburí tuvo que cumplir su condena; pasó quince días en la cárcel; pagó dos mil cequíes de multa para el tesoro del Sultán y ciento cincuenta por las reparaciones que hubo que hacer en el tejado. Pero las autoridades del Cairo mandaron a Tamburí los zapatos. Tamburí, después de meditarlo mucho pidió audiencia al Sultán, y éste se la concedió. Hallábase el Sultán rodeado de todos los Cadíes de la ciudad en el Salón del Trono, cuando se presentó Tamburí, y, de hinojos ante el Sultán, le dijo: --Soberano Señor de los creyentes, soy el hombre más infortunado del mundo; una serie inconcebible de circunstancias fatales ha venido a causar casi mi ruina y hacer que padeciera muchos días de prisión. Causa de todas mis desdichas son estos malditos zapatos, que no puedo destruir ni hacer desaparecer. Ruego a V.M. que me releve de responsabilidad en los sucesos a que estos zapatos puedan dar lugar, directa o indirectamente, pues declaro que desde hoy renuncio por completo a todos mis derechos sobre ellos. No me quejo de las resoluciones del Cadí ni de las del Gobernador, porque han sido justas. Y diciendo esto, Tamburí colocó los dos zapatos en las gradas del Trono. El Sultán, enterado de las aventuras, rió con todos los cortesanos, y para satisfacer a Tamburí ordenó que en la plaza pública fueran quemados los zapatos. El verdugo los impregnó de pez y resina y les prendió fuego, y desde aquel momento Tamburí quedó libre y tranquilo. 56. LA PORTERÍA DEL CIELO El tío Paciencia era un pobre zapatero que vivía y trabajaba en un portal de Madrid. Cuando era aprendiz asistía un día a una conversación entre su maestro y un parroquiano, en la cual éste mantenía que todos los hombres eran iguales. Después de pensar largo rato el aprendiz, al fin preguntó al maestro, si era verdad lo que había oído decir. --No lo creas,--repuso éste.--Sólo en el cielo son iguales los hombres. Se acordaba de esta máxima toda su vida, consolándose de sus penas y privaciones con la esperanza de ir al cielo y gozar allá de la igualdad que nunca encontraba en la tierra. En toda adversidad solía decir:--Paciencia, en el cielo seremos todos iguales.--A esto se debía el apodo con que era conocido, y todos ignoraban su verdadero nombre. En el piso principal de la casa, cuyo portal ocupaba el pobre zapatero, vivía un marqués muy rico, bueno y caritativo. Cada vez que este señor salía en coche de cuatro caballos decía para sí el tío Paciencia: --Cuando encuentre a vuecencia en el cielo, le diré: 'Amiguito, aquí todos somos iguales'. Pero no era sólo el marqués el que le hacía sentir que en la tierra no fuesen iguales todos los hombres, pues hasta sus amigos más íntimos pretendían diferenciarse de él. Estos amigos eran el tío Mamerto y el tío Macario. Mamerto tenía una afición bárbara por los toros; y una vez, cuando se estableció una escuela de tauromaquia, estuvo a punto de ser nombrado profesor. Este precedente le hacía considerarse superior al tío Paciencia, quien reconocía esta superioridad y se consolaba con la máxima sabida. Macario era muy feo; pero, no obstante, se había casado con una muchacha muy guapa. Por razones que ignoramos había salido muy mal este matrimonio, y cuando al cabo de veinte años de peloteras murió la mujer, el buen hombre se quedó como en la gloria. Pero poco tiempo después se encalabrinó con otra muchacha muy linda también, y se casó otra vez a pesar de las protestas del tío Paciencia, que consideraba esto una enorme tontería. Como el tío Paciencia nunca había conseguido que las mujeres le amasen, mientras habían amado a pares al tío Macario, éste creía tener cierta superioridad sobre su amigo. El tío Paciencia la reconocía y se consolaba con la máxima que ya sabemos. Un día cuando llovía a cántaros Mamerto quiso asistir a una corrida de toros. El tío Paciencia trató de quitárselo de la cabeza, pero en vano. Al volver a casa Mamerto fué obligado a meterse a la cama a causa de un tabardillo, que al día siguiente se le llevó al otro mundo. Aquel mismo día estaba muy malo el tío Macario de resultas de un sofocón que le había aplicado su mujer. Gracias al tratamiento de su segunda mujer el pobre hombre no podía resistir grandes sustos, y la inesperada noticia de la muerte de su amigo le causó tal sobresalto que expiró casi al instante. Extrañando que en todo el día no hubiese visto a sus dos amigos el tío Paciencia al anochecer fué a buscarlos. La terrible noticia de la muerte de los dos fué para él como un escopetazo, y aquella misma noche se fué, tras sus amigos tomando el camino del otro mundo. A la mañana siguiente el ayuda de cámara del marqués entró con el chocolate, y tuvo la imprudencia de decir a éste que el zapatero del portal había muerto al saber que habían espirado casi de repente dos amigos suyos. Como el marqués era un señor muy aprensivo, y como por aquellos días se temía que hubiese cólera en Madrid, se asustó tanto que pocas horas después era cadáver, con gran sentimiento de los pobres del barrio. El tío Paciencia emprendió el camino del cielo muy contento con la esperanza de gozar eternamente de la gloria, de vivir en el mundo donde todos los hombres eran iguales, de encontrar allí a sus queridos amigos Mamerto y Macario, y de esperar la llegada del marqués para tener con él la anhelada conversación que ya se había repetido para sí mil veces durante su vida. En cuanto a Mamerto no dejaba de tener unas dudillas, porque se acordó de que éste durante la vida había dicho más de una vez:--Por una corrida de toros dejo yo la gloria eterna. Fué interrumpido en estas reflexiones el tío Paciencia viendo venir del cielo un hombre que daba muestras de la mayor desesperación. Se detuvo pasmado al reconocer a su amigo. --¿Qué te pasa, hombre?--preguntó al tío Mamerto. --¿Qué diablo me ha de pasar? Me han cerrado para siempre las puertas del cielo. --Pero ¿cómo ha sido eso, hombre? Habrá sido por tu pícara afición a los toros. --Algo ha habido de eso. Escucha. Llegué a la portería del cielo y encontré allí un gran número de personas que aguardaban para entregar el pasaporte para el otro mundo. El portero que revisaba los papeles gastaba mucho tiempo con preguntas y respuestas antes de permitir la entrada. Al oír que rehusó la entrada a un pobre diablo por haber sido demasiado aficionado a los toros, comprendí que ya no había esperanza para mí. Entonces me mezclé entre la gente, aguardando una ocasión para colarme dentro sin que me viera el portero. A los pocos momentos da éste una media vuelta, y ¡zas! me cuelo en el cielo. Daba yo ya las gracias a Dios por haberlo hecho, porque dentro estaba uno como en la gloria. De repente le da la gana al portero de contar los que estaban en la portería, y nota que le falta uno. --Uno me falta,--grita hecho un solimán. --Y apuesto una oreja a que es ese madrileño.--Entonces veo que llama a unos músicos que había alrededor de Santa Cecilia, y ellos pasan a la portería. Algunos minutos más tarde oigo que tocan "salida de toros", y yo, bruto de mí, olvidando todo y creyendo que hay corrida de toros en la portería, salgo como una saeta a verla. El portero, soltando la carcajada, me dió con la puerta en los hocicos, diciéndome:--Vaya Vd. al infierno, que afición a los toros como la de Vd. no tiene perdón de Dios. Ambos continuaron su camino; el tío Paciencia el del cielo, que era cuesta arriba, y el tío Mamerto el del infierno, que era cuesta abajo. No había andado largo rato cuando tropezó con el tío Macario, que venía también del cielo y marchaba con la cabeza baja. Los dos amigos se abrazaron conmovidos. --¿Tú por aquí, Paciencia?--dijo el tío Macario.--¿Adonde vas? --¿Adonde he de ir? Al cielo. --Difícil será que entres. --¿Porqué? --Porque es muy difícil entrar allí. --¿Y cuál es la dificultad? --Escucha, y verás. Llegamos otro y yo a la puerta, llamamos, y sale el portero.--¿Qué quieren Vds.? nos pregunta.--¿Qué hemos de querer sino entrar?--contestamos.--¿Es Vd. casado o soltero?--pregunta el portero a mi camarada.--Casado, contesta él.--Pues pase Vd., que basta ya esta penitencia para ganar el cielo, por gordos que sean los pecados que se hayan cometido.--Estuve yo para colarme dentro detrás de mi compañero, pero el portero, deteniéndome por la oreja, me pregunta:--¿Es Vd. casado o soltero?--Casado, dos veces.--¿Dos veces?--Sí, señor, dos veces.--Pues vaya Vd. al limbo, que en el cielo no entran tontos como Vd. Cada uno seguía su camino. Al fin el tío Paciencia divisó las puertas del cielo, y se estremeció de alegría, considerando que estaba ya a medio kilómetro del mundo donde todos los hombres eran iguales. Cuando llegó a la portería vió que no había en ella un alma. Fué a la puerta y dió un aldabazo muy moderado. Apareció en un ventanillo al lado de la puerta el portero que preguntó:--¿Qué quiere Vd.? --Buenos días, señor--contestó el tío Paciencia con la mayor humildad, quitándose el sombrero--quisiera entrar en el cielo, donde, según he oído decir, todos los hombres son iguales. --Siéntese Vd. en ese banco, y espere a que venga más gente. No vale la pena el abrir esta pesada puerta por un solo individuo. El portero cerró el ventanillo, y el tío Paciencia se sentó en el banco. No estuvo allí mucho tiempo cuando oyó un escandaloso aldabazo. Dirigiendo los ojos en la dirección del ruido Paciencia reconoció a su vecino, el marqués. Al mismo tiempo se oyó desde adentro el portero que gritó con voz de trueno:--¡Hola! ¡Hola! ¿Quién es este bárbaro que está derribando la puerta? --El excelentísimo señor marqués de la Pelusilla, grande de España de primera clase, caballero de las órdenes de Alcántara, de Calatrava, de Montesa y de la Toisón, miembro de la cofradía del cordón de San Francisco, senador del reino, etc., etc. Al oír esto el portero abrió de par en par la puerta, quebrándose el espinazo a fuerza de reverencias y exclamando:--Ilustrísima vuecelencia, tenga Vd. la bondad de perdonarme si le he hecho esperar un poco, que yo ignoraba que era Vd. Ya hemos recibido noticia de la llegada de su excelencia. Pase, vuecelencia, señor marqués, y verá que todo se ha preparado para el recibimiento del caballero más ilustre, piadoso, distinguido y rico de España. En el centro del cielo se veía la orquesta celeste de ángeles bajo la dirección del arcángel Gabriel. Detrás de ellos estaba colocado un coro de vírgenes todas vestidas de blanco y con coronas de flores. Al lado izquierdo se hallaba un órgano teniendo cañones de oro, delante del cual estaba sentada la Santa Cecilia. Al lado derecho estaba el rey David con una arpa de oro. En una plataforma estaban los célebres músicos que habían destrozado las murallas de Jericó, hace ya muchos Siglos. [Illustration] Al primer paso que dió el marqués entonaron éstos una fanfarria que demostraba claramente que no había desmejorado su arte. Casi al mismo instante, luego que el marqués hubo atravesado el umbral, fue cerrada la puerta, y el pobre tío Paciencia no pudo ver nada más. Pero oía harmonías tales como jamás había oído en la tierra. El tío Paciencia se quedó en su banco cavilando y ponderando todo lo que acababa de ver y oír.--¡Zapatazos!--dijo para sí.--He pasado toda mi vida sufriendo con santa paciencia todos los trabajos y humillaciones de la tierra, creyendo que en el cielo todos los hombres serían iguales. ¿Y qué me sucede? Aquí, a la puerta del cielo he de presenciar la prueba más irritante de desigualdad. La abierta del ventanillo sacó al tío Paciencia 25 de sus cavilaciones.--¡Calla!--exclamó el portero, reparando en el tío Paciencia.--¿Qué hace Vd. ahí, hombre?--Señor,--contestó humildemente éste,--estaba esperando...--¿Porqué no ha llamado Vd., santo varón?--Ya ve Vd., como uno es un pobre zapatero...--¡Qué habla Vd. de pobre zapatero, hombre! En el cielo todos los hombres son iguales.--¿De veras?--exclamó el tío Paciencia, dando un salto de alegría.--Y muy de veras. Categorías, clases, grados, órdenes, todo eso se queda para la tierra. Pase Vd. adentro. El portero abrió, no toda la puerta como cuando entró el marqués, sino lo justo para que pudiera entrar un hombre. Entró el tío Paciencia, y se detuvo sorprendido. No había ni orquesta ni coro ni músicos. El portero, que adivinó la causa de esta penosa extrañeza, se apresuró a desvanecerla. --¿Qué es eso, hombre, que se ha quedado Vd. como imagen de piedra?--¿No me ha dicho Vd. que en el cielo todos los hombres son iguales?--Sí, señor, y he dicho la verdad.--Y entonces, como el marqués...--¡Hombre! no hable Vd. disparates. ¿No ha leído Vd. en la Sagrada Escritura que más fácil es que entre un camello por el ojo de una aguja que un rico en el cielo? Zapateros, sastres, herreros, labradores, mendigos, majaderos, tunantes, éstos llegan aquí a todas horas, y no tenemos por novedad su llegada. Pero se pasan siglos enteros sin que veamos a un señor como el que ha llegado hoy. En tal caso es preciso que echemos la casa por la ventana. 57. REFRANES EN VERSO El mayor de los males Es tratar con animales. Quien sabe reprimir sus pasiones Evita muchas desazones. La experiencia Es madre de ciencia. Si quieres buena fama No te dé el sol en la cama. Gloria vana Florece y no grana. Muda el lobo los dientes Y no las mientes. Goza de tu poco, Mientras busca más el loco. Si la vista no me agrada, No me aconsejes nada. Lo que te ha tocado por suerte No lo tengas por fuerte. Cada oveja Con su pareja. Ande yo caliente Y ríase la gente. Hombre prevenido Nunca fué vencido. No firmes carta que no leas, No bebas agua que no veas. No se tomó a Zamora En una hora. Cree el ladrón Que todos son de su condición. Poco a poco Hila la vieja el copo. 58. EL PAPAGAYO, EL TORDO Y LA MARICA Oyendo un tordo hablar a un papagayo, Quiso que él, y no el hombre, le enseñara. Y con sólo un ensayo Creyó tener pronunciación tan clara, Que en ciertas ocasiones A una marica daba lecciones. Así salió tan diestra la marica Como aquél que al estudio se dedica Por copias y por malas traducciones. 59. LA ABEJA Y LOS ZÁNGANOS A tratar de un gravísimo negocio Se juntaron los zánganos un día. Cada cual varios medios discurría Para disimular su inútil ocio. Y por librarse de tan fea nota A vista de los otros animales, Aún el más perezoso y más idiota Quería, bien o mal, hacer panales. Mas como el trabajar les era duro, Y el enjambre inexperto No estaba muy seguro De rematar la empresa con acierto. Intentaron salir de aquel apuro Con acudir a una colmena vieja, Y sacar el cadáver de una abeja Muy hábil en su tiempo y laboriosa; Hacerla con la pompa más honrosa Unas grandes exequias funerales, Y susurrar elogios inmortales De lo ingeniosa que era En labrar dulce miel y blanda cera. Con esto se alababan tan ufanos, Que una abeja les dijo por despique: --¿No trabajáis más que eso? Pues, hermanos, Jamás equivaldrá vuestro zumbido A una gota de miel que yo fabrique. ¡Cuántos pasar por sabios han querido Con citar a los muertos que lo han sido! ¡Y qué pomposamente que los citan! Mas pregunto yo ahora:--¿Los imitan? 60. LOS HUEVOS Más allá de las islas Filipinas Hay una que ni sé cómo se llama, Ni me importa saberlo, donde es fama Que jamás hubo casta de gallinas, Hasta que allá un viajero Llevó por accidente un gallinero. Al fin tal fue la cría, que ya el plato Más común y barato Era de huevos frescos. Pero todos Los pasaban por agua, que el viajante No enseñó a componerlos de otros modos. Luego de aquella tierra un habitante Introdujo el comerlos estrellados. ¡Oh, qué elogios se oyeron a porfía De su rara y fecunda fantasía! Otro discurre hacerlos escalfados... ¡Pensamiento feliz!... Otro rellenos.... Ahora sí, que están los huevos buenos. Uno después inventa la tortilla. Y todos claman ya ¡qué maravilla! No bien se pasó un año, Cuando dijo otro:--Sois unos petates. Yo los haré revueltos con tomates. Y aquel guiso de huevos tan extraño, Con que toda la isla se alborota, Hubiera estado largo tiempo en uso A no ser porque luego los compuso Un famoso extranjero "a la Hugonota." Esto hicieron diversos cocineros. ¡Pero qué condimentos delicados No añadieron después los reposteros! Moles, dobles, hilados, En caramelo, en leche, En sorbete, en compota, en escabeche. Al cabo todos eran inventores, Y los últimos huevos los mejores. Mas un prudente anciano Les dijo un día:--Presumís en vano De esas composiciones peregrinas. Gracias al que nos trajo las gallinas. ¡Cuántos autores nuevos No se pudieran ir a guisar huevos Más allá de las islas Filipinas! 61. LA RANA Y LA GALLINA Desde su charco una parlera rana Oyó cacarear a una gallina. --¡Vaya! le dijo.--No creyera, hermana, Que fueras tan incómoda vecina. Y con toda esa bulla ¿qué hay de nuevo? --Nada, sino anunciar que pongo un huevo. --¿Un huevo sólo? ¿Y alborotas tanto? --Un huevo sólo; sí, señora mía. ¿Te espantas de eso, cuando no me espanto De oírte como graznas noche y día? Yo, porque sirvo de algo, lo publico. Tú, que de nada sirves, calla el pico. 62. EL ASNO Y SU AMO Siempre acostumbra hacer el vulgo necio De lo bueno y lo malo igual aprecio. Yo le doy lo peor, que es lo que alaba. De este modo sus yerros disculpaba Un escritor de farsas indecentes. Y un taimado poeta que le oía, Le respondió en los términos siguientes: --Al humilde jumento Su dueño daba paja, y le decía: ¡Toma, pues que con esto estás contento! Dijólo tantas veces, que ya un día Se enfadó el asno, y replicó: Yo tomo Lo que me quieres dar; pero, hombre injusto, ¿Piensas que sólo de la paja gusto? Dame grano, y verás si me lo como. Sepa quien para el público trabaja, Que tal vez a la plebe culpa en vano. Pues, si en dándole paja come paja, Siempre que le dan grano, come grano. 63. LA VÍBORA Y LA SANGUIJUELA --Aunque las dos picamos,--dijo un día La víbora a la simple sanguijuela,-- De tu boca reparo que se fía El hombre, y de la mía se recela. La chupona responde:--Ya, querida; Mas no picamos de la misma suerte. Yo, si pico a un enfermo, le doy vida; Tu, picando al más sano, le das muerte. Vaya ahora de paso una advertencia: Muchos censuran, sí, lector benigno Pero a fe, que hay bastante diferencia De un censor útil a un censor maligno. 64. ME GUSTAN TODAS [Illustration--music] Me gustan todas, me gustan todas, Me gustan todas en general, Pero esa rubia, pero esa rubia, Pero esa rubia me gusta más. Me gustan todas, me gustan todas, Me gustan todas en general. Pero esa rubia, pero esa rubia, Pero esa rubia me gusta más. Chiquillo, no digas eso, Que tu madre te va a pegar. Mi madre a mí no me pega Cuando digo la verdad. Ta-ra-la-la, Ta-ra-la-la, Ta-ra-la-la.... Pero esa rubia, pero esa rubia, Pero esa rubia me gusta más. 65. BOLERO [Illustration--music] 1. Cuando los matadores Se matan en la corrida, Allá vendrán bonitas Ver matar o vivir. Cuando la campanilla Tocará las ocho, Allá vendrán bonitas Danzar el bolero, Danzar el bolero, Danzar el bolero. 2. Cuando en sus mantillas Se pasean a la Alameda, Allá vendrán bonitas Con ros' y abanico. Cuando la campanilla Tocará las ocho, Allá vendrán bonitas Danzar el bolero. 66. HIMNO NACIONAL DE ESPAÑA MANUEL FENOLLOSA [Illustration--music] Quien quisiera ser libre que aprenda... Que en España hay un pueblo y un rey El primero dictando las leyes y el segundo observando la ley Españoles morir por la Patria, Por Fernando y la Constitución Los serviles jurar destruir los Viva, viva la Constitución. 67. HIMNO NACIONAL DE MÉJICO JAIME NUÑÓ Mejicanos al grito de guerra El acero aprestad y el bridón; Y retiemble en sus centros la tierra Al sonoro rugir del cañón. ¡Y retiemble en sus centros la tierra al sonoro rugir del cañón! Ciña ¡O patria! tus sienes de oliva, De la paz el arcángel divino Que en el cielo tu eterno destino Por el dedo de Dios se escribió. Mas, si osare un estraño enemigo Profanar con su planta tu suelo piensa ¡O patria querida! que el cielo Un soldado en cada hijo te dió, Un soldado en cada hijo te dió. 68. HIMNO NACIONAL DE GUATEMALA RAFAEL ÁLVAREZ 1. ¡Guatemala feliz! Ya tus aras No ensangrienta feroz el verdugo; Ni hay cobardes que lamen el yugo, Ni tiranos que escupan tu faz. Si mañana tu suelo sagrado Lo profana invasión extranjera Pues tinta en sangre tu hermosa bandera De mortaja al audaz servirá. CORO Tinta en sangre tu hermosa bandera De mortaja al audaz servirá Que tu pueblo con ánima fiera Antes muerto que esclavo será. 2. Recostada en el Ande soberbio, De dos mares al ruido sonoro, Bajo el ala de grana y de oro Te adormeces del bello quetzal; Ave indiana que vive en tu escudo, Paladión que protege tu suelo, ¡Ojalá que remonte su vuelo Más que el cóndor y el águila real! CORO. Ojalá que remonte su vuelo Más que el cóndor y el águila real! Y en sus alas levante hasta el cielo Guatemala, tu nombre inmortal. PREGUNTAS 1. LA ESCUELA 1. ¿Adónde va Vd.? 2. ¿Qué días va Vd. a la escuela? 3. ¿Qué días no va Vd. a la escuela? 4. ¿Dónde está Vd. el sábado y el domingo? 5. ¿Qué es Vd.? 6. ¿Qué hace el discípulo? 7. ¿Qué aprende Vd.? 8. ¿Cómo aprende Vd.? 9. ¿Son todos los discípulos diligentes? 10. ¿Elogia el maestro a todos los discípulos? 11. ¿Qué hace el maestro? 12. ¿Qué enseña su maestro de Vd.? 13. ¿Qué enseñan sus maestros diferentes? 14. ¿Quiénes son sus maestros de Vd.? 2. EL DISCÍPULO 1. ¿Hay muchos discípulos en nuestra escuela? 2. ¿Qué son Carlos y Enrique? 3. ¿Qué son Ana y María? 4. ¿Cómo es Juan? 5. ¿Cómo es Carlos? 6. ¿Es Elvira más diligente que Juan? 7. ¿Quién está atento? 8. ¿Quién es obediente? 9. ¿Quién está desatento? 10. ¿Quién no escucha? 11. ¿Quién no aprende nada? 12. ¿Hay discípulos y discípulas en nuestra escuela? 3. LA SALA DE CLASE. (I) 1. ¿Cómo es la escuela? 2. ¿Qué tiene la escuela? 3. ¿Cómo es la sala de clase? 4. ¿Cuántas paredes tiene la sala de clase? 5. ¿De qué color son las paredes? 6. ¿Dónde está el techo? 7. ¿Dónde está el piso? 8. ¿De qué color es el techo? 9. ¿Dónde está la pizarra? 10. ¿De qué color es la pizarra? 11. ¿Qué está debajo de la pizarra? 12. ¿De qué color es la tiza? 13. ¿Con qué limpiamos la pizarra? 14. ¿Qué hay en las paredes? 15. ¿Qué representan los cuadros? 16. ¿Qué cuadros hay en nuestra sala de clase? 17. ¿Qué está en la pared detrás del maestro? 4. LA SALA DE CLASE. (II) 1. ¿Por dónde entramos en la sala de clase? 2. ¿Cómo es la puerta? 3. ¿Cuántas puertas tiene nuestra sala de clase? 4. ¿Cuántas ventanas? 5. ¿Por dónde entran la luz y el aire en la sala de clase? 6. ¿Qué hay en la sala de clase? 7. ¿Qué hay en la mesa del maestro? 8. ¿Qué hay en las mesas de los discípulos? 9. ¿Dónde está la tinta? 10. ¿De qué color es la tinta? 11. ¿Qué tienen los discípulos? 12. ¿Con qué escriben? 13. ¿En qué escriben? 14. ¿Escribe Vd. en la gramática? 5. EL DISCÍPULO EN LA ESCUELA 1. ¿Quién entra en la sala de clase? 2. ¿Adónde va el discípulo? 3. ¿Qué hace? 4. ¿Qué suena? 5. ¿Qué principia? 6. ¿Quién pregunta? 7. ¿Qué hace el alumno? 8. ¿Qué abre? 9. ¿Qué lee? 10. ¿Qué hace después? 11. ¿Cómo habla él algunas veces? 12. ¿Por qué habla lentamente? 13. ¿Qué hace el discípulo cuando hace calor? 14. ¿Qué hace cuando hace demasiado frío? 15. ¿Con qué escribe? 16. ¿Qué hace el discípulo en la pizarra? 17. ¿Con qué escribe en la pizarra? 18. ¿Qué hace él después? 19. ¿Cómo escucha el discípulo? 20. ¿Copia él lo que su vecino ha escrito? 21. ¿Qué estudia él en casa? 22. ¿Cómo es el discípulo? 7. UNA LECCIÓN DE GEOGRAFÍA 1. ¿Cuántas partes tiene la tierra? 2. ¿Cuántos continentes? 3. ¿En cuántas partes se divide la tierra? 4. ¿Qué forma cada parte? 5. ¿Cuáles son las cinco partes? 6. ¿En cuántas partes se divide la América? 7. ¿Cómo se llaman estas partes? 8. ¿Dónde están los Estados Unidos? 9. ¿Cuál es la población de los Estados Unidos? 10. ¿Cómo se llama la capital de los Estados Unidos? 11. ¿Qué hay en la ciudad de Washington? 12. ¿Dónde vive el presidente de los Estados Unidos? 13. ¿Es una monarquía este país? 14. ¿Por quiénes es elegido el presidente? 8. LA FAMILIA 1. ¿Es pequeña nuestra familia? 2. ¿Cuántos hermanos tiene Vd.? 3. ¿Cuántas hermanas? 4. ¿Cómo se llama Vd.? 5. ¿Cuántos años tiene Vd.? 6. ¿Cómo se llaman sus hermanos y hermanas? 7. ¿Cuántos años tienen sus hermanos? 8. ¿Sus hermanas? 9. ¿Quién es más grande que Vd.? 10. ¿Quién es mayor que Vd.? 11. ¿Quién es menor que Vd.? 12. ¿Cómo se llama su padre de Vd.? 13. ¿Su madre de Vd.? 14. ¿Cómo se llaman los hijos y las hijas de una familia? 15. ¿Qué significa "hermanos"?. 16. ¿Qué significa la palabra "padres"? 17. ¿Quiénes forman una familia? 18. ¿Cuántos niños tienen sus padres de Vd.? 19. ¿Tiene Vd. tíos y tías? 20. ¿De quién es hermano su tío de Vd.? 21. ¿Qué traen siempre sus tíos y sus tías? 22. ¿Tiene Vd. un abuelo o una abuela? 23. ¿Qué es un abuelo? 24. ¿Una abuela? 25. ¿Está triste su abuelo paterno? 26. ¿Es feliz su abuela materna? 27. ¿Qué es el hijo de su tío? 28. ¿Qué es la hija de su tío? 29. ¿Qué es un sobrino? 30. ¿Qué es un nieto? 31. ¿Una nieta? 9. LAS MONEDAS DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS 1. ¿De qué metales son las monedas americanas? 2. ¿Qué es el oro? 3. ¿Es un metal de poco valor el oro? 4. ¿Qué otros metales hay? 5. ¿Es la plata del mismo valor que el oro? 6. ¿Son el níquel y el cobre inútiles? 7. ¿Cuál es la moneda americana de cobre? 8. ¿Cuál es la moneda americana de níquel? 9. ¿Cuáles son las monedas americanas de plata? 10. ¿De oro? 11. ¿Cuáles son los billetes de banco? 12. ¿Son los billetes de metal? 10. LAS MONEDAS DE ESPAÑA 1. ¿Cuál es la moneda común de España? 2. ¿Cuánto vale la peseta en dinero americano? 3. ¿Cuánto vale un franco? 4. ¿Qué es el franco? 5. ¿Cuáles son las monedas de oro en España? 6. ¿Cuáles son las monedas de plata en España? 7. ¿Cuáles son las monedas de bronce? 8. ¿Qué es un céntimo? 9. ¿Hay monedas de níquel en España? 10. ¿Cuáles son los billetes de banco en España? 11. EL AÑO Y LOS MESES 1. ¿Cuántos días tiene el año común? 2. ¿Cuántos días tiene el año bisiesto? 3. ¿Cuándo viene el año bisiesto? 4. ¿Cuántos meses tiene el año? 5. ¿Cómo se llaman los meses del año? 6. ¿Tienen los meses el mismo número de días? 7. ¿Qué meses tienen treinta días? 8. ¿Treinta y un días? 9. ¿Cuántos días tiene el mes de febrero? 12. LOS DÍAS DE LA SEMANA 1. ¿Cuántas semanas tiene el año? 2. ¿Cuántas semanas tiene un mes? 3. ¿Cuántos días tiene una semana? 4. ¿Cómo se llaman los días de la semana? 5. ¿Cuál es el primer día? 6. ¿Cuál es el día de reposo? 7, ¿Cuáles son los días de trabajo? 8. ¿Qué hacen algunos discípulos en la escuela? 9. ¿Qué días van a la escuela los discípulos en los Estados Unidos? 10. ¿En España? 13. LA CASA 1. ¿Dónde está la casa en que vive Vd.? 2. ¿Cuál es el número de su casa? 3. ¿En qué piso está su cuarto de Vd.? 4. ¿Es el tercer piso en España la misma cosa que en los Estados Unidos? 5. ¿Dónde está el primer piso en España? 6. ¿Cómo llego al primer piso? 7. ¿Al segundo piso? 8. ¿Qué hay en el piso bajo? 9. ¿Qué está debajo del piso bajo? 10. ¿Quién vive en el sótano en Nueva York? 11. ¿Dónde vive el portero en España? 12. ¿Hay un ascensor en su casa de Vd.? 13. ¿Es su casa de piedra o de madera? 14. ¿Cómo es el tejado de su casa? 15. ¿Cómo son los tejados de las iglesias? 16. ¿Adónde subimos en el verano por la noche? 17. ¿Por qué? 18 ¿Qué está en frente de la casa? 19. ¿Qué jugamos allí en la primavera? 20. ¿En el verano? 21. ¿En el otoño? 15. EL INVIERNO 1. ¿Cómo es el invierno? 2. ¿Cómo son los días en el invierno? 3. ¿Cómo son las noches en el invierno? 4. ¿Cuándo hiela? 5. ¿Cuándo cae nieve? 6. ¿Hay hielo y nieve en la zona tórrida? 7. ¿Hace frío en la zona tórrida? 8. ¿Cuándo hay hielo y nieve en las zonas templadas? 9. ¿Cuándo hay hielo y nieve en las zonas glaciales? 10. ¿Cuándo están alegres los muchachos? 11. ¿Qué hacen los muchachos en el invierno? 12. ¿Dónde patinan ellos? 13. ¿Qué hacen ellos de nieve? 14. ¿Qué traen los muchachos sobre la nieve? 15. ¿Cuándo están tristes los muchachos? 16. ¿Por qué? 17. ¿Cuándo están alegres los pobres? 18. ¿Tienen ellos frío en la primavera? 19. ¿Cuánto tiempo dura el invierno? 20. ¿Cuántos meses tiene el invierno? 21. ¿Cuáles son los nombres de ellos? 16. LA PRIMAVERA 1. ¿Cuándo principia la primavera? 2. ¿Cuánto tiempo dura la primavera? 3. ¿Cómo es la primavera? 4. ¿Qué crecen? 5. ¿Qué se cubre de verdura? 6. ¿Dónde están los pájaros? 7. ¿Qué hacen? 8. ¿Cómo se sienten todos los hombres en la primavera? 9. ¿Por qué? 10. ¿Hace frío en la primavera? 11. ¿Hay hielo y nieve en la primavera? 12. Cuando hace frío en la primavera ¿qué muere? 17. EL VERANO 1. ¿De qué hemos hablado? 2. ¿Hay otras estaciones? 3. ¿Cómo se llaman? 4. ¿Cuánto tiempo dura el verano? 5. ¿Hace frío en el verano? 6. ¿Qué se encuentra por todas partes? 7. ¿Qué se encuentran en los campos? 8. ¿De qué están llenos los árboles? 9. ¿Cómo son los días al principio del verano? 10. ¿Cómo son las noches? 11. ¿Cómo se hacen los días entonces? 12. ¿Las noches? 18. EL OTOÑO 1. ¿Qué se recoge en el otoño? 2. Diga Vd. los nombres de algunas frutas. 3. ¿Qué cosechan los labriegos? 4. ¿Qué se hace de las uvas? 5. ¿Cuándo se hace el vino? 6. ¿Cuándo pierden los árboles sus hojas? 7. ¿Cómo se ponen las hojas primero? 8. ¿Cuándo caen las hojas al suelo? 9. ¿Qué hacen las flores durante el invierno? 19. EL CUERPO HUMANO 1. ¿De cuántas partes se compone el cuerpo humano? 2. ¿Cuáles son las tres partes? 3. ¿Cuál es la parte más importante? 4. ¿Cuántas partes tiene la cabeza? 5. ¿Cuáles son estas dos partes? 6. ¿Qué parte de la cabeza es la cara? 7. ¿Qué tenemos en la cara? 8. ¿Cómo es la frente? 9. ¿Cómo es la nariz? 10. ¿Cómo es la boca? 11. ¿Cómo son los labios? 12. ¿De qué color son los ojos? 13. ¿Qué hacemos con los ojos? 14. ¿Qué vemos con los ojos? 15. ¿Qué oímos con los oídos? 16. ¿De qué color están sus mejillas? 17. ¿De qué color están las mejillas de un discípulo enfermo? 18. ¿Dónde está el cuello? 19. ¿Cuáles órganos están en el tronco? 20. ¿Cómo se llaman los brazos y las piernas? 21. ¿Cuáles son las extremidades superiores? 22. ¿Cuáles son las extremidades inferiores? 23. ¿Dónde está el codo? 24. ¿Cuántos dedos tiene la mano? 25. ¿Cómo se llama el dedo más grueso? 26. ¿Cuántos dedos tienen los pies? 27. ¿Dónde está la rodilla? 28. ¿Qué hacemos con las manos? 29. ¿Para qué sirven las piernas y los pies? 20. MÉJICO 1. ¿Qué parte de la América ocupa Méjico? 2. ¿Cómo es el clima de Méjico a lo largo de la costa? 3. ¿Cómo es el clima en la parte alta? 4. ¿Cuántas estaciones hay en Méjico? 5. ¿Durante cuáles meses caen las lluvias? 6. ¿Cómo se llaman las tierras no muy altas? 7. ¿Cómo se llaman las tierras más altas? 8. ¿Cómo es la vegetación en las tierras calientes? 9. ¿Qué árboles producen maderas preciosas? 10. ¿Qué árboles son útiles? 11. ¿Qué se cosecha en la zona caliente? 12. ¿Cuántas cosechas se obtienen en un año? 13. ¿Por qué se distingue Colima? 14. ¿Por qué se distinguen Veracruz y Tabasco? 15. ¿Por qué se distinguen Oaxaca y Chiapas? 16. ¿Qué parte de la población es blanca? 17. ¿Qué parte de la población es mestiza? 18. ¿Quién posee la mayor parte del territorio? 19. ¿Cuál es la ocupación principal? 20. ¿Cuál es el efecto del clima cálido en la gente? 21. ¿Trabaja mucho la gente perezosa? 22. ¿Qué hacen los habitantes en la región de la meseta? 23. ¿Dónde están las haciendas? 24. ¿Dónde se crían ganado vacuno y caballos? 25. ¿Qué hay en el norte? 26. ¿Qué se cría en los ranchos? 27. ¿Hay minas ricas en Méjico? 28. ¿Están desarrolladas las minas al presente? 29. ¿Cuáles son los productos de estas minas? 30. ¿Cuáles son las más antiguas manufacturas del país? 31. ¿Cuál es otra importante industria? 32. ¿Cuál es la bebida nacional de Méjico? 33. ¿Cuáles son unos productos de las fábricas? 34. ¿Cuáles son las exportaciones más importantes? 35. ¿De qué países se reciben los productos manufacturados? 36. ¿Dónde está situada la capital de Méjico? 37. Describa Vd. la ciudad de Méjico. 21. FRASES DE CORTESÍA 1. ¿Qué dice el señor Blanco? 2. ¿Qué contesta el señor Valdés? 3. ¿Cómo está la familia del señor Valdés? 4. ¿Juan está todavía enfermo? 5. ¿Qué significa: "Recuerdos en casa" en inglés? 6. ¿Qué se dice antes de despedirse de un amigo? 22. LOS RECREOS 1. ¿Quién trabaja todo el tiempo? 2. ¿Cuánto tiempo trabaja Vd.? 3. ¿Qué hace la gente después del trabajo? 4. ¿Dónde se pasean algunos? 5. ¿Dónde se pasean otros? 6. ¿Quién va en coche o automóvil? 7. ¿Monta Vd. en bicicleta o a caballo? 8. ¿Adónde va Vd. durante el verano? 9. Dígame Vd. unos balnearios populares en los Estados Unidos. 10. ¿Para qué van algunos a la playa? 11. ¿Qué juega la gente en el campo? 12. ¿Qué hacen otros? 13. ¿Rema Vd.? 14. ¿Puede Vd. nadar? 15. ¿Quiere Vd. pescar y navegar? 16. ¿Cómo es el aire en el campo? 17. ¿Qué hace el aire puro y fresco? 18. ¿Hace Vd. un viaje todos los veranos? 19. ¿Quién hace un viaje cuando quiere? 20. ¿Dónde hacen viajes los ricos? 21. ¿Ha visitado Vd. la Suiza? 22. ¿Ha viajado Vd. por España? 23. UNA VISITA 1. ¿Qué quiere hacer Vd.? 2. ¿A quién visita Vd.? 3. ¿Adónde va Vd.? 4. ¿A qué hora? 5. ¿Qué toca Vd.? 6. ¿Dónde llama Vd.? 7. ¿Quién abre la puerta? 8. ¿Qué pregunta Vd.? 9. ¿Qué contesta Ana? 10. ¿Por qué quiere Vd. ver al señor Valera? 11. Quiere Vd. hablarle mucho tiempo? 12. ¿Tengo que esperar mucho tiempo? 13. ¿Qué dice la criada cuando viene? 14. ¿Qué dice el señor Valera? 15. ¿Por qué viene Vd.? 16. ¿De qué tiene Vd. necesidad? 17. ¿Da el señor una carta de recomendación? 18. ¿Qué dice Vd. después de haber recibido la carta? 19. ¿Está ocupado o no el señor Valera? 24. EL TEATRO 1. ¿Hay muchos teatros en esta ciudad? 2. ¿Cuáles son los teatros principales de esta ciudad? 3. ¿Cuáles son los teatros principales de Madrid? 4. Dígame Vd. las producciones de unos teatros. 5. ¿Cuáles son los teatros de cinematógrafo? 6. ¿Adonde va Vd. para oír las óperas? 7. ¿Los conciertos? 8. ¿En qué teatros se presentan dramas y comedias? 9. ¿Dónde se hallan las representaciones de zarzuela? 25. LOS ÓRGANOS DEL CUERPO HUMANO 1. ¿Contra quiénes se rebelaron los obreros romanos? 2. ¿Qué dijeron los ciudadanos pobres? 3. ¿Qué tenían que hacer? 4. ¿Eran pequeños los impuestos? 5. ¿Tenían recreos los pobres? 6. ¿Qué deben hacer los ricos? 7. ¿Eran felices los pobres? 8. ¿Adónde fueron los pobres? 9. ¿Quién salió a ellos? 10. ¿Qué les contó? 11. ¿Quiénes lucharon? 12. ¿Con qué? 13. ¿Por qué? 14. ¿Qué dijeron los órganos? 15. ¿Qué dijeron los pies? 16. ¿Qué dijeron los ojos? 17. ¿Las manos? 18. ¿La boca? 19. ¿Qué resolvieron? 20. ¿Cuál fué el efecto? 21. ¿Cómo se sentían los órganos? 22. ¿Cómo se sentía todo el cuerpo? 23. ¿Qué no podía hacer el estómago? 24. ¿Qué comprendieron los órganos? 25. ¿Qué habían sido todos? 26. ¿Servía el estómago a los órganos o no? 27. ¿Cuándo principiaron a trabajar los órganos? 28. ¿Comprende Vd. la parábola? 29. ¿Comprendían la parábola los romanos? 30. ¿Adónde fueron? 31. ¿Trabajaban ellos? 32. ¿Qué daban a los pobres los ricos? 33. ¿Cómo trataban a los pobres los ricos? 26. EL BRASIL 1. ¿Qué extensión tiene el Brasil? 2. ¿Es más grande que los Estados Unidos? 3. ¿Es la población más o menos grande? 4. ¿Qué abunda en las selvas? 5. ¿Dónde se halla la mayor parte de la población? 6. ¿Qué se encuentra en las selvas del Brasil? 7. ¿Cuántas variedades de palmas hay allá? 8. ¿Qué árboles hay en las selvas? 9. ¿Dónde se extraen los minerales? 10. ¿Dónde se encuentran el tabaco y el azúcar? 11. ¿Dónde hay los cafetos? 12. ¿Dónde se obtiene la mejor calidad de café? 13. ¿Cuánto café produce el Brasil? 14. ¿Qué se cosecha en el sur del país? 15. ¿Qué hay en el extremo meridional? 16. ¿Qué se exporta de esta parte? 17. ¿Hay muchas fábricas para la exportación? 18. ¿Cuánto comercio tiene el Brasil? 19. Describa Vd. la ciudad de Rio de Janeiro. 20. Describa Vd. la ciudad de Bahía. 27. LOS POBRES SASTRES 1. ¿Quién había hurtado? 2. ¿Qué había hurtado el herrero? 3. ¿Quién halló el caballo? 4. ¿Dónde halló el caballo el dueño? 5. ¿A quién hizo buscar? 6. ¿Puede buscar Vd. un guardia municipal en esta ciudad cuando hace falta? 7. ¿Adónde fué conducido el herrero por el guardia? 8. ¿Qué dijo el magistrado? 9. ¿Por qué se agitaba la gente de la ciudad? 10. ¿Qué nombraron los ciudadanos? 11. ¿Adónde fué la delegación? 12. ¿Qué dijo un individuo? 13. ¿Cuántos herreros había en la ciudad? 14. ¿Cuántos sastres? 15. ¿Qué era claro? 16. ¿Necesitan a todos los sastres los ciudadanos? 17. ¿Qué debía hacer el magistrado? 28. TRES PALABRAS 1. ¿Dónde llegó el jornalero? 2. ¿Cuándo? 3. Describa Vd. al jornalero. 4. ¿Era rico el jornalero? 5. ¿Podía comer y beber sin tener dinero? 6. ¿Qué quería obtener? 7. ¿Adónde se sentó? 8. ¿Estaba solo a la mesa? 9. ¿Quiénes estaban sentados a la mesa? 10. ¿Qué contaba el jornalero? 11. ¿Contaba él estúpidamente? 12. ¿Cómo escuchaban los panaderos? 13. ¿Qué propone el jornalero? 14. ¿Cuál es la apuesta? 15. ¿Qué contestaron los panaderos? 16. ¿Cuánto apostaron los hombres? 17. ¿Repitieron los panaderos la primera palabra? 18. ¿La segunda palabra? 19. ¿La tercera palabra? 20. ¿Cómo pronunció el jornalero la tercera palabra? 21. ¿Pudieron hallar su error los panaderos? 22. Cuente Vd. el segundo ensayo. 23. ¿Cuántas veces lo intentaron los panaderos? 24. ¿Cuándo pagaron ellos el duro? 25. ¿Qué preguntaron? 26. ¿Cuál fué la respuesta del jornalero? 27. ¿Quién puede contar completamente esta anécdota? 29. ANUNCIO DEL ESTRENO DE UNA ÓPERA 1. ¿Cuál es la función de esta noche? 2. ¿En qué teatro? 3. ¿A qué hora empezará la función? 4. ¿De cuántas partes se compone el programa? 5. ¿Las óperas de Wágner son importantes? 6. ¿Cuáles son las óperas importantes de Wágner? 7. ¿Qué compositores de ópera puede Vd. mencionar? 8. ¿Cuáles son las obras más importantes de estos compositores? 9. ¿Cuál es el reparto de esta ópera? 10. ¿Prefiere Vd. una ópera de Wágner a una de Verdi o Puccini? 11. ¿Se répresentan óperas también en esta ciudad? 12. ¿Va Vd. a la ópera? 13. Explique Vd. en español el significado de la palabra, "estreno." 30. UN PORTERO EXACTO 1. ¿Qué orden dió una señora a su portero? 2. ¿Qué refirió el portero por la noche? 3. ¿Qué respondió la señora? 4. ¿Qué hizo la señora al día siguiente? 5. ¿Por qué salió? 6. ¿Quién llegó poco después? 7. ¿Qué preguntó ella al portero? 8. ¿Qué contestó él? 9. Dígame Vd. qué hizo la señora. 10. ¿Se indignó o se deleitó? 11. ¿Era el portero inteligente o tonto? 31. UNA PIERNA 1. ¿Quién sirvió una grulla? 2. ¿Dónde sirvió el paje la grulla? 3. ¿Cuántas piernas tenía esta grulla? 4. ¿Por qué no tenía sino una pierna? 5. ¿Qué dijo el señor? 6. Dígame Vd. la respuesta del paje. 7. ¿Adónde llevó el señor al paje el día siguiente? 8. ¿Por qué? 9. ¿Con qué toparon los cazadores? 10. ¿Las grullas estaban sobre dos pies? 11. ¿Qué dijo el paje a su amo? 12. ¿Qué hizo el señor? 13. ¿Qué dijo? 14. ¿Qué hicieron las grullas? 15. ¿Qué respondió el paje agudo? 32. ¿QUÉ DICE DAVID? 1. ¿Qué hace un obispo? 2. ¿Dónde predica un obispo? 3. ¿Adónde envió el obispo al criado? 4. ¿Por qué? 5. ¿Compró el criado la carne con dinero? 6. ¿Compra Vd. la vianda al fiado? 7. ¿Dónde está su iglesia? 8. ¿Adónde fué el criado después de haber comprado la carne? 9. ¿De qué profetas habló el obispo en el sermón? 10. ¿Qué dijo el criado cuando el obispo preguntó: '¿Qué dice David?' 33. EL CANAL DE SUEZ 1. ¿Qué facilita el canal de Suez? 2. ¿De quién nació el proyecto de este canal? 3. ¿Cuándo se construyó el primer canal del Nilo hasta el Mar Rojo? 4. ¿Por qué fué obstruido el canal? 5. ¿Cuándo fué destruido este canal? 6. ¿Quién era Fernando de Lesseps? 7. ¿Qué obtuvo del virrey de Egipto? 8. ¿Cuándo se organizó la compañía? 9. ¿Cuánto capital tenía la compañía? 10. ¿Cuánto tiempo duraron las obras? 11. ¿Cuánto tiene el canal de largo? 12. ¿De qué consiste una cuarta parte del canal? 13. ¿Cuánto tiene el canal de ancho? 14. ¿Cuándo se inauguró el canal? 15. ¿Cuántos buques pasaron por el canal en 1871? 16. ¿Qué viajes se acortan considerablemente por esta vía? 17. ¿Por dónde se hacían estos viajes antes? 18. ¿Dónde está situado el Cabo de Buena Esperanza? 19. ¿En qué parte del continente? 20. ¿A quién pertenece? 34. DURA SUERTE 1. ¿Quién visitó al Barón de Pereza? 2. ¿De qué se lamentó el Barón? 3. ¿Qué respondió el Conde de Cero? 4. ¿Tenía negocios el Barón? 5. ¿Era pobre? 6. ¿Qué tiene que hacer el Barón todas las mañanas? 7. ¿Todas las noches? 8. ¿Qué tiene que masticar? 9. ¿Qué tiene que tragar laboriosamente? 10. ¿Bebe Vd. café y té y agua? 11. ¿Qué no bebe Vd.? 12. ¿Sale el Barón de la casa por la mañana o por la tarde? 13. ¿Preparó el cocinero la vianda dura? 14. ¿Qué dice el Barón del inhalar y del exhalar? 15. ¿Puede descontinuar esto el Barón? 35. EL MUCHACHO INTELIGENTE 1. Describa Vd. al muchacho. 2. ¿Qué dijo el caballero? 3. ¿Es verdad? 4. ¿Qué respondió el muchacho? 5. ¿Era una galantería esta respuesta? 36. EL CRIADO ERUDITO 1. ¿De qué hablaron los amigos? 2. ¿Adónde de fueron los amigos? 3. ¿Quién escuchaba? 4. ¿Qué dijo el militar? 5. ¿Qué dijo el poeta? 6. ¿Qué dijo el cura? 7. ¿Qué dijo el usurero? 8. ¿Qué dijo el pintor? 9. ¿Qué dijo el criado? 10.' ¿De qué no se acordaron los amigos? 37. CONCEPTO FALSO 1. ¿Dónde se matriculó un estudiante? 2. ¿Qué preguntó el secretario? 3. ¿Qué respondió el estudiante? 4. Cuente Vd. lo que resta de esta anécdota. 38. CHILE 1. ¿Dónde está situado Chile? 2. ¿Es grande o pequeño este país? 3. ¿Cómo es el suelo en la región del norte? 4. ¿Qué se halla allí? 5. ¿Cómo es el clima de la región central? 6. ¿Qué se cosecha allí? 7. ¿Qué se cría? 8. ¿Dónde se encuentra la mayor parte de la población? 9. ¿Qué hay en el sur? 10. ¿Qué se encuentra en estos bosques? 11. ¿Cuáles son las exportaciones principales? 12. ¿Cuántos habitantes tiene la república? 13. ¿Qué lengua se habla en Chile? 14. ¿De dónde desciende la mayor parte de la población? 15. ¿Cómo se llama la ciudad principal? 16. ¿Dónde está situada? 17. ¿Cuál es la capital? 18. ¿Cómo se llama? 39. LOS CUATRO HERMANOS 1. ¿Cuántos hijos tenía el zapatero? 2. ¿Qué deseaban los hijos? 3. ¿Qué dijeron ellos a su padre? 4. ¿Qué respondió el padre? 5. ¿Qué les dió el padre? 6. ¿Qué hicieron los hermanos? 7. ¿Qué exclamó el hermano mayor a la encrucijada? 8. ¿Adónde anduvo cada uno? 9. ¿Adónde llegaron los hermanos? 10. ¿Qué aprendieron ellos en las ciudades? 11. ¿Qué oficio aprendió cada uno? 12. ¿Dónde se reunieron ellos después de un año? 13. ¿Estaban tristes? 14. ¿Qué dijo el mayor a su padre? 15. ¿Qué respondió el padre? 16. ¿Qué dijo Julio a su padre? 17. ¿Creyó el padre lo que Julio dijo? 18. ¿Qué dió a Julio? 19. ¿Qué hizo Julio y qué dijo? 20. ¿Qué dijo el padre cuando vió sus zapatos nuevos? 21. ¿Qué preguntó al segundo hijo? 22. ¿Qué respondió Ramón? 23. ¿Qué respondió Enrique a la pregunta de su padre? 24. ¿Qué dijo el padre cuando vió una ardilla? 25. ¿Qué respondió Felipe a la pregunta de su padre? 26. ¿Qué no pudo ver el padre? 27. ¿Qué preguntó al astrólogo? 28. ¿En qué pensó Felipe, el ladrón? 29. ¿Estaba contento el padre? 30. ¿Qué dijo? 31. ¿Qué oyeron los hermanos? 32. ¿Qué ofreció el rey? 33. ¿Qué dijeron los hermanos? 34. ¿Adónde fueron? 35. ¿Qué dijeron al rey? 36. ¿Qué hizo el astrólogo por la noche? 37. ¿Vió él a la princesa? 38. ¿Dónde? 39. Cuando el ladrón vió a la princesa ¿qué dijo? 40. ¿Qué hizo el dragón? 41. ¿Qué exclamó el cazador? 42. ¿Cuál fué el efecto? 43. ¿Cómo fué remendado el barco? 44. ¿Por qué altercaban los hermanos? 45. ¿Qué dijo cada uno? 46. Cuando fueron al palacio ¿qué dijeron al rey? 47. ¿Qué respondió el rey? 48. ¿Estaban contentos los hermanos? 49. ¿De qué manera viven ellos? 50. ¿Qué hacen cada vez cuando nace un príncipe o una princesa? 41. ARGENTINA 1. ¿Qué país de la América del Sur es el más importante? 2. ¿Dónde está situado? 3. ¿Cuál es su población? 4. ¿Cuántos habitantes puede sostener este país? 5. ¿Cuál es el gobierno de Argentina? 6. ¿Cuántos estados hay? 7. ¿De qué consiste el congreso nacional? 8. ¿Cómo se gobiernan las provincias? 9. ¿De qué se compone la población? 10. ¿De qué países son los inmigrantes? 11. ¿Cómo se llama la capital? 12. ¿Cuál es su población? 13. ¿Cuáles son los recursos agrícolas? 14. ¿Qué se encuentra en las planicies? 15. ¿Cuáles son las exportaciones principales? 16. ¿Hay muchos ferrocarriles? 17. ¿Cuál es la ciudad principal? 18. ¿De qué manera está construida? 19. ¿Qué tiene? 20. Mencione Vd. algunos edificios. 21. ¿Puede Vd. mencionar un diario importante? 22. Traduzca Vd. al inglés la palabra "Prensa." 42. EL BARBERO DE LA CORUÑA 1. ¿Quién llegó a la fonda de la Coruña? 2. Describa Vd. al hombre. 3. ¿Cómo estaba vestido? 4. ¿Qué había en su apariencia? 5. ¿Cómo era su voz? 6. ¿Qué gritó? 7. ¿Adónde corrió el posadero? 8. ¿Qué sirvió? 9. ¿Qué quería el forastero después de la comida? 10. ¿Dónde vivía el barbero? 11. ¿Qué tenía en las manos cuando entró? 12. ¿Qué hizo? 13. ¿Qué preguntó? 14. ¿Qué advirtió el extranjero al barbero? 15. ¿Por qué se espantó el barbero? 16. ¿Qué había sacado del bolsillo el forastero? 17. ¿Adónde puso el cuchillo? 18. ¿Qué dijo el barbero al ver el cuchillo? 19. ¿A quién quiso hacer venir? 20. ¿Qué decía para sí en la calle? 21. ¿En qué pensaba? 22. ¿Cuándo se presentó el ayudante? 23. ¿Cuánto quiso dar el extranjero al ayudante? 24. ¿Qué efecto produjeron las palabras del forastero en el ayudante? 25. ¿Qué dijo? 26. ¿A quién hizo venir? 27. ¿Qué dijo para sí cuando estaba en la calle? 28. ¿Cuántos años tenía el aprendiz? 29. ¿Qué muchacho era? 30. ¿De qué manera reflexionaba? 31. ¿Tenía miedo? 32. ¿Por qué no? 33. ¿Afeitó al forastero? 34. ¿Cuál fué el éxito de la operación? 35. ¿Qué dijo el forastero? 36. ¿Qué dió al aprendiz? 37. ¿Por qué se puso pálido el forastero? 43. EL PERRO DEL VENTRÍLOCUO 1. ¿De quién estaba acompañado el ventrílocuo? 2. ¿Qué mandó? 3. ¿Qué sucedió entonces? 4. ¿Quién estaba en frente del ventrílocuo? 5. ¿Qué hizo éste al oír hablar el perro? 6. ¿Adonde puso el mozo los dos biftecs? 7. ¿Qué mandó el ventrílocuo después? 8. ¿Mandó el perro lo mismo? 9. ¿Qué preguntó el ricazo al dueño del perro? 10. ¿Qué contestó el dueño? 11. ¿Qué hizo entonces el ricazo? 12. ¿Qué efecto produjo la vista del dinero sobre el ventrílocuo? 13. ¿Qué sucedió cuando salió el ricazo con el perro? 44. EL CANAL DE PANAMÁ 1. ¿Fueron los franceses los primeros que intentaron el canal de Panamá? 2. ¿Los norteamericanos? 3. ¿Qué emperador pensaba en construir este canal? 4. ¿Por qué no construyó el canal? 5. ¿Qué gobierno envió comisiones a la América Central en 1870? 6. ¿Por qué fueron enviadas? 7. ¿Era buena la idea? 8. ¿Quién trazó entonces el proyecto de un canal? 9. ¿Dónde debía estar situado este canal? 10. ¿Tenían gran éxito? 11. ¿Quién compró la concesión de este canal? 12. ¿Cuánto dinero pagaron los Estados Unidos a los franceses? 13. ¿Cuándo principiaron a trabajar los ingenieros norteamericanos? 14. ¿Cuándo fué completado el canal? 15. ¿Quién oprimió el botón eléctrico? 16. ¿Qué hizo saltar el último obstáculo? 17. ¿Cuándo pasó el primer buque por el canal? 18. ¿Cuándo fué inaugurado el canal para el tráfico general? 19. ¿Cuánto tiene el canal de largo? 20. ¿Cuánto tiene el canal de ancho? 21. ¿Qué tienen que remontar los buques para llegar a su parte más elevada? 22. ¿Cuánto tiempo emplea un buque en ir de un océano al otro? 23. ¿Cuánto costó esta obra? 46. EL COMPETIDOR 1. ¿Quién llegó a la posada? 2. ¿Qué demandó? 3. Describa Vd. al posadero. 4. ¿Cómo era la cena? 5. ¿Qué preguntó el posadero al hombre? 6. ¿Qué respondió éste? 7. ¿Qué hizo el hombre cuando el posadero presentó la cuenta? 8. ¿Qué dijo el posadero? 9. ¿Cuál fue la respuesta del hombre? 10. ¿Qué idea ocurrió al posadero? 11. ¿Qué dio al hombre? 12. ¿Qué dijo el huésped antes de salir? 13. ¿Cómo se llamaba la fonda del competidor? 14. ¿Dónde estaba la fonda? 47. EL ESTUDIANTE DE SALAMANCA 1. ¿Cuánto dinero tenía el estudiante? 2. ¿Cómo arreglaba la cuenta? 3. ¿Qué tomó en una posada? 4. ¿Cómo era la huéspeda? 5. ¿Qué le propuso ella? 6. ¿Por qué recomendó la huéspeda las truchas? 7. ¿Qué quería decir "las cuatro efes"? 8. ¿Mandó el estudiante las truchas? 9. ¿Por qué no? 10. ¿Qué contestó? 11. ¿Qué efecto produjo la respuesta del estudiante en la huéspeda? 49. CUBA 1. ¿Cómo se llama la isla de Cuba? 2. ¿Cuál es la extensión de la isla? 3. ¿Cómo es el suelo? 4. ¿Qué abundan en los bosques? 5. ¿Qué se encuentra en el suelo? 6. ¿En qué consiste la riqueza principal? 7. ¿Dónde crece la caña de azúcar? 8. ¿Con qué se prepara el azúcar? 9. ¿Dónde se cultiva el tabaco? 10. ¿Dónde se hacen los tabacos más famosos? 11. ¿Cuáles son las exportaciones principales de Cuba? 12. ¿Por qué había guerra y revoluciones en Cuba? 13. ¿Cuándo empezó la revolución? 14. ¿Cuántos años duró? 15. ¿Cuándo se libertó Cuba? 16. ¿Cómo se llama la capital? 17. ¿Dónde está situada? 18. ¿Qué edificios hay en la Habana? 50. EL TONTO 1. ¿Qué tenía el lugareño? 2. ¿Por qué le llamaban "El Tonto" sus vecinos? 3. ¿Cómo era su mujer? 4. ¿Por qué quiso vender la vaca? 5. ¿Dónde estaba la vaca? 6. ¿Qué más estaba en el establo? 7. ¿Qué dijo la mujer a su marido cuando éste fue al establo? 8. ¿Qué respondió él? 9. ¿Qué sucedió en el establo? 10. ¿Quién vino detrás del lugareño? 11. ¿Adonde iban? 12. ¿Qué resolvieron hacer? 13. ¿Cuál era el plan de los tres? 14. ¿Cuánto ofreció el primero por la vaca? 15. ¿Cuánto ofreció el tercero? 16. ¿Por qué vendió el tonto la vaca? 17. ¿Qué hizo con el dinero? 18. ¿Qué dijo la mujer? 19. ¿Qué hicieron los tres bribones con la vaca? 20. ¿Adonde fueron después de haberla vendido? 21. ¿Qué plan propuso la mujer al posadero? 22. ¿Cómo pagó el tonto la cuenta? 23. ¿Qué hicieron los tres bribones al verlo? 24. ¿Qué dijo el primero al lugareño? 25. ¿Qué contestó éste? 26. ¿No vendió el sombrero? 27. ¿Cómo probaron los bribones el poder del sombrero? 28. ¿Cuál fue el éxito? 29. ¿Qué comprendieron al fin? 30. ¿Qué hizo el lugareño al volver a casa? 31. ¿Qué dijo a su mujer? 32. ¿Qué respondió la mujer? 33. ¿Qué sabía? 51. EL PERAL 1. ¿Dónde estaba el peral? 2. ¿Quién vivía en la casa que había cerca de él? 3. Describa Vd. a Dolores. 4. ¿Por qué se hizo soldado el héroe de la historia? 5. ¿Qué dijo Dolores al saber lo que había hecho? 6. Describa Vd. la campaña y el éxito. 7. ¿Qué notó Jaime al entrar en el pueblo? 8. ¿Por qué repicaron las campanas? 9. ¿De qué manera presenció Jaime esta boda? 10. ¿Qué hizo después de haber salido de la iglesia? 11. ¿Qué favor pidió al general? 12. ¿Por qué? 52. EL ESTUDIANTE JUICIOSO 1. ¿De dónde vinieron los dos estudiantes? 2. ¿Por qué se sentaron a la fuente? 3. ¿Qué notaron? 4. ¿Qué inscripción había en la piedra? 5. ¿Qué dijo el menor de los dos? 6. ¿Qué dijo el otro? 7. ¿Qué hizo entonces? 8. ¿Qué había debajo de la piedra? 9. ¿Qué había escrito en el papel? 54. EL ESPEJO DE MATSUYAMA 1. ¿Quién vivía en Matsuyama? 2. ¿Por qué iba el marido solo a la capital? 3. ¿Qué trajo consigo a la vuelta? 4. ¿Qué había en la caja? 5. ¿Qué vio la mujer en el espejo? 6. ¿Usaba mucho el espejo? 7. ¿Por qué no? 8. ¿Qué dijo la madre a la niña antes de morir? 9. ¿Qué hacía la niña cada día? 10. ¿Qué creía? 11. ¿Qué observó el padre? 12. ¿Qué contestó la niña a su padre? 55. LOS ZAPATOS DE TAMBURÍ 1. ¿Quién era Tamburí? 2. ¿Qué hombre era? 3. ¿Por qué era conocido? 4. ¿A quién encontró en el gran bazar? 5. ¿Qué compró? 6. ¿Qué hizo después de haber concluido la compra? 7. ¿Qué le aconsejó un amigo? 8. ¿Qué contestó? 9. ¿Qué encontró cuando se vistió? 10. ¿Cuál fue el efecto del error de Tamburí? 11. ¿Qué hizo con los zapatos viejos? 12. ¿Cómo hallaron los pescadores los zapatos? 13. ¿Qué hicieron con ellos? 14. ¿Qué pensaron los vecinos cuando Tamburí enterró los zapatos? 15. ¿Por qué hizo venir el Cadí a Tamburí? 16. ¿Dónde hallaron los fontaneros los zapatos? 17. ¿Cuál fue el efecto de esto? 18. ¿Por qué puso los zapatos en la azotea? 19. ¿Qué pasó entonces con ellos? 20. ¿Qué hizo el halcón? 21. ¿Qué sucedió? 22. ¿Por qué, Tamburí pidió audiencia al Sultán? 23. ¿Qué resultó de esta audiencia? 24. ¿Cuál fue el fin de los zapatos? 56. LA PORTERÍA DEL CIELO 1. ¿Quién era el tío Paciencia, y dónde vivia? 2. ¿Qué oyó cuando era aprendiz? 3. ¿Qué preguntó a su maestro? 4. ¿Qué contestó él? 5. ¿Qué impresión hicieron estas palabras? 6. ¿A qué debía el tío Paciencia su apodo? 7. Describa Vd. al marqués. 8. ¿Por qué se consideraron superiores los amigos del tío Paciencia? 9. ¿Por qué quiso impedir el tío Paciencia que su amigo fuese a la corrida de toros? 10, ¿Cuál fue el éxito de esta corrida en cuanto al tío Mamerto? 11. ¿Cuál fue la causa de la muerte del tío Macario? 12. ¿Qué efecto produjo la noticia de la muerte de sus amigos en el tío Paciencia? 13. ¿Qué le contó al marqués el ayuda de cámara? 14. ¿Por qué se asustó tanto el marqués? 15. ¿Con qué esperanzas caminaba el tío Paciencia hacia el cielo? 16. ¿Por qué se inquietaba a causa del tío Mamerto? 17. ¿Cómo fue interrumpido en sus reflexiones? 18. Describa Vd. lo que había sucedido al tío Mamerto en la portería. 19. ¿Por qué se había rehusado la entrada al tío Macario? 20. ¿No había hecho bastante penitencia en la tierra? 21. ¿Qué dijo el portero cuando el tío Paciencia se presentó a la portería? 22. ¿Quién llegó poco rato después? 23. Describa Vd. su modo de presentarse, y la respuesta del portero. 24. ¿Cuál fué el recibimiento que se le había preparado? 25. ¿Dónde estaba el tío Paciencia durante este tiempo? 26. ¿Por qué se quedó sorprendido después de haber entrado en el cielo? 27. Cuente Vd. la explicación que le dió el portero. ABBREVIATIONS IN VOCABULARY _acc_. = accusative. _adj_. = adjective. _adv_. = adverb. _conj_. = conjunction. _dat_. = dative. _dem_. = demonstrative. _f_. = feminine. _fut_. = future. _imper_. = imperative. _indef_. = indefinite. _indic_. = indicative. _interj_. = interjection. _m_. = masculine. _n_. = neuter. _part_. = participle. _past abs_. = past absolute.[1] _past descr_. = past descriptive.[1] _pl_. = plural. _p.p._ = past participle. _prep_. = preposition. _pres_. = present. _pron_. = pronoun. _refl_. = reflexive. _rel_. = relative. _subj_. = subjunctive. _superl_. = superlative. [Footnote 1: The names of the tenses of the Spanish verb used in this Vocabulary are in accordance with the recommendations of the Joint Committee on Grammatical Nomenclature. _Past Absolute_ and _Past Descriptive_ are equivalent to the _Preterit_ and the _Imperfect_.] =VOCABULARY= Principal parts of irregular verbs are given in parenthesis in the following order: _Present, Future, Past Absolute, Past Participle._ All radical-changing verbs have the vowel change indicated in parenthesis. Any other forms are specially marked. Adjectives, adverbs, prepositions are indicated only in cases of possible confusion of identical forms. =A= =a,= to, at, on, in, from, for; _not translated before direct personal object_. =abajo,= down. =abandonar,= to abandon, desert, leave, relinquish;--se, to be abandoned. =abanico=, _m_., fan. =abeja,= _f._, bee. =abierta,= _f.,_ act of opening. =abierto,--a,= open; _p.p. of_ =abrir.= =abono,= _m_., subscription. =Abou,= _m_., Abu _(proper name_). =abrazar,= to embrace;=--se,= to embrace each other. =abril,= _m_., April. =abrir=, _(p.p._ =abierto=), to open. =absurdo,-a,= absurd. =abuela,= _f.,_ grandmother. =abuelo,= _m_., grandfather; _pl._, grandparents. =abundancia,= _f.,_ abundance, plenty. =abundante,= abundant. =abundar,= to abound;=--en dinero,= to have plenty of money. =acabar,= to complete, finish; give out, become exhausted; =acaba de ver,= he has just seen; =acaba por vender,= he sells at last; =al--de reír,= as they finished laughing. =acaso,= perhaps. =accidente,= _m_., accident, chance. =acción,= _f.,_ action; share. =acerca de,= in regard to, about. =acercarse=, to approach, draw near. =acero=, _m._, steel; sword. =acierto=, _m._, success; skill. =acompañar=, to accompany. =aconsejar=, to advise. =acontecer=, to happen, take place. =acontecido: lo --=, what has happened. =acontecimiento=, _m._, event. =acordarse, (ue)=, to remember, recall. =acortar=, to shorten. =acostarse, (ue)=, to lie down, go to bed. =acostumbrarse=, to be accustomed, become accustomed. =acto=, _m._, act. =actriz=, _f._, actress. =acuático, -a=, aquatic; =línea acuática=, water route. =acudir=, to come, hasten. =acueducto=, _m._, aqueduct. =acueste=, _pres. subj. of_ =acostar=. =Adán=, _m._, Adam. =adelantarse=, to go ahead, go in advance. =adelante=, forward; =en --=, henceforth. =además=, moreover, besides. =adentro=, within; =para sus --s=, to himself. =¡adiós!= good-by! =adivinanza=, _f._, riddle. =adivinar=, to guess; suspect. =admirarse=, to be surprised. =adonde=, where, whither. =adorable=, adorable, adored. =adormecer=, to go to sleep. =adornar=, to adorn. =adorno=, _m._, ornament. =adulto, -a=, _m. and f._, adult, grown-up. =adversidad=, _f._, adversity, misfortune. =advertencia=, _f._, remark. =advertir, (ie)=, to notice, remark; call attention to; warn, caution. =advierto=, _pres. of_ =advertir=. =advirtió=, _past abs. of_ =advertir=. =afablemente=, affably. =afecto=, _m._, affection. =afeitar=, to shave. =afición=, _f._, fondness. =aficionado, -a=, fond. =afilado, -a=, sharp. =afilar=, to sharpen. =afligir=, to grieve. =afortunadamente=, happily, fortunately. =afortunado, -a=, fortunate. =África=, _f._, Africa. =agitar=, to shake; =--se=, to become excited. =agosto=, _m._, August. =agotar=, to exhaust. =agradable=, agreeable, pleasant. =agradar=, to please. =agrado=, _m_., charm. =agrícola=, agricultural. =agricultura=, _f._, agriculture. =agua=, _f._, water; =estación de las --s=, rainy season. =aguardar=, to wait. =agudeza=, _f._, wit; brightness. =agudo, -a=, sharp, pointed; witty. =águila=, _f._, eagle. =aguja=, _f._, needle. =¡ah!= _interj._, oh! alas! =ahí=, there. =ahogado, -a=, stifled, choked. =ahora=, now; =-- mismo=, even now; =por --=, for the present, now. =ahorcar=, to hang. =aire=, _m._, air. =ajeno, -a=, strange, foreign; another's. =ajustar=, to adjust, arrange, settle, regulate. =al = a el.= =ala=, _f._, wing. =alabar=, to praise. =alameda=, _f._, promenade. =alarmado, -a=, alarmed. =alboroque=, _m._, treat. =alborotar=, to make a noise; =--se=, to become excited. =alcalde=, _m._, judge. =Alcántara=, a city in western Spain; =orden de --=, a religious and military order, founded in 1156. =alcanzar=, to attain; catch up with. =Alcarria=, a mountainous district in Eastern Spain. =alcázar=, _m._, castle. =aldabazo=, _m._, loud knock. =aldea=, _f._, village. =aldeano=, _m._, countryman. =alegrarse=, to rejoice, be glad. =alegre=, glad, joyful. =alegremente=, merrily. =alegría=, _f._, gladness, joy. =Alejandro=, _m._, Alexander. =alejarse=, to go away. =Alemania=, _f._, Germany. =Alfonso=, _m._, Alfonso XIII, King of Spain. =alforja=, _f._, saddlebag. =álgebra=, _f._, algebra. =algo=, _pron. and adv._, something, somewhat. =algodón=, _m._, cotton. =alguien=, somebody, some one. =algún=, _see_ =alguno=. =alguno, -a=, some one, some. =alhaja=, _f._, jewel. =aliento=, _m._, courage. =alimento=, _m._, food. =alma=, _f._, soul; =de mi --=, dearly beloved. =Almanzor=, _m._, Almansor. =alrededor (de)=, about, around; =a mi --=, around me. =altercar=, to quarrel. =alteza=, _f._, elevation; =Alteza=, Highness. =alto, -a=, _adj._, high, loud. =alto=, _adv._, loud; =pasar por --=, to pass over in silence. =altura=, _f._, height. =alumno=, _m._, pupil, student. =allá=, there; =más --=, beyond, further. =allí=, there; =por --=, there. =amado, -a=, beloved. =amar=, to love; =--se=, to love each other. =amarillo, -a=, yellow. =ambos, -as=, both. =América=, _f._, America; =la -- del Sur=, South America. =americano, -a=, American. =amigo=, _m._, friend. =amiguito=, _m._, friend. =amo=, _m._, master, owner. =amor=, _m._, love, affection. =amoroso, -a=, loving. =ampliar=, to increase. =Ana=, _f._, Anna. =anciano, -a=, old. =ancho, -a=, broad, wide; =¿cuánto tiene el canal de--?= how wide is the canal? =anchura=, _f._, width. =¡anda!= _interj._, come now! get along! =andar=, (_past abs._, =anduve=), to go, walk. =Andes: los --=, the Andes mountains. =anduvo=, _past abs. of_ =andar=. =anécdota=, _f._, anecdote. =ángel=, _m._, angel. =angosto, -a=, narrow. =anhelar=, to desire, long for. =ánima=, _f._, soul; spirit. =animado, -a=, animated, lively. =animal=, _m._, animal; fool, jackass. =ánimo=, _m._, courage, spirits. =anoche=, _last night_. =anochecer=, to become dark; =al --=, at dusk. =ansiosamente=, anxiously. =ante=, _prep._, before. =anterior=, front; former. =antes=, _adv._, before; sooner, rather, =--de,--que,= _prep._, before. =antiguo, -a=, old, ancient. =Antillas: las --=, two groups of islands in the West Indies. =Antonio=, _m._, Anthony. =anunciar=, to announce. =anuncio=, _m._, announcement. =añadir=, to add. =añil=, _m._, indigo. =año=, _m._, year; =tiene ocho --s=, he is eight years old. =aparecer=, (_pres._ aparezco), to appear. =apariencia=, _f._, appearance. =apartado,-a=, secluded, out of the way. =apartarse=, to go away, depart. =apellido=, _m._, surname. =apenas=, scarcely, hardly. =apetito=, _m._, appetite. =aplicar=, to apply. =apodo=, _m._, nickname; =poner un ----=, to give a nickname. =apostar, (ue)=, to bet, wager. =aprecio=, _m._, valuation. =aprender=, to learn; =---- a=, to learn to. =aprendiz=, _m._, apprentice. =aprensivo,-a=, apprehensive, timid. =aprestar=, to make ready, prepare. =apresurar(se)=, to hasten, hurry. =aprisionado,-a=, imprisoned, confined, encased. =apuesta=, _pres. of_ =apostar=. =apuesta=, _f._, bet, wager. =apuro=, _m._, difficulty, embarrassment. =aquel, aquella, aquello=, _dem. adj._, that. =aquél, aquélla=, _dem. pron._, that one, the former. =aquí=, here; =por ----=, here. =ara=, _f._, altar. =árbol=, _m._, tree. =arcángel=, _m._, archangel. =ardilla=, _f._, squirrel. =arduo,-a=, arduous, rough. =arena=, _f._, sand; arena. =Argentina=, _f._, Argentina. =aristocrático,-a=, aristocratic. =aritmética=, _f._, arithmetic. =arpa=, _f._, harp. =arreglar=, to settle, arrange. =arrepentido,-a=, sorry. =arrestar=, to arrest. =arriba (de)=, above, up; upstairs; =más ----=, further up; =¡----!= up! =arrodillarse=, to kneel down. =arrojar=, to throw, hurl. =arroz=, _m._, rice. =arte=, _m. and f._, art. =artículo=, _m._, article. =artístico,-a=, artistic. =ascender, (ie)=, to amount to. =ascensor=, _m._, elevator. =asegurar=, to assure. =aserradero=, _m._, lumber mill. =asesinar=, to assassinate, murder. =asfalto=, _m._, asphalt. =así=, thus, so; =---- que=, so that. =Asia=, _f._, Asia. =asir=, (_pres._ =asgo=), to seize, grasp. =asistente=, _m._, assistant. =asistir a=, to be present, attend. =asno=, _m._, ass, donkey. =asomar=, to show. =asombro=, _m._, surprise, astonishment. =aspecto=, _m._, aspect, appearance. =aspirar=, to smell. =astilla=, _f._, splinter, chip. =astrología=, _f._, astrology. =astrólogo=, _m._, astrologer. =asunto=, _m._, affair, matter. =asustarse=, to become frightened. =atado, -a=, tied. =atención=, _f._, attention; =prestar ----=, to pay attention. =atentamente=, attentively. =atento, -a=, attentive. =aterrador, -ra=, terrifying. =Atlántico, -a=, Atlantic. =atolondrado, -a=, flighty, scatter-brained. =atónito, -a=, surprised, astonished. =atraer=, (_like_ =traer=), to draw down. =atrás=, back, backward. =atravesar=, to traverse, cross. =atreverse=, to dare. =atronador, -ra=, thundering. =aturdido, -a=, dumbfounded. =audaz=, bold, daring. =audiencia=, _f._, audience. =aumentar=, to augment, increase. =aumento=, _m._, increase; =va en ----=, is increasing. =aun, aún=, still, even, yet. =aunque=, although. =ausencia=, _f._, absence. =automóvil=, _m._, automobile. =autor=, _m._, author. =autoridad=, _f._, authority. =avaricia=, _f._, avarice. =avaro, -a=, avaricious. =avaro=, _m._, miser. =ave=, _f._, bird. =avena=, _f._, oats. =avenida=, _f._, avenue. =aventura=, _f._, adventure. =averiguar=, to fathom, solve. =avivar=, to enliven, quicken; =aviva el ojo=, keep your eyes open, look sharp. =ayuda=, _f._, help, assistance; =---- de cámara=, valet. =ayudante=, _m._, assistant. =ayudar=, to help, assist. =azotea=, _f._, balcony. =azúcar=, _m._, sugar; =caña de ----=, sugar cane. =azufre=, _m._, sulphur. =azul=, blue. =B= =Bahía=, _f._, Bahia, a city in Brazil. =bahía=, _f._, bay. =bailarina=, _f._, dancer. =bajar=, to go down. =bajo=, _adv._, low. =bajo, -a=, low. =bajo=, _prep._, under. =balde: en ----=, in vain; =de ----=, for nothing, gratis. =balneario=, _m._, watering place. =banco=, _m._, bank; bench. =bandera=, _f._, banner. =bañar=, to bathe; =--se=, to take a bath. =baño=, _m._, bath. =baraja=, _f._, pack of cards. =barato, -a=, cheap. =barba=, _f._, chin; beard. =bárbaro, -a=, outlandish, exaggerated. =bárbaro=, _m._, barbarian; ill-mannered fellow. =barbero=, _m._, barber. =barbón=, bearded _or_ whiskered fellow. =barco=, _m._, boat. =barón=, _m._, baron. =barrio=, _m._, neighborhood. =barro=, _m._, clay. =bastante=, enough, sufficient; quite. =bastar=, to suffice, be enough. =bata=, _f._, bath robe. =batalla=, _f._, battle. =Bautista=, _m._, Baptist. =bayoneta=, _f._, bayonet. =bazar=, _m._, bazaar, store. =beber=, to drink. =bebida=, _f._, beverage. =bellísimo, -a=, _superl. of_ =bello=. =bello, -a=, beautiful. =bendito, -a=, blessed. =benigno, -a=, kind. =bestia=, _f._, wild animal, beast, =biblioteca=, _f._, library. =bicicleta=, _f._, bicycle. =bien=, well; =no ----=, scarcely, no sooner. =biftec=, _m._, beefsteak. =billete=, _m._, banknote, bill; =---- de banco=, banknote. =biología=, _f._, biology. =bisiesto: año ----=, leap year. =blanco, -a=, white. =blando, -a=, soft, tender. =bobo=, _m._, fool. =boca=, _f._, mouth. =boda=, _f._, wedding, marriage. =bolero=, _m._, a characteristic Spanish dance. =Bolivia=, _f._, Bolivia. =bolsa=, _f._, pocket, purse. =bolsilla=, _f._, pocket; pocket-book. =bolsillo=, _m._, pocket. =bondad=, _f._, goodness, kindness. =bonito, -a=, pretty. =bórax=, _m._, borax. =borrado, -a=, erased, obliterated. =bosque=, _m._, forest. =botar=, to rebound. =botella=, _f._, bottle. =botón=, _m._, button. =Brasil (el)=, Brazil. =¡bravo!= bravo! =brazo=, _m._, arm. =bribón=, _m._, rascal, scoundrel. =bridón=, _m._, steed. =brillante=, bright, brilliant. =brindis=, _m._, toast. =broma=, _f._, joke; =no es para ----s=, it is no joke. =bronce=, _m._, bronze. =bruto=, _m._, brute; =---- de mí=, fool that I am. =buen=, _see_ =bueno=. =bueno, -a=, good; =estar ----=, to be well. =Buenos Aires=, capital of the Argentine Republic. =bulla=, _f._, noise. =buque=, _m._, vessel, ship; =---- de guerra=, warship. =burla=, _f._, jest, mockery. =burlar=, to mock, jest, ridicule. =burro=, _m._, ass, donkey. =busca=, _f._, search. =buscar=, to seek, look for, find. =busque=, _pres. subj. of_ =buscar=. =butaca=, _f._, orchestra chair. =C= =cabalgata=, _f._, ride. =caballero=, _m._, gentleman; knight. =caballo=, _m._, horse. =cabaña=, _f._, hut. =cabello=, _m._, hair. =cabeza=, _f._, head; =dolor de ----=, headache. =cabo=, m., end; cape; =al ----=, finally, at last; =al ---- de=, at the end of; =llevar a ----=, to carry out. =cabra=, _f._, goat. =cacao=, _m._, cocoa. =cacarear=, to cackle. =cada=, each, every. =cadáver=, _m._, dead body. =cadí=, _m._, cadi, judge. =caer=, (_pres._ =caigo=), to fall; =---- en algo=, to notice something; =---- en gracia=, to meet with favor. =café=, _m._, coffee. =cafeto=, _m._, coffee tree. =caído=, _p.p. of_ =caer=. =Cairo (el)=, capital of Egypt. =caja=, _f._, box. =cajita=, _f._, little box. =calado=, _m._, fretwork; open embroidery. =calado=, _p.p. of_ =calar=, to put on. =Calatrava=, a ruined town of Spain; =orden de ----=, a religious and military order founded in the 12th century. =calaverada=, _f._, silly action; trick. =Calderón de la Barca, Pedro=, a famous Spanish dramatic poet. =calidad=, _f._, quality. =cálido, -a,= warm. =caliente=, warm; =andar ----=, to be comfortable. =califa=, _m._, caliph. =calificar=, to regard; =----se de=, to be regarded as. =calma=, _f._, calmness. =calor=, _m._, heat; =hace ----=, it is warm. =calzado=, _m._, shoes. =¡calla!= hold on! well, well! hush! =callar=, to be silent; suppress, pass over in silence; =---- el pico=, to hold one's tongue. =calle=, _f._, street. =cama=, _f._, bed; =meterse en ----=, to take to one's bed. =cámara,= _f._, room, chamber; =ayuda de ----=, valet. =camarada=, _m._, comrade. =cambiar=, to change, exchange. =camello=, _m._, camel. =caminar=, to travel. =camino=, _m._, way, road, journey; =---- de hierro=, railroad. =campana=, _f._, bell. =campanario=, _m._, bell tower. =campanilla=, _f._, bell. =campaña=, _f._, campaign. =campesino=, _m._, countryman, farmer. =campo=, _m._, field, country; =al ----=, in the country. =canal=, _m._, canal. =¡canario!= zounds! confound it! =¡canastos!= zounds! hang it! =canción,= _f._, song. =candoroso, -a,= frank, open. =cansado, -a,= tired. =cantar=, to sing; bleat; =es otro ----=, that is a horse of another color. =cántaro,= _m._, pitcher; =llover a ----s=, to rain pitchforks. =cantidad=, _f._, quantity. =caña=, _f._, cane. =cañón=, _m._, cannon; organ pipe. =caoba=, _f._, mahogany. =capital=, _f._, capital _(city)._ =capital=, _m._, capital _(funds)._ =capitán,= _m._, captain. =capitolio=, _m._, capitol. =cara=, _f._, face. =¡caracoles!= zounds! great Scot! =característico, -a=, characteristic. =¡caramba!= hang it! =caramelo=, _m._, caramel; brown sugar. =carbón,= _m._, coal. =carcajada=, _f._, loud laughter; =soltar la ----=, to burst into laughter. =cárcel=, _f._, prison. =carga=, _f._, charge. =cargar=, to load; annoy, bother. =cargo=, _m._, charge; =hacerse ---- de=, to undertake. =caridad=, _f._, charity. =cariño=, _m._, affection, love. =cariñoso,-a=, tender, affectionate. =caritativo,-a=, charitable. =Carlos=, _m._, Charles; =---- V=, Charles V, King of Spain, 1500-58. =carne=, _f._, meat; flesh. =carnero=, _m._, sheep. =carnicero=, _m._, butcher. =carta=, _f._, letter. =casa=, _f._, house; =en ----=, at home; =---- de baños=, bathing establishment. =casar=, to marry; =--se (con)=, to marry, get married (to). =casi=, almost. =casino=, _m._, casino. =caso=, _m._, case, event; =hacer ---- de=, to take notice of. =¡cáspita!= hang it! confound it! =casta=, _f._, kind, race, species. =castaño,-a=, brown. =casualidad=, _f._, accident, chance; =por ---- =, accidentally, by chance. =catedral=, _f._, cathedral. =categoría=, _f._, category. =católico,-a=, catholic. =catorce=, fourteen. =causa=, _f._, cause, reason; =a ---- de=, on account of. =causar=, to cause; give. =cavar=, to dig. =cavilación=, _f._, deep meditation. =cavilar=, to meditate, think. =cayó=, _past abs. of_ =caer=. =caza=, _f._, hunt. =cazador=, _m._, hunter. =cedro=, _m._, cedar. =celebrar=, to celebrate. =célebre=, famous, illustrious. =celeste=, heavenly. =cena=, _f._, supper. =cenar=, to sup, have for supper. =censor=, _m._, critic. =censurar=, to censure, find fault. =centavo=, _m._, cent. =centellante=, sparkling, flashing. =centésimo,-a=, one-hundredth. =céntimo=, _m._, a quarter of a cent. =central=, central. =centro=, _m._, center. =ceñir, (i)=, to wind around; crown. =cepillo=, _m._, eraser. =cequí=, _m._, sequin, a gold coin formerly used in Italy, Turkey, and Spain. =cera=, _f._, wax. =cerca=, near, about; =---- de,= near to. =cercano,-a=, near, neighboring. =cerdo=, _m._, pig. =cereales=, _m. pl._, cereals. =ceremonia= _f._, ceremony. =cero=, _m._, zero. =cerrado,-a=, closed. =cerrar, (ie)=, to close. =Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de=, a great Spanish writer. =cesar=, to cease, stop. =ciego,-a=, blind. =cielo=, _m._, heaven; sky. =cien=, one hundred. =ciencia=, _f._, science. =ciento=, one hundred. =cierra=, _pres. of_ =cerrar=. =ciertamente=, certainly, surely. =cierto,-a=, certain, sure; =por ----=, for certain; certainly, surely. =cierto=, _indef. pron._, a certain; some. =cigarro=, _m._, cigar. =cinco=, five. =cincuenta=, fifty. =cinema=, _see_ =cinematógrafo=. =cinematógrafo=, _m._, cinematograph. =ciña=, _pres. subj. of_ =ceñir=. =ciprés=, _m._, cypress. =circunstancia=, _f._, circumstance; quality. =ciruela=, _f._, plum. =citar=, to cite, quote. =ciudad=, _f._, city. =ciudadano=, _m._, citizen. =civil=, civil. =clamar=, to exclaim; shout, roar. =claramente=, clearly, evidently. =claro,-a=, clear, evident; light. =clase=, _f._, class. =clavo=, _m._, nail. =cliente=, _m._, customer. =clima=, _m._, climate. =cobarde=, _m._, coward. =cobijar=, to cover; protect. =cobre=, _m._, copper. =cobrizo,-a=, copper-colored. =cocina=, _f._, kitchen. =cocinero=, _m._, cook. =coco=, _m._, coconut. =coche=, _m._, coach, carriage. =cochero=, _m._, coachman. =codicia=, _f._, avarice. =codo=, _m._, elbow. =cofradía=, _f._, brotherhood. =coger=, to take, seize. =cola=, _f._, tail. =colarse, (ue)=, to slip. =cólera=, _f._, anger. =cólera=, _m._, cholera. =coléricamente=, angrily. =colérico,-a=, angry. =colgante=, hanging, suspended. =colmena=, _f._, beehive. =colocar=, to place, put. =Colombia=, _f._, Colombia. =colono=, _m._, colonist. =color=, _m._, color. =colosal=, colossal, enormous. =comedia=, _f._, comedy. =comenzar=, to commence, begin. =comer=, to eat. =comercial=, commercial. =comerciante=, _m._, merchant. =comercio=, _m._, commerce. =cometer=, to commit. =cómico,-a=, comic. =comida=, _f._, meal; dinner. =comisión=, _f._, commission. =como=, _adv._, as, how, like, as if. =¿cómo?= how? =compañero=, _m._, companion. =compañía=, _f._, company; =---- por acciones=, stock company. =competidor=, _m._, rival. =complacer=, (_pres._ =complazco=), to please. =completamente=, completely. =completar=, to complete. =completo,-a=, complete; =por ----=, completely. =componer=, (_see_ =poner=), to compose, prepare, arrange; =--se=, to consist. =composición=, _f._, composition; preparation; dish. =compositor=, _m._, composer. =compota=, _f._, stew. =compra=, _f._, purchase. =comprador=, _m._, buyer. =comprar=, to buy. =comprender=, to understand. =compuesto,-a=, arranged; _p.p. of_ =componer=. =compuso=, _past abs. of_ =componer=. =común=, ordinary, common; standard. =comunicación=, _f._, communication; =poner en ----=, to connect. =con=, with, by. =conceder=, to concede, grant. =concepto=, _m._, concept, idea. =concesión=, _f._, concession. =concierto=, _m._, concert. =concluir=, (_pres._ concluyo), to conclude, finish. =concurrir (en)=, to agree. =conde=, _m._, count. =condena=, _f._, sentence. =condenar=, to condemn, sentence. =condesa=, _f._, countess. =condición=, _f._, condition, state; kind. =condimento=, _m._, condiment, spice. =cóndor=, _m._, condor. =conducir=, (_pres._ =conduzco=, _past abs._ =conduje=), to conduct, lead. =conducta,= _f._, behavior. =conducto,= _m_., pipe. =confiar,= (_pres._ confío), to confide, trust; vest in. =congreso,= _m_., congress. =conmemorativo,=-a, commemorative. =conmovido,=-a, moved, touched. =conocer,= (_pres._ conozco), to know, recognize. =conocido,= _m_., acquaintance. =conseguir,= (i), to succeed. =conserva,= _f_., preserve; en ----, preserved. =conservar,= to preserve, keep. =considerable,= considerable. =considerablemente,= considerably. =considerar,= to consider, regard, think. =consigo,= with him (self). =consiguiente:= por ----, consequently. =consistir,= to consist, be composed of. =consolar,= (ue), to console. =constantemente,= constantly. =constitución,= _f._, constitution. =construcción,= _f._, construction, building. =construir,= (_pres._ construyo), to construct, build. =construyó,= _past abs. of_ construir. =consuela,= _pres. of_ =consolar.= =Consuelo,= _f._, Consuelo (_proper name_). =contar,= (ue), to count; tell, relate. =contentar,= to satisfy. =contento,-a,= content, satisfied, happy. =contento,= _m._, pleasure, satisfaction. =contestación,= _f._, answer. =contestar,= to answer, reply. =continente,= _m._, continent. =continuar,= (_pres._ continúo), to continue. =continuo,-a,= continuous. =contorno,= _m_., district. =contra,= against. =convencer,= to convince. =convencido,= _p.p. of_ convencer. =conveniencia,= _f._, convenience. =convenir, (ie),= to suit; (_see_ =venir=). =conversación,= _f._, conversation. =conversar,= to converse. =convertirse,= (ie), to change. =conviene,= _pres. of_ convenir. =copia,= _f_., copy. =copiar,= to copy. =copo,= _m_., bunch of flax. =Corán,= _m_., the Koran. =corazón,= _m_., heart. =cordero,= _m_., lamb. =cordial=, cordial. =cordón=, _m._, string; belt, cord. =coro=, _m._, chorus; choir. =corona=, _f._, crown. =coronel=, _m._, colonel. =corpulento,-a=, corpulent, fat. =correcto,-a=, correct. =correr=, to run. =corresponder=, to fall to the share of. =corrida=, _f._, bullfight. =cortar=, to cut; cut down, =corte=, _f._, court. =corte=, _m._, edge (of a knife). =cortés=, courteous, polite. =cortesano=, _m._, courtier. =cortesía=, _f._, courtesy. =corto,-a=, short. =Coruña (la)=, a province and city of northwestern Spain. =cosa=, _f._, thing; matter; =---- rara=, wonder. =cosecha=, _f._, harvest. =cosechar=, to reap, harvest, =costa=, _f._, coast. =costar, (ue)=, to cost. =costo=, _m._, cost. =costumbre=, _f._, custom, habit; _pl._, manners. =cráneo=, _m._, cranium, skull. =crecer=, (_pres._ =crezco=), grow. =crecido,-a=, increased. =creer=, (_pres. part._ =creyendo=), to believe; think. =cresta=, _f._, crest. =creyendo=, _pres. part. of_ =creer=. =creyente=, _m._, believer, faithful. =creyera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =creer=. =creyó=, _past abs. of_ =creer=. =cría=, _f._, raising; brood. =criada=, _f._, servant, maid. =criadero=, _m._, breeding place. =criado=, _m._, servant. =criar=, to beget; raise, bring up. =cristal=, _m._, crystal, cut glass. =cristalería=, _f._, glass, glassware. =cristiano,-a=, Christian. =cuaderno=, _m._, copy book. =cuadrado,-a=, square. =cuadro=, _m._, picture; painting. =cual=, which; =el ----=, who, which; =lo ----=, what; =cada ----=, each one. =¿cuál?= what? which? =cualquier=, any, whatsoever. =cualquiera=, whoever. =cuando=, when. =¿cuándo?= when? =cuanto,-a=, as much as; all that; =---- más..., tanto más=, the..., the; =en ---- a=, concerning, regarding; =en ----=, as soon as. =¿cuánto,-a?= how much? how many? =cuarenta,= forty. =cuarto,-a,= fourth, quarter. =cuarto,= _m._, room. =cuatro,= four. =cubierta,= _f._, covering. =cubrir,= (_p.p._ cubierto), to cover. =cuchillo,= _m._, knife. =cuelo,= _pres. of_ =colar(se).= =cuello,= _m_., neck. =cuenta,= _f._, bill. =cuento,= _pres. of_ =contar.= =cuento,= _m._, story, tale. =cuerdo,-a,= wise. =cuerno,= _m._, horn (of an animal). =cuero,= _m._, leather, pelt. =cuerpo,= _m._, body. =cuesta,= _f._, hillside, slope; =---- arriba,= uphill. =---- abajo,= downhill. =cuestan,= _pres.of_ =costar.= =cuestión,= _f._, question. =cuidado,= _m._, care; =tener ----=, to be careful; =¡no tengas ----!=, don't worry! =cuidar,= to be careful; tend. =culpar,= to blame. =cultivar,= to cultivate. =cultivo,= _m_., cultivation. =cumplir,= to fulfill, accomplish; serve out. =cúpula,= _f._, dome. =cura,= _m._, priest. =curar,= to heal. =curiosidad,= _f_., curiosity. =curso,= _m_., course. =curvo,-a,= curved. =cutis,= _m_., skin. =cuyo,-a,= whose, of which. =CH= =chanza,= _f_., joke; entender de--s, to be trifled with. =charco, = _m_., pool, pond. =chasco,= _m_., trick. =chato,-a,= flat. =Chiapas,= a province of Mexico. =chico,-a,= small. =Chile,= _m_., Chile. =chillar,= to screech, scream. =China,= _f_., China. =chiquillo,= _m_., little boy. =chiquitína,= _f_., little girl. =chispa,= _f_., spark. =¡chispas!= thunder and lightning! zounds! =chocar,= to strike, hit. =chocolate,= _m_., chocolate. =chupona,= _f_., leech. =D= =dama,= _f_., lady. =danzar,= to dance. =daño,= _m_., damage, injury. =dar,= (_pres._ =doy,= _past abs_. =di=), to give; =---- parte=, to inform; =---- un chasco=, to play a trick; =---- una media vuelta=, to turn around; =---- un paso=, to take a step; =--- un salto=, to jump; =no te dé el sol=, let the sun not find you. =Darién=, isthmus and gulf in Colombia. =David=, _m_., David. =de=, of, from, in, with, by; _after a comparative_, than. =dé=, _pres. subj. of_ =dar=. =debajo (de)=, below, under. =deber=, must; ought; to owe; =----se=, to be due. =deber=, _m_., duty. =débil=, weak. =debilitando=, _pres. part, of_ =debilitar=. =debilitar=, to become weak. =decidir=, to decide. =decir, (digo, diré, dije, dicho)=, to say, tell, mention; =querer ----=, to mean; =diciendo y haciendo=, suiting the action to the word. =declarar=, to declare. =declive=, _m_., slant; =en ----=, slanting. =dedicarse=, to devote one's self, devote. =dedo, _m_., finger; toe. =degollar=, (ue), to behead. =deguello=, _pres. of_ =degollar=. =dejar=, to let; leave, fail, forsake; =no dejaba de tener=, could not help =having. =del = de el=. =delante (de)=, before, in front of. =delegación=, _f_., delegation. =deleitado,-a=, delighted. =deleitarse=, to delight. =deleite=, _m_., to delight, pleasure. =deletrear=, to spell. =delgado,-a=, thin, lean. =delicado,-a=, delicate. =demandar=, to demand; ask. =demasiado,-a=, excessive. =demasiado=, _adv_., too much, too, excessively. =demonio=, _m_., devil. =demostrar, (ue)=, to show; prove. =denso,-a=, dense, thick; heavy. =dentro=, within; inside. =derecho,-a=, straight; right. =derecho=, _m_., right. =derribar=, to break down. =desaliento=, _m_., discouragement, disappointment. =desaparecer=, _(pres._ =desaparezco=), to disappear; be gone (dead). =desaparezca=, _pres. subj. of_ =desaparecer=. =desarrollar=, to develop. desatar, to untie. desatento,-a, inattentive. desazón, _f_., annoyance. descansar, to rest. descender, (ie), to descend. =descendida,= _f._, descent, fall. =descendiendo,= _pres. part. of_ =descender.= =descendiente,= _m._, descendant. =desciende,= _pres. of_ =descender.= =descontento,-a,= dissatisfied. =descontinuar,= to discontinue, stop. =describir,= (_p.p._ =descrito=), to describe. =descripción,= _f._, description. =descubierto,= _p.p. of_ =descubrir.= =descubrimiento,= _m_., discovery. =descubrir,= (_p.p._ =descubierto=), to discover, make out, discern, reveal. =descuida,= _imper. of_ =descuidar,= don't worry. =desde,= since; from. =desdeñosamente,= disdainfully. =desdicha,= _f._, misfortune. =desear, =to desire, wish. =desechar,= to cast off, cast aside. =deseo,= _m_., desire, wish. =desesperación,= _f._, despair. =desesperado,-a,= desperate; despairing. =desgraciadamente,= unfortunately. =deshelar, (ie),= to thaw. =deshiela,= _pres. of_ =deshelar.= =desierto,-a,= deserted, uninhabited. =desigualdad,= _f._, inequality. =deslizarse,= to slip. =desmayado,-a,= in a faint, dismayed. =desmayar,= to faint. =desmejorar,= to decline, deteriorate. =desnudo,-a,= bare, naked. =desobediente,= disobedient. =despacio,= slowly. =despedirse, (i),= to take leave. =despertar, (ie),= to awaken, wake up. =despidió,= _past abs. of_ =despedir (se).= =despique,= _m_., spite: revenge. =despropósito=, _m_., absurdity. =después,= afterwards, later; =---- de,= after. =destilación,= _f._, distillation; distilling. =destino,= _m_., fate, destiny. =destrozar,= to destroy. =destrozo,= _m_., destruction, damage. =destruir,= (_pres._ =destruyo=), to destroy. =desvanecer,= (_pres._ =desvanezco=), to dissipate, cause to disappear. =desvelo,= _m_., watching. =desvestir,= (_pres._ =desvisto=), to undress. =detener, (ie;= _see_ =tener),= to detain, hold back; =--se,= to stop. =determinar,= to determine. =detrás (de),= behind. =detuvo,= _past abs. of_ =detener.= =devolver, (ue;= _p.p._ =devuelto),= to give back, return. =devorar,= to devour. =dí,= _imper. of_ =decir.= =día,= _m_., day; =¡buenos--s!= good day! =diablo,= _m_., devil. =¡diantre!= the deuce! =diariamente,= daily. =diario,-a,= daily. =diario,= _m_., daily newspaper. =dice,= _pres. of_ decir, =diciembre,= _m_., December. =diciendo,= _pres. part, of_ decir, =dictar,= to dictate. =dicho,= _p.p. of_ decir, =dicho,= _m_., saying. =dichoso,-a,= happy. =diente,= _m._, tooth. =diera,= _past subj., first form, of_ =dar.= =dieron,= _past abs. of_ =dar.= =diestro,-a,= skilled, skillful. =diez,= ten. =diferencia,= _f._, difference. =diferenciarse,= to consider one's self different. =diferente,= different. =difícil,= difficult. =dificultad,= _f._, difficulty. =difunto,-a,= departed. =diga,= _pres. subj. of_ =decir.= =digo,= _pres. indic. of_ =decir.= =dijo,= _past abs. of_ =decir.= =diligencia,= _f._, =diligence.= =diligente,= diligent. =diligentemente,= diligently. =dinamita,= _f._, dynamite. =dinero,= _m._, money. =dió,= _past abs. of_ =dar.= =Dios,= _m_., God. =diosa,= _f._, goddess. =diputado,= _m_., deputy. =diré,= _fut. of_ decir. =dirección,= _f._, direction, management. =directamente,= directly. =dirigir,= to direct, conduct; =--se,= to address one's self to, turn toward. =discípula,= _f._, pupil. =discípulo,= _m._, pupil. =disco,= _m._, disk. =discontento,-a,= dissatisfied. =disculpar,= to palliate, excuse. =discurrir,= to discuss, converse; think out. =discusión,= _f._, discussion. =disgusto,= _m_., annoyance, trouble, vexation. =disimular,= to dissemble, disguise; hide. =disparate,= _m_., nonsense. =dispensar=, to excuse, pardon; spare, get along without. =disponer=, (_see_ =poner=), to dispose. =distancia=, _f._, distance. =distinguido,-a=, distinguished. =distinguir=, to distinguish; =--se=, to distinguish one's self, be famous. =distintamente=, distinctly, plainly. =distraer=, (_see_ =traer=), to distract. =distribución=, _f._, distribution. =distrito=, _m._, district. =diversión=, _f._, diversion, amusement. =diversos,-as=, several. =dividir=, to divide. =divisar=, to see, behold. =doble=, double; double bill. =doce=, twelve. =dólar=, _m._, dollar. =dolor=, _m._, pain; =---- de cabeza=, headache. =Dolores=, _f._, Dolores. =dominar=, to dominate. =domingo=, _m._, Sunday. =dominio=, _m._, domination, rule. =donde=, where. =¿dónde?= where? =¿por----?= by what way _or_ road? =dondequiera=, wheresoever. =dormir, (ue)=, to sleep. =dos=, two; =a las----=, at two o'clock. =doscientos=, two hundred. =doy=, _pres. of_ =dar=. =dragón=, _m._, dragon. =drama=, _m._, drama, =ducado=, _m._ ducat (_a gold coin worth $2.28_). =duda=, _f._, doubt. =dudar=, to doubt. =dudilla=, _f._, slight doubt. =dueño=, _m._, master, owner. =duermen=, _pres. of_ =dormir=. =dulce=, sweet. =durante=, during. =durar=, to last. =duro,-a=, hard, irksome. =duro=, _m._, dollar (5 pesetas). =E= =e = y=, and (_before_ =i= _or_ =hi=). =ebanistería=, _f._, cabinet work. =ébano=, _m._, ebony. =economía=, _f._, economy, saving. =echar=, to throw; cast (_of nets_); =---- la casa por la ventana=, to turn the house out of windows. =edad=, _f._, age; =mayor de----=, of age. =edificio=, _m._, building. =educación=, _f._, education. =efe=, _f._, the letter F. =efecto=, _m._, effect, result; =en----=, in fact. =Egipto=, _m_., Egypt. =ejecutar=, to execute, carry out. =ejecutivo,-a=, executive. =ejercer=, to exercise. =el=, the, the one, that; =---- que=, he who. =él=, he, it; him _(after a prep_). =elástico,-a=, elastic; =goma elástica=, rubber. =elector=, _m_., elector. =eléctrico,-a=, electric. =elegir, (i)=, to elect, choose. =elevado,-a=, high, elevated. =elevarse=, to rise. =elogiar=, to praise. =elogio=, _m_., eulogy, praise. =Elvira=, _f_., Elvira. =ella=, she, it; her _(after a prep.)._ =ellos,-as=, they; them _(after a prep_). =embargo=, =sin ----=, nevertheless. =embestir, (i)=, to attack. =embriagado,-a=, drunk, intoxicated. =embustero, _m_., swindler. =eminentemente=, chiefly. =empalar=, to impale. =empeñar=, to pawn; =--se, to insist upon; be obstinate. =empeorar=, to become worse. =emperador=, _m_., emperor. =empero=, however. =empezar, (ie)=, to begin, commence. =empiece=, _pres. subj. of_ =empezar=. =empieza=, _pres. of_ =empezar=. =emplear=, to employ; require. =emprender=, to undertake. =empresa=, _f_., undertaking. =en=, in, on, at, for, into. =encalabrinarse=, to become infatuated with. =encantado,-a=, delighted. =encantador,-ra=, charming, bewitching. =encargar=, to charge, command. =encerrar, (ie)=, to lock up, lock in. =encontrar, (ue)=, to meet, find;--se, to be, be found. =encrucijada=, _f_., crossroads. =encuentra=, _pres. of_ =encontrar=. =endiablado,-a=, devilish, accursed. =enemigo,-a=, hostile. =enemigo=, _m_., enemy. =enero=, _m_., January. =enfadarse=, to become angry. =énfasis=, _f_., emphasis. =enfermo,-a=, sick, ill. =engañar=, to deceive, swindle; =----se=, to be mistaken. =engreír=, to make conceited, make proud. =enigma=, _m._, puzzle, riddle. =enjambre=, _m._, swarm. =enojar=, to annoy; displease. =enorme=, enormous, grievous. =Enrique=, _m._, Henry. =ensangrentar, (ie)=, to stain with blood. =ensayar=, to try, attempt. =ensayo=, _m._, trial, attempt. =enseñar=, to teach; show. =entender, (ie)=, to understand. =entendimiento=, _m._, understanding, sense. =enteramente=, entirely. =enterar=, to inform. =enternecido, -a=, moved, deeply affected. =entero,-a=, entire, whole. =enterrar, (ie)=, to inter, bury. =entiende=, _pres. of_ =entender=. =entierro=, _m._, burial; _see_ =sardina=. =entonar=, to intone, sound. =entonces=, then, thereupon. =entrada=, _f._, entrance, admission; coming. =entrar=, to enter. =entre=, between, among. =entreabierto,-a=, half-open. =entregar=, to hand, give. =enviar, (i)=, to send. =epitafio=, _m._, epitaph. =epiteto=, _m._, epithet. =época=, _f._, epoch, period, time. =equivaldrá=, _fut. of_ =equivaler=. =equivaler=, (_see_ =valer=), to equal. =era=, _past descr. of_ =ser=. =era=, _f._, era. =eres=, _pres. indic. of_ =ser=. =errar=, (_pres. of_ =yerro=), to err, be mistaken. =error=, _m._, error, mistake. =erudito,-a=, learned. =es=, _pres. 3 sing. of_ =ser=. =escabeche=, _m._, pickle, brine. =escaldar=, to burn; scald. =escalera=, _f._, stairs. =escalfar=, to poach (eggs). =escandaloso,-a=, scandalous; furious. =escapar=, to escape. =escarmentar, (ie)=, to become wise by experience. =escena=, _f._, scene. =esclavo=, _m._, slave. =esclusa=, _f._, lock. =escondido,-a=, hidden. =escopetazo=, _m._, gunshot. =escribir=, (_p.p._ =escrito=), to write. =escrito=, _p.p. of_ =escribir=. =escritor=, _m._, writer. =escritura=, _f._, writing; =la Sagrada ----=, Holy Writ. =escuchar=, to listen, hear. =escudo=, _m._, escutcheon. =escuela=, _f._, school. =escupir=, to spit, spit at. =ese, esa, eso=, that; =a eso de=, about; =algo de eso=, something like this. =esencia=, _f._, essence. =esfuerzo=, _m._, achievement. =espacio=, _m._, space. =espantado,-a=, frightened. =espantar=, to frighten. =espanto=, _m._, fright, shock. =España=, _f._, Spain. =español,-la=, Spanish; Spaniard. =esparcido,-a=, scattered. =especial=, special. =especialmente=, specially. =espectáculo=, _m._, spectacle; scenic representation. =espejo=, _m._, mirror, looking-glass. =esperanza=, _f._, hope. =esperar=, to hope, expect; wait, await, wait for. =espeso,-a=, thick, dense. =espina=, _f._, thorn. =espinazo=, _m._, spine, =espirar=, to expire, die. =espíritu=, _m._, spirit; courage. =espléndido,-a=, magnificent, splendid. =esposa=, _f._, wife. =esposo=, _m._, husband; =----s=, husband and wife, couple. =esqueleto=, _m._, skeleton. =está=, _pres. indic. 3 sing. of_ =estar=. =establecer=, (_pres._ =establezco=), to establish. =establecimiento=, _m._, establishment. =establo=, _m._, stable. =estación=, _f._, season; =---- de las aguas=, rainy season. =estado=, _m._, state; =los Estados Unidos=, the United States. =estaño=, _m._, tin. =estar=, (_pres._ =estoy=, _past abs_. =estuve=), to be; =---- para=, to be on the point of; =----se=, to stay out. =este, esta, esto=, this. =éste, ésta=, this one; the latter. =este=, _m._, east. =estenografía=, _f._, stenography. =estéril=, barren. =estimado,-a=, esteemed, valued. =esto=, (_neuter of_ =este=): =en ----=, hereupon. =estómago=, _m._, stomach. =estoy=, _pres. indic. 1 sing. of_ =estar=. =estraño,-a=, strange, foreign. =estrecho,-a=, narrow. =estrellado,-a=, broken; =huevos ----s=, fried eggs. =estremecerse=, (_pres._ =estremezco=), to receive a shock, shake, tremble. =estreno=, _m._, first performance. =estuche=, _m._, barber's bag. =estudiante=, _m._, student. =estudiar=, to study. =estudio=, _m._, study. =estupendo,-a=, tremendous. =estúpidamente=, stupidly. =estúpido,-a=, stupid. =estuve=, _past abs. of_ =estar=. =etc. = etcétera=, and so forth. =eternamente=, eternally. =eterno,-a=, eternal. =Eulalia=, _f._, Eulalia. =Europa=, _f._, Europe. =europeo,-a=, European. =evidente=, evident. =evitar=, to avoid, prevent. =exactamente=, exactly, accurately. =exacto,-a=, exact, accurate; conscientious. =examinar=, to examine. =excelencia=, _f._, excellence; excellency. =excelente=, excellent. =excelentísimo,-a=, most excellent. =excitar=, to excite. =exclamar=, to exclaim. =exclusivo,-a=, exclusive. =exequias=, _f. pl._, exequy, funeral ceremony. =exhalar=, to exhale. =exigir=, to request; demand, exact. =éxito=, _m._, outcome, success. =experiencia=, _f._, experience. =expirar=, to expire, die. =explicación=, _f._, explanation. =explicar=, to explain. =explique=, _pres. subj. of_ =explicar=. =explotación=, _f._, exploitation. =exponer=, (_see_ =poner=), to lay before. =exportación=, _f._, export. =exportar=, to export; =----se=, to be exported. =expresión=, _f._, expression. =expusieron=, _past abs. of_ =exponer=. =extender, (ie)=, to extend, stretch out. =extensión=, _f._, extension, extent. =extenso,-a=, extended; wide, extensive. =exterior=, exterior, foreign. =exterior=, _m._, exterior, appearance. =externo,-a=, external. =extiende=, _pres. of_ =extender=. =extraer=, (_see_ =traer=), to extract. =extranjero,-a=, foreign. =extranjero=, _m._, foreigner. =extrañar=, to wonder, wonder at. =extrañeza=, _f._, wonder, surprise. =extraño,-a=, strange, peculiar. =extraordinario,-a=, extraordinary. =extremidad=, _f._, extremity. =extremo,-a=, extreme, furthest; =en ----=, extremely. =extremo=, _m._, end. =F= =fábrica=, _f._, factory. =fabricación=, _f._, manufacture. =fabricar=, to manufacture, produce; erect. =fabrique=, _pres. subj. of_ =fabricar=. =fácil=, easy. =facilidad=, _f._, ease. =facilitar=, to facilitate. =falso,-a=, false, wrong. =falta=, _f._, mistake; =hacer ----=, to be necessary; =sin ----=, without fail. =faltar=, to be wanting, be missing; =falta=, it is necessary; =me ----=, I need. =faltriquera=, _f._, pocket. =fama=, _f._, reputation; = ---- es=, the story goes. =familia=, _f._, family. =famoso,-a=, famous. =fanfarria=, _f._, fanfare. =fantasía=, _f._, fancy, imagination. =farsa=, _f._, farce. =fatal=, fatal. =fatigado,-a=, tired, worn out. =favor=, _m._, favor; =a ---- de=, in favor of, in behalf of. =faz=, _f._, face. =fé=, _f._, faith; =a ---- mía=, upon my word. =febrero=, _m._, February. =fecundísimo,-a=, very fertile. =fecundo,-a=, fertile. =fecha=, _f._, date. =federal=, federal. =Federico=, _m._, Frederick. =Felipe=, _m._, Philip. =feliz=, happy. =felizmente=, happily, without mishap. =feo,-a=, ugly. =feria=, _f._, fair. =Fernando=, _m._, Ferdinand. =feroz=, ferocious. =ferrocarril=, _m._, railroad. =fertil=, fertile. =festejarse=, to enjoy one's self. =fiado,-a=, trusted; =al ----=, on trust. =fiar=, to trust. =fiel=, faithful. =fiero,-a=, wild; defiant. =figura=, _f._, face. =fijar=, to fix, fasten; =--se=, to concentrate; =me fijo mejor=, I look more closely. =fila=, _f._, rank; file. =filial=, filial. =Filipinas=, _f. pl._, the Philippines. =fin=, _m._, end; =al ----=, at last; =en ----=, finally; =por ----=, at last; =a este ----=, for this purpose. =finalizar=, to conclude, finish. =finalmente=, finally. =finca=, _f._, estate. =fino,-a=, fine. =firmar=, to sign. =firme=, firm; loud. =flaco,-a=, lean. =flor=, _f._, flower. =florecer=, (_pres._ =florezco=), to bloom. =fonda=, _f._, inn. =fondo=, _m._, bottom. =fontanero=, _m._, plumber. =forastero=, _m._, stranger; foreigner. =formar=, to form. =formidable=, tremendous. =fortuna=, _f._, fortune. =fracaso=, _m._, breakdown, ruin, crash. =fragoso,-a=, crisp. =francés,-esa=, French; _as noun_, Frenchman, French woman. =Francesca=, _Ital._, Frances. =Francia=, _f._, France. =franco,-a=, frank. =franco=, _m._, franc. =frasco=, _m._, bottle. =frase=, _f._, sentence. =frecuentemente=, frequently. =frente=, _f._, forehead; =en ----=, opposite, in front of. =fresco,-a=, fresh, cool; =hace ----=, it is cool. =fríjol=, _m._, bean. =frío,-a=, cold. =frío=, _m._, cold; =hace ----=, it is cold; =tener ----=, to be cold. =frito,-a=, fried. =fruta=, _f._, fruit. =frutal=, fruitbearing; =árbol ----=, fruit tree. =fué=, _past abs. of_ =ser= _or_ =ir=. =fuego=, _m._, fire. =fuente=, _f._, fountain; =pluma ----=, fountain pen. =fuera=, outside. =fuerte=, strong. =fuerza=, _f._, strength, force; =a ---- de=, on account of. =fuese=, _past subj., second form, of_ =ser=. =fuí=, _past abs. of_ =ser= _or_ =ir=. =función=, _f._, performance, representation. =fundar=, to found, establish. =fundición=, _f._, foundry. =funeral=, funeral. =furioso,-a=, furious. =G= =gala=, _f._, gala; =gran ----=, full dress; =vestir de ----=, to put on one's best clothes. =galantería=, _f._, gallantry, compliment. =gallina=, _f._, hen. =gallinero=, _m._, hen coop. =gallo=, _m._, rooster. =gana=, _f._, desire; =me da la----=, it comes into my head. =ganado=, _m._, cattle; =---- vacuno=, cattle (bovine). =ganancia=, _f._, profit. =ganar=, to gain, earn, win. =garganta=, _f._, throat. =garra=, _f._, claw, clutch. =garzoncillo=, _m._, little shaver. =gastar=, to spend, waste. =gasto=, _m._, expense, expenditure. =gato=, _m._, cat. =general=, general. =general=, _m._, general; general admission. =generalmente=, generally. =Génova=, _f._, Genoa, a city of Italy. =gente=, _f._, people. =geografía=, _f._, geography. =glacial=, icy, cold, frigid. =gloria=, _f._, glory; happiness. =gobernador=, _m._, governor. =gobernar=, to govern, rule. =gobierno=, _m._, government. =golfo=, _m._, gulf. =goma=, _f._, rubber. =gordo,-a=, fat, big, heavy; serious. =gota=, _f._, drop. =gozar=, to enjoy. =gracia=, _f._, grace; =----s=, thanks; =caer en ----=, to meet with favor; =dar ----=, to thank. =graciosamente=, gratis, for nothing. =gracioso,-a=, splendid, fine; ridiculous. =grada=, _f._, step. =grado=, _m._, rank, grade. =gramática=, _f._, grammar. =gran=, _see_ =grande=. =grana=, _f._, scarlet, red. =granar=, to bear fruit. =grande=, great, large, tall. =grande=, _m._, grandee. =grandioso,-a=, magnificent. =grano=, _m._, grain. =grato,-a=, pleasing, pleasant. =gravísimo,-a=, most important. =graznar=, to screech, hoot, croak. =gris=, gray. =gritar=, to shout. =grito=, _m._, shout. =grueso,-a=, thick, heavy. =grulla=, _f._, crane. =gruñir=, to grunt. =guano=, _m._, guano, an excellent South American fertilizer. =guapo,-a=, pretty, good-looking. =guardar=, to keep. =guardia=, _m._, watchman; =---- municipal=, policeman. =Guatemala=, _f._, Guatemala. =guerra=, _f._, war. =guisar=, to prepare. =guiso=, _m._, preparation, seasoning (of food). =gustar=, to enjoy, please; =me gusta=, I like. =gusto=, _m._, pleasure; =da ----=, it is a pleasure. =H= =ha=, _pres. indic. sing. of_ =haber=. =Habana (la)=, the capital of Cuba. =haber=, (i>pres._ =he=, _past abs._ =hube=), to have (_only as auxiliary)_; happen; =---- de=, must, to have to, be to; =---- que=, to have to; =había, hubo=, there was, there were; =mucho tiempo ha=, a long time ago. =hábil=, skillful. =habilidad=, _f._, skill. =habitante=, _m._, inhabitant. =habitar=, to inhabit, live, dwell. =hábito=, _m._, coat. =hablar=, to speak. =habrá=, _fut. of_ =haber=. =hacer=, (=hago, haré, hice, hecho=), to do, make; =---- caso de=, to take notice of; =---- saltar=, to cause to explode; =---se=, to become; =---se cargo de=, to undertake; =---- venir=, to send for; =hace poco=, a short while ago; =hace siglos=, centuries ago; =hace tiempo=, some time ago; =hace buen tiempo=, it is fine weather. =hacia=, towards. =hacienda=, _f._, estate, landed property. =haga=, _pres. subj. of_ =hacer=. =hago=, _pres. indic. of_ =hacer=. =halcón=, _m._, hawk. =hallar=, to find; =--se=, to be, happen to be. =hambre=, _f._, hunger; =tener ----=, to be hungry. =hambriento,-a=, hungry. =han=, _pres. indic. 3 pl. of_ =haber=. =haré=, _fut. of_ =hacer=. =harmonía=, _f._, harmony. =hartar=, to satiate; =no se hartaba=, did not tire of. =hasta=, until, as far as, even; =---- que=, until. =hay=, (_impersonal pres. of_ =haber=), there is, there are; =¿qué ---- de nuevo?= what is the news? =hayamos=, _pres. subj. 3 pl. of_ =haber=. =he=, _pres. of_ =haber=. =hechizo=, _m._, pleasure; delight. =hecho=, _m._, fact, deed. =hecho=, _p.p. of_ =hacer=. =helado,-a=, frozen. =helar, (ie)=, to freeze; =--se=, to be frozen. =héme=, lo, behold, =hemos=, _pres. indic. 1 pl. of_ =haber=. =henchir, (i)=, to swell. =heno=, _m._, hay. =heredero=, _m._, heir. =herida=, _f._, wound. =hermana=, _f._, sister. =hermano=, _m._, brother; =--s=, brothers and sisters. =hermosísimo,-a=, _superl. of_ =hermoso=. =hermoso,-a=, beautiful. =hermosura=, _f._, beauty. =héroe=, _m._, hero, =herrero=, _m._, blacksmith. =hiciera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =hacer=. =hiela=, _pres. of_ =helar=. =hielo=, _m._, frost; ice. =hierba=, _f._, grass. =hierro=, _m_, iron. =hija=, _f._, daughter. =hijo=, _m._, son. =hilado=, _p.p. of_ =hilar=. =hilar=, to spin. =hilo=, _m._, thread. =himno=, _m._, hymn. =hinojo=, _m._, knee; fennel; =de ----s=, on one's knees. =hipopótamo=, _m._, hippopotamus. =historia=, _f._, history; story. =hizo=, _past abs. of_ =hacer=. =hocico=, _m._, snout; mouth (of an animal); =dar con la puerta en los ----s=, to slam the door in one's face. =hogar=, _m._, hearth. =hoja=, _f._, leaf. =¡hola!= hello! =hombre=, _m._, man, mankind. =honrado,-a=, honorable, honest. =honroso,-a=, worthy of honor, distinguished. =hora=, _f._, hour. =hoy=, to-day. =hubiera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =haber=. =hubiese=, _past subj., second form, of_ =haber=. =hubo=, _past abs. of_ =haber=. =hueco,-a=, hollow. =hueco=, _m._, hollow, opening. =huérfano=, _m._, orphan. =hueso=, _m._, bone. =huésped=, _m._, guest. =huéspeda=, _f._, landlady. =huevo=, _m._, egg. =Hugonote,-ta=, _m. and f._, Huguenot; =a la Hugonota=, in Huguenot style. =huir=, (_pres._ =huyo=), to flee. =humano,-a=, human. =humedecido,-a=, moist, wet. =húmedo,-a=, moist, humid. =humildad=, _f._, humility. =humilde=, humble. =humildemente=, humbly. =humillación=, _f_, humiliation. =humo=, _m._, smoke. =hundirse=, to sink. =hurtar=, to steal. =huye=, _pres. of_ =huir=. =I= =iba=, _past descr. of_ =ir=. =idea=, _f._, idea. =ideal=, ideal. =idiota=, _m._, idiot, simpleton, fool. =ido=, _p.p. of_ =ir=. =ídolo=, _m._, idol. =iglesia=, _f._, church. =Ignacio=, _m._, Ignatius. =ignorar=, to ignore, not to know. =igual=, equal. =igualdad=, _f._, equality. =ilusión=, _f._, illusion, dream. =ilustre=, illustrious, famous, celebrated. =ilustrísimo,-a=, most illustrious. =imagen=, _f._, image, picture; statue. =imitar=, to imitate. =impaciencia=, _f._, impatience. =impedir, (i)=, to hinder, prevent. =imperial=, imperial. =imperio=, _m._, empire. =impertinente=, impertinent. =impido=, _pres of_ =impedir=. =imponer=, (_see_ =poner=), to impose, lay upon. =importación=, _f._, import. =importancia=, _f._, importance. =importante=, important. =importar=, to import; be of importance; =no me importa=, I do not care. =importunar=, to importune, bother. =impregnar=, to impregnate, saturate. =impresión=, _f._, impression. =imprudencia=, _f._, imprudence. =impuesto=, _m._, tax. =impuso=, _past abs. of_ =imponer=. =inaugurar=, to inaugurate, open. =incluido,-a=, included; inclusive. =incluir=, (_pres._ =incluyo=), to include. =incluyen=, _pres. of_ =incluir=. =incluyendo=, _pres. part. of_ =incluir=. =incomodar=, to trouble. =incómodo,-a=, annoying, troublesome. =inconcebible=, inconceivable. =incrédulo,-a=, incredulous. =indebidamente=, improperly, illegally. =indecente=, indecent, improper. =indemnización=, _f._, indemnity. =indiano,-a=, Indian. =Indias=, _f. pl._, the (East _or_ West) Indies. =indignación=, _f._, anger, resentment. =indignado,-a=, indignant. =indignarse=, to become angry. =indio,-a=, Indian. =indirectamente=, indirectly. =indispensable=, indispensable. =indistintamente=, indistinctly. =individuo=, _m._, individual. =industria=, _f._, industry, trade. =inesperado,-a=, unexpected. =inevitable=, inevitable. =inexperto,-a=, unskilled. =infanta=, _f._, infanta, a princess of the Spanish royal family. =inferior=, inferior; lower. =infierno=, _m._, hell, infernal regions. =infortunado,-a=, unfortunate. =infortunio=, _m._, misfortune. =ingeniería=, _f._, engineering. =ingeniero=, _m._, engineer. =ingenio=, _m._, genius, intelligence; industry; =---- de azúcar=, sugar work, sugar plantation. =ingenioso,-a=, ingenious, skillful. =Inglaterra=, _f._, England. =inglés,-esa=, English. =inhalar=, to inhale. =injusto,-a=, unjust. =inmediatamente=, immediately. =inmediato,-a=, adjoining, next. =inmenso,-a=, immense. =inmigrante=, _m._, immigrant. =inmortal=, immortal. =inquietar=, to disturb. =inscripción=, _f._, inscription. =instante=, _m._, instant; =al ----=, instantly. =instituto=, _m._, institute. =inteligencia=, _f._, intelligence. =inteligente=, intelligent. =intensamente=, intently. =intentar=, to try, attempt. =intento=, _m._, intention. =interesante=, interesting. =interesantísimo=, _superl. of_ =interesante=. =interior=, _m._, interior. =interpretar=, to interpret, represent. =interrogativo,-a=, interrogative, questioning. =interrumpir=, to interrupt. =íntimo,-a=, intimate, close. =introducir=, (_pres._ =introduzco=, _past abs._ =introduje=), to introduce. =introdujo=, _past abs. of_ =introducir=. =inútil=, useless. =invasión=, _f._, invasion. =inventar=, to invent. =inventor=, _m._, inventor. =invertir, (ie)=, to invest (money). =invierno=, _m._, winter. =invirtieron=, _past abs. of_ =invertir=. =ir=, (_pres._ =voy=, _past descr._ =iba=, _fut_. =iré=, _past abs._ =fuí=, _p.p._ =ido=, _pres. subj._ =vaya=, _past subj._ =fuera= _and_ =fuese=), to go, be going to; =---- a paseo=, to go walking; =el cuerpo se iba debilitando=, the body kept on growing weaker. =irritante=, irritating. =irse=, (_see_ =ir=), to go, go away. =Isaías=, _m._, Isaiah. =Iseo=, _f._, Isolda. =isla=, _f._, island. =istmo=, _m._, isthmus. =Italia=, _f._, Italy. =izquierdo,-a=, left. =J= =Jaime=, _m._, James. =jamás,= never; ever. =Japón (el)=, Japan. =jardín=, _m._, garden. =Jeremías=, _m._, Jeremiah. =Jérico=, _m._, Jericho. =jirafa=, _f._, giraffe. =jornada=, _f._, journey. =jornalero=, _m._, workingman, day laborer. =joven=, young. =joven=, _m._, youth. =Juan=, _m._, John. =Juana=, _f._, Jane. =juega=, _pres. of_ =jugar=. =juego=, _m._, game, sport. =jueves=, _m._, Thursday. =juez=, _m._, judge. =jugar, (ue)=, to play. =jugo=, _m._, juice. =juguete=, _m._, plaything, toy. =juicioso,-a=, wise. =Julio=, m., Julius. =julio=, _m._, July. =jumento=, _m._, donkey. =junio=, m., June. =juntar=, to join, connect; =--se=, to meet, come together. =junto,-a=, joined, connected; =--s=, together; =a ----s=, close by. =junto=, _adv._, close to, near. =jurar=, to swear. =justamente=, justly. =justo,-a=, just; =lo ----=, just enough. =juzgar=, to judge. =K= =kilómetro=, _m._, kilometer. =L= =la=, the, the one; =---- que=, she who, the one that. =la=, _pron._, her, it. =labio=, _m._, lip. =laboriosamente=, laboriously. =laborioso,-a=, diligent, industrious. =labrador=, _m._, peasant. =labrar=, to work, make. =labriego=, _m._, farmer. =lado=, _m._, side; =a ---- de=, beside. =ladrón=, _m._, thief. =lago=, _m._, lake. =lágrima=, _f._, tear. =lagrimoso,-a=, tearful. =lamentarse=, to complain. =lamer=, to lick. =lana=, _f._, wool. =lanar=, woolly; =ganado ----=, sheep. =lápida=, _f._, stone. =lápiz=, _m._, pencil. =largo,-a=, long; =de ----=, in length; =a lo ----=, along. =las=, them, to them; the ones. =lástima=, _f._, pity. =latín=, Latin. =latrocinio=, _m._, robbery. =lavar=, to wash. =lazo=, _m._, bond. =le=, him, her, you (_in connection with_ =Vd.=). =lección=, _f._, lesson. =lector=, _m._, reader. =leche=, _f._, milk. =leer=, to read. =legislativo,-a=, legislative. =lejano,-a=, distant, remote. =lejos=, far. =lengua=, _f._, tongue; language. =lentamente=, slowly. =lento,-a=, slow. =león=, _m._, lion. =León=, _m._, Leo. =les=, to them. =letra=, _f._, letter (of the alphabet). =levantar=, to raise, hit up; =--se=, to rise. =levita=, _f._, frock coat. =ley=, _f._, law. =leyó=, _past abs. of_ =leer=. =libertad=, _f._, liberty. =libertarse=, to free one's self, become free. =librar=, to free. =libre=, free. =libro=, _m._, book. =licencia=, _f._, release, furlough. =licenciado=, _m._, licentiate. =limbo=, _m._, limbo. =limitar=, to bound. =limpiar=, to clean. =limpio,-a=, clean. =lindo,-a=, pretty, fine. =línea=, _f_., line. =lista=, _f_., list; bill of fare. =lo=, _n. of_ el, the; =---- que=, what, that; =---- que es a mí=, as far as I am concerned. =lobo=, _m_., wolf. =loco,-a=, crazy, foolish. =lograr=, to attain, succeed;---- el objeto, to accomplish one's purpose. =longitud=, _f_., length. =los=, they, them, you; =---- que=, those who. =luchar=, to struggle, fight. =luego=, then; =---- que=, as soon as. =lugar=, _m_., place; =en ----=, instead of; =dar ----=, to give rise to. =lugareño=, _m_., peasant. =lúgubre=, dismal. =lunes=, _m_., Monday. =luz=, _f_., light. =LL= =llamar=, to call, knock; =me llamo=, my name is. =llegada=, _f_., arrival. =llegar=, to arrive, reach, come. =llenar=, to fill. =lleno,-a=, full. =llevar=, to carry, bring, take, wear, have about one; =---- a=, to sustain, support; =---- a cabo=, to carry out; =----se=, to take away. =llorar=, to weep. =llover=, to rain. =lluvia=, _f_., rain. =lluvioso,-a=, rainy, wet. =M= =madera=, _f_., wood. =madre=, _f_., mother. =Madrid=, _f_., Madrid. =madrileño,-a=, from Madrid. =madrugar=, to rise early. =maestro=, _m_., master, teacher. =mágico,-a=, magic. =magistrado=, _m_., magistrate. =magnate=, _m_., magnate. =magnífico,-a=, magnificent, excellent. =Magno: Alejandro ----=, Alexander the Great. =Maguey=, _m_., agave, a plant from which pulque, a Mexican drink, is made. =Mahoma=, _m_., Mahomet, Mohammed. =maíz=, _m_., corn, maize. =majadero=, _m_., simpleton, fool. =majestad=, _f_., majesty. =majestuosamente=, majestically. =mal=, _adv_., badly, ill. =mal=, _m_., evil. =maldito,-a=, confounded, accursed. =maligno,-a=, malignant, malicious. =malo,-a=, bad, evil; difficult: =estar ----=, to be sick. =malsano,-a=, unhealthy. =Malthus=, _m_., Malthus. =malla=, _f_., mesh. =mandar=, to order, send. =manecita, _f_., little hand. =manera=, _f_., manner; =de esta----=, in this way, thus, as follows; =de ninguna ----=, by no means, not at all. =manjar=, _m_., food. =mano=, _f_., hand; =venir a las ----s=, to come to blows. =mantener=, (_see_ =tener=), to maintain, support; =--se firme=, to stand one's ground. =mantilla=, _f_., a characteristic headdress of Spanish women. =manufactura=, _f_., manufacture. =manufacturar=, to manufacture. =manzana=, _f_., apple. =mañana=, _adv_., to-morrow; =hasta---=, until we meet again. =mañana=, _f_., morning; =por la ----=, in the morning; =todas las ----s=, every morning. =mapa=, _m_., map. =maquinaria=, _f_., machinery. =mar=, _m_., sea. =maravilla=, _f_., wonder. =maravilloso,-a=, wonderful. =marchante=, _m_., tradesman. =marchar=, to march, walk; =--se=, to go away. =marchito,-a=, withered, faded. =María=, _f_., Mary. =marica=, _f_., magpie. =marido=, _m_., husband. =marqués=, _m_., marquis. =Marta=, _f_., Martha. =martes=, _m_., Tuesday. =marzo=, _m_., March. =mas=, but, however. =más=, more; =por ---- que=, even if. =masticar=, to masticate. =matador=, _m_., =matador= (chief bullfighter). =matar=, to kill; =--se=, to kill each other. =matasiete, _m_., blusterer. =mate=, dull, lusterless. =matemáticas=, _f. pl_., mathematics. =Mateo=, _m_., Matthew. =materia=, _f_., matter; =entrar en ----=, to come to the point. =materno,-a=, on the mother's side, maternal. =matricularse=, to matriculate. =matrimonio=, _m_., marriage. =Matsuyama=, a city of Japan. =máxima=, _f._, maxim, saying. =máximo,-a=, greatest. =mayo,= _m._, May. =mayor,= greater, greatest; older, oldest; most important, principal; =---- de edad,= of age. =me,= _dat. and acc. of_ =yo,= me. =medio,-a,= half; =las ocho y media,= half past eight. =medio,= _m._, means; =por ---- de,= by means of. =meditar,= to meditate, consider. =Mediterraneo,-a,= Mediterranean. =mejicano,-a,= Mexican. =Méjico,= _m._, Mexico. =mejilla,= _f._, cheek. =mejor,= better; best. =melocotón,= _m._, peach. =melón,= _m._, melon. =memoria,= _f._, memory; =de ----,= by heart. =mencionar,= to mention. =mendigo,= _m._, beggar. =menor,= less; least; younger. =menos,= less; least; =(a) lo ----=, at least. =mentir, (ie),= to lie. =menudo: a ----,= often, frequently. =mercader,= _m._, merchant. =mercado,= _m._, market. =mercurio,= _m._, mercury. =merecer,= (_pres._ =merezco=), to deserve. =meridional,= southern. =mérito,= _m._, merit, value. =mes,= _m._, month. =mesa,= _f._, table. =meseta,= _f._, plateau, tableland. =mesón,= _m._, house. =mestizo,-a,= of mixed race. =mestizo,= _m._, a descendant of a white and an Indian. =metal,= _m._, metal. =meter,= to put, place; =--se,= to put one's self. =metro,= _m._, meter. =mezclar,= to mingle. =mezquita,= _f._, mosque. =mi,= my. =mí,= _acc. of_ =yo= (_after prep._), me. =miedo,= _m._, fear; =tener ----,= to be afraid. =miel,= _f._, honey. =miembro,= _m._, member. =mienten,= _pres. of_ =mentir.= =mientes,= _f. pl._, thoughts. =mientras,= while, in the meantime; =---- que,= while. =miércoles,= _m._, Wednesday. =Miguel Ángel,= Michelangelo. =mil,= one thousand. =militar,= _m._, soldier. =millón,= _m._, million. =mina,= _f._, mine. =mineral,= mineral. =mínimo,-a=, smallest; least. =minuto=, _m_., minute. =mío,-a=, mine. =¡mira!= look here! =mirada=, _f_., look. =mirar=, to look, look at; examine. =misa=, _f_., mass. =miserable=, _m_., wretch. =Misisipí=, _m_., Mississippi. =mismísimo,-a=, the very... himself. =mismo,-a=, same, very, self; =ahora ----=, even now. =misterio=, _m_., mystery. =misterioso,-a=, mysterious; =hacer el ----=, to put on an air of mystery. =mitad=, _f_., middle; half. =mitigar=, to mitigate, relieve, quench. =moderado,-a=, moderate, gentle. =moderno,-a=, modern. =modo=, _m_., manner, way. =mojado,-a=, wet, moist. =mole=, soft. =molinero=, _m_., miller. =molino=, _m_., mill. =momento=, _m_., moment. =monarquía=, _f_., monarchy. =moneda=, _f_., coin, money. =montaña=, _f_., mountain. =montar=, to mount, ride. =monte=, _m_., mountain. =Montesa=, _f_., a village in the province of Valencia, Spain; =orden de ----=, a military order founded in 1317. =monumental=, monumental. =monumento=, _m_., monument. =morder, (ue)=, to bite. =moreno,-a=, brown. =moribundo,-a=, dying. =morir, (ue)=, _p. p._ =muerto=), to die; =--se=, to die. =moro,-a=, Moorish. =mortaja=, _f_., shroud. =mosca=, _f_., fly. =mostrar=, (ue), to show. =mover, (ue)=, to move; =---- de un lado a otro=, to shake; =--se=, to move. =moza=, _f_., girl, young woman. =mozo=, _m_., young man; waiter; fellow. =muchacha=, _f_., girl. =muchacho=, _m_., boy. =muchísimo,-a=, very much, very many. =mucho,-a=, much, great; many. =mucho=, _adv_., much, long. =mudar=, to change. =muela=, _f_., molar _(tooth)_; millstone. =muelle=, _m_., pier, wharf. =muere=, _pres. of_ =morir=. =muerte=, _f_., death. =muerto,-a=, dead, killed; _p. p. of_ morir. =muestra=, _f_., sign. =mueve=, _pres. of_ =mover=. =mujer=, _f_., woman, wife. =multa=, _f_., fine. =mundo=, _m_., world; =todo el ----=, everybody. =municipal=, municipal; guardia----, policeman. =muralla=, _f_., wall. =muriendo=, _pres. part, of_ =morir=. =murió=, _past abs. of_ =morir=. =murmullo=, _m_., murmur. =museo=, _m_., museum. =músico=, _m_., musician. =muy=, very. =N= =nacer=, (_pres._ =nazco=), to be born, spring, take its rise. =nación=, _f_., nation. =nacional=, national. =nada=, nothing. =nadar=, to swim. =naipe=, _m_., playing card. =Napoleón=, Napoleon. =naranja=, _f_., orange. =nariz=, _f_., nose; =en las narices=, face to face. =natal=, native. =natural=, natural. =naufragar=, to sink. =navaja=, _f_., razor. =navegable=, navigable. =navegar=, to navigate, go boating. =necesario,-a=, necessary. =necesidad=, _f_., necessity, need. =necesitar, to need. =necio,-a, ignorant, silly. =necio, _m_., ignoramus. =negociante, _m_., merchant. =negocio, _m_., business, affair, matter. =negro,-a, black. =ni, nor; =----...----=, neither... nor. =Nicaragua, _f_., Nicaragua. =nieta, _f_., granddaughter. =nieto, _m_., grandson. =nieve, _f_., snow. =Nilo, _m_., the Nile. =ningún, _see_ ninguno. =ninguno,-a, no, none, no one. =niña, _f_., girl; child. =niño, _m_., boy; child. =níquel, _m_., nickel. =nitrato, _m_., nitrate. =nivel, m., level. =no, not, no. =noble=, noble. =noche=, _f_., night; =de la ----=, at night. =nombrar=, to appoint, name. =nombre=, _m_., name. =nordeste=, _m_., northeast. =norte=, _m_., north. =norteamericano,-a=, North American. =nos=, _acc._ =nosotros,= us, to us; ourselves; each other. =nosotros,-as,= we, us. =nota=, _f_., mark; notoriety. =notablemente,= notably. =notar=, to notice. =noticia=, _f_., news, notice. =novedad=, _f_., novelty; =sin ----,= nothing out of the usual; =tener por ----,= to regard as unusual. =noventa=, ninety. =novia=, _f_., fiancee. =novicio=, _m_., novice. =noviembre=, _m_., November. =novio=, _m_., fiancé; =los ----s,= bridal couple, young married couple. =nube=, _f_., cloud, =nuestro,-a,= our. =nuevamente,= recently, newly, anew, again. =Nueva York=, New York, =nueve=, nine. =nuevo,-a,= new; =de ----,= again, =número,= _m_., number. =numeroso,-a,= numerous. =nunca=, never; ever. =O= =o,= or. =¡o!= oh! =Oaxaca,= _f_., a province of Mexico. =obediencia,= _f_., obedience. =obediente=, obedient. =obertura=, _f_., overture. =obispo=, _m_., bishop. =objeto=, _m_., object, utensil. =obligar=, to oblige. =obra=, _f_., work. =obrero=, _m_., workingman. =obrero,-a,= working. =obscurecerse=, to become dim. =observar=, to observe, notice. =obstáculo,= _m_., obstacle. =obstante: no ----,= notwithstanding. =obstruir=, _(pres._ =obstruyo=), to obstruct. =obtener=, _(see_ =tener=), to obtain, get. =obtiene=, _pres. of_ =obtener=. =obtuvo=, _past abs. of_ =obtener=. =ocasión,= _f_., opportunity, occasion. =occidental=, western. =Oceanía=, _f_., Oceanica. =océano,= _m_., ocean. =ocio=, _m_., ease, idleness. =octubre=, _m_., October. =ocultar=, to hide. =oculto,-a,= hidden. =ocupación,= _f_., occupation. =ocupado,-a,= busy. =ocupar=, to occupy. =ocurrir=, to occur. =ochenta=, eighty. =ocho=, eight. =oeste=, _m_., west. =oficialmente=, officially. =oficina=, _f._, office. =oficio=, _m._, trade. =oficioso, -a=, officious. =ofrecer=, (_pres._ =ofrezco=), to offer. =¡oh!= oh! =oído=, _m._, ear; hearing. =oído=, _p.p. of_ =oír=. =oigo=, _pres. of_ =oír=. =oír=, (_pres._ =oigo=), to hear, listen. =¡ojalá!= would that! =ojo=, _m._, eye. =¡ola!= hello! =oliva=, _f._, olive. =olvidar(se)=, to forget. =once=, eleven. =ópera=, _f._, opera. =operación=, _f._, operation. =opereta=, _f._, operetta. =opinar=, to think. =oportuno, -a=, opportune. =oprimir=, to oppress, press. =orar=, to pray. =orden=, _f._, order, command. =ordenar=, to order. =ordinario, -a=, ordinary, common. =oreja=, _f._, ear. =organizar=, to organize. =órgano=, _m._, organ. =orgulloso, -a=, proud. =Oriente=, _m._, Orient. =oro=, _m._, gold. =orquesta=, _f._, orchestra. =ortografía=, _f._, orthography. =os=, _dat. and acc. of_ =vosotros=, you. =osar=, to dare. =oscuro, -a=, obscure, dark. =otoñal=, autumnal. =otoño=, _m._, autumn. =otro, -a=, other, another; =otra vez=, once more; =el uno con el ----=, with one another. =oveja=, _f._, sheep. =¡ox!= shoo! =oxear=, to shoo. =oyendo=, _pres. part. of_ =oír=. =oyó=, _past abs. of_ =oír=. =P= =Pablo=, _m._, Paul. =paciencia=, _f._, patience. =Pacífico=, _m._, Pacific. =padecer=, (_pres._ =padezco=), to suffer. =padre=, _m._, father; =los ----s,= parents. =paga=, _f._, pay. =pagar=, to pay, pay for. =página=, _f._, page. =país=, _m._, country, land. =paja=, _f._, straw. =pájaro=, _m._, bird. =paje=, _m._, page. =palabra=, _f._, word. =palacio=, _m._, palace. =paladión=, _m._, palladium. =palco=, _m._, box. =palidecer=, (_pres._ =palidezco=), to become pale. =pálido, -a=, pale; =ponerse ----=, to turn pale. =palma=, _f._, palm; =---- de coco=, coconut palm. =palmada=, _f._, clapping of hands; =dar ----s,= to clap one's hands. =palo=, _m._, stick, pole, log; =---- de rosa=, rosewood. =pampa=, _f._, an extensive plain, pampas (_of South America_). =panadería=, _f._, bakery. =panadero=, _m._, baker. =panal=, _m._, honeycomb. =Panamá=, _f._, Panama. =Paolo=, _Ital._, Paul. =papagayo=, _m._, parrot. =papanatas=, _m._, simpleton, fool. =papel=, _m._, paper. =par=, _adj._, similar, like. =par=, _m._, pair, couple; =a ----es=, in pairs; =de ---- en ----=, wide, =para=, for, to, in order to; =---- que=, in order that, so that. =parábola=, _f._, parabola; parable. =Paraguay=, _m._, Paraguay. =pararse=, to stop. =pardo, -a=, dark, brown. =parecer=, (_pres._ =parezco=), to appear, seem; =--se=, to resemble. =pared=, _f._, wall. =pareja=, _f._, pair; mate. =París=, _m._, Paris. =parlero, -a=, talkative, gossiping. =parque=, _m._, park. =parroquiano=, _m._, customer. =parte=, _f._, part; =dar ----,= to inform; =por todas ----s=, everywhere. =particularmente=, particularly. =partida=, _f._, part. =partir=, to depart; separate, part, divide. =pasajero, -a=, passing, fleeting. =pasaporte=, _m._, passport. =pasar=, to pass, go by, go beyond; happen, spend; =---- adentro=, to come in; =---- por agua=, to boil; =---- por alto=, to pass over in silence; =--se=, to take place. =pascua=, _f._, Easter; =más contento que unas ----s=, as merry as a lark. =pasearse=, to take a walk. =paseo=, _m._, pleasure walk, walk. =pasión=, _f._, passion. =pasmado, -a=, astonished, dumbfounded. =pasmo=, _m._, surprise. =paso=, _m._, step, passage; =dar un ----=, to take a step; =ir de ----=, to slip through. =pasto=, _m._, pasture. =pastora=, _f._, shepherdess. =pata=, _f._, leg. =patata=, _f._, potato. =paterno,-a=, on the father's side, paternal. =patinar=, to skate. =patria=, _f._, country, native land. =paz=, _f._, peace. =pecado=, _m._, sin. =pecho=, _m._, breast. =pedazo=, _m._, bit, piece; =hacer ---- s=, to smash to pieces. =pedir, (i)=, to ask, demand, request. =pegar=, to whip. =peligro=, _m._, danger. =pelota=, _f._, ball. =pelotera=, _f._, quarrel. =pena=, _f._, pain, trouble; =no vale la ----=, it is not worth while. =penitencia=, _f._, penance. =penoso,-a=, painful. =pensamiento=, _m._, thought. =pensar, (ie),= to think; =---- en=, to think of. =Pensilvania=, _f._, Pennsylvania. =Peñafiel=, a city in the province of Valladolid, Spain. =peor=, worse; worst. =pequeñita=, _f._, little girl. =pequeño,-a=, small, little; short. =pera=, _f._, pear. =peral=, _m._, pear tree. =perder, (ie)=, to lose. =perdido,-a=, lost, dead. =perdón=, _m._, pardon, forgiveness. =perdonar=, to pardon, forgive. =peregrinación=, _f._, journey. =peregrino,-a=, foreign, strange. =pereza=, _f._, idleness, laziness. =perezoso,-a=, idle, lazy. =perfección=, _f._, perfection, excellence. =perfumista=, _m._, perfumer. =perla=, _f._, pearl. =permitir=, to permit, allow. =pero=, but. =perro=, _m._, dog. =perseverar=, to persevere. =persona=, _f._, person. =pertenecer=, (_pres._ =pertenezco=), to belong. =pesado,-a=, heavy. =pesar=, to weigh; =a ---- de=, in spite of. =pescador=, _m._, fisherman. =pescar=, to fish. =peseta=, _f._, a Spanish coin worth about 18 cents. =petate=, _m._, fool, simpleton. =petróleo=, _m._, petroleum, kerosene. =pez=, _m._, fish. =pez=, _f._, pitch, tar. =piadoso,-a=, pious. =picar=, to sting, prick; tickle. =pícaro,-a=, wretched, rascally. =pícaro=, _m._, rascal. =pico=, _m._, beak; =callar el ---- =, to hold one's tongue. =pide=, _pres. of_ =pedir=. =pidió=, _past abs. of_ =pedir=. =pie=, _m._, foot; =a ----=, on foot. =piedad=, _f._, piety, pity. =piedra=, _f._, stone. =piel=, _f._, skin. =pierden=, _pres. of_ =perder=. =pierna=, _f._, leg. =pieza=, _f._, coin; room. =Pinar del Río=, a province of Cuba. =pingüe=, fat, good, fertile. =pintor=, _m._, painter. =piña=, _f._, pineapple. =pisada=, _f._, footstep. =piso=, _m._, floor; =---- bajo=, ground floor. =pizarra=, _f._, slate; blackboard. =placer=, _m._, pleasure. =plan=, _m._, plan. =planicie=, _f._, plain. =plano,-a=, flat. =planta=, _f._, plant; sole (of the foot). =plata=, _f._, silver. =plataforma=, _f._, platform. =plátano=, _m._, plantain tree. =platino=, _m._, platinum. =plato=, _m._, plate, dish. =playa=, _f._, seashore. =plaza=, _f._, square. =plebe=, _f._, common people, rabble. =plomizo,-a=, lead-colored. =plomo=, _m._, lead. =pluma=, _f._, feather; pen; =---- fuente=, fountain pen. =población=, _f._, population, people. =poblado,-a=, populous, inhabited. =pobre=, poor. =pobremente=, poorly. =poco,-a=, _indef. pron._, little; =----s=, few; =a ----,= shortly afterwards; =---- a ----=, little by little. =poder=, _m._, power. =poder=, (_pres._ =puedo=, _past abs._ =pude=), can, to be able; may. =poderoso,-a=, powerful, strong. =podría=, _cond. of_ =poder=. =poeta=, _m._, poet. =policiaco,-a=, relating to the police. =pompa=, _f._, pomp, solemnity. =pomposamente=, pompously, splendidly. =ponderar=, to ponder, consider, weigh. =poner, (pongo, pondré, puse, puesto)=, to put, place, lay; =--se=, to become; put on (clothes); set (_of the sun_); =---- a=, to begin. =pongamos=, _pres. subj. of_ =poner=. =ponte=, _imper. of_ ponerse. =Popocatepetl=, a mountain of Mexico. =popular=, popular. =por=, by, through, for, as, along, over, for the sake of, on account of; =---- la= noche, at night. =porfía=, _f._, contest; =a ----=, vying with one another. =porque=, because. =¿porqué?= _or_ =¿por qué?= why? =portal=, _m._, portal. =portería=, _f._, main gate. =portero=, _m._, janitor, doorkeeper. =Portugal=, _m._, Portugal. =posada=, _f._, inn. =posadero=, _m._, innkeeper. =poseer=, to possess, own. =posesión=, _f._, possession. =posible=, possible. =precedente=, _m._, precedent; preëminence, preference. =precepto=, _m._, precept, command. =precio=, _m._, price. =precioso,-a=, precious, valuable. =precipitadamente=, hastily, in a hurry. =precipitarse=, to rush down. =precisamente=, precisely, just. =preciso,-a=, necessary. =predicar=, to preach. =preferir=, to prefer, =prefiere=, _pres. of_ preferir. =pregunta=, _f._, question. =preguntar=, to ask, question. =preludio=, _m._, prelude. =prender=, (_p.p._ =preso=), to seize, grasp; =--se=, to catch fire. =prensa=, _f._, press. =preparación=, _f._, preparation, =preparar=, to prepare. =presa=, _f._, booty. =presencia=, _f._, presence. =presenciar=, to witness. =presentar=, to present; =--se=, to appear, be presented. =presente=, _m._, present, gift; =al ----=, at present, now. =presidente=, _m._, president. =preso,-a=, taken, seized; _p.p. of_ =prender=. =prestar=, to lend; =---- atención=, to pay attention. =presumir=, to boast. =pretender=, to pretend. =prevenido=, _p.p. of_ =prevenir=. =prevenir=, (_see_ =venir=), to warn, caution. =prima=, _f._, cousin. =primavera=, _f._, spring. =primer=, _see_ =primero=, _adj._ =primero,-a=, first, foremost. =primero=, _adv._, at first, first. =primo=, _m._, cousin. =primor=, _m._, perfection, masterpiece. =princesa=, _f._, princess. =principal=, chief, principal. =principalmente=, chiefly, principally. =príncipe=, _m._, prince. =principiar=, to begin. =principio=, _m._, beginning; =al ----=, at first. =prisa=, _f._, haste, hurry; =de ----=, quickly. =prisión=, _f._, prison, imprisonment. =prisionero,-a=, _m. and f._, prisoner. =privación=, _f._, privation. =probar, (ue)=, to try, prove. =proclamar=, to proclaim. =procurar=, to try. =prodigioso,-a=, prodigious, wonderful. =producción=, _f._, production, performance. =producir=, _(pres._ =produzco=, _past abs._ =produje=), to produce, yield, cause. =producto=, _m._, product. =productor,-ra=, productive. =profanar=, to profane, desecrate. =profano,-a=, profane, irreverent. =profesor=, _m._, professor. =profeta=, _m._, prophet. =profundidad=, _f._, depth. =profundo,-a=, deep, profound. =programa=, _m._, program. =progresista=, progressive. =promesa=, _f._, promise. =prometer=, to promise. =prometida=, _f._, promised bride. =pronto,-a=, quick. =pronto=, _adv._, quickly, soon. =pronunciación=, _f._, pronunciation. =pronunciar=, to pronounce; declare, mention. =propina=, _f._, fee, tip. =propio,-a=, own. =proponer=, (_see_ =poner=), to propose; =--se=, to resolve. =propongo=, _pres. of_ =proponer=. =proporcionar=, to cause. =propósito=, _m._, purpose. =propuso=, _past abs. of_ =proponer=. =proseguir, (i)=, to continue. =prosiguiendo=, _pres. part. of_ =proseguir=. =prosiguió=, _past abs. of_ =proseguir=. =proteger=, to protect. =protervo,-a=, insolent, obstinate. =protesta=, _f._, protest. =protestar=, to protest, object. =provenir=, (_see_ =venir=), to come from, be derived from. =proverbio=, _m._, proverb. =proviene=, _pres. of_ =provenir=. =provincia=, _f._, province. =provisto,-a=, provided. =próximo,-a=, next. =proyectar=, to plan, project. =proyecto=, _m._, project. =prudente=, prudent. =prueba=, _f._, proof, test. =publicar=, to publish, proclaim. =público,-a=, public. =público=, _m._, public. =pudiese=, _past subj., second form, of_ =poder=. =pudo=, _past abs. of_ =poder=. =pueblo=, _m._, village, people. =puede=, _pres. of_ =poder=. =puerta=, _f._, door, gate. =puerto=, _m._, harbor, port. =pues=, since, so then, therefore; =---- bien=, very well, all right. =puesto=, _m._, post, position. =puesto=, _p.p. of_ =poner=. =pulgar=, _m._, thumb. =pulido,-a=, polished. =pulmón=, _m._, lung. =pulque=, _m._, a drink prepared from the maguey. =punto=, _m._, point. =puro,-a=, pure, clear, =purpúreo,-a=, purple, =puso=, _past abs. of_ =poner=. =Q= =que=, _conj._, that, in order that; as, since, when; than; =a ----=, until; =con ----=, therefore, then; =de ----=, that; =----= _with subj._, let, may. =que=, _rel. pron._, who, which, what; that; =lo ----=, what. =¿qué?= _inter. pron._, which? what? =quebrar, (ie)=, to break. =quedar=, to remain, be; =--se=, to remain, stand. =quehacer=, _m._, occupation, work. =queja=, _f._, complaint. =quejarse=, to complain. =quemar=, to burn. =querer, (quiero, querré, quise, querido)=, to wish, desire; will. =querido,-a=, beloved, dear. =quetzale=, _m._, quetzal, a large bird of Guatemala. =quien=, _rel. pron._, who, which, the one who. =¿quién?= _inter. pron._, who? which? =quiere=, _pres. of_ =querer=. =química=, _f._, chemistry. =quina=, _f._, cinchona. =quince=, fifteen. =quinientos=, five hundred. =quinta=, _f._, conscription, levy. =quinto=, _m._, one-fifth, fifth. =quisiera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =querer=. =quiso=, _past abs. of_ =querer=. =quitar(se)=, to take away, take out, take off. =R= =rama=, _f._, branch (of a tree). =ramal=, _m._, branch, arm (of a river). =Ramón=, _m._, Raymond. =rana=, _f._, frog. =rancho=, _m._, ranch. =rápidamente=, rapidly. =rápido,-a=, rapid, fast. =raro,-a=, rare. =rasgar=, to scratch. =rastro=, _m._, slaughter house. =rato=, _m._, time, while. =rayo=, _m._, ray. =razón=, _f._, reason; =tener ----=, to be right. =real=, _adj._, royal. =real=, _m._, a Spanish coin worth about five cents. =realce=, _m._, fine work. =rebelarse=, to rebel. =rebelión=, _f._, rebellion. =recelar=, to distrust; =--se de=, to distrust. =recibimiento=, _m._, reception. =recibir=, to receive. =recién=, recently; =---- nacido=, new-born. =recientemente=, recently. =reclamar=, to claim. =recobrar=, to recover. =recoger=, to gather, pick up. =recoleto=, _m._, convent. =recomendación=, _f._, recommendation. =recomendar=, to recommend. =reconocer=, (_pres._ =reconozco=), to recognize; look over, sound. =reconozcan=, _pres. subj. of_ =reconocer=. =recordar, (ue)=, to remember, recall. =recostado,-a=, reclining. =recrearse=, to amuse one's self. =recreo=, _m._, recreation. =recto,-a=, straight. =recuerdo=, _m._, remembrance; =--s=, kind regards. =recuerdo=, _pres. of_ =recordar=. =recurrir=, to have recourse to. =recurso=, _m._, recourse; _pl._, resources. =rechazar=, to refuse. =red=, _f._, net. =redoblado,-a=, double-quick. =redondel=, _m._, disk. =reducir=, (_pres._ =reduzco=), to reduce, confine. =referir, (ie)=, to relate, tell. =refirió=, _past abs. of_ =referir=. =reflejar=, to reflect. =reflexión=, _f._, reflection. =reflexionar=, to reflect, consider. =reflexivo,-a=, reflective, thoughtful. =refrán=, _m._, proverb, saying. =refrenar=, to rein in, stop. =refrescarse=, to recuperate, gain new strength. =regalarse=, to treat one's self. =regalo=, _m._, present. =región=, _f._, region, district. =regresar=, to return. =regreso=, _m._, return. =regular=, regular, ordinary. =rehusar=, to refuse. =reino=, m., kingdom. =reír, (i)=, to laugh. =relacionarse (con)=, to be connected (with). =relatar=, to relate, tell. =relativo,-a=, relative. =relevar=, to relieve. =reloj=, _m._, watch; clock. =reluciente=, shining, bright. =relucir=, (_pres._ =reluzco=), to shine, glitter. =relleno,-a=, stuffed. =remar=, to row. =rematar=, to finish, complete. =remediar=, to remedy. =remendar, (ie)=, to mend, repair. =remontar(se)=, to mount upwards; rise, soar. =remover, (ue)=, to remove. =renglón=, _m._, line. =renovar=, to renew. =renunciar=, to renounce. =reparación=, _f._, repair. =reparar=, to look at carefully, notice. =reparto=, _pl._ =-i=, _m._, distribution of rôles. =repente: de ----=, suddenly. =repetir, (i)=, to repeat; =--se=, to repeat. =repicar=, to sound, ring, toll. =repite=, _pres. of_ =repetir=. =repitiendo=, _pres. part. of_ =repetir=. =repitieron=, _past abs. of_ =repetir=. =replicar=, to reply. =reposar=, to repose, rest. =reposo=, _m._, repose, rest. =repostero=, _m._, pastry cook. =representación=, _f._, representation, performance. =representar=, to represent, perform; =--se=, to be performed. =reprimir=, to repress, subdue. =reprise=, _French_, revival. =república=, _f._, republic. =repuso=, _past abs. of_ =reponer=, he replied _(used in this sense only in this tense)_. =res=, _f._, cattle. =residencia=, _f._, residence. =resignado,-a=, resigned. =resina=, _f._, resin. =resistir=, to resist, endure. =resolución=, _f._, resolution. =resolver=, (=ue=, _p.p._ =resuelto=), to resolve. =respirar=, to breathe. =responder=, to respond, reply, answer. =responsabilidad=, _f._, responsibility. =respuesta=, _f._, reply, answer. =restar=, to remain. =resto=, _m._, rest, remainder. =resulta=, _f._, result; =de ----s=, as a consequence of. =resultar=, to result. =retemblar, (ie)=, to tremble. =retiemble=, _pres. subj. of_ =retemblar=. =retrato=, _m._, picture, likeness. =reunirse=, to join; reunite, meet again. =reverencia=, _f._, reverence, bow. =revisar=, to examine. =revolotear=, to circle about, fly about. =revolución=, _f._, revolution. =revolver=, (=ue=, _p.p._ =revuelto=), to turn around. =revuelto,-a=, rolled up. =revuelve=, _pres. of_ =revolver=. =rey=, _m._, king. =ría=, _pres. subj. of_ =reír=. =Ricardo=, _m._, Richard. =ricazo,-a=, very rich. =rico,-a=, rich. =ricuelo,-a=, rich. =ridículo,-a=, ridiculous. =riendo=, _pres. part. of_ =reír=. =río=, _m._, river. =Río Janeiro=, capital of Brazil. =riqueza=, _f._, wealth. =risueño,-a=, smiling. =robar=, to rob, steal, carry off. =rodear=, to surround. =rodilla=, _f._, knee. =Rodolfo=, _m._, Rudolph. =rogar, (ue)=, to pray. =rojo,-a=, red. =Roma=, Rome. =romano,-a=, Roman. =romper=, to break. =ronco,-a=, rough, hoarse, gruff. =ropa=, _f._, clothes. =rosa=, _f._, rose; =palo de ----=, rosewood. =rostro=, _m._, face. =rubio,-a=, blond. =rubor=, _f._, blush. =ruego=, _pres. of_ =rogar=. =rugido=, _m._, roar, roaring. =rugir=, to roar. =ruido=, _m._, noise, sound. =ruina=, _f._, ruin. =ruso,-a=, Russian. =rústico,-a=, rustic, boorish. =S= =sábado=, _m._, Saturday. =saber=,(=sé, sabré, supe, sabido=, _pres. subj._ =sepa=), to know, learn, be able to. =sabido,-a=, well-known. =sabio,-a=, wise. =sabroso,-a=, tasty. =sacar=, to take out, draw out; rouse. =sacrificar=, to sacrifice. =sacrifiqué=, _past abs. of_ =sacrificar=. =saeta=, _f._, arrow. =sagrado,-a=, sacred; =La Sagrada Escritura=, Holy Writ. =Said-Bajá=, viceroy of Egypt (1854-1863). =sala=, _f._, hall, room. =Salamanca=, _f._, city and province in western Spain. =salgo=, _pres. of_ =salir=. =salida=, _f._, boundary; =---- de toros=, entrance of the bulls. =salir=, (=salgo, saldré, salí, salido=), to go out, come out, turn out, get out; rise (_of the sun_). =salitre=, _m._, saltpeter. =salón=, _m._, large hall; =---- de trono=, throne hall. =saltar=, to jump; blow up, explode. =salto=, _m._, jump, leap; =dar un ----=, to jump, leap. =salud=, _f._, health. =saludar=, to greet, salute. =saludo=, _m._, salutation. =salvación=, _f._, salvation, rescue. =salvo,-a=, safe. =san=, _shortened form of_ =santo=. =sanar=, to heal, recover, get well. =Sancha=, _f._, Sancha (_proper name_). =San Francisco (de Asís)=, St. Francis, founder of a religious order. =sangre=, _f._, blood. =sanguijuela=, _f._, leech. =San Ignacio de Loyola=, founder of the Jesuit order. =sano,-a=, healthy, well, sound. =santo,-a=, holy. =santo,-a=, _m. and f._, saint. =saqué=, _past abs. of_ =sacar=. =sardina=, _f._, sardine; =entierro de la ----=, a Spanish festival, like the French _mi-carême_, celebrating the end of Lent. =sastre=, _m._, tailor. =satisfacción=, _f._, satisfaction. =satisfacer, (-fago,-faré,-fice,-fecho)=, to satisfy. =satisfecho=, _p.p. of_ =satisfacer.= =se=, _refl. pron._, himself, herself, itself, yourself; themselves; one another. =se=, _pers. pron._ == le= (_when followed by another pers. pron. of 3 pers._). =sé=, _pres. of_ =saber=. =sea=, _pres. subj. of_ =ser=. =sebo=, _m._, tallow. =secar=, to dry. =sección=, _f._, section. =seco,-a=, dry. =secretario=, _m._, secretary. =secreto=, _m._, secret. =sed=, _f._, thirst; =tener ----=, to be thirsty. =seguida: en----=, immediately. =seguir, (i)=, to follow, continue; increase. =según=, according to, as. =segundo,-a=, second. =seguro,-a=, sure, steady, certain. =seis=, six. =selecto,-a=, select. =selva=, _f._, forest. =semana=, _f._, week. =semejante=, similar, like; such. =senador=, _m._, senator. =sencilla=, _f._, one-act play. =sencillez=, _f._, simplicity. =sencillo,-a=, simple. =sentarse, (ie)=, to sit down, seat one's self. =sentido=, _m._, sense. =sentimiento=, _m._, regret. =sentir, (ie)=, to feel; =--se=, to feel. =señor=, _m._, gentleman, sir, master, lord; Mr. =señora=, _f._, lady, wife, madam; Mrs. =señoría=, _f._, lordship, excellency. =señorita=, _f._, young lady; Miss. =sepa=, _pres. subj. of_ =saber=. =separar=, to separate. =separémonos = separemos nos=. =septiembre=, _m._, September. =sepulcral=, sepulchral; =lápida ----=, tombstone. =ser, (soy, seré, fuí, sido=, _past descr._ =era=, _pres. subj._ =sea)=, to be; =por no ----=, had it not been. =serie=, _f._, series, list. =serio,-a=, serious. =sermón=, _m._, sermon. =servicio=, _m._, service. =servil=, servile. =servir, (ie)=, to serve; =---- de algo=, to be good for something; =---- de nada=, to be good for nothing. =sesenta=, sixty. =si=, _conj._, if, whether. =sí=, _adv._, yes, indeed. =sí=, _refl. pron._, himself, herself, itself; themselves (_after a prep._). =sido=, _p.p. of_ =ser=. =siempre=, always; =para ----=, for ever. =sien=, _f._, temple (_of the face_). =siendo=, _pres. part. of_ =ser=. =sienta=, _pres. of_ =sentar=. =sienten=, _pres. of_ =sentir=. =siete=, seven. =Sigfredo=, _m._, Siegfried. =siglo=, _m._, century. =significado=, _m._, meaning. =significar=, to signify, mean. =sigue=, _pres. of_ =seguir=. =siguiente=, following, next. =siguieron=, _past abs. of_ =seguir=. =silencio=, _m._, silence. =silvestre=, wild, woody. =silla=, _f._, chair. =sillón=, _m._, armchair. =simple=, simple, plain. =sin=, without. =sinfónico,-a=, symphonic, symphony. =siniestro,-a=, sinister. =sino=, except, but; =no tenía sino una pierna=, had only one leg. =sintiendo=, _pres. part. of_ =sentir=. =siquiera=, even; =ni ----=, not even. =sirven=, _pres. of_ =servir=. =sirviente=, _m._, servant. =sirvió=, _past abs. of_ =servir=. =sitio=, _m._, place. =situación=, _f._, situation, location. =situado,-a=, located, situated. =soberano,-a=, sovereign. =soberbio,-a=, proud. =sobrado,-a=, excessive. =sobre=, above, on, upon, over; about, concerning. =sobremesa=, _f._, dessert. =sobresalto=, _m._, violent shock. =sobretodo=, _m._, overcoat. =sobrevenir=, (_see_ =venir=), to come. =sobrevino=, _past abs. of_ =sobrevenir=. =sobrina=, _f._, niece. =sobrino=, _m._, nephew. =socavar=, to dig. =sofocón=, _m._, box (on the ear). =sois,= _pres. indic. 2 pers. pl. of_ =ser=. =sol=, _m._, sun. =solamente=, only. =soldado=, _m._, soldier. =solejar,= _m._, sunny place. =solemne=, solemn. =solemnidad=, _f._, solemnity. =soler, (ue)=, to be accustomed, be in the habit. =solicitar=, to solicit, ask, request. =solícito,-a=, solicitous, anxious. =solimán=, _m._, corrosive sublimate of mercury; =hecho un ----=, angry, furious, hopping mad. =solo,-a=, alone, only, mere, single. =sólo=, _adv._, only, merely. =soltar, (ue)=, to let loose; =---- la carcajada=, to burst into loud laughter. =soltero,-a=, unmarried, bachelor. =sombra=, _f._, shade. =sombrero=, _m._, hat. =son=, _pres. indic. 3 pers. pl. of_ =ser=. =sonar, (ue)=, to sound, ring, chink. =sonido=, _m._, sound. =sonoro,-a=, sonorous. =sonreír, (i)=, to smile. =sonriendo=, _pres. part. of_ =sonreír=. =sonrisa=, _f._, smile. =sopa=, _f._, soup. =soplar=, to blow; prompt. =sorbete=, _m._, sherbet. =sorprendente=, rare, extraordinary. =sorprendido,-a=, surprised. =sorpresa=, _f._, surprise. =sospechar=, to suspect. =sostener=, (_see_ =tener=), to sustain, keep up. =sótano=, _m._, basement. =soy=, _pres. of_ =ser=. =Sr. = Señor=. =SS. MM. y AA. = Sus Majestades y Altezas=. =su=, his, her, its; their; yours. =subida=, _f._, elevation, ascent. =subir=, to rise, go upstairs. =suceder=, to happen. =suceso=, _m._, event, happening. =sucio,-a=, dirty. =sudeste=, southeast. =suela=, _pres. subj. of_ =soler=. =suela=, _f._, sole. =suelo=, _m._, ground, floor; soil. =suena=, _pres. of_ =sonar=. =suerte=, _f._, luck, fate; manner. =Suez=, Suez. =suficiente=, sufficient, enough. =sufrir=, to suffer. =Suiza (la)=, Switzerland. =sujeto=, _m._, subject; fellow. =sultán=, _m._, sultan. =suma=, _f._, sum. =sumo,-a=, supreme, utmost. =suntuoso,-a=, sumptuous. =superficie=, _f._, surface. =superior=, superior, upper; =escuela ----=, high school. =superioridad=, _f._, superiority. =supo=, _past abs. of_ =saber=, he learned, was informed. =suponer=, to suppose. =supongamos=, _pres. subj. of_ =suponer=. =sur=, _m._, south. =surtir=, to provide with, procure. =susto=, _m._, fright, scare. =susurrar=, to hum, buzz. =suyo,-a=, your, yours. =T= =tabaco=, _m._, tobacco; cigar. =tabardillo=, _m._, fever. =taimado,-a=, sly, cunning, shrewd. =tajada=, _f._, cut. =tal=, such, so, as; =----vez=, perhaps; =¿qué ----?= how are you? =talle=, _m._, figure. =también=, also, likewise. =Tamburí=, _m._, Tamburí (_proper name_). =tampoco=, neither. =tan=, so; =---- ... como=, as... as. =tanto,-a=, so much; =--s=, so many; =otros ----s=, as many others; =mientras ----=, in the meantime; =por lo ----=, therefore. =tanto=, _adv._, so much. =tarde=, _adv._, late. =tarde=, _f._, afternoon; early evening; =por la ----=, in the afternoon; =buenas ----s=, good evening. =tauromaquia=, _f._, art of bullfighting. =te=, _dat. and acc. of_ =tú=, you, yourself. =té=, _m._, tea. =teatro=, _m._, theater. =techo=, _m._, ceiling. =tedioso,-a=, tedious, tiresome. =tejado=, _m._, roof. =tejedor=, _m._, weaver. =temblar, (ie)=, to tremble. =temer=, to fear; =---se=, to be afraid. =temor=, _m._, fear. =templado,-a=, temperate. =templo=, _m._, temple. =temprano,-a=, early. =tendrán=, _fut. of_ =tener=. =tenedor=, _m._, fork. =tener, (tengo, tendré, tuve, tenido=, _imper._ =ten=), to have, enjoy, take; =---- que=, must, to have to; =---- frío=, to be cold; =---- por=, to consider, regard; =tiene diez años=, he is ten years old. =tenga=, _pres. subj. of_ =tener=. =tengo=, _pres. of_ =tener=. =tenis=, _m._, tennis. =tentación=, _f._, temptation. =tentar=, to try. =tercer=, _see_ =tercero=. =tercero,-a=, third. =terminar=, to end, close, terminate, finish. =término=, _m._, word, expression. =terreno=, _m._, territory. =terrible=, terrible. =terrífico,-a=, terrific, terrible, terrifying. =territorio=, _m._, territory, land. =tesoro=, _m._, treasure. =testarudo,-a=, obstinate. =ti=, _acc. of_ =tú= (_after a prep._), you. =tía=, _f._, aunt. =tiembla=, _pres. of_ =temblar=. =tiempo=, _m._, time; weather; =hace ----=, some time ago. =tienda=, _f._, store, shop. =tiene=, _pres. of_ =tener=. =tierno,-a=, tender. =tierra=, _f._, earth, land, district; native country. =tinta=, _f._, ink. =tintero=, _m._, inkstand. =tinto,-a=, colored, dyed. =tío=, _m._, uncle. =tirano=, _m._, tyrant. =tirar=, to draw; throw; last. =tirón=, _m._, thrust; =de un ----=, all at once, suddenly. =título=, _m._, title. =tiza=, _f._, chalk. =tocar=, to touch; play (an instrument); ring; =te toca=, it falls to your lot; =toca las ocho=, it strikes eight. =todavía=, still, yet. =todo,-a=, all, whole; each, every; everything; =con ----=, after all; =del ----=, completely. =Toisón=, _f._: =la orden de la ----=, Order of the Golden Fleece. =Toledo=, _m._, a large city in western Spain. =¡toma!= hold on! stop a moment! =tomar=, to take, eat; =--se=, to betake one's self. =tomate=, _m._, tomato. =tonelada=, _f._, ton. =tonelaje=, _m._, tonnage. =tontería=, _f._, folly, stupidity; nonsense. =tonto,-a=, foolish, silly, stupid. =tonto=, _m._, fool, simpleton. =topar (con)=, to meet. =tordo=, _m._, thrush. =toro=, _m._, bull; =corrida de ----s=, bullfight. =tórrido,-a=, torrid, hot. =torta=, _f._, cake. =tortilla=, _f._, pancake with eggs; omelet. =total=, total. =trabajar=, to work. =trabajo=, _m._, work. =trabar=, to join, connect; =---- conversación=, to enter into a conversation. =traducción=, _f._, translation. =traducir=, (_pres._ =traduzco=, _past abs._ =traduje=), to translate. =traduzca=, _pres. subj. of_ =traducir=. =traer, (traigo, traeré, traje, traído)=, to bring, carry, draw, pull. =tráfico=, _m._, traffic. =tragar=, to swallow. =traiga=, _pres. subj. of_ =traer=. =traje=, _m._, dress, suit. =trajeron=, _past abs. of_ =traer=. =trajo=, _past abs. of_ =traer=. =tramo=, _m._, flight (of stairs). =tranquilo,-a=, tranquil, calm, quiet. =tras=, behind. =trasunto=, _m._, copy, likeness. =tratamiento=, _m._, treatment. =tratar=, to treat, discuss; try, bargain, have dealings with. =trato=, _m._, treatment. =través: a ----=, across. =trazar=, to trace, sketch, draw. =trecho=, _m._, space, distance. =treinta=, thirty. =tremendo,-a=, tremendous, very great. =trémulo,-a=, tremulous, trembling. =tren=, _m_, train. =tres=, three. =trescientos=, three hundred. =trigo=, _m_, grain, wheat. =trineo=, _m_, sled. =triplicar=, to treble. =triste=, sad. =tronco=, _m_, trunk. =trono=, _m._, throne. =tropezar (con), (ie)=, to meet, come across. =tropical=, tropical. =troupe=, _French_, company of players. =trucha=, _f._, trout. =trueno=, _m._, thunder. =tu=, _poss. adj._, your. =tú=, _pers. pron._, you. =tuerto,-a=, one-eyed, squinting. =tumba=, _f._, gravestone. =tunante=, _m._, vagabond, rascal. =turco,-a=, Turkish, Turk. =turno=, _m._, turn, series. =tuvo=, _past abs. of_ =tener=. =tuyo,-a=, yours. =U= =ufano,-a=, proud. =último,-a=, last; =por ----=, at last, finally. =umbral=, _m._, sill, doorstep. =un,-a=, a, an, one. =ungüento=, _m._, ointment, salve. =único,-a=, only. =unido,-a=, united; =los Estados Unidos=, the United States. =universidad=, _f._, university. =uno,-a=, one; =--s=, some, a pair; _as indef. pron._, one, they, people. =Uruguay=, _m._, Uruguay. =usar=, to use, practice, make use of. =uso=, _m._, use, custom, fashion. =usted=, (_see_ =V=.), you. =usurero=, _m._, usurer. =útil=, useful. =utilizar=, to use, utilize, put to use. =uva=, _f._, grape. =V= =V., Vd., Vmd=. (_abbreviation for_ =vuestra merced)=, _pl._ =VV., Vds.=, you; =de V.=, your. =va=, _pres. of_ =ir=. =vaca=, _f._, cow. =vacío,-a=, empty. =vacuno,-a=, relating to cattle, bovine. =valer=, (_pres._ =valgo=, _fut._ =valdré=), to be worth; =vale más=, it is better; =no vale la pena=, it is not worth while. =valiente=, brave, courageous. =valioso,-a=, precious, valuable. =valor=, _m._, value, courage. =Valparaíso=, _m._, an important seaport of Chile. =valle=, _m._, valley. =vamos=, _pres. of_ =ir=; =---- a ver=, let us see. =vanidad=, _f._, vanity. =vano,-a=, vain. =variedad=, _f._, variety. =varieté=, _French_, variety (_in theaters_). =varios,-as=, several. =varón=, _m._, man. =vas=, _pres. of_ =ir=. =vaso=, _m._, glass. =vaya=, _pres. subj. of_ =ir=; _as interj._, come now! get along with you! =Vd., Vds.=, _see_ =V=. =veas=, _pres. subj. of_ =ver=. =vecina=, _f._, neighbor. =vecino=, _m._, neighbor. =vega=, _f._, field. =vegetación=, _f._, vegetation. =veinte=, twenty. =veinticinco=, twenty-five. =veintinueve=, twenty-nine. =veintiocho=, twenty-eight. =veintiuno=, twenty-one. =velado,-a=, veiled. =velar=, to watch. =vencer=, to conquer, overcome. =vencido=, _p.p. of_ =vencer=. =vender=, to sell; betray; =no se vende=, it is not for sale. =vendrán=, _fut. of_ =venir=. =venga=, _pres. subj. of_ =venir=. =venir, (vengo, vendré, vine, venido)=, to come; =---- a las manos=, to come to blows. =ventaja=, _f._, advantage. =ventana=, _f._, window. =ventanilla=, _f._, little window. =ventrílocuo=, _m._, ventriloquist. =ver, (veo, veré, ví, visto)=, to see, look, look at, judge. =verano=, _m._, summer. =veras=, _f. pl._, truth; =¿de ----?= indeed? is that true? =verdad=, _f._, truth; =a la ----=, indeed, truly. =verdadero,-a=, true, real. =verde=, green. =verdugo=, _m._, hangman, executioner. =verdura=, _f._, verdure. =verso=, _m._, verse. =verter, (ie)=, to shed. =vertiente=, _f._, slope, declivity. =vestido=, _m._, suit, dress, clothes. =vestir, (i)=, to dress. =vete = ve + te=, _imper. of_ =ir=. =vez=, _f._, time (_only as expressing series_); =a la ----=, altogether; =cada ---- más=, more and more steadily; =otra ----=, once more; =una ----=, once; =dos veces=, twice; =tal----=, perhaps. =ví=, _past abs. of_ =ver=. =vía=, _f._, way, road. =viajante=, _m._, traveler. =viajar=, to travel. =viaje=, _m._, journey. =viajero=, _m._, traveler. =vianda=, _f._, food. =víbora=, _f._, viper. =Vicente=, _m._, Vincent. =victorioso,-a=, victorious. =vida=, _f._, life. =vidrio=, _m._, glass, windowpane. =viejo,-a=, old. =viejo=, _m._, old man. =viendo=, _pres. part. of_ =ver=. =viene=, _pres. of_ =venir=. =viento=, _m._, wind. =viera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =ver=. =viernes=, _m._, Friday. =vigilante=, _adj._, watchful. =vigilante=, _m._, watchman. =vigilar=, to watch. =vigorizar=, to strengthen. =viniera=, _past subj., first form, of_ =venir=. =vino=, _past abs. of_ =venir=. =vino=, _m._, wine. =violencia=, _f._, violence. =virgen=, _f._, virgin. =virrey=, _m._, viceroy. =virtió=, _past abs. of_ =verter=. =virtuoso,-a=, virtuous. =virtuoso=, _m._, virtuoso. =visita=, _f._, visit. =visitar=, to visit. =vista=, _f._, view, sight, prospect. =vistió=, _past abs. of_ =vestir=. =visto=, _p.p. of_ =ver=. =viva=, _pres. subj. of_ =vivir=, _as exclam._, long live! =vivir=, to live. =vivo,-a=, alive, bright; =---- retrato=, living image. =vizcaíno,-a=, Biscayan, of Biscay. =V. M. = Vuestra Majestad=. =vociferar=, to vociferate, shout, yell. =volar, (ue)=, to fly. =volver=, (=ue=, _p.p._ =vuelto=), to turn, return; =--se a=, to return; =---- a poner=, to replace. =volviendo=, _pres. part. of_ =volver=. =votar=, to vote. =voy=, _pres. of_ =ir=. =voz=, _f._, voice. =vuecelencia=, _contraction of_ =vuestra excelencia=, your excellency. =vuecencia = vuecelencia=. =vuelo=, _m._, flight. =vuelta=, _f._, turn, return; =de ----=, back. =vuelto=, _p.p. of_ =volver=. =vuestro,-a=, your. =vulgar=, common, ordinary. =vulgo=, _m._, rabble, common people. =W= =wagneriano,-a=, Wagnerian. =Wáshington=, a state of the United States. =Y= =y=, and. =ya=, already, certainly, indeed; =---- no=, no longer. =yerro=, _m._, error, mistake, blunder. =yo=, I. =yugo=, _m._, yoke. =Z= =Zamora=, _f._, city in Spain; =no se tomó a ---- en una hora=, Rome was not built in a day. =zángano=, _m._, drone. =¡zapatazas!= zounds! confound it! =zapatería=, _f._, shoemaker's trade. =zapatero=, _m._, shoemaker. =zapato=, _m._, shoe. =zapatón=, _m._, clumsy shoe. =zarzuela=, _f._, a kind of operetta. =¡zas!= zip! =zona=, _f._, zone. =zumbido=, _m._, humming, buzzing. 4 = cuatro 5 = cinco 6 = seis 7 = siete 8 = ocho 9 = nueve 10 = diez 11 = once 12 = doce 12.5 = doce (metros) y medio 13 = trece 14 = catorce 17 = diez y siete (_or_ diecisiete) 20 = veinte 0,20 = veinte céntimos 21 = veinte y uno (_or_ veintiuno) 22 = veinte y dos (_or_ veintidos) 23 = veinte y tres (_or_ veintitres) 24 = veinte y cuatro (_or_ veinticuatro) 25 = veinte y cinco (_or_ veinticinco) 30 = treinta 0,40 = cuarenta céntimos 48 = cuarenta y ocho 50 = cincuenta 0,50 = cincuenta céntimos (_or_ media peseta) 60 = sesenta 63 = sesenta y tres 72 = setenta y dos 90 = noventa 100 = ciento 162 = ciento sesenta y dos 220 = doscientos veinte 250 = doscientos cincuenta 300 = trescientos 330 = trescientos treinta 765 = setecientos sesenta y cinco 767 = setecientos sesenta y siete 1300 = mil trescientos 1515 = mil quinientos quince 1534 = mil quinientos treinta y cuatro 1553 = mil quinientos cincuenta y tres 1573 = mil quinientos setenta y tres 1693 = mil seiscientos noventa y tres 1854 = mil ochocientos cincuenta y cuatro 1858 = mil ochocientos cincuenta y ocho 1867 = mil ochocientos sesenta y siete 1869 = mil ochocientos sesenta y nueve 1870 = mil ochocientos setenta 1871 = mil ochocientos setenta y uno 1895 = mil ochocientos noventa y cinco 1898 = mil ochocientos noventa y ocho 1904 = mil novecientos cuatro 1912 = mil novecientos doce 1913 = mil novecientos trece 1914 = mil novecientos catorce 3,000 = tres mil 13,000 = trece mil 20,000 = veinte mil 33,000 = treinta y tres mil 380,000 = trescientos ochenta mil 3,550,000 = tres millones quinientos cincuenta mil 7,470,000 = siete millones cuatrocientos setenta mil 16,000,000 = diez y seis millones 70,000,000 = setenta millones 75,000,000 = setenta y cinco millones 131,000,000 = ciento treinta y uno millones 200,000,000 = doscientos millones 264,000,000 = doscientos sesenta y cuatro millones 300,000,000 = trescientos millones 877,000,000 = ochocientos setenta y siete millones 
12456	----	Proofreading Team. THE TROUBADOURS BY REV. H.J. CHAYTOR, M.A. AUTHOR OF "THE TROUBADOURS OF DANTE" ETC. Cambridge: at the University Press 1912 _With the exception of the coat of arms at the foot, the design on the title page is a reproduction of one used by the earliest known Cambridge printer, John Siberch, 1521_ PREFACE This book, it is hoped, may serve as an introduction to the literature of the Troubadours for readers who have no detailed or scientific knowledge of the subject. I have, therefore, chosen for treatment the Troubadours who are most famous or who display characteristics useful for the purpose of this book. Students who desire to pursue the subject will find further help in the works mentioned in the bibliography. The latter does not profess to be exhaustive, but I hope nothing of real importance has been omitted. H.J. CHAYTOR. THE COLLEGE, PLYMOUTH, March 1912. CONTENTS PREFACE CHAP. I. INTRODUCTORY II. THE THEORY OF COURTLY LOVE III. TECHNIQUE IV. THE EARLY TROUBADOURS V. THE CLASSICAL PERIOD VI. THE ALBIGEOIS CRUSADE VII. THE TROUBADOURS IN ITALY VIII. THE TROUBADOURS IN SPAIN IX. PROVENCAL INFLUENCE IN GERMANY, FRANCE, AND ENGLAND BIBLIOGRAPHY AND NOTES INDEX [Transcriptor's note: Page numbers from the original document have been posted in the right margin to maintain the relevance of the index references.} THE TROUBADOURS [1] CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY Few literatures have exerted so profound an influence upon the literary history of other peoples as the poetry of the troubadours. Attaining the highest point of technical perfection in the last half of the twelfth and the early years of the thirteenth century, Provençal poetry was already popular in Italy and Spain when the Albigeois crusade devastated the south of France and scattered the troubadours abroad or forced them to seek other means of livelihood. The earliest lyric poetry of Italy is Provençal in all but language; almost as much may be said of Portugal and Galicia; Catalonian troubadours continued to write in Provençal until the fourteenth century. The lyric poetry of the "trouvères" in Northern France was deeply influenced both in form and spirit by troubadour poetry, and traces of this influence are perceptible even in [2] early middle-English lyrics. Finally, the German minnesingers knew and appreciated troubadour lyrics, and imitations or even translations of Provençal poems may be found in Heinrich von Morungen, Friedrich von Hausen, and many others. Hence the poetry of the troubadours is a subject of first-rate importance to the student of comparative literature. The northern limit of the Provençal language formed a line starting from the Pointe de Grave at the mouth of the Gironde, passing through Lesparre, Bordeaux, Libourne, Périgueux, rising northward to Nontron, la Rochefoucauld, Confolens, Bellac, then turning eastward to Guéret and Montluçon; it then went south-east to Clermont-Ferrand, Boën, Saint Georges, Saint Sauveur near Annonay. The Dauphiné above Grenoble, most of the Franche-Comté, French Switzerland and Savoy, are regarded as a separate linguistic group known as Franco-Provençal, for the reason that the dialects of that district display characteristics common to both French and Provençal.[1] On the south-west, Catalonia, Valencia and the Balearic Isles must also be included in the Provençal region. As concerns the Northern limit, it must not be regarded as a definite line of demarcation between the langue d'oil or the Northern French dialects and the langue d'oc or Provençal. The boundary is, of course, determined by noting the points at which certain linguistic features peculiar to Provençal cease and are replaced by the characteristics of Northern [3] French. Such a characteristic, for instance, is the Latin tonic _a_ before a single consonant, and not preceded by a palatal consonant, which remains in Provençal but becomes _e_ in French; Latin cant_a_re becomes chant_a_r in Provençal but chant_e_r in French. But north and south of the boundary thus determined there was, in the absence of any great mountain range or definite geographical line of demarcation, an indeterminate zone, in which one dialect probably shaded off by easy gradations into the other. Within the region thus described as Provençal, several separate dialects existed, as at the present day. Apart from the Franco-Provençal on the north-east, which we have excluded, there was Gascon in the south-west and the modern _départements_ of the Basses and Hautes Pyrénées; Catalonian, the dialect of Roussillon, which was brought into Spain in the seventh century and still survives in Catalonia, Valencia and the Balearic Islands. The rest of the country may be subdivided by a line to the north of which _c_ before _a_ becomes _ch_ as in French, cant_a_re producing chant_a_r, while southwards we find _c(k)_ remaining. The Southern dialects are those of Languedoc and Provence; north of the line were the Limousin and Auvergne dialects. At the present day these dialects have diverged very widely. In the early middle ages the difference between them was by no means so great. Moreover, a literary [4] language grew up by degrees, owing to the wide circulation of poems and the necessity of using a dialect which could be universally intelligible. It was the Limousin dialect which became, so to speak, the backbone of this literary language, now generally known as Provençal, just as the Tuscan became predominant for literary purposes among the Italian dialects. It was in Limousin that the earliest troubadour lyrics known to us were composed, and this district with the adjacent Poitou and Saintonge may therefore be reasonably regarded as the birthplace of Provençal lyric poetry. Hence the term "Provençal" is not entirely appropriate to describe the literary language of the troubadours, as it may also be restricted to denote the dialects spoken in the "Provincia". This difficulty was felt at an early date. The first troubadours spoke of their language as _roman_ or _lingua romana,_ a term equally applicable to any other romance language. _Lemosin_ was also used, which was too restricted a term, and was also appropriated by the Catalonians to denote their own dialect. A third term in use was the _lingua d'oc,_ which has the authority of Dante [2] and was used by some of the later troubadours; however, the term "Provençal" has been generally accepted, and must henceforward be understood to denote the literary language common to the [5] south of France and not the dialect of Provence properly so-called. For obvious reasons Southern France during the early middle ages had far outstripped the Northern provinces in art, learning, and the refinements of civilisation. Roman culture had made its way into Southern Gaul at an early date and had been readily accepted by the inhabitants, while Marseilles and Narbonne had also known something of Greek civilisation. Bordeaux, Toulouse, Arles, Lyons and other towns were flourishing and brilliant centres of civilisation at a time when Northern France was struggling with foreign invaders. It was in Southern Gaul, again, that Christianity first obtained a footing; here the barbarian invasions of the fifth and sixth centuries proved less destructive to civilisation than in Northern France, and the Visigoths seem to have been more amenable to the influences of culture than the Northern Franks. Thus the towns of Southern Gaul apparently remained centres in which artistic and literary traditions were preserved more or less successfully until the revival of classical studies during the age of Charlemagne. The climate, again, of Southern France is milder and warmer than that of the North, and these influences produced a difference which may almost be termed racial. It is a difference visible even to-day and is well expressed by [6] the chronicler Raoul de Caen, who speaks of the Provençal Crusaders, saying that the French were prouder in bearing and more war-like in action than the Provençals, who especially contrasted with them by their skill in procuring food in times of famine: "inde est, quod adhuc puerorum decantat naenia, Franci ad bella, Provinciales ad victualia".[3] Only a century and a half later than Charlemagne appeared the first poetical productions in Provençal which are known to us, a fragment of a commentary upon the De Consolatione of Boethius[4] and a poem upon St Foy of Agen. The first troubadour, William, Count of Poitiers, belongs to the close of the eleventh century. Though the Count of Poitiers is the first troubadour known to us, the relatively high excellence of his technique, as regards stanza construction and rime, and the capacity of his language for expressing lofty and refined ideas in poetical form (in spite of his occasional lapses into coarseness), entirely preclude the supposition that he was the first troubadour in point of time. The artistic conventions apparent in his poetry and his obviously careful respect for fixed rules oblige us to regard his poetry as the outcome of a considerable stage of previous development. At what point this development began and what influences stimulated its progress are questions which still remain in [7] dispute. Three theories have been proposed. It is, in the first place, obviously tempting to explain the origin of Provençal poetry as being a continuation of Latin poetry in its decadence. When the Romans settled in Gaul they brought with them their amusements as well as their laws and institutions. Their _scurrae_, _thymelici_ and _joculatores_, the tumblers, clowns and mountebanks, who amused the common people by day and the nobles after their banquets by night and travelled from town to town in pursuit of their livelihood, were accustomed to accompany their performances by some sort of rude song and music. In the uncivilised North they remained buffoons; but in the South, where the greater refinement of life demanded more artistic performance, the musical part of their entertainment became predominant and the _joculator_ became the _joglar_ (Northern French, _jongleur_), a wandering musician and eventually a troubadour, a composer of his own poems. These latter were no longer the gross and coarse songs of the earlier mountebank age, which Alcuin characterised as _turpissima_ and _vanissima_, but the grave and artificially wrought stanzas of the troubadour _chanso_. Secondly, it has been felt that some explanation is required to account for the extreme complexity and artificiality of troubadour poetry in its most highly developed stage. Some nine hundred different forms of stanza [8] construction are to be found in the body of troubadour poetry,[5] and few, if any schools of lyric poetry in the world, can show a higher degree of technical perfection in point of metrical diversity, complex stanza construction and accuracy in the use of rime. This result has been ascribed to Arabic influence during the eighth century; but no sufficient proof has ever been produced that the complexities of Arabic and Provençal poetry have sufficient in common to make this hypothesis anything more than an ingenious conjecture. One important fact stands in contradiction to these theories. All indications go to prove that the origin of troubadour poetry can be definitely localised in a particular part of Southern France. We have seen that the Limousin dialect became the basis of the literary language, and that the first troubadour known to us belonged to Poitou. It is also apparent that in the Poitou district, upon the border line of the French and Provençal languages, popular songs existed and were current among the country people; these were songs in honour of spring, pastorals or dialogues between a knight and a shepherdess (our "Where are you going, my pretty maid?" is of the same type), _albas_ or dawn songs which represent a friend as watching near the meeting-place of a lover and his lady and giving him due warning of the approach of dawn or [9] of any other danger; there are also _ballatas_ or dance songs of an obviously popular type.[6] Whatever influence may have been exercised by the Latin poetry of the decadence or by Arab poetry, it is in these popular and native productions that we must look for the origins of the troubadour lyrics. This popular poetry with its simple themes and homely treatment of them is to be found in many countries, and diversity of race is often no bar to strange coincidence in the matter of this poetry. It is thus useless to attempt to fix any date for the beginnings of troubadour poetry; its primitive form doubtless existed as soon as the language was sufficiently advanced to become a medium of poetical expression. Some of these popular themes were retained by the troubadours, the _alba_ and _pastorela_ for instance, and were often treated by them in a direct and simple manner. The Gascon troubadour Cercamon is said to have composed pastorals in "the old style." But in general, between troubadour poetry and the popular poetry of folk-lore, a great gulf is fixed, the gulf of artificiality. The very name "troubadour" points to this characteristic. _Trobador_ is the oblique case of the nominative _trobaire_, a substantive from the verb _trobar_, in modern French _trouver_. The Northern French _trouvère_ is a nominative form, and _trouveor_ should more properly correspond with _trobador_. The accusative form, which should have persisted, was superseded by the [10] nominative _trouvère_, which grammarians brought into fashion at the end of the eighteenth century. The verb _trobar_ is said to be derived from the low Latin _tropus_ [Greek: tropus], an air or melody: hence the primitive meaning of _trobador_ is the "composer" or "inventor," in the first instance, of new melodies. As such, he differs from the _vates_, the inspired bard of the Romans and the [Greek: poeta], poeta, the creative poet of the Greeks, the "maker" of Germanic literature. Skilful variation upon a given theme, rather than inspired or creative power, is generally characteristic of the troubadour. Thus, whatever may have been the origin of troubadour poetry, it appears at the outset of the twelfth century as a poetry essentially aristocratic, intended for nobles and for courts, appealing but rarely to the middle classes and to the common people not at all. The environment which enabled this poetry to exist was provided by the feudal society of Southern France. Kings, princes and nobles themselves pursued the art and also became the patrons of troubadours who had risen from the lower classes. Occasionally troubadours existed with sufficient resources of their own to remain independent; Folquet of Marseilles seems to have been a merchant of wealth, above the necessity of seeking patronage. But troubadours such as Bernart de Ventadour, the son of the [11] stoker in the castle of Ventadour, Perdigon the son of a fisherman, and many others of like origin depended for their livelihood and advancement upon the favour of patrons. Thus the troubadour ranks included all sorts and conditions of men; monks and churchmen were to be found among them, such as the monk of Montaudon and Peire Cardenal, though the Church looked somewhat askance upon the profession. Women are also numbered among the troubadours; Beatrice, the Countess of Die, is the most famous of these. A famous troubadour usually circulated his poems by the mouth of a _joglar_ (Northern French, _jongleur_), who recited them at different courts and was often sent long distances by his master for this purpose. A joglar of originality might rise to the position of a troubadour, and a troubadour who fell upon evil days might sink to the profession of joglar. Hence there was naturally some confusion between the troubadour and the joglar, and poets sometimes combined the two functions. In course of time the joglar was regarded with some contempt, and like his forbear, the Roman joculator, was classed with the jugglers, acrobats, animal tamers and clowns who amused the nobles after their feasts. Nor, under certain conditions, was the troubadour's position one of dignity; [12] when he was dependent upon his patron's bounty, he would stoop to threats or to adulation in order to obtain the horse or the garments or the money of his desire; such largesse, in fact, came to be denoted by a special term, _messio_. Jealousy between rival troubadours, accusations of slander in their poems and quarrels with their patrons were of constant occurrence. These naturally affected the joglars in their service, who received a share of any gifts that the troubadour might obtain. The troubadours who were established more or less permanently as court poets under a patron lord were few; a wandering life and a desire for change of scene is characteristic of the class. They travelled far and wide, not only to France, Spain and Italy, but to the Balkan peninsula, Hungary, Cyprus, Malta and England; Elias Cairel is said to have visited most of the then known world, and the biographer of Albertet Calha relates, as an unusual fact, that this troubadour never left his native district. Not only love, but all social and political questions of the age attracted their attention. They satirised political and religious opponents, preached crusades, sang funeral laments upon the death of famous patrons, and the support of their poetical powers was often in demand by princes and nobles involved in a struggle. Noteworthy also is the fact that a considerable number retired to some monastery or [13] religious house to end their days (_se rendet_, was the technical phrase). So Bertran of Born, Bernart of Ventadour, Peire Rogier, Cadenet and many others retired from the disappointments of the world to end their days in peace; Folquet of Marseilles, who similarly entered the Cistercian order, became abbot of his monastery of Torondet, Bishop of Toulouse, a leader of the Albigeois crusade and a founder of the Inquisition. CHAPTER II [14] THE THEORY OF COURTLY LOVE Troubador poetry dealt with war, politics, personal satire and other subjects: but the theme which is predominant and in which real originality was shown, is love. The troubadours were the first lyric poets in mediaeval Europe to deal exhaustively with this subject, and as their attitude was imitated with certain modifications by French, Italian, Portuguese and German poets, the nature of its treatment is a matter of considerable importance. Of the many ladies whose praises were sung or whose favours were desired by troubadours, the majority were married. Troubadours who made their songs to a maiden, as did Gui d'Ussel or Gausbert de Puegsibot, are quite exceptional. Love in troubadour poetry was essentially a conventional relationship, and marriage was not its object. This conventional character was derived from the fact that troubadour love was constituted upon the analogy of feudal relationship. If chivalry was the outcome of the Germanic theory of knighthood as modified by the influence of Christianity, it may be said that troubadour love is the [15] outcome of the same theory under the influence of mariolatry. In the eleventh century the worship of the Virgin Mary became widely popular; the reverence bestowed upon the Virgin was extended to the female sex in general, and as a vassal owed obedience to his feudal overlord, so did he owe service and devotion to his lady. Moreover, under the feudal system, the lady might often be called upon to represent her husband's suzerainty to his vassals, when she was left in charge of affairs during his absence in time of war. Unmarried women were inconspicuous figures in the society of the age. Thus there was a service of love as there was a service of vassalage, and the lover stood to his lady in a position analogous to that of the vassal to his overlord. He attained this position only by stages; "there are four stages in love: the first is that of aspirant (_fegnedor_), the second that of suppliant (_precador_), the third that of recognised suitor (_entendedor_) and the fourth that of accepted lover (_drut_)." The lover was formally installed as such by the lady, took an oath of fidelity to her and received a kiss to seal it, a ring or some other personal possession. For practical purposes the contract merely implied that the lady was prepared to receive the troubadour's homage in poetry and to be the subject of his song. As secrecy was a duty incumbent upon [16] the troubadour, he usually referred to the lady by a pseudonym (_senhal_); naturally, the lady's reputation was increased if her attraction for a famous troubadour was known, and the _senhal_ was no doubt an open secret at times. How far or how often the bounds of his formal and conventional relationship were transgressed is impossible to say; "en somme, assez immoral" is the judgment of Gaston Paris upon the society of the age, and is confirmed by expressions of desire occurring from time to time in various troubadours, which cannot be interpreted as the outcome of a merely conventional or "platonic" devotion. In the troubadour biographies the substratum of historical truth is so overlaid by fiction, that little reliable evidence upon the point can be drawn from this source. However, transgression was probably exceptional. The idea of troubadour love was intellectual rather than emotional; love was an art, restricted, like poetry, by formal rules; the terms "love" and "poetry" were identified, and the fourteenth century treatise which summarises the principles of grammar and metre bore the title _Leys d'Amors_, the Laws of Love. The pathology of the emotion was studied; it was treated from a psychological standpoint and a technical vocabulary came into use, for which it is often impossible to find English equivalents. The first effect of love is to produce a mental exaltation, a desire to live [17] a life worthy of the beloved lady and redounding to her praise, an inspiring stimulus known as _joi_ or _joi d'amor_ (_amor_ in Provençal is usually feminine).[7] Other virtues are produced by the influence of this affection: the lover must have _valor_, that is, he must be worthy of his lady; this worth implies the possession of _cortesia_, pleasure in the pleasure of another and the desire to please; this quality is acquired by the observance of _mesura_, wisdom and self-restraint in word and deed. The poetry which expresses such a state of mind is usually idealised and pictures the relationship rather as it might have been than as it was. The troubadour who knew his business would begin with praises of his beloved; she is physically and morally perfect, her beauty illuminates the night, her presence heals the sick, cheers the sad, makes the boor courteous and so forth. For her the singer's love and devotion is infinite: separation from her would be worse than death; her death would leave the world cheerless, and to her he owes any thoughts of good or beauty that he may have. It is only because he loves her that he can sing. Hence he would rather suffer any pain or punishment at her hands than receive the highest favours from another. The effects of this love are obvious in his person. His voice quavers with supreme delight or [18] breaks in dark despair; he sighs and weeps and wakes at night to think of the one subject of contemplation. Waves of heat and cold pass over him, and even when he prays, her image is before his eyes. This passion has transformed his nature: he is a better and stronger man than ever before, ready to forgive his enemies and to undergo any physical privations; winter is to him as the cheerful spring, ice and snow as soft lawns and flowery meads. Yet, if unrequited, his passion may destroy him; he loses his self-control, does not hear when he is addressed, cannot eat or sleep, grows thin and feeble, and is sinking slowly to an early tomb. Even so, he does not regret his love, though it lead to suffering and death; his passion grows ever stronger, for it is ever supported by hope. But if his hopes are realised, he will owe everything to the gracious favour of his lady, for his own merits can avail nothing. Sometimes he is not prepared for such complete self-renunciation; he reproaches his lady for her coldness, complains that she has led him on by a show of kindness, has deceived him and will be the cause of his death; or his patience is at an end, he will live in spite of her and try his fortune elsewhere.[8] Such, in very general terms, is the course that might be followed in developing a well-worn theme, on which many variations are possible. The [19] most common form of introduction is a reference to the spring or winter, and to the influence of the seasons upon the poet's frame of mind or the desire of the lady or of his patron for a song. In song the poet seeks consolation for his miseries or hopes to increase the renown of his lady. As will be seen in the following chapter, manner was even more important than matter in troubadour lyrics, and commonplaces were revivified by intricate rime-schemes and stanza construction accompanied by new melodies. The conventional nature of the whole business may be partly attested by the fact that no undoubted instance of death or suicide for love has been handed down to us. Reference should here be made to a legendary institution which seems to have gripped the imagination of almost every tourist who writes a book of travels in Southern France, the so-called _Courts of Love_.[9] In modern times the famous Provençal scholar, Raynouard, attempted to demonstrate the existence of these institutions, relying upon the evidence of the _Art d'Aimer_ by André le Chapelain, a work written in the thirteenth century and upon the statements of Nostradamus (_Vies des plus célèbres et anciens poètes provençaux_, Lyons 1575). The latter writer, the younger brother of the famous prophet, was obviously well acquainted with Provençal literature and had access to sources of [20] information which are now lost to us. But instead of attempting to write history, he embellished the lives of the troubadours by drawing upon his own extremely fertile imagination when the actual facts seemed too dull or prosaic to arouse interest. He professed to have derived his information from a manuscript left by a learned monk, the _Moine des Iles d'Or_, of the monastery of St Honorat in the Ile de Lerins. The late M. Camille Chabaneau has shown that the story is a pure fiction, and that the monk's pretended name was an anagram upon the name of a friend of Nostradamus.[10] Hence it is almost impossible to separate the truth from the fiction in this book and any statements made by Nostradamus must be received with the utmost caution. André le Chapelain seems to have had no intention to deceive, but his knowledge of Provençal society was entirely second-hand, and his statements concerning the Courts of Love are no more worthy of credence than those of Nostradamus. According to these two unreliable authorities, courts for the decision of lovers' perplexities existed in Gascony, Provence, Avignon and elsewhere; the seat of justice was held by some famous lady, and the courts decided such questions as whether a lover could love two ladies at the same time, whether lovers or married couples were the more affectionate, whether love was compatible with avarice, and the like. [21] A special poetical form which was popular among the troubadours may have given rise to the legend. This was the _tenso_,[11] in which one troubadour propounded a problem of love in an opening stanza and his opponent or interlocutor gave his view in a second stanza, which preserved the metre and rime-scheme of the first. The propounder then replied, and if, as generally, neither would give way, a proposal was made to send the problem to a troubadour-patron or to a lady for settlement, a proposal which came to be a regular formula for concluding the contest. Raynouard quotes the conclusion of a _tenso_ given by Nostradamus in which one of the interlocutors says, "I shall overcome you if the court is loyal: I will send the _tenso_ to Pierrefeu, where the fair lady holds her court of instruction." The "court" here in question was a social and not a judicial court. Had any such institution as a judicial "court of love" ever been an integral part of Provençal custom, it is scarcely conceivable that we should be informed of its existence only by a few vague and scattered allusions in the large body of Provençal literature. For these reasons the theory that such an institution existed has been generally rejected by all scholars of repute. CHAPTER III [22] TECHNIQUE Provençal literature contains examples of almost every poetical _genre_. Epic poetry is represented by Girart of Roussillon,[12] a story of long struggles between Charles Martel and one of his barons, by the Roman de Jaufre, the adventures of a knight of the Round Table, by Flamenca, a love story which provides an admirable picture of the manners and customs of the time, and by other fragments and _novelas_ or shorter stories in the same style. Didactic poetry includes historical works such as the poem of the Albigeois crusade, ethical or moralising _ensenhamens_ and religious poetry. But the dominating element in Provençal literature is lyrical, and during the short classical age of this literature lyric poetry was supreme. Nearly five hundred different troubadours are known to us at least by name and almost a thousand different stanza forms have been enumerated. While examples of the fine careless rapture of inspiration are by no means wanting, artificiality reigns supreme in the majority of cases. Questions of technique receive the most sedulous attention, and the principles of stanza construction, rime correspondence and rime distribution, as evolved by the [23] troubadours, exerted so wide an influence upon other European literature that they deserve a chapter to themselves. There was no formal school for poetical training during the best period of Provençal lyric. When, for instance, Giraut de Bornelli is said to have gone to "school" during the winter seasons, nothing more is meant than the pursuit of the trivium and quadrivium, the seven arts, which formed the usual subjects of instruction. A troubadour learned the principles of his art from other poets who were well acquainted with the conventions that had been formulated in course of time, conventions which were collected and systematised in such treatises as the Leys d'Amors during the period of the decadence. The love song or _chanso_ was composed of five, six or seven stanzas (_coblas_) with, one or two _tornadas_ or _envois_. The stanza varied in length from two to forty-two lines, though these limits are, of course, exceptional. An earlier form of the _chanso_ was known as the _vers_; it seems to have been in closer relation to the popular poetry than the more artificial _chanso_, and to have had shorter stanzas and lines; but the distinction is not clear. As all poems were intended to be sung, the poet was also a composer; the biography of Jaufre Rudel, for instance, says that this troubadour "made many poems with good tunes but poor [24] words." The tune known as _son_ (diminutive sonnet) was as much the property of a troubadour as his poem, for it implied and would only suit a special form of stanza; hence if another poet borrowed it, acknowledgment was generally made. Dante, in his _De Vulgari Eloquentia_, informs us concerning the structure of this musical setting: it might be continuous without repetition or division; or it might be in two parts, one repeating the other, in which case the stanza was also divided into two parts, the division being termed by Dante the _diesis_ or _volta_; of these two parts one might be subdivided into two or even more parts, which parts, in the stanza, corresponded both in rimes and in the arrangement of the lines. If the first part of the stanza was thus divisible, the parts were called _pedes_, and the musical theme or _oda_ of the first _pes_ was repeated for the second; the rest of the stanza was known as the _syrma_ or _coda_, and had a musical theme of its own. Again the first part of the stanza might be indivisible, when it was called the _frons_, the divided parts of the second half being the _versus_; in this case the _frons_ had its own musical theme, as did the first _versus_, the theme of the first _versus_ being repeated for the second. Or, lastly, a stanza might [25] consist of _pedes_ and _versus_, one theme being used for the first _pes_ and repeated for the second and similarly with the _versus_. Thus the general principle upon which the stanza was constructed was that of tripartition in the following three forms:-- I 1st line } 2nd " } Pes 3rd " etc. } 1st line } 2nd " } Pes 3rd " etc. } Diesis or Volta 1st line } Syrma 2nd " } or Coda 3rd " etc. } II 1st line } 2nd " } Frons 3rd " etc. } Diesis or Volta 1st line } 2nd " } Versus 3rd " etc. } 1st line } 2nd. " } Versus 3rd " etc. } III 1st line } 2nd " } Pes 3rd " etc. } 1st line } 2nd " } Pes 3rd " etc. } Diesis or Volta 1st line } 2nd " } Versus 3rd " etc. } 1st line } 2nd. " } Versus 3rd " etc. } These forms were rather typical than stringently binding as Dante himself notes (_De Vulg. El._, ii, 11); many variations were [26] possible. The first seems to have been the most popular type. The poem might also conclude with a half stanza or _tornada_, (French _envoi_). Here, as in the last couplet of the Arabic _gazul_, were placed the personal allusions, and when these were unintelligible to the audience the _joglar_ usually explained the poem before singing it; the explanations, which in some cases remain prefixed to the poem, were known as the _razos_. Troubadour poems were composed for singing, not for recitation, and the music of a poem was an element of no less importance than the words. Troubadours are described as composing "good" tunes and "poor" words, or vice versa; the tune was a piece of literary property, and, as we have said, if a troubadour borrowed a tune he was expected to acknowledge its origin. Consequently music and words were regarded as forming a unity, and the structure of the one should be a guide to the structure of the other. Troubadour music is a subject still beset with difficulties[13]: we possess 244 tunes written in Gregorian notation, and as in certain cases the same poem appears in different MSS. with the tune in substantial agreement in each one, we may reasonably assume that we have an authentic record, as far as this could be expressed in Gregorian notation. The chief difference between Troubadour and Gregorian music lies in the fact that the former was syllabic in character; in other [27] words, one note was not held over several syllables, though several notes might be sung upon one syllable. The system of musical time in the age of the troubadours was based upon the so-called "modes," rhythmical formulae combining short and long notes in various sequences. Three of these concern us here. The first mode consists of a long followed by a short note, the long being equivalent to two short, or in 3/4 time [Illustration: musical notation.]. The second mode is the reverse of the first [Illustration: musical notation.]. The third mode in modern 6/8 time appears as [Illustration: musical notation.]. The principle of sub-division is thus ternary; "common" time or 2/4 time is a later modification. So much being admitted, the problem of transposing a tune written in Gregorian notation without bars, time signature, marks of expression or other modern devices is obviously a difficult matter. J. Beck, who has written most recently upon the subject, formulates the following rules; the musical accent falls upon the tonic syllables of the words; should the accent fall upon an atonic syllable, the duration of the note to which the tonic syllable is sung may be increased, to avoid the apparent discordance between the musical accent and the tonic syllable. The musical accent must fall upon the rime and the rhythm [28] adopted at the outset will persist throughout the poem. Hence a study of the words will give the key to the interpretation of the tune. If, for instance, the poem shows accented followed by unaccented syllables or trochees as the prevalent foot, the first "mode" is indicated as providing the principle to be followed in transposing the Gregorian to modern notation. When these conditions are reversed the iambic foot will prevail and the melody will be in the second mode. It is not possible here to treat this complicated question in full detail for which reference must be made to the works of J. Beck. But it is clear that the system above outlined is an improvement upon that proposed by such earlier students of the subject as Riemann, who assumed that each syllable was sung to a note or group of notes of equal time value. There is no evidence that such a rhythm was ever employed in the middle ages, and the fact that words and music were inseparable in Provençal lyrics shows that to infer the nature of the musical rhythm from the rhythm of the words is a perfectly legitimate method of inquiry. A further question arises: how far do the tunes correspond with the structure of the stanza as given by Dante? In some cases both tune and stanza correspond in symmetrical form; but in others we find stanzas [29] which may be divided according to rule conjoined with tunes which present no melodic repetition of any kind; similarly, tunes which may be divided into pedes and coda are written upon stanzas which have no relation to that form. On the whole, it seems that the number of tunes known to us are too few, in comparison with the large body of lyric poetry existing, to permit any generalisation upon the question. The singer accompanied himself upon a stringed instrument (_viula_) or was accompanied by other performers; various forms of wind instruments were also in use. Apparently the accompaniment was in unison with the singer; part writing or contrapuntal music was unknown at the troubadour period. As has been said, the stanza (_cobla_) might vary in length. No poetical literature has made more use of rime than Provençal lyric poetry. There were three typical methods of rime disposition: firstly, the rimes might all find their answer within the stanza, which was thus a self-contained whole; secondly, the rimes might find their answer within the stanza and be again repeated in the same order in all following stanzas; and thirdly, the rimes might find no answer within the stanza, but be repeated in following stanzas. In this case the rimes were known as _dissolutas_, and the stanza as a _cobla estrampa_. This last arrangement tended to make the poem a more organic whole than was possible in the first two cases; in these, stanzas might be omitted without necessarily impairing the general effect, but, when _coblas estrampas_ were employed, the ear of the auditor, attentive for the [30] answering rimes, would not be satisfied before the conclusion of the second stanza. A further step towards the provision of closer unity between the separate stanzas was the _chanso redonda_, which was composed of _coblas estrampas_, the rime order of the second stanza being an inversion of the rime order of the first; the tendency reaches its highest point in the _sestina_, which retained the characteristic of the _chanso redonda_, namely, that the last rime of one stanza should correspond with the first rime of the following stanza, but with the additional improvement that every rime started a stanza in turn, whereas, in the _chanso redonda_ the same rime continually recurred at the beginning of every other stanza. Reference has already been made to the _chanso_. A poetical form of much importance was the _sirventes_, which outwardly was indistinguishable from the _chanso_. The meaning of the term is unknown; some say that it originally implied a poem composed by "servants," poets in the service of an overlord; others, that it was a poem composed to the tune of a [31] _chanso_ which it thus imitated in a "servile" manner. From the _chanso_ the _sirventes_ is distinguished by its subject matter; it was the vehicle for satire, moral reproof or political lampooning. The troubadours were often keenly interested in the political events of their time; they filled, to some extent, the place of the modern journalist and were naturally the partisans of the overlord in whose service or pay they happened to be. They were ready to foment a war, to lampoon a stingy patron, to ridicule one another, to abuse the morality of the age as circumstances might dictate. The crusade _sirventes_[14] are important in this connection, and there were often eloquent exhortations to the leaders of Christianity to come to the rescue of Palestine and the Holy Sepulchre. Under this heading also falls the _planh_, a funeral song lamenting the death of a patron, and here again, beneath the mask of conventionality, real emotion is often apparent, as in the famous lament upon Richard Coeur de Lion composed by Gaucelm Faidit. Reference has been already made to the _tenso_, one of the most characteristic of Provençal lyric forms. The name (Lat. _tentionem_) implies a contention or strife, which was conducted in the form of a dialogue and possibly owed its origin to the custom in early vogue among many different peoples of holding poetical tournaments, in which one [32] poet challenged another by uttering a poetical phrase to which the opponent replied in similar metrical form. Such, at any rate, is the form of the _tenso_; a poet propounds a theme in the first stanza and his interlocutor replies in a stanza of identical metrical form; the dispute usually continues for some half dozen stanzas. One class of tenso was obviously fictitious, as the dialogue is carried on with animals or even lifeless objects, such as a lady's cloak, and it is possible that some at least of the discussions ostensibly conducted between two poets may have emanated from the brain of one sole author. Sometimes three or four interlocutors take part; the subject of discussion was then known as a _joc partit_, a divided game, or _partimen_, a title eventually transferred to the poem itself. The most varied questions were discussed in the _tenso_, but casuistical problems concerning love are the most frequent: Is the death or the treachery of a loved one easier to bear? Is a lover's feeling for his lady stronger before she has accepted him or afterwards? Is a bad noble or a poor but upright man more worthy to find favour? The discussion of such questions provided an opportunity of displaying both poetical dexterity and also dialectical acumen. But rarely did either of the disputants declare himself convinced or vanquished by his opponents' arguments the question [33] was left undecided or was referred by agreement to an arbitrator. A poetical form which preserves some trace of its popular origin is the _pastorela_[15] or pastoral which takes its name from the fact that the heroine of the piece was always a shepherdess. The conventional opening is a description by a knight of his meeting with a shepherdess, "the other day" (_l'autrier_, the word with which the poem usually begins). A dialogue then follows between the knight and the shepherdess, in which the former sues for her favours successfully or otherwise. The irony or sarcasm which enables the shepherdess to hold her own in the encounter is far removed from the simplicity of popular poetry. The _Leys d'Amors_ mentions other forms of the same genre such as _vaqueira_ (cowherd), _auqueira_ (goose girl), of which a specimen of the first-named alone has survived. Of equal interest is the _alba_ or dawn-song, in which the word _alba_ reappeared as a refrain in each verse; the subject of the poem is the parting of the lovers at the dawn, the approach of which is announced by a watchman or by some faithful friend who has undertaken to guard their meeting-place throughout the night. The counterpart of this form, the _serena_, does not appear until late in the history of Provençal lyric poetry; in the _serena_ the lover longs for the [34] approach of evening, which is to unite him with his beloved. Other forms of minor importance were the _comjat_ in which a troubadour bids a lady a final farewell, and the _escondig_ or justification in which the lover attempts to excuse his behaviour to a lady whose anger he had aroused. The troubled state of his feelings might find expression in the _descort_ (discord), in which each stanza showed a change of metre and melody. The _descort_ of Raimbaut de Vaqueiras is written in five dialects, one for each stanza, and the last and sixth stanza of the poem gives two lines to each dialect, which Babel of strange sounds is intended, he says, to show how entirely his lady's heart has changed towards him. The _ballata_ and the _estampida_ were dance-songs, but very few examples survive. Certain love letters also remain to us, but as these are written in rimed couplets and in narrative style, they can hardly be classified as lyric poetry. In conclusion, a word must be said concerning the dispute between two schools of stylists, which is one of the most interesting points in the literary history of the troubadours.[16] From the earliest times we find two poetical schools in opposition, the _trobar clus_ (also known as _car, ric, oscur, sotil, cobert_), the obscure, or close, subtle style of composition, and the _trobar clar (leu, leugier, plan), the clear, light, easy, straightforward style. Two or three causes may have [35] combined to favour the development of obscure writing. The theme of love with which the _chanso_ dealt is a subject by no means inexhaustible; there was a continual struggle to revivify the well-worn tale by means of strange turns of expression, by the use of unusual adjectives and forced metaphor, by the discovery of difficult rimes (_rimes cars_) and stanza schemes of extraordinary complexity. Marcabrun asserts, possibly in jest, that he could not always understand his own poems. A further and possibly an earlier cause of obscurity in expression was the fact that the _chanso_ was a love song addressed to a married lady; and though in many cases it was the fact that the poem embodied compliments purely conventional, however exaggerated to our ideas, yet the further fact remains that the sentiments expressed might as easily be those of veritable passion, and, in view of a husband's existence, obscurity had a utility of its own. This point Guiraut de Bornelh advances as an objection to the use of the easy style: "I should like to send my song to my lady, if I should find a messenger; but if I made another my spokesman, I fear she would blame me. For there is no sense in making another speak out what one wishes to conceal and keep to oneself." The [36] habit of alluding to the lady addressed under a _senhal_, or pseudonym, in the course of the poem, is evidence for a need of privacy, though this custom was also conventionalised, and we find men as well as women alluded to under a _senhal_. It was not always the fact that the _senhal_ was an open secret, although in many cases, where a high-born dame desired to boast of the accomplished troubadour in her service, his poems would naturally secure the widest publication which she could procure. A further reason for complexity of composition is given by the troubadour Peire d'Auvergne: "He is pleasing and agreeable to me who proceeds to sing with words shut up and obscure, to which a man is afraid to do violence." The "violence" apprehended is that of the _joglar_, who might garble a song in the performance of it, if he had not the memory or industry to learn it perfectly, and Peire d'Alvernhe (1158-80) commends compositions so constructed that the disposition of the rimes will prevent the interpolation of topical allusions or careless altercation. The similar safeguard of Dante's _terza rima_ will occur to every student. The social conditions again under which troubadour poetry was produced, apart from the limitations of its subject matter, tended to foster an obscure and highly artificial diction. This obscurity was attained, as we have said, by elevation and preciosity of style, and was not the result of confusion of thought. Guiraut de Bornelh tells us his method [37] in a passage worth quoting in the original-- Mas per melhs assire mon chan, vau cercan bos motz en fre que son tuit cargat e ple d'us estranhs sens naturals; mas no sabon tuich de cals. "But for the better foundation of my song I keep on the watch for words good on the rein (_i.e._ tractable like horses), which are all loaded (like pack horses) and full of a meaning which is unusual, and yet is wholly theirs (naturals); but it is not everyone that knows what that meaning is".[17] Difficulty was thus intentional; in the case of several troubadours it affected the whole of their writing, no matter what the subject matter. They desired not to be understood of the people. Dean Gaisford's reputed address to his divinity lecture illustrates the attitude of those troubadours who affected the _trobar clus_: "Gentlemen, a knowledge of Greek will enable you to read the oracles of God in the original and to look down from the heights of scholarship upon the vulgar herd." The inevitable reaction occurred, and a movement in the opposite direction was begun; of this movement the most distinguished supporter was the troubadour, Guiraut de Bornelh. He had been one of the most successful [38] exponents of the _trobar clus_, and afterwards supported the cause of the _trobar clar_. Current arguments for either cause are set forth in the _tenso_ between Guiraut de Bornelh and Linhaure (pseudonym for the troubadour Raimbaut d'Aurenga). (1) I should like to know, G. de Bornelh, why, and for what reason, you keep blaming the obscure style. Tell me if you prize so highly that which is common to all? For then would all be equal. (2) Sir Linhaure, I do not take it to heart if each man composes as he pleases; but judge that song is more loved and prized which is made easy and simple, and do not be vexed at my opinion. (3) Guiraut, I do not like my songs to be so confused, that the base and good, the small and great be appraised alike; my poetry will never be praised by fools, for they have no understanding nor care for what is more precious and valuable. (4) Linhaure, if I work late and turn my rest into weariness for that reason (to make my songs simple), does it seem that I am afraid of work? Why compose if you do not want all to understand? Song brings no other advantage. (5) Guiraut, provided that I produce what is best at all times, I care not if it be not so widespread; commonplaces are no good for the appreciative--that is why gold is more valued than salt, and with song [39] it is even the same. It is obvious that the disputants are at cross purposes; the object of writing poetry, according to the one, is to please a small circle of highly trained admirers by the display of technical skill. Guiraut de Bornelh, on the other hand, believes that the poet should have a message for the people, and that even the fools should be able to understand its purport. He adds the further statement that composition in the easy style demands no less skill and power than is required for the production of obscurity. This latter is a point upon which he repeatedly insists: "The troubadour who makes his meaning clear is just as clever as he who cunningly conjoins words." "My opinion is that it is not in obscure but in clear composition that toil is involved." Later troubadours of renown supported his arguments; Raimon de Miraval (1168-1180) declares: "Never should obscure poetry be praised, for it is composed only for a price, compared with sweet festal songs, easy to learn, such as I sing." So, too, pronounces the Italian Lanfranc Cigala (1241-1257): "I could easily compose an obscure, subtle poem if I wished; but no poem should be so concealed beneath subtlety as not to be clear as day. For knowledge is of small value if clearness does not bring light; obscurity has ever been regarded as death, and brightness [40] as life." The fact is thus sufficiently demonstrated that these two styles existed in opposition, and that any one troubadour might practise both. Enough has now been said to show that troubadour lyric poetry, regarded as literature, would soon produce a surfeit, if read in bulk. It is essentially a literature of artificiality and polish. Its importance consists in the fact that it was the first literature to emphasise the value of form in poetry, to formulate rules, and, in short, to show that art must be based upon scientific knowledge. The work of the troubadours in these respects left an indelible impression upon the general course of European literature. CHAPTER IV [41] THE EARLY TROUBADOURS The earliest troubadour known to us is William IX, Count of Poitiers (1071-1127) who led an army of thirty thousand men to the unfortunate crusade of 1101. He lived an adventurous and often an unedifying life, and seems to have been a jovial sensualist caring little what kind of reputation he might obtain in the eyes of the world about him. William of Malmesbury gives an account of him which is the reverse of respectable. His poems, of which twelve survive, are, to some extent, a reflection of this character, and present a mixture of coarseness and delicate sentiment which are in strangely discordant contrast. His versification is of an early type; the principle of tripartition, which became predominant in troubadour poetry at a later date, is hardly perceptible in his poems. The chief point of interest in them is the fact that their comparative perfection of form implies a long anterior course of development for troubadour poetry, while we also find him employing, though in undeveloped form, the chief ideas which afterwards became commonplaces among the troubadours. The half mystical exaltation inspired by love is already known to William IX. as _joi_, and he is [42] acquainted with the service of love under feudal conditions. The conventional attitudes of the lady and the lover are also taken for granted, the lady disdainful and unbending, the lover timid and relying upon his patience. The lady is praised for her outward qualities, her "kindly welcome, her gracious and pleasing look" and love for her is considered to be the inspiration of nobility in the lover. But these ideas are not carried to the extravagant lengths to which later poets pushed them; William's sensual leanings are enough to counterbalance any tendency to such exaggeration. The conventional opening of a love poem by a description of spring is also in evidence; in short, the commonplaces, the technical language and formulae of later Provençal lyrics were in existence during the age of this first troubadour. Next in point of time is the troubadour Cercamon, of whom we know very little; his poems, as we have them, seem to fall between the years 1137 and 1152; one of them is a lament upon the death of William X. of Aquitaine, the son of the notorious Count of Poitiers, and another alludes to the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the daughter of William X. According to the Provençal biography he was the instructor of a more interesting and original troubadour Marcabrun, whose active life [43] extended from 1150 to 1195. Many of his poems are extremely obscure; he was one of the first to affect the _trobar clus_. He was also the author of violent invectives against the passion of love-- Que anc non amet neguna Ni d'autra no fon amatz-- "Who never loved any woman nor was loved of any." This aversion to the main theme of troubadour poetry is Marcabrun's most striking characteristic. Amors es mout de mal avi; Mil homes a mortz ses glavi; Dieus non fetz tant fort gramavi. "Love is of a detestable lineage; he has killed thousands of men without a sword. God has created no more terrible enchanter." These invectives may have been the outcome of personal disappointment; the theory has also been advanced that the troubadour idea of love had not yet secured universal recognition, and that Marcabrun is one who strove to prevent it from becoming the dominant theme of lyric poetry. His best known poem was the "Starling," which consists of two parts, an unusual form of composition. In the first part the troubadour sends the starling to his love to reproach her for unfaithfulness, and to recommend himself to her favour; the bird returns, and in the second part offers excuses from the [44] lady and brings an invitation from her to a meeting the next day. Marcabrun knows the technical terms _cortesia_ and _mesura_, which he defines: _mesura_, self-control or moderation, "consists in nicety of speech, courtesy in loving. He may boast of courtesy who can maintain moderation." The poem concludes with a dedication to Jaufre Rudel-- Lo vers e·l son vueill envier A'n Jaufre Rudel outra mar. "The words and the tune I wish to send to Jaufre Rudel beyond the sea." This was the troubadour whom Petrarch has made famous-- Jaufre Rudel che usò la vela e'l remo A cercar la sua morte. His romantic story is as follows in the words of the Provençal biography: "Jaufre Rudel of Blaya was a very noble man, the Prince of Blaya; he fell in love with the Countess of Tripoli, though he had never seen her, for the good report that he had of her from the pilgrims who came from Antioch, and he made many poems concerning her with good tunes but poor words.[18] And from desire to see her, he took the cross and went to sea. And in the ship great illness came upon him so that those who were with him thought that he was dead in the ship; but they [45] succeeded in bringing him to Tripoli, to an inn, as one dead. And it was told to the countess, and she came to him, to his bed, and took him in her arms; and he knew that she was the countess, and recovering his senses, he praised God and gave thanks that his life had been sustained until he had seen her; and then he died in the lady's arms. And she gave him honourable burial in the house of the Temple, and then, on that day, she took the veil for the grief that she had for him and for his death." Jaufre's poems contain many references to a "distant love" which he will never see, "for his destiny is to love without being loved." Those critics who accept the truth of the story regard Melisanda, daughter of Raimon I., Count of Tripoli, as the heroine; but the biography must be used with great caution as a historical source, and the mention of the house of the order of Templars in which Jaufre is said to have been buried raises a difficulty; it was erected in 1118, and in the year 1200 the County of Tripoli was merged in that of Antioch; of the Rudels of Blaya, historically known to us, there is none who falls reasonably within these dates. The probability is that the constant references in Jaufre's poems to an unknown distant love, and the fact of his crusading expedition to the Holy Land, formed in conjunction the nucleus of the [46] legend which grew round his name, and which is known to all readers of Carducci, Uhland and Heine. Contemporary with Jaufre Rudel was Bernard de Ventadour, one of the greatest names in Provençal poetry. According to the biography, which betrays its untrustworthiness by contradicting the facts of history, Bernard was the son of the furnace stoker at the castle of Ventadour, under the Viscount Ebles II., himself a troubadour and a patron of troubadours. It was from the viscount that Bernard received instruction in the troubadours' art, and to his patron's interest in his talents he doubtless owed the opportunities which he enjoyed of learning to read and write, and of making acquaintance with such Latin authors as were currently read, or with the anthologies and books of "sentences" then used for instruction in Latin. He soon outstripped his patron, to whose wife, Agnes de Montluçon, his early poems were addressed. His relations with the lady and with his patron were disturbed by the _lauzengiers_, the slanderers, the envious, and the backbiters of whom troubadours constantly complain, and he was obliged to leave Ventadour. He went to the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the granddaughter of the first troubadour, Guillaume IX. of Poitiers, who by tradition and temperament was a patroness of troubadours, many of whom sang her praises. She had [47] been divorced from Louis VII. of France in 1152, and married Henry, Duke of Normandy, afterwards King of England in the same year. There Bernard may have remained until 1154, in which year Eleanor went to England as Queen. Whether Bernard followed her to England is uncertain; the personal allusions in his poems are generally scanty, and the details of his life are correspondingly obscure. But one poem seems to indicate that he may have crossed the Channel. He says that he has kept silence for two years, but that the autumn season impels him to sing; in spite of his love, his lady will not deign to reply to him: but his devotion is unchanged and she may sell him or give him away if she pleases. She does him wrong in failing to call him to her chamber that he may remove her shoes humbly upon his knees, when she deigns to stretch forth her foot. He then continues[19] Faitz es lo vers totz a randa, Si que motz no y descapduelha. outra la terra normanda part la fera mar prionda; e si·m suy de midons lunhans. ves si·m tira cum diamans, la belha cui dieus defenda. Si·l reys engles el dux normans o vol, ieu la veirai, abans que l'iverns nos sobreprenda. [48] "The _vers_ has been composed fully so that not a word is wanting, beyond the Norman land and the deep wild sea; and though I am far from my lady, she attracts me like a magnet, the fair one whom may God protect. If the English king and Norman duke will, I shall see her before the winter surprise us." How long Bernard remained in Normandy, we cannot conjecture. He is said to have gone to the court of Raimon V., Count of Toulouse, a well-known patron of the troubadours. On Raimon's death in 1194, Bernard, who must himself have been growing old, retired to the abbey of Dalon in his native province of Limousin, where he died. He is perhaps more deeply inspired by the true spirit of lyric poetry than any other troubadour; he insists that love is the only source of song; poetry to be real, must be lived. Non es meravelha s'ieu chan mielhs de nulh autre chantador; que plus mi tra·l cors ves amor e mielhs sui faitz a son coman. "It is no wonder if I sing better than any other singer; for my heart draws me more than others towards love, and I am better made for his commandments." Hence Bernard gave fuller expression than any other troubadour to the ennobling power of love, as the only source of real worth and nobility. The subject speedily became exhausted, and ingenuity did but increase [49] the conventionality of its treatment. But in Bernard's hands it retains its early freshness and sincerity. The description of the seasons of the year as impelling the troubadour to song was, or became, an entirely conventional and expected opening to a _chanso_; but in Bernard's case these descriptions were marked by the observation and feeling of one who had a real love for the country and for nature, and the contrast or comparison between the season of the year and his own feelings is of real lyrical value. The opening with the description of the lark is famous-- Quant vey la lauzeta mover De joi sas alas contral rai, que s'oblida e·s laissa cazer per la doussor qu'al cor li vai, ai! tan grans enveia m'en ve de cui qu'eu veya jauzion! meravilhas ai, quar desse lo cor de dezirier no·m fon. "When I see the lark flutter with joy towards the sun, and forget himself and sing for the sweetness that comes to his heart; alas, such envy comes upon me of all that I see rejoicing, I wonder that my heart does not melt forthwith with desire".[20] At the same time Bernard's style is simple and clear, though he shows full mastery of the complex stanza form; to call him the Wordsworth of the troubadour world is to exaggerate a single point of coincidence; but he remains the greatest of troubadour poets, as modern taste regards [50] poetry. Arnaut de Mareuil (1170-1200 _circa_) displays many of the characteristics which distinguished the poetry of Bernard of Ventadour; there is the same simplicity of style and often no less reality of feeling: conventionalism had not yet become typical. Arnaut was born in Périgord of poor parents, and was brought up to the profession of a scribe or notary. This profession he soon abandoned, and his "good star," to quote the Provençal biography, led him to the court of Adelaide, daughter of Raimon V. of Toulouse, who had married in 1171 Roger II., Viscount of Béziers. There he soon rose into high repute: at first he is said to have denied his authorship of the songs which he composed in honour of his mistress, but eventually he betrayed himself and was recognised as a troubadour of high merit, and definitely installed as the singer of Adelaide. The story is improbable, as the troubadour's rewards naturally depended upon the favour of his patrons to him personally; it is probably an instance of the manner in which the biographies founded fictions upon a very meagre substratum of fact, the fact in this instance being a passage in which Arnaut declares his timidity in singing the praise of so great a beauty as Adelaide. Mas grans paors m'o tol e grans temensa, [51] Qu'ieu non aus dir, dona, qu'ieu chant de vos. "But great fear and great apprehension comes upon me, so that I dare not tell you, lady, that it is I who sing of you." Arnaut seems to have introduced a new poetical _genre_ into Provençal literature, the love-letter. He says that the difficulty of finding a trustworthy messenger induced him to send a letter sealed with his own ring; the letter is interesting for the description of feminine beauty which it contains: "my heart, that is your constant companion, comes to me as your messenger and portrays for me your noble, graceful form, your fair light-brown hair, your brow whiter than the lily, your gay laughing eyes, your straight well-formed nose, your fresh complexion, whiter and redder than any flower, your little mouth, your fair teeth, whiter than pure silver,... your fair white hands with the smooth and slender fingers"; in short, a picture which shows that troubadour ideas of beauty were much the same as those of any other age. Arnaut was eventually obliged to leave Béziers, owing, it is said, to the rivalry of Alfonso II. of Aragon, who may have come forward as a suitor for Adelaide after Roger's death in 1194. The troubadour betook himself to the court of William VIII., Count of Montpelier, where he probably spent the rest of his life. The various allusions in his poems cannot always [52] be identified, and his career is only known to us in vague outline. Apart from the love-letter, he was, if not the initiator, one of the earliest writers of the type of didactic poem known as _ensenhamen_, an "instruction" containing observations upon the manners and customs of his age, with precepts for the observance of morality and right conduct such as should be practised by the ideal character. Arnaut, after a lengthy and would-be learned introduction, explains that each of the three estates, the knights, the clergy and the citizens, have their special and appropriate virtues. The emphasis with which he describes the good qualities of the citizen class, a compliment unusual in the aristocratic poetry of the troubadours, may be taken as confirmation of the statement concerning his own parentage which we find in his biography. [53] CHAPTER V THE CLASSICAL PERIOD We now reach a group of three troubadours whom Dante[21] selected as typical of certain characteristics: "Bertran de Born sung of arms, Arnaut Daniel of love, and Guiraut de Bornelh of uprightness, honour and virtue." The last named, who was a contemporary (1175-1220 _circa_) and compatriot of Arnaut de Marueil, is said in his biography to have enjoyed so great a reputation that he was known as the "Master of the Troubadours." This title is not awarded to him by any other troubadour; the jealousy constantly prevailing between the troubadours is enough to account for their silence on this point. But his reputation is fairly attested by the number of his poems which have survived and by the numerous MSS. in which they are preserved; when troubadours were studied as classics in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, Guiraut's poems were so far in harmony with the moralising tendency of that age that his posthumous reputation was certainly as great as any that he enjoyed in his life-time. Practically nothing is known of his life; allusions in his poems lead us [54] to suppose that he spent some time in Spain at the courts of Navarre, Castile and Aragon. The real interests of his work are literary and ethical. To his share in the controversy concerning the _trobar clus_, the obscure and difficult style of composition, we have already alluded. Though in the _tenso_ with Linhaure, Guiraut expresses his preference for the simple and intelligible style, it must be said that the majority of his poems are far from attaining this ideal. Their obscurity, however, is often due rather to the difficulty of the subject matter than to any intentional attempt at preciosity of style. He was one of the first troubadours who attempted to analyse the effects of love from a psychological standpoint; his analysis often proceeds in the form of a dialogue with himself, an attempt to show the hearer by what methods he arrived at his conclusions. "How is it, in the name of God, that when I wish to sing, I weep? Can the reason be that love has conquered me? And does love bring me no delight? Yes, delight is mine. Then why am I sad and melancholy? I cannot tell. I have lost my lady's favour and the delight of love has no more sweetness for me. Had ever a lover such misfortune? But am I a lover? No! Have I ceased to love passionately? No! Am I then a lover? Yes, if my lady would suffer my love." Guiraut's [55] moral _sirventes_ are reprobations of the decadence of his age. He saw a gradual decline of the true spirit of chivalry. The great lords were fonder of war and pillage than of poetry and courtly state. He had himself suffered from the change, if his biographer is to be believed; the Viscount of Limoges had plundered and burnt his house. He compares the evils of his own day with the splendours of the past, and asks whether the accident of birth is the real source of nobility; a man must be judged by himself and his acts and not by the rank of his forefathers; these were the sentiments that gained him a mention in the Fourth Book of Dante's _Convivio_.[22] The question why Dante should have preferred Arnaut Daniel to Guiraut de Bornelh[23] has given rise to much discussion. The solution turns upon Dante's conception of style, which is too large a problem for consideration here. Dante preferred the difficult and artificial style of Arnaut to the simple style of the opposition school; from Arnaut he borrowed the sestina form; and at the end of the canto he puts the well-known lines, "Ieu sui Arnaut, que plor e vau cantan," into the troubadour's mouth. We know little of Arnaut's life; he was a noble of Riberac in Périgord. The biography relates an incident in his life which is said to have taken place at the court of Richard Coeur de Lion. A certain troubadour had boasted before the king that he could compose a [56] better poem than Arnaut. The latter accepted the challenge and the king confined the poets to their rooms for a certain time at the end of which they were to recite their composition before him. Arnaut's inspiration totally failed him, but from his room he could hear his rival singing as he rehearsed his own composition. Arnaut was able to learn his rival's poem by heart, and when the time of trial came he asked to be allowed to sing first, and performed his opponent's song, to the wrath of the latter, who protested vigorously. Arnaut acknowledged the trick, to the great amusement of the king. Preciosity and artificiality reach their height in Arnaut's poems, which are, for that reason, excessively difficult. Enigmatic constructions, word-plays, words used in forced senses, continual alliteration and difficult rimes produced elaborate form and great obscurity of meaning. The following stanza may serve as an example-- L'aur' amara fa·ls bruels brancutz clarzir que·l dons espeys' ab fuelhs, e·ls letz becxs dels auzels ramencx te balbs e mutz pars e non pars. per qu'ieu m'esfortz de far e dir plazers A manhs? per ley qui m'a virat has d'aut, don tern morir si·ls afans no·m asoma. "The bitter breeze makes light the bosky boughs which the gentle breeze [57] makes thick with leaves, and the joyous beaks of the birds in the branches it keeps silent and dumb, paired and not paired. Wherefore do I strive to say and do what is pleasing to many? For her, who has cast me down from on high, for which I fear to die, if she does not end the sorrow for me." The answers to the seventeen rime-words which occur in this stanza do not appear till the following stanza, the same rimes being kept throughout the six stanzas of the poem. To rest the listener's ear, while he waited for the answering rimes, Arnaut used light assonances which almost amount to rime in some cases. The Monk of Montaudon in his satirical _sirventes_ says of Arnaut: "He has sung nothing all his life, except a few foolish verses which no one understands"; and we may reasonably suppose that Arnaut's poetry was as obscure to many of his contemporaries as it is to us. Dante placed Bertran de Born in hell, as a sower of strife between father and son, and there is no need to describe his picture of the troubadour-- "Who held the severed member lanternwise And said, Ah me!" (_Inf._ xxviii. 119-142.) The genius of Dante, and the poetical fame of Bertran himself, have given him a more important position in history than is, perhaps, [58] entirely his due. Jaufré, the prior of Vigeois, an abbey of Saint-Martial of Limoges, is the only chronicler during the reigns of Henry II. and Richard Coeur de Lion who mentions Bertran's name. The _razos_ prefixed to some of his poems by way of explanation are the work of an anonymous troubadour (possibly Uc de Saint-Círe); they constantly misinterpret the poems they attempt to explain, confuse names and events, and rather exaggerate the part played by Bertran himself. Besides these sources we have the cartulary of Dalon, or rather the extracts made from it by Guignières in 1680 (the original has been lost), which give us information about Bertran's family and possessions. From these materials, and from forty-four or forty-five poems which have come down to us, the poet's life can be reconstructed. Bertran de Bern's estates were situated on the borders of Limousin and Périgord. The family was ancient and honourable; from the cartulary Bertran appears to have been born about 1140; we find him, with his brother Constantin, in possession of the castle of Hautefort, which seems to have been a strong fortress; the lands belonging to the family were of no great extent, and the income accruing from them was but scanty. In 1179 Bertran married one Raimonde, of whom nothing is known, except that she bore him at least two sons. In 1192 he lost this first [59] wife, and again married a certain Philippe. His warlike and turbulent character was the natural outcome of the conditions under which he lived; the feudal system divided the country into a number of fiefs, the boundaries of which were ill defined, while the lords were constantly at war with one another. All owed allegiance to the Duke of Aquitaine, the Count of Poitou, but his suzerainty was, in the majority of cases, rather a name than a reality. These divisions were further accentuated by political events; in 1152 Henry II., Count of Anjou and Maine, married Eleanor, the divorced wife of Louis VII. of France, and mistress of Aquitaine. Henry became king of England two years later, and his rule over the barons of Aquitaine, which had never been strict, became the more relaxed owing to his continual absence in England. South of Aquitaine proper the dominions of the Count of Toulouse stretched from the Garonne to the Alps; this potentate was also called the Duke of Narbonne, and was not disposed to recognise the suzerainty of the Duke of Aquitaine. But in 1167 Alfonso II., King of Aragon and Count of Barcelona, had inherited Provence, to which the Duke of Toulouse laid claim. Henry and Alfonso thus became natural allies, and the power of Alfonso in Aragon and Catalonia, was able to keep in check any serious attempt that the Count of Toulouse might have meditated on [60] Aquitaine. On the other hand, Henry had also to deal with a formidable adversary in the person of the French king, his lawful suzerain in France. Louis VII. (or Philippe Auguste) was able to turn the constant revolts that broke out in Aquitaine to his own ends. These circumstances are sufficient to account for the warlike nature of Bertran de Born's poetry. The first _sirventes_ which can be dated with certainty belongs to 1181, and is a call to the allies of Raimon V, Count of Toulouse, to aid their master against the King of Aragon. What Bertran's personal share in the campaign was, we do not know. He was soon involved in a quarrel with his brother Constantin, with whom he held the castle of Hautefort in common. Constantin was driven out and succeeded in persuading the Count of Limoges and Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, to help him. Richard, however, was occupied elsewhere, and Bertran survived all attacks upon the castle. In 1182 he went to the court of Henry II., during a temporary lull in the wars around him; there he proceeded to pay court to the Princess Matilda, daughter of Henry II., whose husband, Henry of Saxony, was then on a pilgrimage. He also took part in the political affairs of the time. Henry II.'s eldest son, Henry "the young king," had been crowned in 1170 at Westminster, and was anxious to have [61] something more than the title, seeing that his brother Richard was Duke of Aquitaine, Count of Poitou, and practically an independent sovereign. Bertran had not forgotten Richard's action against him on behalf of his brother Constantin, and was, moreover, powerfully attracted by the open and generous nature of the young king. He therefore took his side, and on his return to Limousin became the central point of the league which was formed against Richard. Henry II. succeeded in reconciling his two sons, the young Henry receiving pecuniary compensation in lieu of political power. But the young Henry seems to have been really moved by Bertran's reproaches, and at length revolted against his father and attacked his brother Richard. While he was in Turenne, the young king fell sick and died on June 11, 1183. Bertran lamented his loss in two famous poems, and soon felt the material effects of it. On June 29, Richard and the King of Aragon arrived before Hautefort, which surrendered after a week's resistance. Richard restored the castle to Constantin, but Bertran regained possession, as is related in the second biography. Henceforward, Bertran remained faithful to Richard, and directed his animosity chiefly against the King of Aragon. At the same time it appears that he would have been equally pleased with any war, which [62] would have brought profit to himself, and attempted to excite Richard against his father, Henry II. This project came to nothing, but war broke out between Richard and the French king; a truce of two years was concluded, and again broken by Richard. The Church, however, interfered with its efforts to organise the Third Crusade, which called from Bertran two _sirventes_ in honour of Conrad, son of the Marquis of Montferrat, who was defending Tyre against Saladin. Bertran remained at home in Limousin during this Crusade; his means were obviously insufficient to enable him to share in so distant a campaign; other, and for him, equally cogent reasons for remaining at home may be gathered from his poems. There followed the quarrels between Richard and the French king, the return to France of the latter, and finally Richard's capture on the Illyrian coast and his imprisonment by Henry VI. of Austria, which terminated in 1194. Richard then came into Aquitaine, his return being celebrated by two poems from Bertran. The Provençal biography informs us that Bertran finally became a monk in the Order of Citeaux. The convent where he spent his last years was the abbey of Dalon, near Hautefort. The cartulary mentions his name at various intervals from 1197 to 1202. In 1215 we have the entry "_octavo,[63] candela in sepulcro ponitur pro Bernardo de Born: cera tres solidos empta est_." This is the only notice of the poet's death. Dante perhaps exaggerated the part he played in stirring up strife between Henry II. and his sons; modern writers go to the other extreme. Bertran is especially famous for his political _sirventes_ and for the martial note which rings through much of his poetry. He loved war both for itself and for the profits which it brought: "The powerful are more generous and open-handed when they have war than when they have peace." The troubadour's two _planhs_ upon the "young king's" death are inspired by real feeling, and the story of his reconciliation with Henry after the capture of his castle can hardly have been known to Dante, who would surely have modified his judgment upon the troubadour if he had remembered that scene as related by the biography. Sir Bertran was summoned with all his people to King Henry's tent, who received him very harshly and said, "Bertran, you declared that you never needed more than half your senses; it seems that to-day you will want the whole of them." "Sire", said Bertran, "it is true that I said so and I said nothing but the truth." The king replied, "Then you seem to me to have lost your senses entirely". "I have indeed lost them", said Bertran. "And how?" [64] asked the king. "Sire, on the day that the noble king, your son, died, I lost sense, knowledge and understanding." When the king heard Bertran speak of his son with tears, he was deeply moved and overcome with grief. On recovering himself he cried, weeping, "Ah, Bertran, rightly did you lose your senses for my son, for there was no one in the world whom he loved as you. And for love of him, not only do I give you your life, but also your castle and your goods, and I add with my love five hundred silver marks to repair the loss which you have suffered." The narrative is unhistorical; Henry II. was not present in person at the siege of Hautefort; but the fact is certain that he regarded Bertran as the chief sower of discord in his family. Mention must now be made of certain troubadours who were less important than the three last mentioned, but are of interest for various reasons. Raimbaut d'Aurenga, Count of Orange from 1150-1173, is interesting rather by reason of his relations with other troubadours than for his own achievements in the troubadours' art. He was a follower of the precious, artificial and obscure style, and prided himself upon his skill in the combination of difficult rimes and the repetition of equivocal rimes (the same word used in different senses or grammatical forms). "Since Adam ate the apple," he says, "there is no poet, loud as [65] he may proclaim himself, whose art is worth a turnip compared with mine." Apart from these mountebank tricks and certain mild "conceits" (his lady's smile, for instance, makes him happier than the smile of four hundred angels could do), the chief characteristic of his poetry is his constant complaints of slanderers who attempt to undermine his credit with his lady. But he seems to have aroused a passion in the heart of a poetess, who expressed her feelings in words which contrast strongly with Raimbaut's vapid sentimentalities. This was Beatrice, Countess of Die and the wife of Count William of Poitiers. The names, at least, of seventeen poetesses are known to us and of these the Countess of Die is the most famous. Like the rest of her sex who essayed the troubadour's art, the Countess knows nothing of difficult rhymes or obscurity of style. Simplicity and sincerity are the keynotes of her poetry. The troubadour sang because he was a professional poet, but the lady who composed poetry did so from love of the art or from the inspiration of feeling and therefore felt no need of meretricious adornment for her song. The five poems of the Countess which remain to us show that her sentiment for Raimbaut was real and deep. "I am glad to know that the man I love is the worthiest in the world; may God give great joy to the one who first brought me to him: [66] may he trust only in me, whatever slanders be reported to him: for often a man plucks the rod with which he beats himself. The woman who values her good name should set her love upon a noble and valiant knight: when she knows his worth, let her not hide her love. When a woman loves thus openly, the noble and worthy speak of her love only with sympathy." Raimbaut, however, did not reciprocate these feelings: in a _tenso_ with the countess he shows his real sentiments while excusing his conduct. He assures her that he has avoided her only because he did not wish to provide slanderers with matter for gossip; to which the Countess replies that his care for her reputation is excessive. Peire Rogier whose poetical career lies between the years 1160 and 1180, also spent some time at Raimbaut's court. He belonged to Auvergne by birth and was attached to the court of Ermengarde of Narbonne for some years: here there is no doubt that we have a case of a troubadour in an official position and nothing more: possibly Peire Rogier's tendency to preaching--he had been educated for the church--was enough to stifle any sentiment on the lady's side. On leaving Narbonne, he visited Raimbaut at Orange and afterwards travelled to Spain and Toulouse, finally entering a monastery where he ended his life. Auvergne produced a far more important troubadour in the person of Peire [67] d'Auvergne, whose work extended from about 1158 to 1180; he was thus more or less contemporary with Guiraut de Bornelh and Bernart de Ventadour. He was, according to the biography, the son of a citizen of Clermont-Ferrand, and "the first troubadour, who lived beyond the mountains (i.e. the Pyrenees, which, however, Marcabrun had previously crossed)... he was regarded as the best troubadour until Guiraut de Bornelh appeared.... He was very proud of his talents and despised other troubadours." Other notices state that he was educated for an ecclesiastical career and was at one time a canon. He had no small idea of his own powers: "Peire d'Auvergne," he says in his satire upon other troubadours "has such a voice that he can sing in all tones and his melodies are sweet and pleasant: he is master of his art, if he would but put a little clarity into his poems, which are difficult to understand." The last observation is entirely correct: his poems are often very obscure. Peire travelled, in the pursuit of his profession, to the court of Sancho III. of Castile and made some stay in Spain: he is also found at the courts of Raimon V. of Toulouse and, like Peire Rogier, at Narbonne. Among his poems, two are especially well known. In a love poem he makes the nightingale his messenger, as Marcabrun had [68] used the starling and as others used the swallow or parrot. But in comparison with Marcabrun, Peire d'Auvergne worked out the idea with a far more delicate poetical touch. The other poem is a _sirventes_ which is of interest as being the first attempt at literary satire among the troubadours; the satire is often rather of a personal than of a literary character; the following quotations referring to troubadours already named will show Peire's ideas of literary criticism. "Peire Rogier sings of love without restraint and it would befit him better to carry the psalter in the church or to bear the lights with the great burning candles. Guiraut de Bornelh is like a sun-bleached cloth with his thin miserable song which might suit an old Norman water-carrier. Bernart de Ventadour is even smaller than Guiraut de Bornelh by a thumb's length; but he had a servant for his father who shot well with the long bow while his mother tended the furnace." The satiric _sirventes_ soon found imitators: the Monk of Montaudon produced a similar composition. Like many other troubadours, Peire ended his life in a monastery. To this period of his career probably, belong his religious poems of which we shall have occasion to speak later. We have already observed that the Church contributed members, though with some reluctance, to the ranks of the troubadours. One of the most [69] striking figures of the kind is the Monk of Montaudon (1180-1200): the satirical power of his _sirventes_ attracted attention, and he gained much wealth at the various courts which he visited; this he used for the benefit of his priory. He enjoyed the favour of Philippe Auguste II. of France, of Richard Coeur de Lion and of Alfonso II. of Aragon, with that of many smaller nobles. The biography says of him, "E fo faitz seigner de la cort del Puoi Santa Maria e de dar l'esparvier. Lone temps ac la seignoria de la cort del Puoi, tro que la cortz se perdet." "He was made president of the court of Puy Sainte Marie and of awarding the sparrow-hawk. For a long time he held the presidency of the court of Puy, until the court was dissolved." The troubadour Richard de Barbezieux refers to this court, which seems to have been a periodical meeting attended by the nobles and troubadours of Southern Prance. Tournaments and poetical contests were held; the sparrow-hawk or falcon placed on a pole is often mentioned as the prize awarded to the tournament victor. Tennyson's version of the incident in his "Geraint and Enid" will occur to every reader. The monk's reputation must have been considerable to gain him this position. His love poems are of little importance; his satire deals with the petty failings of mankind, for which he had a keen eye and an unsparing and sometimes cynical [70] tongue. Be·m enoia, s'o auzes dire, Parliers quant es avols servire; Et hom qui trop vol aut assire M'enoia, e cavals que tire. Et enoia·m, si Dieus m'aiut Joves hom quan trop port' escut, Que negun colp no i a agut, Capela et mongue barbut, E lauzengier bee esmolut. "These vex me greatly, if I may say so, language when it is base servility, and a man who wishes too high a place (at table) and a charger which is put to drawing carts. And, by my hope of salvation, I am vexed by a young man who bears too openly a shield which has never received a blow, by a chaplain and monk wearing beards and by the sharp beak of the slanderer." The monk's satire upon other troubadours is stated by himself to be a continuation of that by Peire d'Auvergne; the criticism is, as might be expected, personal. Two _tensos_ deal with the vanities of women, especially the habit of painting the face: in one of them the dispute proceeds before God as judge, between the poet and the women: the scene of the other is laid in Paradise and the interlocutors are the Almighty and the poet, who, represents that self-adornment is a habit inherent in female nature. In neither poem is reverence a [71] prominent feature. One of the most extraordinary figures in the whole gallery of troubadour portraits is Peire Vidal, whose career extended, roughly speaking, from 1175 to 1215. He was one of those characters who naturally become the nucleus of apocryphal stories, and how much truth there may be in some of the fantastic incidents, in which he figures as the hero, will probably never be discovered. He was undoubtedly an attractive character, for he enjoyed the favour of the most distinguished men and women of his time. He was also a poet of real power: ease and facility are characteristics of his poems as compared with the ingenious obscurity of Arnaut Daniel or Peire d'Auvergne. But there was a whimsical and fantastic strain in his character, which led him often to conjoin the functions of court-fool with those of court poet: "he was the most foolish man in the world" says his biographer. His "foolishness" also induced him to fall in love with every woman he met, and to believe that his personal attractions made him invincible. Peire Vidal was the son of a Toulouse merchant. He began his troubadour wanderings early and at the outset of his career we find him in Catalonia, Aragon and Castile. He is then found in the service of Raimon Gaufridi Barral,[24] Viscount of Marseilles, a bluff, genial tournament [72] warrior and the husband of Azalais de Porcellet whose praises were sung by Folquet of Marseilles. It was Barral who was attracted by Peire's peculiar talents: his wife seems to have tolerated the troubadour from deference to her husband. Peire, however, says in one of his poems that husbands feared him more than fire or sword, and believing himself irresistible interpreted Azalais' favours as seriously meant. When he stole a kiss from her as she slept, she insisted upon Peire's departure, though her husband seems to have regarded the matter as a jest and the troubadour took refuge in Genoa. Eventually, Azalais pardoned him and he was able to return to Marseilles. Peire is said to have followed Richard Coeur de Lion on his crusade; it was in 1190 that Richard embarked at Marseilles for the Holy Land, and as a patron of troubadours, he was no doubt personally acquainted with Peire. The troubadour, however, is said to have gone no farther than Cyprus. There he married a Greek woman and was somehow persuaded that his wife was a daughter of the Emperor of Constantinople, and that he, therefore, had a claim to the throne of Greece. He assumed royal state, added a throne to his personal possessions and began to raise a fleet for the conquest of his kingdom. How long this farce continued is unknown. Barral died in 1192 and Peire transferred his affections to a lady of Carcassonne, Loba de Pennautier. [73] The biography relates that her name Loba (wolf) induced the troubadour to approach her in a wolf's skin, which disguise was so successful that he was attacked by a pack of dogs and seriously mauled. Probably the story that an outraged husband had the troubadour's tongue cut out at an earlier period of his life contains an equal substratum of truth. The last period of his career was spent in Hungary and Lombardy. His political _sirventes_ show an insight into the affairs of his age, which is in strong contrast to the whimsicality which seems to have misguided his own life. Guillem de Cabestanh (between 1181 and 1196) deserves mention for the story which the Provençal biography has attached to his name, a Provençal variation of the thirteenth century romance of the _Châtelaine de Coucy_.[25] He belonged to the Roussillon district, on the borders of Catalonia and fell in love with the wife of his overlord, Raimon of Roussillon. Margarida or Seremonda, as she is respectively named in the two versions of the story, was attracted by Guillem's songs, with the result that Raimon's jealousy was aroused and meeting the troubadour one day, when he was out hunting, he killed him. The Provençal version proceeds as follows: he then took out the heart and sent it by a squire to the castle. He caused it to be roasted with pepper and gave it to his [74] wife to eat. And when she had eaten it, her lord told her what it was and she lost the power of sight and hearing. And when she came to herself, she said, "my lord, you have given me such good meat that never will I eat such meat again." He made at her to strike her but she threw herself from the window and was killed. Thereupon the barons of Catalonia and Aragon, led by King Alfonso, are said to have made a combined attack upon Raimon and to have ravaged his lands, in indignation at his barbarity. The Provençal biography, like the romance of the _Châtelain de Coucy_, belongs to the thirteenth century, and the story cannot be accepted as authentic. But the period of decadence had begun. By the close of the twelfth century the golden age of troubadour poetry was over. Guiraut de Bornelh's complaints that refinement was vanishing and that nobles were growing hard-hearted and avaricious soon became common-places in troubadour poetry. The extravagances of the previous age and the rise of a strong middle and commercial class diminished both the wealth and the influence of the nobles, while the peace of the country was further disturbed by theological disputes and by the rise of the Albigeois heresy. CHAPTER VI [75] THE ALBIGEOIS CRUSADE The feudal society in which troubadour poetry had flourished, and by which alone it could be maintained, was already showing signs of decadence. Its downfall was precipitated by the religious and political movement, the Albigeois Crusade, which was the first step towards the unification of France, but which also broke up the local fiefs, destroyed the conditions under which the troubadours had flourished and scattered them abroad in other lands or forced them to seek other means of livelihood. This is not the place to discuss the origin and the nature of the Albigeois heresy.[26] The general opinion has almost invariably considered the heretics as dualists and their belief as a variation of Manicheism: but a plausible case has been made out for regarding the heresy as a variant of the Adoptionism which is found successively in Armenia, in the Balkan peninsula and in Spain, and perhaps sporadically in Italy and Germany. Whatever its real nature was, the following facts are clear: it was not an isolated movement, but was in continuity with beliefs prevalent in many other parts of Europe. It [76] was largely a poor man's heresy and therefore emerges into the light of history only when it happens to attract aristocratic adherents or large masses of people. It was also a pre-Reformation movement and essentially in opposition to Roman Catholicism. Albi was the first head-quarters of the heresy, though Toulouse speedily rivalled its importance in this respect. The Vaudois heresy which became notorious at Lyons about the same time was a schismatic, not a heretic movement. The Vaudois objected to the profligacy and worldliness of the Roman Catholic clergy, but did not quarrel with church doctrine. The Albigenses were no less zealous than the Vaudois in reproving the church clergy and setting an example of purity and unselfishness of life. But they also differed profoundly from the church in matters of doctrine. Upon the election of Otho as Emperor, in 1208, Germany and Rome were at peace, and Pope Innocent III. found himself at liberty to devote some attention to affairs in Southern France. He had already made some efforts to oppose the growth of heresy: his first emissaries were unable to produce the least effect and in 1208 he had sent Arnaut of Citeaux and two Cistercian monks into Southern France with full powers to act. Their efforts proved fruitless, because Philippe Auguste was no less indifferent than the provincial lords, who actually favoured the [77] heretics in many cases; the Roman Catholic bishops also were jealous of the pope's legates and refused to support them. Not only the laity but many of the clergy had been seduced: the heretics had translated large portions of scripture (translations which still remain to us) and constantly appealed to the scriptures in opposition to the canon laws and the immorality of Rome. They had a full parochial and diocesan organisation and were in regular communication with the heretics of other countries. It was clear that the authority of Southern France was doomed, unless some vigorous steps to assert her authority were speedily taken. "Ita per omnes terras multiplicati sunt ut grande periculum patiatur ecclesia Dei." [27] The efforts of St Dominic were followed by the murder of the papal legate, Pierre de Castelnau, in 1208, which created an excitement comparable with that aroused by the murder of Thomas à Becket, thirty-eight years before, and gave Innocent III. his opportunity. In the summer of 1209 a great army of crusaders assembled at Lyons, and Southern France was invaded by a horde composed partly of religious fanatics, of men who were anxious to gain the indulgences awarded to crusaders without the danger of a journey overseas, and of men who were simply bent on plunder. The last stage in the development of the crusade movement was thereby reached: originally begun to recover [78] the Holy Sepulchre, it had been extended to other countries against the avowed enemies of Christianity. Now the movement was to be turned against erring members of the Christian Church and in the terms of a metaphor much abused at that period, the Crusader was not only to destroy the wolf, but to drive the vagrant sheep back into the fold.[28] Beziers and Carcassonne were captured with massacre; Toulouse was spared upon the humiliating submission of Raimon VI., and little organised opposition was offered to the crusading forces under Simon de Montfort. The following years saw the revolt of Toulouse and the excommunication of Raimon VI. (1211), the battle of Muret in which Raimon was defeated and his supporter Pedro of Aragon, was killed (1213), the Lateran Council (1215), the siege of Toulouse and the death of Simon de Montfort (1218). The foundation of the Dominican order and of the Inquisition marked the close of the struggle. Folquet of Marseilles is a troubadour whose life belongs to these years of turmoil. He was the son of a Genoese merchant by name Anfos, who apparently settled in Marseilles for business reasons: Genoa was in close commercial relations with the South of France during the twelfth century, as is attested by treaties concluded with Marseilles in 1138 and with Raimon of Toulouse in 1174. Folquet (or Fulco in Latin form) [79] seems to have carried on his father's business and to have amused his leisure hours by poetical composition. The Monk of Montandon refers to him as a merchant in his _sirventes_ upon other troubadours. He is placed in Paradise by Dante and is the only troubadour who there appears, no doubt because of his services to the Church. His earliest poems, written after 1180, were composed in honour of Azalais, the lady whose favour was sought by Peire Vidal, and to whom Folquet refers by the _senhal_ of Aimant (magnet). His poems are ingenious dissertations upon love and we catch little trace of real feeling in them. The stories of the jealousy of Azalais' sister which drove Folquet to leave Marseilles are probably apocryphal. Folquet also addressed poems to the wife of the Count of Montpelier, the daughter of the Emperor of Constantinople. He wrote a fine _planh_ on the death of Barral of Marseilles in 1192 and it was about this time that he resolved to enter the church. His last poem belongs to the year 1195. No doubt the wealth which he may have brought to the Church as a successful merchant contributed to his advancement, but Folquet was also an indomitably energetic character. Unlike so many of his fellow poets, who retired to monasteries and there lived out their lives in seclusion, Folquet displayed special talents or [80] special enthusiasm for the order which he joined. Of the Cistercian abbey of Toronet in the diocese of Fréjus he became abbot, and in 1205 was made Bishop of Toulouse. He then, in company with St Dominic, becomes one of the great figures of the Albigeois crusade: in 1209 he was acting with Simon de Montfort against Raimon VI., the son of his old patron and benefactor, and persuaded the count to surrender the citadel of Toulouse to de Montfort and the papal legate. He travelled in Northern France in order to stir up enthusiasm for the crusade. The legend is related that, hearing one of his love songs sung by a minstrel at Paris, he imposed penance upon himself. He helped to establish the Inquisition in Languedoc, and at the Lateran council of 1215 was the most violent opponent of Count Raimon. To enter into his history in detail during this period would be to recount a large portion of the somewhat intricate history of the crusade. Of his fanaticism, and of the cruelty with which he waged war upon the heretics, the Count Raimon Roger of Foix speaks at the Lateran council, when defending himself against the accusation of heresy. E die vos de l'avesque, que tant n'es afortitz, qu'en la sua semblansa es Dieus e nos trazitz, que ab cansos messongeiras e ab motz coladitz, dont totz horn es perdutz qui·ls canta ni los ditz, [81] ez ab sos reproverbis afilatz e forbitz ez ab los nostres dos, don fo eniotglaritz, ez ab mala doctrina es tant fort enriquitz c'om non auza ren dire a so qu'el contraditz. Pero cant el fo abas ni monges revestitz en la sua abadia fo si·l lums eseurzitz qu'anc no i ac be ni pauza, tro qu'el ne fo ichitz; e cant fo de Tholosa avesques elegitz per trastota la terra es tals focs espanditz que ia mais per nulha aiga no sira escantitz; que plus de D.M., que de grans que petitz, i fe perdre las vidas e·ls cors e·ls esperitz. Per la fe qu'icu vos deg, als sous faitz e als ditz ez a la captenensa sembla mielhs Antecritz que messatges de Roma. "And of the bishop, who is so zealous, I tell you that in him both God and we ourselves are betrayed; for with lying songs and insinuating words, which are the damnation of any who sings or speaks them, and by his keen polished admonitions, and by our presents wherewith he maintained himself as _joglar_, and by his evil doctrine, he has risen so high, that one dare say nothing to that which he opposes. So when he was vested as abbot and monk, was the light in his abbey put out in such wise that therein was no comfort or rest, until that he was gone forth from thence; and when he was chosen bishop of Toulouse such a fire was spread throughout the land that never for any water will it be quenched; for there did he bring destruction of life and body and soul upon more [82] than fifteen hundred of high and low. By the faith which I owe to you, by his deeds and his words and his dealings, more like is he to Anti-Christ than to an envoy of Rome." (_Chanson de la croisade contre les Albigeois_, v. 3309.) Folquet died on December 25, 1231, and was buried at the Cistercian Abbey of Grandselve, some thirty miles north-west of Toulouse. Such troubadours as Guilhem Figueira and Peire Cardenal, who inveighed against the action of the Church during the crusade, say nothing of him, and upon their silence and that of the biography as regards his ecclesiastical life the argument has been founded that Folquet the troubadour and Folquet the bishop were two different persons. There is no evidence to support this theory. Folquet's poems enjoyed a high reputation. The minnesinger, Rudolf, Count of Neuenberg (end of the twelfth century) imitated him, as also did the Italians Rinaldo d'Aquino and Jacopo da Lentino. The troubadours as a rule stood aloof from the religious quarrels of the age. But few seem to have joined the crusaders, as Perdigon did. Most of their patrons were struggling for their existence: when the invaders succeeded in establishing themselves, they had no desire for court poetry. The troubadour's occupation was gone, and those who wished for an audience were obliged to seek beyond the borders of France. Hence it [83] is somewhat remarkable to find the troubadour Raimon de Miraval, of Carcassonne, continuing to sing, as though perfect tranquillity prevailed. His wife, Gaudairenca, was a poetess, and Paul Heyse has made her the central figure of one of his charming _Troubadour Novellen_. Raimon's poems betray no forebodings of the coming storm; when it broke, he lost his estate and fled to Raimon of Toulouse for shelter. The arrival of Pedro II. of Aragon at Toulouse in 1213 and his alliance with the Count of Toulouse cheered the troubadour's spirits: he thought there was a chance that he might recover his estate. He compliments Pedro on his determination in one poem and in another tells his lady, "the king has promised me that in a short time, I shall have Miraval again and my Audiart shall recover his Beaucaire; then ladies and their lovers will regain their lost delights." Such was the attitude of many troubadours towards the crusade and they seem to represent the views of a certain section of society. There is no trace on this side of any sense of patriotism; they hated the crusade because it destroyed the comforts of their happy existence. But the South of France had never as a whole acquired any real sense of nationalism: there was consequently no attempt at general or organised resistance and no leader to inspire such [84] attempts was forth-coming. On the other hand, special districts such as Toulouse, showed real courage and devotion. The crusaders often found much difficulty in maintaining a force adequate to conduct their operations after the first energy of the invasion had spent itself, and had the Count of Toulouse been an energetic and vigorous character, he might have been able to reverse the ultimate issue of the crusade. But, like many other petty lords his chief desire was to be left alone and he was at heart as little interested in the claims of Rome as in the attractions of heresy. His townspeople thought otherwise and the latter half of the _Chanson de la Croisade_ reflects their hopes and fears and describes their struggles with a sympathy that often reaches the height of epic splendour. Similarly, certain troubadours were by no means absorbed in the practice of their art or the pursuit of their intrigues. Bernard Sicart de Marvejols has left us a vigorous satire against the crusaders who came for plunder, and the clergy who drove them on. The greatest poet of this calamitous time is Peire Cardenal. His work falls within the years 1210 and 1230. The short notice that we have of him says that he belonged to Puy Notre Dame in Velay, that he was the son of a noble and was intended for an ecclesiastical career: when he was of age, he was attracted by the pleasures of the world, became a troubadour and [85] went from court to court, accompanied by a _joglar_: he was especially favoured by King Jaime I. of Aragon and died at the age of nearly a hundred years. He was no singer of love and the three of his _chansos_ that remain are inspired by the misogyny that we have noted in the case of Marcabrun. Peire Cardenal's strength lay in the moral _sirventes_: he was a fiery soul, aroused to wrath by the sight of injustice and immorality and the special objects of his animosity are the Roman Catholic clergy and the high nobles. "The clergy call themselves shepherds and are murderers under a show of saintliness: when I look upon their dress I remember Isengrin (the wolf in the romance of Reynard, the Fox) who wished one day to break into the sheep-fold: but for fear of the dogs he dressed himself in a sheepskin and then devoured as many as he would. Kings and emperors, dukes, counts and knights used to rule the world; now the priests have the power which they have gained by robbery and treachery, by hypocrisy, force and preaching." "Eagles and vultures smell not the carrion so readily as priests and preachers smell out the rich: a rich man is their friend and should a sickness strike him down, he must make them presents to the loss of his relations. Frenchmen and priests are reputed bad and rightly so: usurers [86] and traitors possess the whole world, for with deceit have they so confounded the world that there is no class to whom their doctrine is unknown." Peire inveighs against the disgraces of particular orders; the Preaching Friars or Jacobin monks who discuss the relative merits of special wines after their feasts, whose lives are spent in disputes and who declare all who differ from them to be Vaudois heretics, who worm men's private affairs out of them, that they may make themselves feared: some of his charges against the monastic orders are quite unprintable. No less vigorous are his invectives against the rich and the social evils of his time. The tone of regret that underlies Guiraut de Bornelh's satires in this theme is replaced in Peire Cardenal's _sirventes_ by a burning sense of injustice. Covetousness, the love of pleasure, injustice to the poor, treachery and deceit and moral laxity are among his favourite themes. "He who abhors truth and hates the right, careers to hell and directs his course to the abyss: for many a man builds walls and palaces with the goods of others and yet the witless world says that he is on the right path, because he is clever and prosperous. As silver is refined in the fire, so the patient poor are purified under grievous oppression: and with what splendour the shameless rich man may feed and clothe himself, his riches bring him nought but pain, grief and vexation of spirit. But that affrights him [87] not: capons and game, good wine and the dainties of the earth console him and cheer his heart. Then he prays to God and says 'I am poor and in misery.' Were God to answer him He would say, 'thou liest!'" To illustrate the degeneracy of the age, Peire relates a fable, perhaps the only instance of this literary form among the troubadours, upon the theme that if all the world were mad, the one sane man would be in a lunatic asylum: "there was a certain town, I know not where, upon which a rain fell of such a nature that all the inhabitants upon whom it fell, lost their reason. All lost their reason except one, who escaped because he was asleep in his house when the rain came. When he awoke, he rose: the rain had ceased, and he went out among the people who were all committing follies. One was clothed, another naked, another was spitting at the sky: some were throwing sticks and stones, tearing their coats, striking and pushing... The sane man was deeply surprised and saw that they were mad; nor could he find a single man in his senses. Yet greater was their surprise at him, and as they saw that he did not follow their example, they concluded that he had lost his senses.... So one strikes him in front, another behind; he is dashed to the ground and trampled under foot... at length he flees to his house covered with mud, bruised [88] and half dead and thankful for his escape": The mad town, says Peire Cardenal, is the present world: the highest form of intelligence is the love and fear of God, but this has been replaced by greed, pride and malice; consequently the "sense of God" seems madness to the world and he who refuses to follow the "sense of the world" is treated as a madman. Peire Cardenal is thus by temperament a moral preacher; he is not merely critical of errors, but has also a positive faith to propound. He is not an opponent of the papacy as an institution: the confession of faith which he utters in one of his _sirventes_ shows that he would have been perfectly satisfied with the Roman ecclesiastical and doctrinal system, had it been properly worked. In this respect he differs from a contemporary troubadour, Guillem Figueira, whose violent satire against Rome shows him as opposed to the whole system from the papacy downwards. He was a native of Toulouse and migrated to Lombardy and to the court of Frederick II. when the crusade drove him from his home. "I wonder not, Rome, that men go astray, for thou hast cast the world into strife and misery; virtue and good works die and are buried because of thee, treacherous Rome, thou guiding-star, thou root and branch of all iniquity... Greed blindeth thy eyes, and too close dost thou shear thy [89] sheep... thou forgivest sins for money, thou loadest thyself with a shameful burden. Rome, we know of a truth that with the bait of false forgiveness, thou hast snared in misery the nobility of France, the people of Paris and the noble King Louis (VIII., who died in the course of the Albigeois crusade); thou didst bring him to his death, for thy false preaching enticed him from his land. Rome, thou has the outward semblance of a lamb, so innocent is thy countenance, but within thou are a ravening wolf, a crowned snake begotten of a viper and therefore the devil greeteth thee as the friend of his bosom." This sirventes was answered by a _trobairitz_, Germonde of Montpelier, but her reply lacks the vigour and eloquence of the attack. It is not to be supposed that the troubadours turned to religious poetry simply because the Albigeois crusade had raised the religious question. Purely devotional poetry is found at an earlier period.[29] It appears at first only sporadically, and some of the greatest troubadours have left no religious poems that have reached us. The fact is, that the nature of troubadour poetry and its homage to the married woman were incompatible with the highest standard of religious devotion. The famous _alba_ of Guiraut de Bornelh invokes the "glorious king, true light and splendour, Lord Almighty," for the purpose of praying that the lovers [90] for whom the speaker is keeping watch may be undisturbed in interchange of their affections. Prayer for the success of attempted adultery is a contradiction in terms. For a theory of religion which could regard the Deity as a possible accomplice in crime, the Church of Southern France in the twelfth century is to blame: we cannot expect that the troubadours in general should be more religious than the professional exponents of religion. On the other hand, poems of real devotional feeling are found, even from the earliest times: the sensual Count of Poitiers, the first troubadour known to us, concludes his career with a poem of resignation bidding farewell to the world, "leaving all that I love, the brilliant life of chivalry, but since it pleases God, I resign myself and pray Him to keep me among His own." Many troubadours, as has been said, ended their lives in monasteries and the disappointments or griefs which drove them to this course often aroused religious feelings, regrets for past follies and resolutions of repentance, which found expression in poetry. Peire d'Auvergne wrote several religious hymns after his retirement from the world; these are largely composed of reiterated articles of the Christian faith in metrical form and are as unpoetical as they are orthodox, Crusade poems and _planhs_ upon the [91] deaths of famous nobles or patrons are religious only in a secondary sense. A fine religious _alba_ is ascribed to Folquet of Marseilles-- Vers Dieus, e·l vostre nom e de sancta Maria m'esvelherai hueimais, pus l'estela del dia ven daus Jerusalem que' m'ensenha qu'ien dia: estatz sus e levatz, senhor, que Dieu amatz! que·l jorns es aprosmatz e la nuech ten sa via; e sia·n Dieus lauzatz per nos e adoratz, e·l preguem que·ens don patz a tota nostra via. La nuech vai e·l jorns ve ab elar eel e sere, e l'alba no's rete ans ven belh' e complia. "True God, in Thy name and in the name of Saint Mary will I awake henceforth, since the star of day rises from o'er Jerusalem, bidding me say, 'Up and arise, sirs, who love God! For the day is nigh, and the night departs; and let God be praised and adored by us and let us pray Him that He give us peace for all our lives. Night goes and day comes with clear serene sky, and the dawn delays not but comes fair and perfect.'" At the close of the Albigeois crusade the Virgin Mary becomes the theme of an increasing number of lyric poems. These are not like the farewells [92] to the world, uttered by weary troubadours, and dictated by individual circumstances, but are inspired by an increase of religious feeling in the public to whom the troubadours appealed. Peire Cardenal began the series and a similar poem is attributed to Perdigon, a troubadour who joined the crusaders and fought against his old patrons; though the poem is probably not his, it belongs to a time but little posterior to the crusade. The cult of the Virgin had obvious attractions as a subject for troubadours whose profane songs would not have been countenanced by St Dominic and his preachers and religious poetry dealing with the subject could easily borrow not only the metrical forms but also many technical expressions which troubadours had used in singing of worldly love. They could be the servants of a heavenly mistress and attribute to her all the graces and beauty of form and character. It has been supposed that the Virgin was the mysterious love sung by Jaufre Rudel and the supposition is not inconsistent with the language of his poems. Guiraut Riquier, the last of the troubadours, provides examples of this new _genre_: from the fourteenth century it was the only kind of poem admitted by the school of Toulouse and the Jeux Floraux crowned many poems of this nature. These, however, have little in common with classical troubadour poetry except language. The following stanzas from [93] the well-known hymn to the Virgin by Peire de Corbiac, will give an idea of the character of this poetry. Domna, rosa ses espina, sobre totas flors olens, verga seca frug fazens, terra que ses labor grana, estela, del solelh maire, noirissa del vostre paire, el mon nulha no·us semelha ni londana ni vezina. Domna, verge pura e fina, ans que fos l'enfantamens, et apres tot eissamens, receup en vos carn humana Jesu Crist, nostre salvaire, si com ses trencamen faire intra·l bels rais, quan solelha, per la fenestra veirina. Domna, estela marina de las autras plus luzens, la mars nos combat e·l vens; mostra nos via certana; car si·ns vols a bon port traire non tem nau ni governaire ni tempest que·ns destorbelha ni·l sobern de la marina. "Lady, rose without thorn, sweet above all flowers, dry rod bearing fruit, earth bringing forth fruit without toil, star, mother of the sun, nurse of thine own Father, in the world no woman is like to thee, [94] neither far nor near. Lady, virgin pure and fair before the birth was and afterwards the same, Jesus Christ our Saviour received human flesh in thee, just as without causing flaw, the fair ray enters through the window-pane when the sun shines. Lady, star of the sea, brighter than the other stars, the sea and the wind buffet us; show thou us the right way: for if thou wilt bring us to a fair haven, ship nor helmsman fears not tempest nor tide lest it trouble us." CHAPTER VII [95] THE TROUBADOURS IN ITALY To study the development of troubadour literature only in the country of its origin would be to gain a very incomplete idea of its influence. The movement, as we have already said, crossed the Pyrenees, the Alps and the Rhine, and Italy at least owed the very existence of its lyric poetry to the impulse first given by the troubadours. Close relations between Southern France and Northern Italy had existed from an early period: commercial intercourse between the towns on the Mediterranean was in some cases strengthened by treaties; the local nobles were connected by feudal ties resulting from the suzerainty of the Holy Roman Empire. Hence it was natural for troubadours and _joglars_ to visit the Italian towns. Their own language was not so remote from the Italian dialects as to raise any great obstacle to the circulation of their poetry and the petty princes of Northern Italy lent as ready an ear to troubadour songs as the local lords in the South of France. Peire Vidal was at the court of the Marquis of Montferrat so early as 1195; the Marquis of Este, the Count of San Bonifacio at Verona, the Count of [96] Savoy at Turin, the Emperor Frederick II. and other lords of less importance offered a welcome to Provençal poets. More than twenty troubadours are thus known to have visited Italy and in some cases to have made a stay of considerable length. The result was that their poetry soon attracted Italian disciples and imitators. Provençal became the literary language of the noble classes and an Italian school of troubadours arose, of whom Sordello is the most remarkable figure. Raimbaut de Vaqueiras, who spent a considerable part of his career (1180-1207) with the Marquis of Montferrat, belongs as a troubadour quite as much to Italy as to Southern France. He was the son of a poor noble of Orange and became a troubadour at the court of William IV. of Orange; he exchanged _tensos_ with his patron with whom he seems to have been on very friendly terms and to whom he refers by the pseudonym Engles (English), the reason for which is as yet unknown. Some time later than 1189, he left the court of Orange, apparently in consequence of a dispute with his patron and made his way to Italy, where he led a wandering life until he was admitted to the court of the Marquis of Montferrat. To this period of his career belongs the well-known poem in which he pays his addresses to a Genoese lady. "Lady, I have prayed you long to love me of your kindliness... my heart [97] is more drawn to you than to any lady of Genoa. I shall be well rewarded if you will love me and shall be better recompensed for my trouble than if Genoa belonged to me with all the wealth that is there heaped up." The lady then replies in her own Genoese dialect: she knows nothing of the conventions of courtly love, and informs the troubadour that her husband is a better man than he and that she will have nothing to do with him. The poem is nothing but a _jeu d'esprit_ based upon the contrast between troubadour sentiments and the honest but unpoetical views of the middle class; it is interesting to philologists as containing one of the earliest known specimens of Italian dialect. An example of the Tuscan dialect is also found in the _descort_ by Raimbaut. This is a poem in irregular metre, intended to show the perturbation of the poet's mind. Raimbaut increased this effect by writing in five different languages. He found a ready welcome from Bonifacio II. at the court of Montferrat which Peire Vidal also visited. The marquis dubbed him knight and made him his brother in arms. Raimbaut fell in love with Beatrice, the sister of the marquis, an intimacy which proceeded upon the regular lines of courtly love. He soon found an opportunity of showing his devotion to the marquis. In 1194 Henry VI. [98] made an expedition to Sicily to secure the claims of his wife, Constance, to that kingdom: the Marquis Boniface as a vassal of the imperial house followed the Emperor and Raimbaut accompanied his contingent. He refers to his share in the campaign in a later letter to the marquis.[30] Et ai per vos estat en greu preyzo Per vostra guerra e n'ai a vostro pro Fag maynt assaut et ars maynta maiso Et a Messina vos cobri del blizo; En la batalha vos vinc en tal sazo Que·us ferion pel pietz e pel mento Dartz e cairels, sagetas e trenso. "For your sake I have been in hard captivity in your war, and to do you service I have made many an assault and burned many a house. At Messina I covered you with the shield; I came to you in the battle at the moment when they hurled at your breast and chin darts and quarrels, arrows and lance-shafts." The captivity was endured in the course of the marquis's wars in Italy, and the troubadour refers to a seafight between the forces of Genoa and Pisa in the Sicilian campaign. In 1202 he followed his master upon the crusade which practically ended at Constantinople. He had composed a vigorous _sirventes_ urging Christian men to join the movement, but he does not himself show any great enthusiasm to take the [99] cross. "I would rather, if it please you, die in that land than live and remain here. For us God was raised upon the cross, received death, suffered the passion, was scourged and loaded with chains and crowned with thorns upon the cross.... Fair Cavalier (i.e. Beatrice) I know not whether I shall stay for your sake or take the cross; I know not whether I shall go or remain, for I die with grief if I see you and I am like to die if I am far from you." So also in the letter quoted above. E cant anetz per crozar a Saysso, Ieu non avia cor--Dieus m'o perdo-- Que passes mar, mas per vostre resso Levey la crotz e pris confessio. "And when you went to Soissons to take the cross, I did not intend--may God forgive me--to cross the sea, but to increase your fame I took the cross and made confession." The count lost his life, as Villehardouin relates, in a skirmish with the Bulgarians in 1207. Raimbaut de Vaqueiras probably fell at the same time. This is enough to show that troubadours who came to Italy could make the country a second home, and find as much occupation in love, war and politics as they had ever found in Southern France. Aimeric de Pegulhan, Gaucelm Faidit, Uc de Saint-Circ,[31] the author of some troubadour [100] biographies, were among the best known of those who visited Italy. The last named is known to have visited Pisa and another troubadour of minor importance, Guillem de la Tor, was in Florence. Thus the visits of the troubadours were by no means confined to the north. It was, therefore, natural that Italians should imitate the troubadours whose art proved so successful at Italian courts and some thirty Italian troubadours are known to us. Count Manfred II. and Albert, the Marquis of Malaspina, engaged in _tensos_ with Peire Vidal and Raimbaut de Vaqueiras respectively and are the first Italians known to have written in Provençal. Genoa produced a number of Italian troubadours of whom the best were Lanfranc Cigala and Bonifacio Calvo. The latter was a wanderer and spent some time in Castile at the court of Alfonso X. Lanfranc Cigala was a judge in his native town: from him survive a _sirventes_ against Bonifacio III. of Montferrat who had abandoned the cause of Frederick II., crusade poems and a _sirventes_ against the obscure style. The Venetian Bartolomeo Zorzi was a prisoner at Genoa from 1266 to 1273, having been captured by the Genoese. The troubadour of Genoa, Bonifacio Calvo, had written a vigorous invective against Venice, to which the captive troubadour composed an equally strong reply addressed [101] to Bonifacio Calvo; the latter sought him out and the two troubadours became friends. The most famous, however, of the Italian troubadours is certainly Sordello. There is much uncertainty concerning the facts of Sordello's life; he was born at Goito, near Mantua, and was of noble family. His name is not to be derived from _sordidus_, but from _Surdus_, a not uncommon patronymic in North Italy during the thirteenth century. Of his early years nothing is known: at some period of his youth he entered the court of Count Ricciardo di san Bonifazio, the lord of Verona, where he fell in love with his master's wife, Cunizza da Romano (Dante, _Par._ ix. 32), and eloped with her. The details of this affair are entirely obscure; according to some commentators, it was the final outcome of a family feud, while others assert that the elopement took place with the connivance of Cunizza's brother, the notorious Ezzelino III. (_Inf_. xii. 110): the date is approximately 1225. At any rate, Sordello and Cunizza betook themselves to Ezzelino's court. Then, according to the Provençal biography, follows his secret marriage with Otta, and his flight from Treviso, to escape the vengeance of her angry relatives. He thus left Italy about the year 1229, and retired to the South of France, where he visited the courts of Provence, Toulouse, Roussillon, [102] penetrating also into Castile. A chief authority for these wanderings is the troubadour Peire Bremen Ricas Novas, whose _sirventes_ speaks of him as being in Spain at the court of the king of Leon: this was Alfonso IX., who died in the year 1230. He also visited Portugal, but for this no date can be assigned. Allusions in his poems show that he was in Provence before 1235: about ten years later we find him at the court of the Countess Beatrice (_Par._ vi. 133), daughter of Raimon Berengar, Count of Provence, and wife of Charles I. of Anjou. Beatrice may have been the subject of several of his love poems: but the "senhal" Restaur and Agradiva, which conceal the names possibly of more than one lady cannot be identified. From 1252-1265 his name appears in several Angevin treaties and records, coupled with the names of other well-known nobles, and he would appear to have held a high place in Charles' esteem. It is uncertain whether he took part in the first crusade of St Louis, in 1248-1251, at which Charles was present: but he followed Charles on his Italian expedition against Manfred in 1265, and seems to have been captured by the Ghibellines before reaching Naples. At any rate, he was a prisoner at Novara in September 1266; Pope Clement IV. induced Charles to ransom him, and in 1269, as a recompense for his services, he received five castles in the Abruzzi, near the river Pescara: shortly [103] afterwards he died. The circumstances of his death are unknown, but from the fact that he is placed by Dante among those who were cut off before they could repent it has been conjectured that he came to a violent end. Sordello's restless life and his intrigues could be exemplified from the history of many another troubadour and neither his career nor his poetry, which with two exceptions, is of no special originality, seems to justify the portrait drawn of him by Dante; while Browning's famous poem has nothing in common with the troubadour except the name. These exceptions, however, are notable. The first is a _sirventes_ composed by Sordello on the death of his patron Blacatz in 1237. He invites to the funeral feast the Roman emperor, Frederick II., the kings of France, England and Aragon, the counts of Champagne, Toulouse and Provence. They are urged to eat of the dead man's heart, that they may gain some tincture of his courage and nobility. Each is invited in a separate stanza in which the poet reprehends the failings of the several potentates. Del rey engles me platz, quar es paue coratjos, Que manje pro del cor, pueys er valens e bos, E cobrara la terra, per que viu de pretz blos, Que·l tol lo reys de Fransa, quar lo sap nualhos; E lo reys castelas tanh qu'en manje per dos, [104] Quar dos regismes ten, e per l'un non es pros; Mas, s'elh en vol manjar, tanh qu'en manj'a rescos, Que, si·l mair'o sabra, batria·l ab bastos. "As concerns the English King (Henry III.) it pleases me, for he is little courageous, that he should eat well of the heart; then he will be valiant and good and will recover the land (for loss of which he lives bereft of worth), which the King of France took from him, for he knows him to be of no account. And the King of Castile (Ferdinand III. of Castile and Leon), it is fitting that he eat of it for two, for he holds two realms and he is not sufficient for one; but if he will eat of it, 'twere well that he eat in secret: for if his mother were to know it, she would beat him with staves." This idea, which is a commonplace in the folklore of many countries, attracted attention. Two contemporary troubadours attempted to improve upon it. Bertran d'Alamanon said that the heart should not be divided among the cowards, enumerated by Sordello, but given to the noble ladies of the age: Peire Bremen proposed a division of the body. The point is that Dante in the Purgatorio represents Sordello as showing to Virgil the souls of those who, while singing _Salve Regina_, ask to be pardoned for their neglect of duty and among them appear the rulers whom Sordello had satirised in his _sirventes_. Hence it seems that it was this [105] composition which attracted Dante's attention to Sordello. The other important poem is the _Ensenhamen_, a didactic work of instruction upon the manner and conduct proper to a courtier and a lover. Here, and also in some of his lyric poems, Sordello represents the transition to a new idea of love which was more fully developed by the school of Guido Guinicelli and found its highest expression in Dante's lyrics and Vita Nuova. Love is now rather a mystical idea than a direct affection for a particular lady: the lover is swayed by a spiritual and intellectual ideal, and the motive of physical attraction recedes to the background. The cause of love, however, remains unchanged: love enters through the eyes; sight is delight. We must now turn southwards. A school of poetry had grown up in Sicily at the court of Frederick II. No doubt he favoured those troubadours whose animosity to the papacy had been aroused by the Albigeois crusade: such invective as that which Guillem Figueira could pour forth would be useful to him in his struggle against the popes. But the emperor was himself a man of unusual culture, with a keen interest in literary and scientific pursuits: he founded a university at Naples, collected manuscripts and did much to make Arabic learning known to the West. He was a poet and the importance of the Sicilian school consists in the [106] fact that while the subject matter of their songs was lifted from troubadour poetry, the language which they used belonged to the Italian peninsula. The dialect of these _provenzaleggianti_ was not pure Sicilian but was probably a literary language containing elements drawn from other dialects, as happened long before in the case of the troubadours themselves. The best known representatives of this school, Pier delle Vigne, Jacopo da Lentini and Guido delle Colonne are familiar to students of Dante. After their time no one questioned the fact that lyric poetry written in Italian was a possible achievement. The influence of the Sicilian school extended to Central Italy and Tuscany; Dante tells us that all Italian poetry preceding his own age was known as Sicilian. The early Tuscan poets were, mediately or immediately, strongly influenced by Provençal. The first examples of the sonnet, by Dante da Majano, were written in that language. But such poetry was little more than a rhetorical exercise. It was the revival of learning and the Universities, in particular that of Bologna, which inspired the _dolce stil nuovo_, of which the first exponent was Guido Giunicelli. Love was now treated from a philosophical point of view: hitherto, the Provençal school had maintained the thesis that "sight is delight," that love originated from seeing and pleasing, penetrated to the heart and [107] occupied the thoughts, after passing through the eyes. So Aimeric de Pegulhan. Perque tuit li fin aman Sapchan qu'amors es fina bevolenza Que nais del cor e dels huelh, ses duptar. "Wherefore let all pure lovers know that love is pure unselfishness which is born undoubtedly from the heart and from the eyes," a sentiment thus repeated by Guido delle Colonne of the Sicilian school. Dal cor si move un spirito in vedere D'in ochi'n ochi, di femina e d'omo Per lo quel si concria uno piacere. The philosophical school entirely transformed this conception. Love seeks the noble heart by affinity, as the bird seeks the tree: the noble heart cannot but love, and love inflames and purifies its nobility, as the power of the Deity is transmitted to the heavenly beings. When this idea had been once evolved, Provençal poetry could no longer be a moving force; it was studied but was not imitated. Its influence had lasted some 150 years, and as far as Italy is concerned it was Arabic learning, Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas who slew the troubadours more certainly than Simon de Montfort and his crusaders. The day of superficial [108] prettiness and of the cult of form had passed; love conjoined with learning, a desire to pierce to the roots of things, a greater depth of thought and earnestness were the characteristics of the new school. Dante's debt to the troubadours, with whose literature he was well acquainted, is therefore the debt of Italian literature as a whole. Had not the troubadours developed their theory of courtly love, with its influence upon human nature, we cannot say what course early Italian literature might have run. Moreover, the troubadours provided Italy and other countries also with perfect models of poetical form. The sonnet, the terza rima and any other form used by Dante are of Provençal origin. And what is true of Dante and his Beatrice is no less true of Petrarch and his Laura and of many another who may be sought in histories specially devoted to this subject. CHAPTER VIII [109] THE TROUBADOURS IN SPAIN The South of France had been connected with the North of Spain from a period long antecedent to the first appearance of troubadour poetry. As early as the Visigoth period, Catalonia had been united to Southern France; in the case of this province the tie was further strengthened by community of language. On the western side of the Pyrenees a steady stream of pilgrims entered the Spanish peninsula on their way to the shrine of St James of Compostella in Galicia; this road was, indeed, known in Spain as the "French road." Catalonia was again united with Provence by the marriage of Raimon Berengar III. with a Provençal heiress in 1112. As the counts of Barcelona and the kings of Aragon held possessions in Southern France, communications between the two countries were naturally frequent. We have already had occasion to refer to the visits of various troubadours to the courts of Spain. The "reconquista," the reconquest of Spain from the Moors, was in progress during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and various crusade poems were written by troubadours [110] summoning help to the Spaniards in their struggles. Marcabrun was the author of one of the earliest of these, composed for the benefit of Alfonso VIII. of Castile and possibly referring to his expedition against the Moors in 1147, which was undertaken in conjunction with the kings of Navarre and Aragon. The poem is interesting for its repetition of the word _lavador_ or piscina, used as an emblem of the crusade in which the participants would be cleansed of their sins.[32] Pax in nomine Domini! Fetz Marcabrus los motz e·l so. Aujatz que di: Cum nos a fait per sa doussor, Lo Seignorius celestiaus Probet de nos un lavador C'ane, fors outramar, no·n' fon taus, En de lai deves Josaphas: E d'aquest de sai vos conort. "Pax, etc.,---Marcabrun composed the words and the air. Hear what he says. How, by his goodness, the Lord of Heaven, has made near us a piscina, such as there never was, except beyond the sea, there by Josaphat, and for this one near here do I exhort you." Alfonso II. of Aragon (1162-1196) was a constant patron of the troubadours, and himself an exponent of their art. He belonged to the family of the counts of Barcelona which became in his time one of the [111] most powerful royal houses in the West of Europe. He was the grandson of Raimon Berengar III. and united to Barcelona by marriage and diplomacy, the kingdom of Aragon, Provence and Roussillon. His continual visits to the French part of his dominions gave every opportunity to the troubadours to gain his favour: several were continually about him and there were few who did not praise his liberality. A discordant note is raised by Bertran de Born, who composed some violent _sirventes_ against Alfonso; he was actuated by political motives: Alfonso had joined the King of England in his operations against Raimon V. of Toulouse and Bertran's other allies and had been present at the capture of Bertran's castle of Hautefort in 1183. The biography relates that in the course of the siege, the King of Aragon, who had formerly been in friendly relations with Bertran, sent a messenger into the fortress asking for provisions. These Bertran supplied with the request that the king would secure the removal of the siege engines from a particular piece of wall, which was on the point of destruction and would keep the information secret. Alfonso, however, betrayed the message and the fortress was captured. The _razo_ further relates the touching scene to which we have already referred when Bertran moved Henry II. to clemency by a reference [112] to the death of the "young king." The account of Alfonso's supposed treachery is probably no less unhistorical: the siege lasted only a week and it is unlikely that the besiegers would have been reduced to want in so short a time. It was probably invented to explain the hostility on Bertran's part which dated from the wars between Alfonso and Raimon V. of Toulouse. This animosity was trumpeted forth in two lampooning _sirventes_ criticising the public policy and the private life of the Spanish King. His accusations of meanness and trickery seem to be based on nothing more reliable than current gossip. Peire Vidal, with the majority of the troubadours, shows himself a vigorous supporter of Alfonso. Referring to this same expedition of 1183 he asserted "Had I but a speedy horse, the king might sleep in peace at Balaguer: I would keep Provence and Montpelier in such order that robbers and freebooters should no longer plunder Venaissin and Crau. When I have put on my shining cuirass and girded on the sword that Guigo lately gave me, the earth trembles beneath my feet; no enemy so mighty who does not forthwith avoid out of my path, so great is their fear of me when they hear my steps." These boasts in the style of Captain Matamoros are, of course, not serious: the poet's personal appearance seems to have been enough to preclude any suppositions of the kind. In [113] another poem he sings the praises of Sancha, daughter of Alfonso VIII. of Castile, who married Alfonso II. of Aragon in 1174. With the common sense in political matters which is so strangely conjoined with the whimsicality of his actions, he puts his finger upon the weak spot in Spanish politics when he refers to the disunion between the four kings, Alfonso II. of Aragon, Alfonso IX. of Leon, Alfonso VIII. of Castile and Sancho Garcés of Navarre: "little honour is due to the four kings of Spain for that they cannot keep peace with one another; since in other respects they are of great worth, dexterous, open, courteous and loyal, so that they should direct their efforts to better purpose and wage war elsewhere against the people who do not believe our law, until the whole of Spain professes one and the same faith." The Monk of Montaudon, Peire Raimon of Toulouse, Uc de San Circ, Uc Brunet and other troubadours of less importance also enjoyed Alfonso's patronage. Guiraut de Bornelh sent a poem to the Catalonian court in terms which seemed to show that the simple style of poetry was there preferred to complicated obscurities. The same troubadour was sufficiently familiar with Alfonso's successor, Pedro II., to take part in a _tenso_ with him. Pedro II. (1196-1213) was no less popular with the troubadours than his [114] father. Aimeric de Pegulhan, though more closely connected with the court of Castile, is loud in his praises of Pedro, "the flower of courtesy, the green leaf of delight, the fruit of noble deeds." Pedro supported his brother-in-law, Raimon VI. of Toulouse, against the crusaders and Simon de Montfort during the Albigeois crusade and was killed near Toulouse in the battle of Muret. The Chanson de la Croisade does not underestimate the impression made by his death. Mot fo grans lo dampnatges e·l dols e·l perdementz Cant lo reis d'Arago remas mort e sagnens, E mot d'autres baros, don fo grans l'aunimens A tot crestianesme et a trastotas gens. "Great was the damage and the grief and the loss when the King of Aragon remained dead and bleeding with many other barons, whence was great shame to all Christendom and to all people." The Court of Castile attracted the attention and the visits of the troubadours, chiefly during the reign of Alfonso VIII. (or III.; 1158-1214) the hero of Las Navas de Tolosa, the most decisive defeat which the Arab power in the West had sustained since the days of Charles Martel. The preceding defeat of Alfonso's forces at Alarcos in 1195 had called forth a fine crusade _sirventes_ from Folquet of Marseilles appealing to Christians in general and the King of Aragon in particular [115] to join forces against the infidels. The death of Alfonso's son, Fernando, in 1211 from an illness contracted in the course of a campaign against the infidels was lamented by Guiraut de Calanso, a Gascon troubadour. Lo larc e·l franc, lo valen e·l grazitz, Don cuiavon qu'en fos esmendatz Lo jove reys, e·n Richartz lo prezatz E·l coms Jaufres, tug li trey valen fraire. "The generous and frank, the worthy and attractive of whom men thought that in him were increased the qualities of the young king, of Richard the high renowned, and of the Count Godfrey, all the three valiant brothers." Peire Vidal in one of the poems which he addressed to Alfonso VIII., speaks of the attractions of Spain. "Spain is a good country; its kings and lords are kindly and loving, generous and noble, of courteous company; other barons there are, noble and hospitable, men of sense and knowledge, valiant and renowned." Raimon Vidal of Bezaudun, a Catalonian troubadour has given a description of Alfonso's court in one of his _novelas_. "I wish to relate a story which I heard a joglar tell at the court of the wisest king that ever was, King Alfonso of Castile, where were presents and gifts, judgment, worth and courtesy, spirit and chivalry, though he was not anointed or sacred, but crowned with praise, [116] sense, worth and prowess. The king gathered many knights to his court, many _joglars_ and rich barons and when the court was filled Queen Eleanor came in dressed so that no one saw her body. She came wrapped closely in a cloak of silken fabric fine and fair called sisclaton; it was red with a border of silver and had a golden lion broidered on it. She bowed to the king and took her seat on one side at some distance. Then, behold, a _joglar_ come before the king, frank and debonair, who said 'King, noble emperor, I have come to you thus and I pray you of your goodness that my tale may be heard,'" The scene concludes, "Joglar, I hold the story which you have related as good, amusing and fair and you also the teller of it and I will order such reward to be given to you that you shall know that the story has indeed pleased me." The crown of Castile was united with that of Leon by Fernando III. (1230-1262) the son of Alfonso IX. of Leon. Lanfranc Cigala, the troubadour of Genoa, excuses the Spaniards at this time for their abstention from the Crusades to Jerusalem on the ground that they were fully occupied in their struggles with the Moors. Fernando is one of the kings to whom Sordello refers in the famous _sirventes_ of the divided heart, as also is Jaime I. of Aragon (1213-1276), the "Conquistador," of whom much is heard in the poetry of the troubadours. He was born at [117] Montpelier and was fond of revisiting his birthplace; troubadours whom he there met accompanied him to Spain, joined in his expeditions and enjoyed his generosity. His court became a place of refuge for those who had been driven out of Southern France by the Albigeois crusade; Peire Cardenal, Bernard Sicart de Marvejols and N'At de Mons of Toulouse visited him. His popularity with the troubadours was considerably shaken by his policy in 1242, when a final attempt was made to throw off the yoke imposed upon Southern France as the result of the Albigeois crusade. Isabella of Angoulême, the widow of John of England, had married the Count de la Marche; she urged him to rise against the French and induced her son, Henry III. of England, to support him. Henry hoped to regain his hold of Poitou and was further informed that the Count of Toulouse and the Spanish kings would join the alliance. There seems to have been a general belief that Jaime would take the opportunity of avenging his father's death at Muret. However, no Spanish help was forthcoming; the allies were defeated at Saintes and at Taillebourg and this abortive rising ended in 1243. Guillem de Montanhagol says in a _sirventes_ upon this event, "If King Jaime, with whom we have never broken faith, had kept the agreement which is said to have been made [118] between him and us, the French would certainly have had cause to grieve and lament." Bernard de Rovenhac shows greater bitterness: "the king of Aragon is undoubtedly well named Jacme (jac from jazer, to lie down) for he is too fond of lying down and when anyone despoils him of his land, he is so feeble that he does not offer the least opposition." Bernard Sicart de Marvejols voices the grief of his class at the failure of the rising: "In the day I am full of wrath and in the night I sigh betwixt sleeping and waking; wherever I turn, I hear the courteous people crying humbly 'Sire' to the French." These outbursts do not seem to have roused Jaime to any great animosity against the troubadour class. Aimeric de Belenoi belauds him, Peire Cardenal is said to have enjoyed his favour, and other minor troubadours refer to him in flattering terms. The greatest Spanish patron of the troubadours was undoubtedly Alfonso X. of Castile (1254-1284). El Sabio earned his title by reason of his enlightened interest in matters intellectual; he was himself a poet, procured the translation of many scientific books and provided Castile with a famous code of laws. The Italian troubadours Bonifaci Calvo and Bartolomeo Zorzi were welcomed to his court, to which many others came from Provence. One of his favourites was the troubadour who was the last [119] representative of the old school, Guiraut Riquier of Narbonne. He was born between 1230 and 1235, when the Albigeois crusade was practically over and when troubadour poetry was dying, as much from its own inherent lack of vitality as from the change of social and political environment which the upheaval of the previous twenty years had produced. Guiraut Riquier applied to a Northern patron for protection, a proceeding unexampled in troubadour history and the patron he selected was the King of France himself. Neither Saint Louis nor his wife were in the least likely to provide a market for Guiraut's wares and the Paris of that day was by no means a centre of literary culture. The troubadour, therefore, tried his fortune with Alfonso X. whose liberality had become almost proverbial. There he seems to have remained for some years and to have been well content, in spite of occasional friction with other suitors for the king's favour. His description of Catalonia is interesting. Pus astres no m'es donatz Que de mi dons bes m'eschaia, Ni nulho nos plazers no·l platz, Ni ay poder que·m n'estraia, Ops m'es qu'ieu sia fondatz En via d'amor veraia, E puesc n'apenre assatz En Cataluenha la gaia, [120] Entrels Catalas valens E las donas avinens. Quar dompneys, pretz e valors, Joys e gratz e cortesia, Sens e sabers et honors, Bels parlars, bella paria, E largueza et amors, Conoyssensa e cundia, Troban manten e socors En Cataluenha a tria, Entrels, etc. "Since my star has not granted me that from my lady happiness should fall to me, since no pleasure that I can give pleases her and I have no power to forget her, I must needs enter upon the road of true love and I can learn it well enough in gay Catalonia among the Catalonians, men of worth, and their kindly ladies. For courtesy, worth, joy, gratitude and gallantry, sense, knowledge, honour, fair speech, fair company, liberality and love, learning and grace find maintenance and support in Catalonia entirely." Between thirty and forty poets of Spanish extraction are known to have written Provençal poetry. Guillem de Tudela of Navarre wrote the first part of the _Chanson de la Croisade albigeoise_; Serveri de Gerona wrote didactic and devotional poetry, showing at least ingenuity of technique; Amanieu des Escas has left love letters and didactic works for the [121] instruction of young people in the rules of polite behaviour. But the influence of Provençal upon the native poetry of Spain proper was but small, in spite of the welcome which the troubadours found at the courts of Castile, Aragon, Leon and Navarre. Troubadour poetry required a peaceful and an aristocratic environment, and the former at least of these conditions was not provided by the later years of Alfonso X. Northern French influence was also strong: numerous French immigrants were able to settle in towns newly founded or taken from the Moors. The warlike and adventurous spirit of Northern and Central Spain preferred epic to lyric poetry: and the outcome was the _cantar de gesta_ and the _romance_, the lyrico-narrative or ballad poem. This was not the course of development followed either in the Eastern or Western coasts of the peninsula. Catalonia was as much a part of the Provençal district as of Spain. To the end of the thirteenth century Catalonian poets continued to write in the language of the troubadours, often breaking the strict rules of rime correspondence and of grammar, but refusing to use their native dialect. Religious poems of popular and native origin appear to have existed, but even the growth of a native prose was unable to overcome the preference for Provençal in the [122] composition of lyrics. Guiraut de Cabreira is remembered for the 213 lines which he wrote to instruct his _joglar_ Cabra; Guiraut upbraids this performer for his ignorance, and details a long series of legends and poems which a competent _joglar_ ought to know. Guiraut de Calanso wrote an imitation of this diatribe. The best known of the Catalonian troubadours is Raimon Vidal of Besadun, both for his _novelas_ and also for his work on Provençal grammar and metre, _Las rasos de trobar_,[33] which was written for the benefit of his compatriots who desired to avoid solecisms or mistakes when composing. "For as much as I, Raimon Vidal, have seen and known that few men know or have known the right manner of composing poetry (trobar) I desire to make this book that men may know and understand which of the troubadours have composed best and given the best instruction to those who wish to learn how they should follow the right manner of composing.... All Christian people, Jews, Saracens, emperors, princes, kings, dukes, counts, viscounts, vavassors and all other nobles with clergy, citizens and villeins, small and great, daily give their minds to composing and singing.... In this science of composing the troubadours are gone astray and I will tell you wherefore. The hearers who do not understand anything when they hear a fine poem will pretend that they understand perfectly... because they [123] think that men would consider it a fault in them if they said that they did not understand.... And if when they hear a bad troubadour, they do understand, they will praise his singing because they understand it; or if they will not praise, at least they will not blame him; and thus the troubadours are deceived and the hearers are to blame for it." Raimon Vidal proceeds to say that the pure language is that of Provence or of Limousin or of Saintonge or Auvergne or Quercy: "wherefore I tell you, that when I use the term Limousin, I mean all those lands and those which border them or are between them." He was apparently the first to use the term Limousin to describe classical Provençal, and when it became applied to literary Catalonian, as distinguished from _plá Catalá_, the vulgar tongue, the result was some confusion. Provençal influence was more permanent in Catalonia than in any other part of Spain; in 1393, the Consistorium of the _Gay saber_ was founded in imitation of the similar association at Toulouse. Most of the troubadour poetical forms and the doctrines of the Toulouse _Leys d'Amors_ were retained, until Italian influence began to oust Provençal towards the close of the fifteenth century. On the western side of Spain, Provençal influence evoked a brief and brilliant literature in the Galician or Portuguese school. Its most [124] brilliant period was the age of Alfonso X. of Castile, one of its most illustrious exponents, and that of Denis of Portugal (1280-1325). The dates generally accepted for the duration of this literature are 1200-1385; it has left to us some 2000 lyric poems, the work of more than 150 poets, including four kings and a number of nobles of high rank. French and Provençal culture had made its way gradually and by various routes to the western side of the Spanish peninsula. We have already referred to the pilgrim route to the shrine of Compostella, by which a steady stream of foreign influence entered the country. The same effect was produced by crusaders who came to help the Spaniards in their struggle against the Moors, and by foreign colonists who helped to Christianise the territories conquered from the Mohammedans. The capture of Lisbon in 1147 increased maritime intercourse with the North. Individuals from Portugal also visited Northern and Southern France, after the example of their Spanish neighbours. References to Portugal in the poetry of the troubadours are very scarce, nor is there any definite evidence that any troubadour visited the country. This fact is in striking contrast with the loud praises of the Spanish courts. None the less, such visits must have taken place: Sancho I. had French _jongleurs_ in his pay during [125] the twelfth century and the Portuguese element in the five-language _descort_ of Raimbaut de Vaqueiras shows that communication between Provençal poets and Portuguese or Galician districts must have existed. The general silence of the troubadours may be due to the fact that communication began at a comparatively late period and was maintained between Portugal and Spanish courts, and not directly between Portugal and Southern France. Alfonso X. of Castile himself wrote many poems in the Galician or Portuguese dialect; perhaps his choice was dictated by reasons analogous to those which impelled Italian and Catalonian poets to write in Provençal. The general body of Portuguese poetry declares itself by form and content to be directly borrowed from the troubadours: it appeals to an aristocratic audience; the idea of love as a feudal relation is preserved with the accompanying ideas of _amour courtois_, and the lyric forms developed in Southern France are imitated. The Provençal manner took root in Portugal as it failed to do in Spain, because it found the ground to some extent prepared by the existence of a popular lyric poetry which was remodelled under Provençal influence. The most popular of the types thus developed were _Cantigas de amor e de amigo_ and _Cantigas de_ _escarnho e de maldizer_; the former were love songs: when the poet speaks the song was one _de amor_; when the lady speaks (and she is unmarried, in contrast to Provençal usage) the song was _de amigo_. This latter is a type developed independently by the Portuguese school. _Cantigas de escarnho_ correspond in intention [126] to the Provençal _sirventes_; if their satire was open and unrestrained they were _cantigas de maldizer_. They dealt for the most part with trivial court and personal affairs and not with questions of national policy upon which the troubadours so often expressed their opinions. Changes in taste and political upheavals brought this literature to an end about 1385 and the progress of Portuguese poetry then ceases for some fifty years. CHAPTER IX [127] PROVENÇAL INFLUENCE IN GERMANY, FRANCE AND ENGLAND Provençal influence in Germany is apparent in the lyric poetry of the minnesingers. Of these, two schools existed, connected geographically with two great rivers. The earlier, the Austro-Bavarian school, flourished in the valley of the Danube: the later minnesingers form the Rhine school. In the latter case, Provençal influence is not disputed; but the question whether the Austro-Bavarian school was exempt from it, has given rise to considerable discussion. The truth seems to be, that the earliest existing texts representing this school do show traces of Provençal influence; but there was certainly a primitive native poetry in these Danube districts which had reached an advanced stage of development before Provençal influence affected it. Austria undoubtedly came into touch with this influence at an early date. The Danube valley was a high road for the armies of crusaders; another route led from Northern Italy to Vienna, by which Peire Vidal probably found his way to Hungary. At the same time, though Provençal influence was strong, the [128] Middle High German lyric rarely relapsed into mere imitation or translation of troubadour productions. Dietmar von Aist, one of the earliest minnesingers, who flourished in the latter half of the twelfth century has, for instance, the Provençal _alba_ theme. Two lovers part at daybreak, when awakened by a bird on the linden: if the theme is Provençal, the simplicity of the poet's treatment is extremely fresh and natural. This difference is further apparent in the attitude of minnesingers and troubadours towards the conception of "love." The minnesong is the literary expression of the social convention known as "Frauendienst," the term "minne" connoting the code which prescribed the nature of the relation existing between the lover and his lady; the dominant principle was a reverence for womanhood as such, and in this respect the German minnesang is inspired by a less selfish spirit than the Provençal troubadour poetry. Typical of the difference is Walter von der Vogelweide's-- Swer guotes wîbes minne hât, der schamt sich aller missetât. ("He who has a good woman's love is ashamed of every ill deed"), compared with Bernart de Ventadour's-- Non es meravilha s'ieu chan [129] Melhs de nul autre chantador Car plus trai mos cors ves Amor E melhs sui faitz a son coman. ("It is no wonder if I sing better than any other singer, for my heart draws nearer to love and I am better made for love's command.") The troubadour _amor_, especially in its Italian development, eventually attained the moral power of the _minne_; but in its early stages, it was a personal and selfish influence. The stanza form and rime distribution of the minnesinger poems continually betray Provençal influence: the principle of tripartition is constantly followed and the arrangement of rimes is often a repetition of that adopted in troubadour stanzas. Friedrich von Hausen, the Count Rudolf von Fenis, Heinrich von Morungen and others sometimes translate almost literally from troubadour poetry, though these imitations do not justify the lines of Uhland. In den Thälern der Provence ist der Minnesang entsprossen, Kind des Frühlings und der Minne, holder, inniger Genossen. Northern France, the home of epic poetry, also possessed an indigenous lyric poetry, including spring and dance songs, pastorals, romances, and "chansons de toile." Provençal influence here was inevitable. It is apparent in the form and content of poems, in the attempt to remodel [130] Provençal poems by altering the words to French forms, and by the fact that Provençal poems are found in MS. collections of French lyrics. Provençal poetry first became known in Northern France from the East, by means of the crusaders and not, as might be expected, by intercommunication in the centre of the country. The centre of Provençal influence in Northern France seems to have been the court of Eleanor of Poitiers the wife of Henry II. of England and the court of her daughter, Marie of Champagne. Here knights and ladies attempted to form a legal code governing love affairs, of which a Latin edition exists in the _De arte honeste amandi_ of André le Chapelain, written at the outset of the thirteenth century. Well-known troubadours such as Bertran de Born and Bernart de Ventadour visited Eleanor's court and the theory of courtly love found its way into epic poetry in the hands of Chrétien de Troyes. The Provençal school in Northern France began during the latter half of the twelfth century. The _chanson_ properly so called is naturally most strongly represented: but the Provençal forms, the _tençon_ (Prov. _tenso_) and a variant of it, the _jeu-parti_ (Prov. _jocs partitz_ or _partimens_) are also found, especially the latter. This was so called, because the opener of the debate proposed two alternatives to his interlocutor, of which the latter could choose for support either that [131] he preferred, the proposer taking the other contrary proposition: the contestants often left the decision in an _envoi_ to one or more arbitrators by common consent. Misinterpretation of the language of these _envois_ gave rise to the legend concerning the "courts of love," as we have stated in a previous chapter. One of the earliest representatives of this school was Conon de Bethune, born in 1155; he took part in the Crusades of 1189 and 1199. Blondel de Nesles, Gace Brulé and the Châtelain de Coucy are also well-known names belonging to the twelfth century. Thibaut IV., Count of Champagne and King of Navarre (1201-1253), shared in the Albigeois crusade and thus helped in the destruction of the poetry which he imitated. One of the poems attributed to him by Dante (_De Vulg. El._) belongs to Gace Brulé; his love affair with Blanche of Castile is probably legendary. Several crusade songs are attributed to Thibaut among some thirty poems of the kind that remain to us from the output of this school. These crusade poems exhibit the characteristics of their Provençal models: there are exhortations to take the cross in the form of versified sermons; there are also love poems which depict the poet's mind divided between his duty as a crusader and his reluctance to leave his lady; or we find the lady [132] bewailing her lover's departure, or again, lady and lover lament their approaching separation in alternate stanzas. There is more real feeling in some of these poems than is apparent in the ordinary chanson of the Northern French courtly school: the following stanzas are from a poem by Guiot de Dijon,[34] the lament of a lady for her absent lover-- Chanterai por mon corage Que je vueill reconforter Car avec mon grant damage Ne quier morir n'afoler, Quant de la terra sauvage Ne voi nului retorner Ou cil est qui m'assoage Le cuer, quant j'en oi parler Dex, quant crieront outree, Sire, aidiés au pelerin Por cui sui espoentee, Car felon sunt Sarrazin. De ce sui bone atente Que je son homage pris, E quant la douce ore vente Qui vient de cel douz païs Ou cil est qui m'atalente, Volontiers i tor mon vis: Adont m'est vis que jel sente Par desoz mon mantel gris. Dex, etc. "I will sing for my heart which I will comfort, for in spite of my great loss I do not wish to die, and yet I see no one return from the wild [133] land where he is who calms my heart when I hear mention of him. God! when they cry Outre (a pilgrim marching cry), Lord help the pilgrim for whom I tremble, for wicked are the Saracens. "From this fact have I confidence, that I have received his vows and when the gentle breeze blows which comes from the sweet country where he is whom I desire, readily do I turn my face thither: then I think I feel him beneath my grey mantle." The idea in the second stanza quoted is borrowed from Bernard de Ventadour-- Quant la douss' aura venta Deves vostre païs. Vejaire m'es qu'eu senta Un ven de Paradis. The greater part of this poetry repeats, in another language, the well-worn mannerisms of the troubadours: we find the usual introductory references to the spring or winter seasons, the wounding glances of ladies' eyes, the tyranny of love, the reluctance to be released from his chains and so forth, decked out with complications of stanza form and rime-distribution. Dialectical subtlety is not absent, and occasionally some glow of natural feeling may be perceived; but that school in general was careful to avoid the vulgarity of unpremeditated emotion and appealed only to a restricted class of the initiated. Changes in the constitution and customs of society brought this school [134] to an end at the close of the thirteenth century, and a new period of lyric poetry was introduced by Guillaume de Machaut and Eustache Deschamps. Of the troubadours in England there is little to be said. The subject has hitherto received but scanty attention. Richard Coeur de Lion was as much French as English; his mother, Queen Eleanor, as we have seen, was Southern French by birth and a patroness of troubadours. Richard followed her example; his praises are repeated by many troubadours. What truth there may be in Roger of Hovenden's statement concerning his motives cannot be said; "Hic ad augmentum et famam sui nominis emendicata carmina et rhythmos adulatorios comparabat et de regno Francorum cantores et joculatores muneribus allexerat ut de illo canerent in plateis, et jam dicebatur ubique, quod non erat talis in orbe." The manuscripts have preserved two poems attributed to him, one referring to a difference with the Dauphin of Auvergne, Robert I. (1169-1234), the other a lament describing his feelings during his imprisonment in Germany (1192-1194). Both are in French though a Provençal verson is extant of the latter. The story of Richard's discovery by Blondel is pure fiction.[35] From the time of Henry II. to that of Edward I. England was in constant [135] communication with Central and Southern France and a considerable number of Provençals visited England at different times and especially in the reign of Henry III.; Bernard de Ventadour, Marcabrun and Savaric de Mauleon are mentioned among them. Though opportunity was thus provided for the entry of Provençal influence during the period when a general stimulus was given to lyric poetry throughout Western Europe, Norman French was the literary language of England during the earlier part of that age and it was not until the second half of the thirteenth century that English lyric poetry appeared. Nevertheless, traces of Provençal influence are unmistakably apparent in this Middle English lyric poetry. But even before this time Anglo-Latin and Anglo-Norman literature was similarly affected. William of Malmesbury says that the Norman Thomas, Archbishop of York, the opponent of Anselm wrote religious songs in imitation of those performed by jongleurs; "si quis in auditu ejus arte joculatoria aliquid vocale sonaret, statim illud in divinas laudes effigiabat." These were possibly hymns to the Virgin. There remain also political poems written against John and Henry III. which may be fairly called _sirventes_, Latin disputes, such as those Inter Aquam et Vinum, Inter Cor et Oculum, De Phillide et Flora, are constructed upon the [136] principles of the _tenso_ or _partimen_. The use of equivocal and "derivative" rimes as they are called in the Leys d'Amors is seen in the following Anglo-Norman stanzas. A poem with similar rimes and grouped in the same order is attributed to the Countess of Die, the Provençal _trobairitz_; but this, as M. Paul Meyer points out, may be pure coincidence.[36] En lo sesoun qe l'erbe poynt E reverdist la matinée E sil oysel chauntent a poynt En temps d'avril en la ramée, Lores est ma dolur dublée Que jeo sui en si dure poynt Que jeo n'en ai de joie poynt, Tant me greve la destinée. Murnes et pensif m'en depart, Que trop me greve la partie; Si n'en puis aler cele part, Que ele n'eyt a sa partie Mon quor tot enter saunz partie. E puis qu'el ad le men saunz part, E jeo n'oy unkes del soen part A moi est dure la partie. "In the season when the grass springs and the morn is green and the birds sing exultantly in April time in the branches, then is my grief doubled, for I am in so hard a case that I have no joy at all, so heavy is my fate upon me. "Sad and thoughtful I depart, for the case is too grievous for me: yet [137] I cannot go thither, for she has in her power my heart whole and undivided. And since she has mine undivided and I never have any part of hers, the division is a hard one to me." This influence was continued in Middle English lyric poetry. These lyrics are often lacking in polish; the tendency to use alliteration as an ornament has nothing to do with such occasional troubadour examples of the trick as may be found in Peire d'Auvergne. Sometimes a refrain of distinctly popular origin is added to a stanza of courtly and artificial character. Generally, however, there is a freshness and vigour in these poems which may be vainly sought in the products of continental decadence. But Provençal influence, whether exerted directly or indirectly through the Northern French lyric school, is plainly visible in many cases. Of the lyrics found in the important MS. Harleian 2253,[37] "Alysoun" has the same rime scheme as a poem by Gaucelm Faidit: it opens with the conventional appeal to spring; the poet's feelings deprive him of sleep. The Fair Maid of Ribbesdale has a rime-scheme almost identical with that shown by one of Raimbaut d'Aurenga's poems; the description of the lady's beauty recalls many troubadour formulae: the concluding lines-- He myhte sayen pat crist hym seze, [138] pat myhte nyhtes neh hyre leze, heuene he hevede here. are a troubadour commonplace. Many other cases might be quoted. Hymns and songs to the Virgin exhibit the same characteristics of form. The few Provençal words which became English are interesting;[38] colander or cullender (now a vegetable strainer; Prov. colador), funnel, puncheon, rack, spigot, league, noose are directly derived from Provençal and not through Northern French and are words connected with shipping and the wine trade, the port for which was Bordeaux. In the year 1323 a society was formed in Toulouse of seven troubadours, the "sobregaya companhia," for the purpose of preserving and encouraging lyric poetry (lo gay saber). The middle class of Toulouse seems at all times to have felt an interest in poetry and had already produced such well-known troubadours as Aimeric de Pegulhan, Peire Vidal and Guillem Figueira. The society offered an annual prize of a golden violet for the best _chanso_; other prizes were added at a later date for the best dance song and the best _sirventes_. Competitors found that songs to the Virgin were given the preference and she eventually became the one subject of these prize competitions. The society produced a grammatical [139] work, the Leys d'Amors, under the name of its president, Guillem Molinier, in 1356,[39] no doubt for the reference and instruction of intending competitors. The competition produced a few admirable poems, but anxiety to preserve the old troubadour style resulted generally in dry and stilted compositions. The _Academie des jeux floraux_[40] altered the character of the competition by admitting French poems after 1694. At the end of the sixteenth century, Provençal poetry underwent a revival; in our own time, poets such as Jasmin, Aubanel, Roumanille and above all, Mistral, have raised their language from a patois to a literary power. The work of the félibres has been to synthetise the best elements of the various local dialects and to create a literary language by a process not wholly dissimilar to that described at the outset of this book. But the old troubadour spirit had died long before; it had accomplished its share in the history of European literature and had given an impulse to the development of lyric poetry, the effects of which are perceptible even at the present day. BIBLIOGRAPHY AND NOTES LITERARY HISTORY F. Diez, _Leben und Werke der Troubadours_, 2nd edit., re-edited by K. Bartsch, Leipsic, 1882. _Die Poesie der Troubadours_, 2nd edit., re-edited by K. Bartsch, Leipsic, 1883. K. Bartsch, _Grundriss zur Geschichte der provenzalischen Literatur_, Elberfeld, 1872. A new edition of this indispensable work is in preparation by Prof. A. Pillet of Breslau. The first part of the book contains a sketch of Provençal literature, and a list of manuscripts. The second part gives a list of the troubadours in alphabetical order, with the lyric poems attributed to each troubadour. The first line of each poem is quoted and followed by a list of the MSS. in which it is found. Modern editors have generally agreed to follow these lists in referring to troubadour lyrics: e.g. B. Gr., 202, 4 refers to the fourth lyric (in alphabetical order) of Guillem Ademar, who is no. 202 in Bartsch's list. A list of corrections to this list is given by Gröber in Böhmer's _Romanische Studien_, vol. ii. 1875-77, Strassburg. In vol. ix. of the same is Gröbers' study of troubadour MSS. and the relations between them. A. Stimming, _Provenzaliscke Literatur in Gröber's Grundriss der Romanischen Philologie_, Strassburg, 1888, vol. ii. part ii. contains useful bibliographical notices. A. Restori, _Letteratura provenzale_, Milan, 1891 (_Manuali Hoepli_), an excellent little work. A. Jeanroy, _Les origines de la poésie lyrique en France_, 2nd edit., Paris, 1904. J. Anglade, _Les troubadours_, Paris, 1908, an excellent and trustworthy work, in popular style, with a good bibliography. J. H. Smith, _The troubadours at Home_, 2 vols., New York, 1899; popularises scientific knowledge by impressions of travel in Southern France, photographs, and historical imagination: generally stimulating and suggestive, Most histories of French literature devote some space to Provençal; e.g. Suchier & Birch-Hirschfeld, _Geschichte der französischen Litteratur_, Leipsic, 1900. The works of Millot and Fauriel are now somewhat antiquated. _Trobador Poets_, Barbara Smythe, London, 1911, contains an introduction and translations from various troubadours. DICTIONARIES AND GRAMMARS F. Raynouard, _Lexique roman_, 6 vols., Paris, 1838-1844, supplemented by. E. Levy, _Provenzalisches supplement-Wörterbuch_, Leipsic, 1894, not yet completed, but indispensable. E. Levy, _Petit dictionnaire provençal-français_, Heidelberg, 1908. J. B. Roquefort, _Glossaire de la langue romane_, 3 vols., Paris, 1820. W. Meyer-Lübke, _Grammaire des langues romanes_, French translation of the German, Paris, 1905. C. H. Grandgent, _An outline of the phonology and morphology of old Provençal_, Boston, 1905. H. Suchier, _Die französiche und provenzalische Sprache_ in Gröber's _Grundriss_. A French translation, _Le Français et le Provençal_, Paris, 1891. TEXTS The following chrestomathies contain tables of grammatical forms (except in the case of Bartsch) texts and vocabularies. _Altprovenzalisches Elementarbuch_, O. Schultz-Gora, Heidelberg, 1906, an excellent work for beginners. _Provenzalische Chrestomathie_, C. Appel, Leipsic, 1907, 3rd edit. _Manualetto provenzale_, V. Crescini, Padua, 1905, 2nd edit. _Chrestomathie provençal_, K. Bartsch, re-edited by Koschwitz, Marburg, 1904. The following editions of individual troubadours have been published. Alegret. _Annales du Midi_, no. 74. Arnaut Daniel. U. A. Canello, Halle, 1883. Bernart de Rovenac. G. Borsdorff, Erlangen, 1907. Bartolomeo Zorzi. E. Levy, Halle, 1883. Bertran d'Alamanon. J. Salverda de Grave, Toulouse, 1902 (_Bibliothèque Méridionale_). Bertran de Born. A. Thomas, Toulouse, 1888 (_Bibliothèque Méridionale_). Bertran de Born. A. Stimming, Halle, 1892 (and in the _Romanischz Bibliothek_, Leipsic). Blacatz. O. Soltau, Leipsic, 1890. Cercamon. Dr Dejeanne, Toulouse, 1905 (_Annales du Midi_, vol. xvii.). Elias de Barjols. Stronski, Paris, 1906 (_Bibliothèque Méridionale_ vi.). Folquet de Marselha. Stronski, Cracow, 1911. Folquet de Romans. Zenker (_Romanische Bibliothek_). Gavaudan. A. Jeanroy, _Romania_, xxxiv., p. 497. Guillaume IX. Comte de Poitiers. A. Jeanroy, Toulouse, 1905. Guillem Anelier de Toulouse. M. Gisi, Solothurn, 1877. Guillem de Cabestanh. F. Hüffer, Berlin, 1869. Guillem Figueira. E. Levy, Berlin, 1880. Guillem de Montanhagol. J. Coulet, _Bibliothèque Méridionale_, iv., Toulouse. Guiraut de Bornelh. A. Kolsen, Berlin, 1894 and 1911. Guiraut d'Espanha. P. Savi-Lopez. _Studj mediaevali_, Fasc. 3, Turin, 1905. Guiraut Riquier, Étude sur, etc. J. Anglade, Paris, 1905. Jaufre Rudel. A Stimming, Kiel, 1873. Marcabrun. Dr Dejeanne. _Bibliothèque Méridionale_, 1910. Marcoat. Dr Dejeanne, Toulouse, 1903 (_Annales du Midi_, xv.). Monk of Montaudon. E. Philippson, Halle, 1873; O. Klein, Marburg, 1885. N' At de Mons. Bernhard. _Altfranzösische Bibliothek, Heilbronn_. Paulet de Marselha. E. Levy, Paris, 1882. Peire d'Alvernhe (d'Auvergne). R. Zenker, Rostock, 1900. Peire Vidal. K. Bartsch, Berlin, 1857 (an edition by J. Anglade is about to appear). Peire Rogier. C. Appel, Berlin, 1892. Perdigon. H.J. Chaytor, _Annales du Midi_, xxi. Pons de Capdoill. M. Napolski, Halle, 1879. Raimbaut de Vaqueiras. O. Schultz, Halle, 1893. Raimon de Miraval, Etude sur, etc. P. Andraud, Paris, 1902. Sordel. De Lollis, Halle, 1896 (_Romanische Bibliothek_). Numerous separate pieces have been published in the various periodicals concerned with Romance philology, as also have diplomatic copies of several MSS. Of these periodicals, the most important for Provençal are _Romania, les Annales du Midi, Zeitschrift der Romanischen Philologie, Archiv fur das Studium der neueren Sprachen, Romanische Studien, Studj di filologia romanza, Revue des langues romanes_. Mahn's _Gedichte der Troubadours_, 4 vols., Berlin, 1856-71, contains diplomatic copies of MSS.; his _Werke der Troubadours_, Berlin, 1846-55, contains reprints from Raynouard, _Choix des poésies originales des Troubadours_, Paris, 1816. Suchier, _Denkmäler provenzalischer Sprache_, Halle, 1883; Appel, _Provenzalische Inedita_, Leipsic, 1890; Chabaneau, _Poesies inédites des Troubadours du Perigord_, Paris, 1885; P. Meyer, _Les derniers troubadours de Provence_, Paris, 1871, should be mentioned. Most of the pieces in the _Parnasse Occitanien_, Toulouse, 1819, are to be found better edited elsewhere. Other pieces are to be found in various _Festschriften_ and occasional or private publications, too numerous to be detailed here. C. Chabaneau, _Les biographies des Troubadours_, Toulouse, 1885 (part of the _Histoire générale de Languedoc_) is full of valuable information. The biographies have been translated by I. Farnell, _Lives of the Troubadours_, London, 1896. NOTES CHAPTER I 1. See maps at the end of Gröber's _Grundriss_, vol. i. 2. _De Vulg. El._ I., 8: alii oc, alii oïl, alii si affirmando loquuntur, and _Vita Nuova_, xxv. Dante also knew the term provincialis. 3. Boethius. F. Hündgen, Oppeln, 1884. For Sainte Foy d'Agen, see _Romania_ xxxi., p, 177 ff. 4. P. Meyer in _Romania_ v., p. 257. Bédier, _Les chansons de Croisade_, Paris, 1909, p. 16. 5. See P. Maus, _Peire Cardenals Strophenbau_, Marburg, 1884. 6. See Jeanroy, Origines, etc. CHAPTER II 7. Provençal has also the feminine _joia_ with the general meaning of "delight." 8. See Stimming's article in Gröber's _Grundriss_. 9. Raynouard, _Les Troubadours et les Cours d'Amour_, Paris, 1817; see also Diez, _Über die Minnehöfe_, Berlin, 1825. Pio Rajna, _Le Corti d'Amore_, Milan, 1890. 10. _Annales du Midi_, xix. p. 364. 11. _Die provenzalische Tenzone_, R. Zenker, Leipsic, 1888. CHAPTER III 12. Girart de Roussillon, translation by P. Meyer, Paris, 1884: see also _Romania_, vii. Diplomatic copies of the MSS. in _Romanische Studien_ V. _Le Roman de Flamenca_, P. Meyer, Paris, 1901. 13. J. B. Beck, _Die Melodien der Troubadours_, Strasburg, 1908. _La Musique des Troubadours_, Paris, 1910, by the same author, who there promised a selection of songs harmonized for performance: this has not yet appeared. See also _Quatre poésies de Marcabrun_, Jeanroy, Dejeanne and Aubry, Paris, 1904, with texts, music, and translations. 14. Schindler, _Die Kreuzzüge in der altprovenzalischen und mittelhochdeutschen lyrik._, Dresden, 1889. K. Lewent, _Das altprovenzalische Kreuzlied_, Berlin, 1905. 15. A. Pillet, _Studien zur Pastourelle_, Breslau, 1902. Römer, _Die volkstümlichen Dichtungsarten der altprovenzalischen Lyrik_, Marburg, 1884. 16. _Quae judicia de litteris fecerint Provinciales_. P. Andraud, Paris, 1902. 17. From _Si'm sentis fizels amics_, quoted by Dante, _De Vulg. El._ i. 9. CHAPTER IV 18. "Paubre motz"; also interpreted as "scanty words," i.e. poems with short lines. On Jaufre Rudel in literature, see a lecture by Carducci, Bologna 1888. The latest theory of his mysterious love is that she was the Virgin Mary; see C. Appel, _Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen_, cvii. 3-4. 19. Mahn, _Gedichte_, no. 707. An edition of Bernard de Ventadour's poems is in preparation by Prof. Appel. 20. _Cp._ Dante, _Par._ xx. 73. CHAPTER V 21. Dante, _De Vulg. El._ ii. 2. 22. "Il Provenzale," _Conv._ iv. 11. 23. _Purg._ xxvi. 24. On his family see Stronski, _Folquet de Marseille_, p. 15 and 159-172. 25. See G. Paris, _La Littérature française au moyen âge_, § 128. CHAPTER VI 26. The best short account of the Albigenses is to be found in vol. i. of H.C. Lea's _Histoire de L'Inquisition au moyen âge_, Paris, 1903. This, the French translation, is superior to the English edition as it contains the author's last corrections, and a number of bibliographical notes. The Adoptionist theory is stated in the introduction to F.C. Conybeare's _Key of Truth_, Oxford, 1908. The _Chanson de la Croisade Albigeoise_, P. Meyer, Paris, 1875, 2 vols., is indispensable to students of the subject. In these works will be found much of the extensive bibliography of the heresy and crusade. 27. Eckbertus, _Serm. adv. Catharos, Migne, Patr. Lat._, tom. 193. p. 73. 28. _Cf._ Milman, _Latin Christianity_, Book IX. chap. viii. p. 85. 29. On religious lyric poetry, see Lowinsky, _Zeitschrift für französische Sprache und Litteratur_, xx. p. 163 ff., and the bibliographical note to Stimming's article in Gröber's _Grundriss_, vol. ii. part ii. § 32. CHAPTER VII Most histories of Italian literature deal with this subject. See Gaspary's _Italian Literature to the death of Dante_: H. Oelsner, Bohn's Libraries. See also the chapter, _La poésie française en Italie_ in Jeanroy's _Origines_. For Dante, see _Storia letteraria d'Italia, scritta di una società di professori_, Milan, vol. iii., Dante, by Zingarelli. _The Troubadours of Dante_, Chaytor, Oxford, 1902. Useful are A. Thomas, _Francesco da Barberino et la littérature provençale en Italie au moyen âge_, Paris, 1883. O. Schultz, _Die Lebensverhältnisse der Italienischen Trobadors_, Berlin, 1883. 30. Schultz, _Die Briefe des Trobadors Raimbaut de Vaqueiras an Bonifaz I._, Halle, 1883. 31. Zingarelli, _Intorno a due Trovatori in Italia_, Florence, 1899. CHAPTER VIII Milà y Fontañals, _Los trovadores en España_, Barcelona, 1861, remains the best work on the subject. On Portugal, the article in Gröber's _Grundriss_, ii. 2, p. 129, by C. Michaelis de Vasconcellos and Th. Braga is admirable: see the bibliographical references there given and the introduction to R. Lang, _Das Liederbuch des Königs Denis von Portugal_, Halle, 1894. 32. The date of this poem is disputed, see Dr Dejeanne's edition of Marcabrun, p. 235. 33. F. Guessard, _Grammaires Provençales_, Paris, 1858; E. Stengel, _Die beiden ältesten prov. Gram._, Marburg, 1878. CHAPTER IX Troubadour influence in Germany is discussed at greater or less length in most histories of German literature. See Jeanroy, _Origines_, p. 270 ff. A. Lüderitz, _Die Liebestheorien der Provenzalen bei den Minnesingern der Slauferzeit_, Literarhistorische Forschungen, Berlin, 1904. For France. A. Jeanroy, _De nostratibus medii aevi poetis qui primum Aquitaniae carmina imitati sint_, Paris, 1889. For England. Schofield, _English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer_, London, 1906. O. Heider, _Untersuchungen zur mittelenglischen erotischen Lyrik_, Halle, 1905. A. Brandl, _Spielmann's verhältnisse in frühmittelenglischer Zeit_, Sitzungs-berichte der Königl. preuss., Akademie, 1910. 34. Bédier, _Chansons de Croisade_, Paris, 1909, p. 112. 35. See introduction to Leo Wiese, _Die Lieder des Blondel de Nesle_, Dresden, 1904, p. 19 ff. 36. _Romania_, viii. p. 370. 37. K. Böddeker, _Altenglische Dichtungen des MS. Harl._ 2253, Berlin, 1878. 38. Modern Language Review, vol. 1. p. 285; vol. ii. p. 60, articles by Prof. Skeat. 39. P. Leinig, _Grammatik der provenzalischen Leys d'amors verglichen mit der Sprache der Troubadours_, Breslau, 1890. M. Gatien. Arnoult, _Monuments de la littérature romane_, Toulouse, 1841. 40. _Histoire critique de l'Académie des Jeux Floraux_, by F. de Gélis from the origin to the 17th century will appear shortly in the Bibliothèque meridionale, Toulouse. Useful anthologies of modern Provençal are _Flourilège prouvençau_, Toulon, 1909: _Antologia provenzale_, E Portal, Milan, Hoepli, 1911 (Manuali Hoepli). INDEX. Alamanon, Bertran d', 104 _Alba_, 33, 128 Albigeois, 13, 23, 75, ff. Alcuin, 7 Alfonso II. of Aragon, 51, 59, 69, 74, 110, 113 Alfonso VIII. of Castile, 110, 113, 114 Alfonso X. of Castile, 118, 124 André le Chapelain, 19, 130 Aquino, Rinaldo d', 82 Aquitaine, 42 Arabs, 8, 105 Aragon, 54, 71, 110 ---- Pedro II. of, 78, 83, 113 Arles, 5 Aurenga, Raimbaut d', 35, 85, 64 Auvergne, 3 ---- Dauphin of, 134 ---- Peire d', 36, 67, 70, 135 Azalais, 71, 79 _Ballata_, 33 Barral, 71, 79 Belenoi, Aimeric de, 118 Bethune, Conon de, 131 Bezaudun, Raimon Vidal of, 115, 122 Béziers, 50, 78 Blacatz, 103 Born, Bertran de, 13, 57, 111, 130 Bornelh, Giraut de, 23, 35, 37, 53, 68, 86, 113 Brunei, Uc, 113 Cabestanh, Guillem de, 73 Cabreira, Guiraut de, 122 Caen, Raoul de, 6 Cairel, Elias, 12 Calanso, Guiraut de, 115, 122 Calha, Albertet, 12 Calvo, Bonifacio, 100, 118 Carcassonne, 78 Cardenal, Peire, 11, 82, 84, 92, 117, 118 Castile, 54, 71 ---- Sancho III. of, 67 Catalonia, 3, 5, 71, 109, 121 ff. Cercamon, 9, 42 Chabaneau, 20 _Chanso_, 23 Cigala, Lanfranc, 39, 100, 116 Circ, Uc de San, 100, 113 Corbiac, Peire de, 93 _Comjat_, 23 Compostella, 109, 124 Courts of Love, 19 Cunizza, 101 Daniel, Arnaut, 55 Dante, 24, 53, 55, 57, 63, 104, 108, 131 Denis, 124 _Descort_, 33, 97 Die, Countess of, 11, 65 Dietmar von Aist, 128 Dominic, 77, 80 Ebles II., 46 Eleanor of Aquitaine, 42, 46, 59, 130 Escas Amanieu des, 121 _Escondig_, 33 Estampida, 33 Este, 95 Ezzelino III., 101 Faidit, Gaucelm, 99, 135 Ferdinand III. of Castile, 104, 116 Figueira, Guillem, 82, 138 Flamenca, 23 Florence, 100 Frederick II. of Sicily, 88, 105 Friedrich von Hausen, 129 Galicia, 123 _Gasson_, 3, 9, 115 Genoa, 78, 100 Gerona, Serveri de, 120 Guido delle Colonne, 106, 107 Guido Guinicelli, 106 Guiot de Dijon, 132 Hautefort, 60, 111 Henry II. of England, 47, 59, 63 Henry III. of England, 104, 117 Innocent III., 76, 77 Inquisition, 80 Isabella of Angoulême, 117 Jaime I. of Aragon, 85 Jaufre, Roman de, 23 Languedoc, 3 Lemosin, 5 Lentino, Jacopo da, 82 Leys d'Amors, 16, 23, 33, 138 Limousin, 3, 4, 8, 123 Louis VII. of France, 60, 69 Louis VIII. of France, 89 Lyons, 5, 77 Malaspina, Marquis of, 100 Malmesbury, William of, 41 Manfred II., 100, 102 Mantua, 101 Marcabrun, 35, 43, 68, 85, 110, 135 Mareuil, Arnaut de, 50, 53 Marseilles, 5, 10 ---- Barral of 71, 79 ---- Folquet of, 10, 13, 72, 78, 91 Marie of Champagne, 130 Marvejols, Bernard Sicart de, 84, 117, 118 Mauleon, Savaric de, 135 Minnesingers, 128 Miraval, Raímon de, 39, 83 Montanhagol, Guillem de, 117 Montaudon, Monk of, 11, 69, 79, 113 ---- Beatrice of, 97 Montpelier, Germonde de, 89 ---- William VII. of, 51, 79 Muret 78, 114 Music, 26 ff. Narbonne, 5, 59, 67 Navarre, 54, 110 ---- Guillem de Tudela of, 120 Nesles, Blondel de, 131, 134 Nostradamus, 19 Novara, 102 Orange, William IV. of, 96 _Partimen_, 130 _Pastorela_, 33 Pegulhan, Aimeric de, 99, 107, 114, 138 Perdigon, 11 Pisa, 100 _Planh_, 30 Poitou, 4 Poitiers, 6, 8 ---- William of, 6, 41, 65, 90 Portugal, Denis of, 124 Provence, 3 ---- Beatrice of, 102 Puegsibot, Gausbert de, 14 Puy, 69 Raynouard, 19 Richard Coeur de Lion, 55, 58, 69, 72, 134 Riquier, Guiraut, 92, 118 Rogier, Peire, 66 Rovenhac, Bernart de, 118 Roussillon, 3 ---- Girart de, 22 Rudel, Jaufre, 23, 44 Rudolf, Count of Neuenberg, 82 Savoy, 96 _Serena_, 33 Simon de Montfort, 78 _Sirventes_, 30, 135 Sordello, 96, 101, 116 _Stanza_, 24, ff. _Tenso_, 21, 31, 130 Thibaut IV. of Champagne, 131 Tor, Guillem de la, 100 Toronet, 79 Toulouse, 5, 13, 78, 80, 84, 138 ---- N'At de Mons of, 117 ---- Peire Raimon of, 113 ---- Raimon V. of, 49, 50, 60, 67, 111 ---- Raimon VI. of, 78, 80, 114 Tripoli, Countess of, 44 _Trobar clus_, 34 Turin, 96 Ussel, Gui d', 14 Vaqueiras, Raimbaut de, 96, 100 Vaudois, 76 Venice, 100 Ventadour, 11 ---- Bernart of, 11, 13, 46, 68, 128, 130, 133, 135 Verona, 96 _Vers_, 23 Vidal, Peire, 71, 95, 97, 100, 112, 115, 127, 138 Virgin Mary, 15, 91 Zorzi, Bartolomeo, 100, 118 
46262	----	_Pilgrim Sorrow_ A Cycle of Tales BY (CARMEN SYLVA) _QUEEN ELISABETH OF ROUMANIA_ TRANSLATED BY _HELEN ZIMMERN_ New-York _HENRY HOLT & COMPANY_ 1884. CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION 3 THE CHILD OF THE SUN 15 SORROW 35 THE REALM OF PEACE 49 EARTHLY POWERS 67 THE INEXORABLE 87 WILLI 103 THE HERMIT 129 LOTTY 145 MEDUSA 187 HEAVENLY GIFTS 219 THE TREASURE SEEKERS 241 A LIFE 251 _PILGRIM SORROW._ INTRODUCTION. Roumania, Bulgaria, Servia, and the other new countries situated in the far East of Europe, are so apt to be associated in our minds with the tiresome and unanswered Eastern question, that we certainly give both land and people less attention than many of them deserve. And not least interesting among them all is Roumania, which during the Turkish war gained for itself the respect, and admiration of its stronger brothers and sisters; and which has, in a graceful fairy tale, been described as "the spoiled child of Europe" by the lady who sits upon its throne. Writing fanciful stories, aphorisms, novelettes, and poems is this queen's delight, and she has, within the short time since she began to publish, acquired for herself a name among German authors. For she writes in German, which is her native tongue, and under the pseudonym of Carmen Sylva, in which she seeks some reminiscence of the forests that were her earliest and dearest friends. It was amid the green woods and the vine-clad hills of the Rhine that her young intelligence was unfolded; she was born in this much-sung region, indeed in its fairest part, and has a true German's pride in that noble river. As a child she sat for hours upon the lap of the aged patriot-poet, E. M. Arndt, and he stimulated in her that love of her native land which was also hers by birthright, for her princely forefathers had fought and suffered in the cause of German liberation, and had never joined the Confederation of the Rhine. Carmen Sylva, or, more properly, Queen Elizabeth of Roumania, is the only daughter of Prince Hermann of Wied Neu-Wied, a tiny principality situated between Coblenz and Andernach; and here, surrounded by a devoted, simple, and cultured family, she spent her girlhood, whose quiet, even course was only interrupted at rare intervals by visits to the Berlin court and travels with her aunt, the Grand Duchess Helena of Russia. Her parents were anxious she should be taken out of the mournful home surroundings, where Sorrow had taken up an abode she rarely quitted. Sickness and suffering among those around her had made Princess Elizabeth early acquainted with pain. In the last number of the present cycle the reader may notice that the tone changes and becomes elegiac and subjective. Though slightly veiled, it is impossible to ignore that this is an autobiography, that the soul of the queen is laid bare before us; and a fair and noble soul it is. Indeed, those who are best acquainted with the details of her life, can best see how exactly they have been reproduced. There is, to begin with, her undaunted courage and desire to know, her love of music, in which she attained a certain proficiency under the tuition of Madame Schumann and Rubinstein, but whose execution she has had to abandon owing to weakened health, though the listening to music remains to her a source of keen delight and enthusiasm. The woods that surrounded her castle home were, as we have seen, her earliest and most intimate friends, to whom she confided all her childish griefs and aspirations, who alone were allowed to listen to the lyrics she sang and penned in secret, who told her fairy tales in the rustling of their leaves, and who comforted her sorrows. At the age of eleven (not two years, as the fable says) it was her lot to witness the nobly borne death struggles of a most gifted and lovable younger brother, whose memory has remained to her a religion, and whose life she has written for her family, illustrated with over two hundred paintings from her own pencil. For five years after the boy's death her mother was prostrated upon a couch of sickness, while the Prince, her father, was a permanent invalid, suffering from chronic lung disease that grew yearly more hopeless. Her girlhood's friend, too, "the fair maiden flower," she saw fade and die. No wonder her eyes grew weak with weeping! It was then she was sent traveling to distract her. While at St. Petersburg she had a severe attack of typhus fever, and before she was convalescent she was told that during her absence her beloved father had been laid in the grave. Then she grew homesick for the old house in which she had seen so many die, and for a long time she was sad and weary of her life. "Must every thing I love be borne to the grave?" she asks in a plaintive little song, written in her diary at that time. In poetry she found her only outlet, her only consolation; but as yet she did not publish; these utterances were for herself alone, to give herself relief and voice. Then at last she was aroused to work and duty by the claims of matrimony, which for a long while she had resisted. Her desires had not been towards marriage, and she had once playfully said that the only throne that could tempt her would be that of Roumania; there she could find something for her hand to do. In 1869 Prince Charles of Hohenzollern asked her to be his bride, and share with him that newly-founded throne. And here she did find the work "mountains high," of which Sorrow tells her; and how nobly, admirably, wisely she has attacked these labors, what she has done and does towards civilizing and educating her half-barbarian subjects, that lives in their hearts, is repeated by their tongues, and has already found echo in song and story. There stands in the public place of Bucharest a statue representing the queen in the act of giving a draught of water to a wounded soldier. It was subscribed for by the wives of the officers of the Roumanian army, and intended as an enduring testimonial of their gratitude to her whom the popular voice names _muma rantilor_, that is, mother of the wounded. For what she did during the war of 1877-78 is unforgotten, unforgettable, by her subjects. She met every train of wounded that came from the battle-field, she organized hospitals and convalescent homes, she was present at operations, she comforted the dying and wept with the survivors. No wonder her people adore her, no wonder that it is greatly due to her that King Charles is a popular sovereign although he reigns over a people alien to him in blood and language. "You will have a noble mission," he said to her on the day of their betrothal; "you must comfort tenderly when I have been too harsh, and you may petition for all." But even after her marriage Sorrow did not depart from Carmen Sylva's side. She was to know the joy of being a mother; but not for many years, as she says, was this high dignity to be hers. She had to see the grave close over her child's golden head, and no other has ever come to comfort her for this loss. Her greatest treasure, her greatest earthly happiness, and all her hopes were buried with this little girl. The sorrow that sprung thence made her truly a poet and an author. She translated and published the Roumanian nursery songs that had been beloved of her child, hoping that other children in her distant German home might love them too. She put into verse the delicate little sayings of her babe, but those have not been permitted to see the light of day; she poured into song the whole depth and agony of her grief. And after having years ago renounced all such hopes, she found that Sorrow had made her an artist, and that the world cared to listen to her speech. Since 1878 the queen's pen has been most productive, although indeed what she has given to the public was not all written since that date. The stones here reproduced in English dress quickly gained for her warm friends upon the Continent, many of whom asked themselves, how comes it that a woman who occupies a throne beside a beloved husband; who is young, beautiful, and courted; who surely has beheld life only from its most brilliant side, can have looked so deep into the human soul, and learnt to know so well its woes and struggles? The answer lies in the brief sketch I have above given of her life. She has drunk deep from the cup of suffering, and therefore she could write the tales of "Pilgrim Sorrow." H.Z. _London_, October, 1883._ _THE CHILD OF THE SUN._ The Child of the Sun. Life was a radiant maiden, the daughter of the Sun, endowed with all the charm and grace, all the power and happiness, which only such a mother could give to her child. Her hairs were sunbeams, her eyes gleaming stars. Flowers dropped from her hands, seeds sprang into life from beneath her footsteps; sweet scents and songs of birds floated around her; from her lips uncounted songs welled forth. Sounds like the gurgling of a thousand streams were heard from out her garments, and yet they were only made of flower petals and covered with tender webs, in which numberless dew-drops twinkled. Glow-worms encircled the royal brow like a diadem; birds bore her train over rough paths. When her foot touched thorns they grew green and blossomed; when she laid her soft hand upon the bare rock it became covered with moss and fern. The Sun had bestowed on her glorious child power over all things, and as companions and playfellows she had given to her Happiness and Love. In those days there was much joy and blessedness on earth, and no pen can recount, no pencil paint, how glorious it all was. It was just one eternal May day, and the august mother looked down from afar upon her daughter's glad games, and blessed the earth upon which her child was so happy. But deep down in the earth there lived an evil spirit called Strife. The Kobolds brought him news of all the beauty that was outside, and of the young sovereign who reigned so proudly and lovingly over the whole world, and who played so sweetly with Happiness and Love. First he was angry at the tidings, for he desired to be sole ruler of all things; but after a while a great curiosity took hold of him--and something beside, something hot and wild, he knew not himself what. Only he wanted to get outside at all costs. So he began to move a mighty rock from the center of the earth, and he cast it up on high. Then he kindled a great fire, so that all the rocks and the metals above him melted and poured their glowing, scorching streams over the paradise of earth. And in the midst of these flames Strife rose up, clothed in dazzling armor, with flowing locks and contracted brows. In his hands he held a great block of stone, and he peered around him with his piercing black eyes, seeking what he should destroy first. But of a sudden he let fall the rock, crossed his arms over his breast, and stared down upon the garden of earth, like one in a dream. He stood thus a long, long while, gazing down, silent with wonder, like to a statue. Suddenly he struck his brow with his fist. "What! I have lived down there, among cold stones, in the darkness, and outside is such beauty! What must the sovereign be like to whom all this belongs?" The thought brought life once more into this Titanic figure. He stepped with giant strides down into the blooming, scented world, treading through it like a storm-wind, stamping down the flowers, breaking down the trees, without knowing it. He must find the mistress of all this fair earth. He even passed across the sea, making it pile up waves tower high, and once more he climbed a lofty mountain, in his hot impatience to gain a survey. Then he saw upon a meadow-side that which he sought so ardently. Resting her foot upon cloudy, silver-feathered flower seeds, her garments gathered up around her, Life was floating by upon her journey from flower to flower, singing as she went. Upon her shoulders twittered a pair of birds; upon her finger she bore a bee, to whom she showed where the best honey lay hid. She had left Love behind her in a wood, busy building a nest, while Happiness was sleeping upon a mossy bed beside a waterfall after having played antics innumerable. Therefore Life was floating forth alone, singing a morning carol to her mother the Sun. Of a sudden she beheld something gleam and glitter in front of her, and when she raised her eyes, she saw Strife planted before her, gazing at her fixedly. His bright armor reflected her glistening tresses. Life quailed at the sight of this mighty man with the burning eyes, her foot slipped from its seed-cloud, which sped on without her. She would have fallen had she not grasped a birch branch and slid herself down by it upon a mossy rock. "Aha!" cried Strife, "have I found you at last, you who dispute my empire, you who wield the scepter here on earth? Who are you, little maiden, who venture upon such liberties?" These haughty words restored to Life all her pride and loftiness. "I am the child of the Sun, and the earth is mine; it was given to me by my royal mother, and all bends before my power." Speaking thus she threw back her fair head proudly, so that the Sun lighted up all her face. Strife saw it and was drunk with love. "If I overcome you so that you are mine, then you and the earth will both belong to me." "Try," said Life, "I am stronger than you." "I am to wrestle with you, you tender flower! Well, if I do so I must put aside my armor, or I shall crush you." And he did so, laying his shield and armor upon the grass. Then he sprang at her to encircle her waist and to lift her into the air. But at that moment roses sprang forth from her girdle, and their thorns pricked him so sharply that he had to let her go. He tried to catch her by the hair, but this scorched him. Then he tore off his golden chain and tried to bind her hands with it. She only bowed her head; then the chain melted in his grasp. Suddenly he felt his wrists clasped by her tender fingers. He tried to shake her off, but she would not let go. He lifted her from the ground; she only floated but would not let him loose, and as often as she grew weary the Sun gave her new strength. Then he strove to draw her under the shade of the trees; but these inclined to one side that the Sun might protect her darling. A whole day did this wrestling last. At last Strife saw that the Sun inclined towards setting, and though she lingered she had to depart. Then Life lost her strength, but Strife grew doubly strong. He shook her off and rushed upon her. Soon her garments lay torn upon the sward, her hair lost its scorching might, and before dawn broke the chaste maiden knelt trembling and red with shame upon the earth, entreating forbearance and mercy with sobs and tears. At this Strife set up a laugh that made the earth quake, and the rocks re-echoed it like to pealing thunder. Terrified, Life sank to earth in a swoon. Strife raised her high in air in his mighty arms and bore her away. Her lovely head was bent back, her hair swept the ground, her lips were half opened as though no breath were in them, the wondrous limbs that had resisted him so long hung faint and powerless, and wherever he bore her there the grass faded, the leaves decayed and fell from off the trees, and there blew a storm wind that froze the limbs of Life. "Wait," said Strife, and he covered her with kisses; "you shall warm at my fires. Only I must hide you from the Sun or I shall lose you again." And he vanished with her into the mountains. The whole earth grew barren and desolate, the birds sang no more, the flowers drooped, only on the spot where Life had sunk down fainting there bloomed some crocuses; but even these could not endure. The Sun grew pale with grief, and wept and beckoned with a white sheet that fell upon the earth and dispersed into thousands of tiny fragments, while the mountains upon which Strife's armor had lain became ice for all time. When Love and Happiness found that they had lost Life they began to roam the world in search of her, asking all things after their beloved companion. They no longer recognized their earth garden in its changed form, and they wept bitterly. They wandered past hill and dale, alongside the rivers that lay frozen and ice-clad, and they called aloud for Life, for they deemed that they must find her. One day they leant wearily against a tall rock, when of a sudden they heard a sound within it as of gurgling waters. Flushed with joy they looked at one another and both exclaimed: "Here she is, here; we hear sounds of Life," and they began to touch the rock and to call and listen round about it, until they found an opening whence a spring gushed forth. Softly they called "Life," and there she stood before them, joyless, downcast, with weary steps, laying her finger upon her lips. "My lord slumbers, do not wake him," she whispered sadly. "Dear Life, come out with us; your garden is bare, your mother is pale, and we have roamed so long in search of you. Oh, come forth once more." And they drew Life forth with them, and as she took the first step outside snowdrops peeped up, and at her next step violets bloomed, and as she laid her weary hand upon a tree the buds swelled and broke into leaf. "Behold," cried Love and Happiness, "you still have your old might. Oh, do be joyous! Look up at the Sun that she, too, may laugh." But when the Sun saw her child so weak and weary, she could not refrain from weeping, though she strove to smile and warm her daughter with her hot rays. Again and again she had to press her cloud-sheet before her eyes, and then her tears dropped down upon the earth. Life still crept along, but wearily. Then came a swallow. "Hold on to my wings, dear Life; I will bear you a bit;" and thus she once more floated through the blue air, until the swallow was tired. Then the stork came and said-- "Kneel on my back and put your arms round my neck; I will carry you further." And he bore her far, far, and wherever he alighted a babe was born, and Love and Happiness followed in their wake, and dwelt beside the child. And the whole earth grew green and bright. The birds sang again, and every sunbeam gave new power to Life, so that once more she could stand on the mountain tops, a blooming, splendid woman, full of grace and majesty, with earnest eyes and serious mouth, her hands filled with the fruits that should make rich the world. But deep down in the earth, Strife who had awoke long ago, sought for his absent wife. He stormed out into the world, and every where he beheld her traces, but herself he could not find. How many of her gifts did he not destroy in his wild haste! Sometimes he would halt puzzled, piercing the distance with his stern looks. Ay, he was near despairing, for she, from whom he could no longer live apart, fled from him ever. Now a tree hid her with his foliage, now a bird in his nest, now a flower beneath its leaves, now the mist in its veil; and if he came too near to her an eagle would bear her on his pinions up to the Sun, until Strife had swept past below, when she returned endowed with new power and glory. But at last, at last, he did catch sight of her as she was pressing a vine wreath upon the locks of Happiness, and sending a gleam from her forehead into the eyes of Love. Then he stepped before her, looked at her and beckoned. He must have done something to her, for of pride and resistance there was no longer a trace. He strode before her without looking round, and she bowed her lovely head and followed him; and when her comrades would have held her back, she only beckoned with her hand, and stepped after him silently, wrapped in robes of mist that swept the falling leaves, and was like to an echo of the gurgling that had once sounded in her robes. She went into the mountain, bearing with her fruits and grapes, that the Kobolds pressed into wine with which they made to themselves merry days. And she brought forth two children, a boy and a maid. Both were very pale, and had large dark eyes. The boy had something wild about him, like his father, the maid was tender like her mother; she was named Sorrow, but he was called Death. Sorrow did not remain long in her rocky home. She had inherited from her mother a yearning for earth, and from her father a ceaseless unrest. So she wandered ever backwards and forwards upon the earth, and never returned to her home. The boy followed now his father, now his mother, now his sister, and he made all still and dead upon their paths; the birds grew still and dead, the ears of corn grew empty, the children pale; still and dead all who struggled and suffered. His mother could only behold him with a shudder; he inspired his father with malicious joy, but only his sister loved him. She ever called him to her, and wept when he would not come. One day he said to Sorrow, "I must kill my mother; ay, if she only looks at me she is dead. But she ever turns aside from me." Sorrow was terrified at these words, and did all in her power to turn the mother's gaze from the son. But she ever felt his might, and could no longer play with Love and Happiness as formerly. They both, too, feared Life's awful son even more than her grim spouse, for over him they had learnt to exert a certain power; he grew quieter in their presence. But Death remained ever inexorable; his glance now scorching like the simoon, now numbing like the north; even the Sun lost her strength before this terrible boy, for he laid night upon all eyelids, and froze all things living. Since that time there is an end of the earth's paradise. That is why Life is no longer a radiant maiden, but a grave woman, full of useful power, of stern demands on that which she has created. She cannot forget how fair all was once, and fain would see it thus again, notwithstanding Strife and Sorrow and Death. She would fain be stronger than all these three, and yet she must succumb and begin again anew, to succumb again, ever and ever. _SORROW._ Sorrow. Sorrow was a lovely slender child, with dark hair that framed her pale face. Her delicate lips were nearly always closed, her black eyes looked deadly weary, so that none could behold her without weeping. The poor child had no home, and wandered restlessly from place to place. Now she entered the hut of the poor, now the palace of the rich. She was so silent and sad that all received her, but, strange to tell, all who looked at her were attacked with a great woe. One lost his only child, another his honor, his property, a third was pursued by enemies without a cause. Again, another knew but grief from his children, so that he grew gray before his time. Or strife arose between married folk, or one of the family fell prone upon a sick bed and did not arise thence for years. People looked at one another astounded whence came so much affliction, and knew not that they themselves opened the doors to pale, silent Sorrow, and called her to their table. Sometimes the poor child came back by the same road and learnt what terrible gifts she had bestowed. Then she avoided for a long time visiting at the same houses; but she had grown to love some people, and longed to see them, and did not notice that she visited them too often. So grief upon grief befell them, until the sad child took up her staff and bade them farewell with heavy heart and streaming eyes. She went on her road quietly, not in haste, not hurriedly, and yet her step was faster than the mountain stream, faster than the west wind, so that at last she came to lodge with every human being. It was most terrible when she attached herself to children. Then the poor little things got long illnesses or even became orphans, and their pretty faces grew pale and delicate, like to Sorrow's face, and their eyes as sad and heavy. When Sorrow saw this she would weep bitterly, and for a long while would look at no child, ay, even turn her head aside when children were at play. One day she lay beneath an apple-tree, and saw how the little apples had such merry red cheeks, that it made one glad to look at them. "Oh, dear apple-tree," said Sorrow, "give me such merry red cheeks, then people will like better to look at me." "No," said the apple-tree, "if you had merry red cheeks, people would no longer harbor you from pity." She got up sadly and pursued her road. Then she came to a garden hard by a river, in which there was such song of birds that it made one's heart leap for joy. "Oh, you dear little birds," cried Sorrow, "give me some of your lovely song, that I may make mankind glad." "No, dear child," twittered the birds; "if you did not come so silently and go so quietly, men would not forget you so soon, and begin to notice that you are Sorrow, and bring them grief." And yet further roamed poor Sorrow and came to a tall wood. Its scent was delicious, and it was so pleasant to walk on the thick moss beneath the trees. Here and there sun-gleams stole through the whispering foliage, and trembled and danced upon the moss, gilding the faded leaves. It was beautiful! The child leant wearily against a tree. "Here I may lodge and bring no grief; here I may rest, and no one look himself ill at me." A sunbeam came leaping through the leaves, looked into the dim, lovely eyes, sprang into them, illumined them brightly, and pierced down into Sorrow's very heart. The whole wood saw the wonderful gleaming of that tender girlish face, and rustled for pleasure and admiration. Sorrow did not know that she had grown more beautiful, but she felt the sunbeam tremble hot and joyous in her heart. "Oh, dear wood," she cried, aloud, "give me but a single one of all your thousand sunbeams, and I shall be happy." Of a sudden all grew deadly still in the wood; the trees looked at one another sadly, the sunbeam fled from Sorrow's eyes, touched a lustrous lizard, and then hid beneath tall ferns. "You poor, poor child!" said an old oak; "a single sunbeam makes you too beautiful, men would call you too much and often, and then they would have to bear pains far beyond their strength. You must remain without cheer or warmth." Slowly a hot tear fell upon the woodruff that grew at Sorrow's feet; it sent up sweet odors and whispered thanks for this dew. But the restless maid went further, and she came to a large silent lake. Here nothing stirred, only Evening stepped across the waters, wrapped in shade, while round about him red rays darted through the lake, and here and there a star fell into it and remained unmoved on its quiet expanse. Sorrow dipped her hand into the waters and laid it on her brow. Evening came by and whispered, "Good-night; sleep dreamlessly, forget thy woe." She looked after him long, and sighed softly-- "Once I found rest in the wood; once I forgot my woe when the sunbeam was in my heart; but that is past." Lost in dreams, the child gazed into the lake whence blew cool airs, while the nixes floated in mist across it. Then Sorrow perceived that a red light fell into the lake, larger, fiercer than the stars, and it continued to gleam far into the night. As she lifted her eyes, she noticed that the light came from a house beside the water. It was thickly grown with ivy, and from its high-pointed window that stood open there shone this light. "Strange," thought Sorrow, "I have never entered here, and yet there is some one watching yonder." She made her way to the window. There sat a stately woman with snow-white locks, wrapped in a long soft gown. A delicate kerchief was bound round her forehead. She wrote sedulously, with firm characters, in a large book. Her brow was marked with a deep stern furrow, but about her delicate nostrils and lips there were signs of tender womanliness and nobility of heart. Sorrow stood sunk in contemplation. Then two wondrous gray eyes were uplifted and looked at her calmly, and a deep melodious voice said-- "Why do you not come in, child; I have waited for you long." Sorrow entered amazed. She did not often hear this greeting. Of a sudden she found herself encircled by soft arms, and the wondrous woman took her on her lap, kissed her, and said-- "Dear Sorrow, you had to find me; I might not seek you, for I never come uncalled. I am Mother Patience, and I sit here and listen and watch. The lake bears to me the voices of all those who call me. Often and often have I stepped in your footprints, but alas! not ever." The furrow in her brow deepened as she spoke these last words. Sorrow laid her head on this motherly breast. "Oh, go with me, ever and ever," she craved, softly. "No, child! when you call me then I will come, and when you are weary turn in here. I have to write the Book of Life; that gives me much to do." Poor little Sorrow remained all night with the wise mother, and next morning she went on her journey refreshed and strengthened. The whole earth was blooming and green, for it was harvest time. Sorrow looked at the poppies and the corn flowers and thought-- "You poor things! now you are blooming so merrily and gleaming in the sunshine, and yet to-day you will all be mown down." Then she perceived a burly maiden, who stood alone in a field, and mowed as fast as three men. "Good morning, pale one," she called to Sorrow, in roguish tones. "Come here, and help me." And so speaking she ran towards her, her locks flying and her blue eyes laughing like sunshine. "But who are you?" she asked, amazed, when she saw Sorrow's dark eyes. "I am Sorrow, and I must wander for ever. And who are you?" "I am Work; cannot you see that? Do you not see how healthy I am, and what strong arms I have." And with that she took up Sorrow like an infant upon her arms, and ran with her all over the field, and laughed and shouted gleefully. A faint tinge of red came over Sorrow's face as she said smiling-- "Come with me, do. I may never rest, and yet I am often so weary." "That may not be, my little sister, for I must sleep in order to be fresh again in the day. But I am in all places, and must laugh, yet when I see your eyes my laughter is choked. But when you call me I will come, and remain behind whence you depart, to make the faces glad again." Once more Sorrow stepped forth into the glittering morning and into the wide wide world. But Work and Patience kept faith and became her trusty companions. And many a time they met together of an evening in the house by the lake, and read out of the Book of Life or wrote in its pages. _THE REALM OF PEACE._ The Realm of Peace. Peace dwelt within a deep, silent mountain tarn that was unfathomable, yet reflected, notwithstanding, the sky's eternal blue. About it tall cliffs reared their heads, that shone at eve with rosy sheen, while beyond it was protected by a dense forest in which an ax had never sounded. Neither Sorrow nor Strife had ever come in here; even the wind could find no entry, for the rocks had pushed themselves forward so protectingly that Winter also had to rest content with shaking in lightly quite a few of his flakes, for there were warm springs in the tarn, so Frost had no power over it. It was ever green and flowering round about the shore, and the song of birds filled the air. When Peace lay floating on the quiet surface of the tarn all the flowering and singing streamed towards him. Then he would smile blissfully, and kiss the sunbeams that darted their warm arms towards him; ay, he would encircle them and draw them under the water and play hide-and-seek with them behind the trees and leaves. He was such a glorious youth that all things loved him; they loved his blue eyes, fathomless like the lake whence he arose, his ruddy lips, his wondrous voice, his happy laughter. No wonder that the sunbeams sought him, that the moss trembled with joy when he stepped lightly across it, that the leaf trembled that touched his brow, that the deer gazed long into the stream wherein he had seen his image, that the elves and nixes could only dream of him. But one day a sound of weeping and sighing swept through the forest, as though the trees made plaint, and from their leaves fell drops and woke the fair sleeper whom the sunbeams had lulled to rest. Amazed, he gazed around him. A girlish figure came towards him, with pale face and long dark lashes and sad, sad eyes. She dragged her feet wearily across the moss and sank down beside him. "Who are you?" he asked, astonished. "I am Sorrow; Mother Patience sends me to you." "Who is Mother Patience? and who is Sorrow? I have never heard of them." "There is much you have not heard of, for you do not know the world." Peace smiled. "Do you know it, then?" Sorrow sighed and nodded her head. "Look at me," she said, "am I beautiful?" Peace looked at her long, until he had read the whole history of the world in the depths of her solemn eyes. Sorrow felt so blissful as she gazed at him, and every hour she spent with him the poor maiden felt warmer about her heart, and love entered into it with all its power and might. When evening came Peace had read every thing. He shuddered. "No," he said, "you are not beautiful." Sorrow felt her heart stand still. She said softly-- "Then you will not go with me?" Peace trembled. "Oh no," he said, "not with you. It is so lovely here." "Yes, it is beautiful, but the wisest of women bids me tell you that your realm is too small; you are born to rule, and she has read in the Book of Life that a time will come when you shall reign over all things." Peace looked thoughtfully down into the tarn. "But if I am satisfied with my kingdom here?" he said. "I am not ambitious, I need no fame and no might, I have all I require." "But if the whole world became like this holy spot, then it would be yet more beautiful, and you only need to show yourself as you are to carry off the victory and make it so." "Do you think so?" said Peace, and he looked at her again with his lovely eyes, in whose depths dwelt rest and purity. Sorrow's heart stood still until Peace looked away from her into the water and continued thoughtfully. "I will go and see for myself whether the world wants me without having ever beheld my face. If she calls me I will come, for I will not fight with her. Farewell, Sorrow. I will test the world to see if I can found my kingdom in her." Sorrow remained lost in wonder concerning him long after he had vanished from her gaze. A bird flew over her head towards the evening sky, flapping its wings as it went. Sorrow fell on her knees beside the tarn. The waters had grown dark, and through the forest went a sound as of sighs. The poor maid trembled like a leaf in the wind. Here, in the realm of Peace, none understood the woe that shook her breast. "You are not beautiful," were the words that sounded to her from all sides--out of the wood, the water, out of her own heart-beats. Night came by gently, and sought her darling whom she had ever kissed asleep. She only found Sorrow, and looked at her gloomily. "What have you done to my Peace?" she asked, in threatening tones. "I have fetched him away," moaned Sorrow, and wrung her hands. Night frowned yet more darkly. "In punishment," she said, "you shall ever seek him and never find him. Now go!" Sorrow went forth like to a moaning wind that rushes through the trees. She wanted to seek for Peace in the world. For a long, long while she never visited Mother Patience, for she now only thought of one and had forgotten the good mother. Peace hovered over the world as a bird, and he beheld how Strife and his children had devastated it. He saw bloody battlefields, and at sight of the first corpse he grew so giddy that he was near to fall down with awe. When he beheld murder his heart grew sore in his breast, as though he had himself been wounded, and he flew on, away from the scene. He flew over a great city. There he saw a light burning in an attic window. He looked in. A pale man sat there, and coughed and wrote with long white fingers. "And I, too, shall be great, ay, surely," he murmured to himself. "I feel it in my breast like fire; there is a light in my brain that shall illumine the world." "Poor fool," thought Peace; "Ambition is hunting you to death and you do not know it." From out a vine-wreathed window there gazed a lovely girlish head. Peace thought--"She is like my elves," and he flew in. But how bitterly was he disenchanted. Flowers and dresses lay about in tardy confusion, and the fair one maintained that last evening she had exceeded in charm all others at the ball. Her sister scolded at all balls; ay, said the whole world was stupid. "I wish I was that bird who has just come in," she added. "He, oh, he will dirty every thing!" said the other, and chased him out again. In a lonely house there sat an aged woman, and read out of a large Bible. Deadly pale her youngest son rushed into her room. He was the only one that remained to her this side the ocean, and he asked her for money; he must have money or he would shoot himself. The Bible fell from the old woman's hand, she could not help the reprobate any more; for though he knew it not she had already sacrificed to him all her little wealth and even the very house she dwelt in. In a beautiful garden a nobleman tended his sickly daughter who needed air and light, a very angel of patience and beauty; meanwhile her callous mother preferred the idle pleasures of the drawing-room to the care of her sick child. In a field Peace saw a number of lads and maidens cutting corn. They laughed and sang, and threw down their sickles and seated themselves beneath an apple-tree to enjoy their midday meal and rest. Peace flew above them and settled among the branches to listen to their prattle until the lads fell asleep, while the maidens continued to chatter softly. Then a man came across the field. He wore a broad brimmed hat, and under it loomed forth his dark, bad face. He woke the lads with kicks, he threatened the maidens with his stick, called them lazy and drove them to their work. Again, further on he beheld a lovely girl given to wife to a rich monster, notwithstanding her pleadings and prayers. He saw sisters and brothers haggling over the coffin of a father; even among little children he witnessed strifes that showed him that they bore within them the seeds of future passions. Peace flew towards the south, where lovely girls swung carelessly in hammocks, rocking themselves and torturing their slaves. He flew to the north, and beheld a large city full of light-minded women and unfaithful men, who rushed from one amusement to another--now on the ice, now in the ball-room, now in sledges, now on or behind the stage. He flew to the far west, and beheld a rushing and racing after gain--restless, endless. He flew to the east, and saw noble men and women working in exile like to day-laborers, heavy at heart with cold and home-sickness. He flew into the desert, and saw lonely travelers languishing for water. He flew all over and around the world, but every where he beheld the signs of pain and struggle. So he went back to his mountain tarn, and he resolved never to leave his little realm again. How amazed was he to behold on its shores a great monastery, built of huge solid stones, that made it appear as though it had stood there for ages. "I must have been long absent," thought Peace, as he entered into the convent. He stepped inside a wide stone cell, whose tall pointed windows looked out upon his lake and on the rosy shimmering cliffs beyond. A young monk sat by an organ, playing and singing in heart-moving tones, as if he would communicate to the walls the storm that shook his soul. An older monk had risen from a table, on which, as also on the floor, lay strewn open folios. He seated himself in the window-niche and covered his face with his hands. Of a sudden the door was opened, and there entered an emaciated monk with flaming eyes. His fierce regard rested sternly on the younger man. Then he turned his haggard form towards the man in the window-niche, and pointing to the door he said-- "For you, my son, these sounds are noxious poison, which only strict penance can remedy." The man addressed bowed his head and went out. "And you, my son, sin daily by your song. Your life becomes enjoyment in lieu of penitence, and you lead astray your brethren also. From to-day forward song and organ are forbidden you." And he walked to the instrument, locked it, and, putting the key in his pocket, he went away. The younger man fell upon his knees before the organ and kissed it like a dead bride, and then went out into the church. Peace leant against a beech-tree and wept passionately. "The whole world is a struggle, and they have taken from me my only home. Farewell, my silent lake!" And once more he went out into the world. He came past a churchyard and went in, going from grave to grave till he came to the chapel, where a woman knelt and sobbed. "Not even here," said Peace, and turned to go further. Then he saw a neglected grave, all overgrown with trailing ivy. Cross and inscription had long vanished, the mound had sunk, only the ivy wound its arms lovingly over the forgotten spot. "Here is my kingdom," said Peace, and he sank down among the leaves. * * * * * But Sorrow yet roams the world in search of Peace, for she can never forget him. Yet, wherever she asked, wherever she sought, nowhere could she find him. Some had seen him go by, but none had been able to hold him. She passed through the churchyard, and stepped by the new graves, only the neglected one she did not visit. _EARTHLY POWERS._ Earthly Powers. "Where is Truth? I want to go to her," said Strife. "She lives in a castle of rock crystal, high up above, on the highest mountain in the world, and looks out thence on all the lands, and knows every thing, and whosoever attains thither finds everlasting rest; but I do not know the road." So spoke a golden eagle, flapped his wings, and disappeared into immeasurable heights. But straight in front of Strife there stood of a sudden a little being, with turned-up nose, large, light, prominent eyes that only looked outwards, and a half-opened mouth, as though she had just spoken. "Whence come you?" said Strife. "I don't know." "Whither are you going?" "I don't know either." "What do you want in the world?" "I want to know, for my name is Query." "Oh, you want to know? Then perhaps you know the road to Truth." "Yes, I know it, and that is why I do not go on it, for I want to see that which I do not know." "But Truth knows all." "Oh no; how can she know? She sits up there in her castle, while I run about and ask and ask." And she skipped about restlessly as she spoke. Seeing a flower, she stooped down and asked-- "Why do you grow here?" "Bah," cried Strife, impatiently, and trod it down. "What do I care about that! You are to show me the road to Truth." "That I will not," cried Query, and ran away. With two long strides Strife caught her up, and seized her by the arm. "I don't leave go of you till you have led me thither." "But I don't know the whole way; I can only lead you as far as Doubt." "Then lead me to Doubt." "I will not," said Query, defiantly, and tugged at the arm that was captive. Strife grew enraged. He tore up stinging nettles, and lashed her with them until she promised to do all that he desired. Then he slung his golden chain round her body, and said-- "Now lead me and I will follow." Then she began to lead him astray, on rough paths, through shrubs and water, and over rocks, and across the desert. At last she stood still and laughed at him scornfully, pointing out with a titter the spot whence they had set forth. At this Strife grew so furious that even impertinent little Query began to tremble. And she had reason to tremble, for he chained her to the nearest tree and lashed at her with cords until she could cry no more. "Now," he said, "explain to me how to reach as far as Doubt, for I will no longer go with you. But if you deceive me again I will strike you dead." She pointed out the road to him, and he went away without looking back, leaving her tied to the tree. She begged and entreated and cried for help in vain. His mighty form grew smaller and smaller, the sun scorched her hotter and hotter. Poor little Query nearly perished. But the inquisitive swallows, who were her especial friends, saw her need, and brought her drops of water and crumbs of bread in their beaks. This lasted until autumn came, and they set forth on their wanderings. In her need she turned to the wind for aid. He began to blow stronger and stronger, till he had broken down the tree. Had little Query not been so lithe and supple, it would have cost her her life. At it was, she fell to the ground numb with fear and cold. But she soon roused herself, loosed herself free from the stump, and ran off as fast as her feet could bear her, to peer once more with curious eyes into the world. Strife had reached Doubt, who lived at the foot of the mountain where stood the castle of Truth. His house was surrounded by a large bog, into which countless persons had sunk who had sought the road to Truth. Strife hewed down a whole forest and threw it into the bog, and then stepped across it to the dwelling of Doubt. "Hold!" cried Doubt. "You don't escape from here without a struggle." "That just suits me. I came here to wrestle with you." So they began to tussle, and they fought together for the space of a whole year. Winter came; they strove upon the ice. Summer came; they still contended. The wood that Strife had thrown into the bog began to sink under the mighty bodies, and it sank deeper and deeper until it threatened to engulf them. Then, at last, Doubt gave way, and said-- "Well go, but it will not be for your happiness." "I do not seek happiness; I seek Truth," said Strife, and began to climb the mountain. The longer he ascended the higher it seemed to grow; with immense exertion he climbed from rock to rock. Beneath him a precipice yawned continually, and threatened to destroy him. More than once he had to lay hold of the stones and pull himself up by them. A block broke and fell thundering into the deeps. From time to time it lightened and flashed up in the heights; that must be the palace of crystal which Strife had vowed to enter. After new exertions he reached a wondrous lovely forest dell, surrounded by tall, aspiring trees. Within was such scent of flowers, such murmur of water, such song of birds, that a strange sensation came over him, while straight in front, upon a polished rocky point, something shone like to the sun itself. That was the castle of rock crystal. Its thousand facets caught the light and sunbeams, and reflected them up and down in endless refractions. The pointed turrets reared themselves against the clear ether, like ice upon which snow has never fallen. It was as though light moved about in it of its own will and power, as though it came forth thence, and not from the Sun that stood behind the castle. When Strife shielded his eyes with his hand in order to endure the glare, a lovely maiden, clothed only in her own golden locks, came forth from the castle and down the hill. She had laid a huge green leaf across her shoulders to shelter her from the sun, and was thus flooded with gold-green light. In her hand she held a pitcher cut from a single topaz. In it the wood, the flowers, and her own graceful image were reflected. Strife watched her as she placed her small white feet upon the moss, walking so lightly that she left no trace. She had cast down her eyes as she neared the spring. Then Strife came close, and said as gently as he could-- "Give me to drink. I am thirsty." She lifted her eyes with astonishment and looked at the strong, dark man. To him it seemed as though heaven looked at him, so deep blue, so clear and pure were her eyes. The long weary road, the fierce struggles, ay, even the goal that he would reach, vanished from his memory as he looked at this impressive beauty. "Are you Truth?" he asked, at last. "If so I will worship you." The rosy child-mouth opened. "No, Truth is my mother; I am called Innocence. Do you wish to go to her?" "Yes--no, no longer; I will stay with you, for you are more beautiful than all." "Am I beautiful?" asked the girl with surprise; "my mother has never told me that. But you, you are beautiful, and you look so good, therefore you shall drink out of my pitcher." When he had drunk the draught he was quite beside himself. He had only one thought, to win charming Innocence unto himself. "Come, play with me, thou heavenly child," he said; "I can teach you quite new games, here, on this fair meadow." And he made balls out of flowers and threw them at her, and watched her movements as she caught them laughing and shouting gleefully. Then he made her run and he ran after. Then he blindfolded his eyes with leaves, and she teased him till he caught her. At last she grew so wanton that she bound him round with creepers, upon which he made as though he could not stand, and let himself fall into the grass. She laughed merrily, and strewed him with flowers and leaves; but when she had nearly covered him, he shook himself free, sprang up, raised her high into the air, and ran with her to the wood. "Mother, mother!" called the terrified maiden. Then the sun sank and night covered all things. Truth sat in her crystal castle and waited for her daughter. She wondered where the sweet child could have strayed, and tried to behold her as she saw all things. But fear for her own flesh and blood troubled her vision. She passed her hand before her eyes several times, but she clearly beheld the sun set and the moon rise so she could not be blind. When the moon shone down on her castle, she heard quite distinctly her child's voice crying in terror, "Mother, my mother!" and the next moment, with a fearful crash, the castle of crystal was rent in twain from top to bottom. Truth grew yet paler than the moon that was shining into her face. She rushed down the mountain. The stream sparkled in the moonlight, and there lay the topaz pitcher and a smell of crushed flowers filled the air. The mourning mother stood still and asked of Night where was her child, and all the flowers began to weep and drooped their heads in sorrow, and soon the whole meadow was wet with their tears. Truth went onward, petrified, following the traces of her child deep into the wood, where the moon played with the shadows and conjured forth all sorts of shapes. She went on and on, till at last she heard a sound of weeping, and the next moment she stood before her daughter, who lay on her knees and stretched out her arms towards her. No one spoke a word, even Night held her breath; but the eyes of Truth began to glow like flames of fire. With one look she burnt her daughter's hair, with the next she dazzled Strife, who stood entranced and could only stare at her. He felt the pain of it shoot through all his body, he put his hand up to his eyes, he tottered and fell against a tree. He wanted to see; he knew that Innocence was kneeling there in the moonlight, but he was stone blind; no ray of light was ever again to illuminate his darkness. At last Truth spoke with deep resounding voice-- "My child, you are torn from me for ever. Up here there is no longer room for you. Oh why did you not obey? I had warned you against every stranger; you were to speak to none, to give no answers. Here, take my cloak; at the foot of the mountain you will find shelter." With these words she turned and went away, and her sighs bent the crowns of the trees, and grew to a great storm that raged through the world like an everlasting plaint. Strife stormed down the mountain and howled with pain and despair. Since that time he has grown yet more violent, for he is blind, and rushes through the world senselessly, trying to wreak vengeance on it for his eternal pain. Poor Innocence wrapped the cloak round her trembling limbs, and descended slowly into the valley. Her feet were scratched by the rough stones, and her tears flowed ceaselessly. A few hours ago and she had been the most lovely flower on the heights, and now she was crushed and trodden down. She came to the haunts of men, and knocked at their doors and asked for alms, but she got more abuse than alms. At last she came to the spot where Doubt dwelt, and one stormy night she passed with light foot over the bog, not knowing that death yawned under her feet. Doubt was amazed when he heard a tap at his door. Who could have crossed the bog on such a night! There stood a pale tired woman, and begged for shelter, and said she would not stay long. "Who are you?" asked Doubt. "I am called Innocence." Doubt laughed a hard short laugh. "You will not make me believe that." But as his words made her cry he grew very somber. "Is it Strife that has brought you to this? Oh shame, oh everlasting shame! A curse on him and his search for Truth. It were better he had been drowned here." And Doubt received Innocence most kindly and kept her beside him, but he could give her no comfort. Each of his words only made her heart heavier, until at last he told her that she would be a mother. "Then I shall die," said Innocence. At the moment her child was born it glided away like a snake, and hopped and danced like a will-o'-the-wisp across the bog of Doubt. "Oh, my child," sighed Innocence, "come to me, only once." Then she felt a burning and glowing at her breasts and a sucking that drained her very life. And while the little being sucked it gained charming form, and it had eyes that shone now black, now green. Innocence felt how it was draining from her all her heart's blood, and with a soft sigh she inclined her lovely head in death. Doubt buried her in the silent bog that covered her with its dark waters. Then he looked at the child. "Shall I murder you, you horrid wretch? No; the world is ripe for you, you shall live; go forth and avenge your mother!" And so saying he threw her into the bog, across which she slid like an eel, and hopped out into the world to do as much mischief in it as possible. Strife was her special butt; she tempted and teased and provoked him incessantly, and often sent him into towering rages. Then he tried to wring her neck, for he knew not that she was his daughter. But she always escaped, laughing, from the blind man, and mocked him. The world was enchanted with her. It lay at her feet and adored her as a goddess; and this goddess was Falsehood. _THE INEXORABLE._ The Inexorable. The sea was running high and was black as night. Only the crests of the endless waves glistened in the lightning that flashed across the heavens. The storm was raging towards the land and threw the ships upon the rocks, so that hundreds of human lives perished in the ocean. Then of a sudden it seemed as though the storm grew entangled among the cliffs on the shore, and condensed into a form that reared up tall and pale against the mighty heavens. It was a grave youth with unflinching black eyes, who leaned upon a sickle and held an hour-glass in his hand. He gazed across the waters with an indifferent air, as though the wrecks, and corpses beneath, concerned him as little as the sand in his glass, which trickled down evenly, steadily, regardless of the blustering of the storm, or the sudden quiet. There was something iron-like in the youth's features, in his eyes there lay a power that destroyed all things they looked upon; even the ocean seemed to be numbed by them, and to grow silent with fear. Day dawned, and flooded with roseate hues from the rising sun. Sorrow came stepping over the cliffs. She stretched out her arms to the youth. "Brother," she cried, "brother, what have you done! You have raged terribly, and did not hear how I called you, ay, cried for you so eagerly." "I heard nothing," said Death. "I felt myself too quiet, so I roused myself. A few vessels were lost in the act." "O pitiless one!" said Sorrow. "I do not comprehend your grief," answered the somber youth; and turning from her, he walked away. He paced silently through the sunny world; it blew chill around him, and wherever he paused a silent shudder seized all things. He went by a house and looked in. There lay a man tortured with pain who beheld him and called him imploringly; but he only shook his head and went further. A lovely young woman stood in her garden surrounded by joyous children, her husband had just stepped up to her and kissed her. The pale wanderer laid his hand on her shoulder and beckoned to her; she followed him a few steps and sank lifeless to the ground. Then he came to a forest in which a pale man was pacing hither and thither, tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth, crying-- "Dishonored, dishonored!" He saw the passer-by with the somber eyes, saw him lift his white hand and point to a tree. The despairing man understood the signal. He passed a group of playing children, and softly mowed the grass between their feet with his scythe. Then they bowed their heads like broken flowerets. There an old man sat in an armchair, and was enjoying the warming sunbeams. Death raised his hour-glass and held it before his eyes--the last sands were running down. He halted by a stagnant pool. No water could be seen, for it was covered with green. The rushes quivered under his cold breath, and the toad that had been croaking grew silent. Then the reeds rustled and a lovely woman drew close to the water, took something from a handkerchief and threw it down. It sank with a faint gurgle into the depths. Twice she made a movement as though she would spring in after it, but each time Death extended his scythe towards her, and she fled terrified. He lifted his hour-glass in which the sand ran down quickly, hurriedly. Then something white came up between the green water-plants, and with wide-open eyes a little corpse appeared, gazing at the running sand. Then Death went further, and across a battle-field, where he mowed down many fine men. At last he came to a lovely valley in which autumn was reigning in all its glory. The trees were bathed in gleaming gold, the sward beneath was a luscious green, strewn with tender flowers. A silvery laugh came from the branches through which a charming little figure was floating, now hiding among the leaves, now jumping down upon the grass, and at last running with lightsome step, and garments streaming in the breeze, to meet a stately man who stood leaning on a club beside a hillock. "Come to me, fair Happiness," he cried aloud. "You must go with me. You are mine, for I am Courage." "Must I?" said the sweet little form, and turned her back to him. As she did so her eyes, full of beaming wantonness and measureless roguery, turned towards the pale pilgrim. He saw the dimples that played on her chin and cheeks, her neck and her arm. Her whole slender figure was inwrapt by her light floating locks, which were moved by the softest breeze, and which looked in the sunshine like falling gold-dust. "Yes," cried Courage, "you must, for you love me. I have found that out." "I love you in this fair valley, and that is why I give you smiles; but if you must go out into the world, you must go alone. There stands one who has never yet spoken with me, and he looks as if he too needed the gift of smiling." "You can't give it to him," said Courage. "Do not try. You will only hurt yourself with his scythe." But Happiness had already run up to the Inexorable. "Shall I teach you how to smile, you serious youth? You seem to need it." "Yes, I could use it, for all behold me unwillingly, and no one goes with me unless he is obliged, and it is because I cannot smile." "Yes," said Happiness, and she grew quite timid; "but in order to teach you smiling, I must kiss you. That does not seem to me so hard, only your eyes terrify me." "Then I will close them," said Death. "No, no, you are so pale, I shall be still more afraid; and your scythe, too, is so sharp and cold." "Then I will throw it from me." And he threw his scythe far away; it grazed the trees as it fell. Then their golden foliage fell to earth, and all the branches grew bare, and as the scythe sank into the grass it grew covered with rime, and the flowers hung down their crowns. "Oh, you have spoilt my garden with your ugly scythe," cried Happiness; "and I was going to make you such a lovely present." "I did not want to do it, but the scythe flew out of my hand, and now I am much sadder because I have grieved you. You can find new gardens, but no one can teach me how to smile." "You shall learn, notwithstanding," said the fair maiden, and she stepped close to him; but as often as her rosy lips approached him she grew so cold that she fell back shuddering. Then he looked at her imploringly without raising his hand, as if he feared to hurt her by a touch; but his gaze held her spellbound like a great power, and she had to kiss him. But at the moment that her lips touched him his cold sank deep into her heart, and she fell dead to the earth. Courage sprang angrily at the pale youth. "You have murdered my Happiness." "Was she yours?" asked Death, and sighed; "then go after her; there she floats." Following the indication of his hand, Courage saw how the soft breezes were tenderly bearing away Happiness upon their wings, like to a light cloudlet. Courage hurried after them with powerful steps, keeping his eyes ever fixed on that rosy cloud. Death stood and gazed until he felt quite warm within, and a tear ran slowly down his pale cheeks. He had to learn for himself, what as yet he knew not, how it hurts if we chase away Happiness. When nothing more could be seen but bare trees, faded grass, and withered flowers, he lifted his scythe and looked sadly around the valley, as though he expected it would all bloom again. But the earth remained dead and stark, so he turned once more to the sea. That was rolling its eternal tides upwards and downwards, as indifferent as ever. But he who stood above and looked down was no longer indifferent. He thought of the maiden whom he had hurt, and his yearning was as great as the ocean at his feet. And this yearning transfigured him to wondrous beauty. Thus he was seen of a pale maiden with unkempt hair and torn garments. She fell at his feet; but he was terrified by her, and drew back a pace. "Do you no longer know me?" said the maiden. "You used to know me well, and you knew that I perished for yearning after you. I am Despair. Have you forgotten that you promised to kiss me, to give me one single kiss? It would be happiness for ever." The youth's eyes grew dark as night, and his voice sounded stern as he said-- "And you dare to speak of happiness? Do you know what happiness is? If you come near it only once may you be turned to stone!" "And if I were to turn to stone, yet I implore for a kiss from your mouth." The youth shuddered and thought of the lips that had touched his and taught him to smile, and as he thought of them he smiled. When the maiden at his feet saw this, she threw her arms about his neck, and laid her head on his breast. She did not see the hate and loathing that flashed from his eyes, but the next moment a hideous skeleton grinned at her, and nearly crushed her in his bony arms, and a death's-head kissed her. Then the earth trembled and opened. Cities vanished, fire streamed forth from mountains, forests were uprooted, rocks flew through the air, the sky was on fire, and the sea rolled in upon the land. When all was still again, Despair reared above the waters, an image of stone. Death rushed away as a storm wind to pursue the rosy cloud under this disguise. _WILLI._ Willi. Mother Patience was once again sitting by her window writing. She had often been called that day, and had much to confide to her mighty folios, much too that was good and pleasant; that is why an air of cheerful calm rested on her features. The whole room was filled with the scent of lovely flowers, and on the hearth there burnt a bright fire that threw magic lights and shades upon the industrious scribe. Without it was blowing cold, and like sharp needlepoints the frozen snow flew against the window panes. A light covering of ice lay over the lake, firm enough to hold the ravens. The distant road resounded hard and dry under the quick steps of shivering wanderers, the wind sang melancholy tunes round the lonely little house, as though he would recount to Mother Patience all the misery of the earth. He shook and tussled at the ivy that tenderly inwrapt the house. Suddenly she stopped to listen; a light, well-known footstep had passed her window, and the next moment Sorrow knelt at her feet, breathless, trembling like a hunted deer. "Mother," she said, "mother, how terrible. Why were you not there, then that awful woman would not have gone with me, and it all would not have happened." So speaking Sorrow looked behind her fearfully, as though that pursued her that had alarmed her so. "Calm yourself, child, no awful people come hither. Tell me what has occurred." "It was my fault," wailed Sorrow; "I did it. Oh, why am I in the world? why am I not there, deep down in the lake where the frozen water would bury me safely?" "Be quiet, child, quiet; do not murmur, do not complain, for you bow down the haughty and soften the hardhearted." "No, mother, that is just it; I harden the hearts, and those who love know each other no more. You must hear my tale. "Two years ago I turned in on a prosperous farm; it was called The Holt. Wherever you looked you saw evidences of full rich life. The cattle were well fed and tended like horses, the barns were full, the maids and men in noisy activity. A splendid boy with blue eyes and brown locks was cracking his whip in the yard. He wanted to chase the calves that were going to drink. A slender pretty girl with laughing brown eyes and a coronet of fair plaits came out upon the doorstep. "'Johnnie, Johnnie!' she cried; 'you rogue, you naughty boy; will you leave the calves alone.' "The boy laughed and cracked his whip louder than ever, but swift as lightning the girl ran out, and with a curious stern look about her mouth wrenched the whip from him before he was aware of it, and held it high in the air so that he could not reach it, though he jumped and tried. It was a charming picture,--the boy impetuously defiant, the girl so firm and lithe. I looked at both with pleasure. But there was another looking at them, he seemed to be the bailiff. When the girl looked round she grew quite red at the gaze that rested on her, and called out-- "'Why do you stand like that? Could you not hinder him?' "'Oh, yes; but then Willi would not have flown out like a little demon. I only waited to see her come out and make her stern face.' "'Get along with you,' she said, and threatened him with the whip. "The bell rang for supper. I was called in and allowed to sit among the maids. There stood the Holt farmer, stately and strong. He had just such brown eyes as his daughter, and the same stern look about the mouth, only in him it was more marked. His wife had blue eyes like the boy, but her air was depressed, as if she could not hold herself against the strong wills around her. "'Johnnie, say grace,' said the farmer. "Johnnie was cross and mumbled-- "'Come, Lord Jesus, sit down among us, and give me back my whip.' "'But, Johnnie!' thundered the voice of the farmer, who tried thus to overpower the tittering that went round the table. "The tone was a merry one. Johnnie was much teased, and he swallowed down his vexation with his hot soup. The bailiff sat opposite Willi, and they often exchanged secret glances. "'Johnnie is my crown prince,' said the farmer; 'and he will once reign over all this domain, while Willi will have all the money and wed the Raven farmer.' "'That I will not,' said the girl, without looking up from her plate, and again that stern look came into her face; 'I do not like that man.' "'She does not want to be a raven mother,'[1] the head-maid whispered to the bailiff, and all began to laugh. "'What is all this whispering?' asked the farmer, frowning darkly. "No one would reply. At last Johnnie called out-- "'Willi does not want to be a raven mother.' "Then the laughter knew no bounds. Willi threw a censuring look at her brother; the farmer said dryly-- "'I do not like these silly jokes, and if I say a thing it must be.' "Willi was silent, but under her fair plaits the same resolve remained. "Now hear the terrible part. In the same night that I slept there Johnnie got ill with fever. The doctor was sent for in haste; the whole house was upset, and before I could leave the village that I was leisurely pacing, little Johnnie grew pale and still, the whole farm silent as the grave, and only the sobs of women were heard through the open window as they laid the boy in his coffin. The farmer's wife was quite broken down, she wept and moaned incessantly; the farmer bit his teeth together in wild grief. Willi did her work, but often passed her hands across her eyes; only whenever the bailiff would come near her, she turned her back and went away. "It was long before I went that road again; I could not look at the poor things. Only now have I passed once more. I wanted so much to know what the people were doing, and whether Willi had married the Raven farmer to comfort her father, since his pride, his darling, his crown prince lay in the grave. Oh, mother, mother, had I not brought them misfortune enough! There they stood, all three, upon the threshold, and the north wind howled around them. The old woman was holding her apron before her eyes; the father was angry like a wild bull. He shook Willi and turned her adrift with the words-- "'Away from my house, wench; I know you not.' "Willi's face was pale as death, but unmoved. No sound crossed her lips, no prayers, no complaint. The door of her home fell sounding into its lock, and Willi, wrapped in a shawl, stood outside in the north wind. But under her shawl something moved, which she shielded tenderly, and that soon began to cry for its mother's breast. Then her face grew rather softer, and she looked anxiously at the little creature with whom she was thus left alone this wintry night--she, the daughter of the rich farmer of The Holt. She did not seem strong on her feet and had often to stop by the roadside, now to rest, now to quiet the child. Thus she went on all night along the high road till she reached a strange village. There she sought shelter from the wind under a porch, seated herself on the stone steps and fell asleep. But scarcely had day dawned before she was chased away by the maid who had come to sweep, and who threw hard words at her. The wind had abated a little, but she was so numbed that she tottered on her feet. "After a while she managed to walk again, and thus she passed through the whole large village, over the hard frozen ground, under the gray leaden sky that grew darker, more glowering as the day advanced. The child would no longer be quieted, and cried often and long. So poor Willi went from house to house and begged for work. "'We want no maid with a child,' was the hard reply she received every where, or 'What can we do with the little screamer?' "Then she begged for a little milk for the babe, for her own was diminishing from hour to hour. But no one would give her any, and she wandered on. I went after her, for I could no longer lose hold of her. Suddenly I saw some one come up behind me--a terrible woman, with stony face and wild hair. She came nearer, ever nearer, and as she was close upon me she laughed hoarsely-- "'You have done your work well. It is my turn now, for I am Despair.' "The wind was howling anew, and a snow storm began that even took away my breath. Willi thought she had walked away, but in the dead of the night she found herself once more at the entrance of the same village. She seated herself in a hedge half dead with cold and hunger. The babe in her arms whimpered unceasingly, only from time to time it cried aloud. In the morning she roused herself with an effort, and once more begged for a drop of milk at various doors. She was scolded anew. Once a boy gave her a piece of bread, she could not eat it. She tried twice, three times, to swallow the hard, cold pieces. Then the child whined again. She shook her head and threw the bread into the snow. Slowly she dragged herself onwards, till she came near the river, already covered with a thin crust of ice, on which lay the fresh fallen snow. The wind had lulled, but the sky was still leaden gray and a new snowstorm threatened. The fearful woman stepped past me towards Willi, who now stood on the bridge staring down abstractedly. She laid her hand upon her shoulder. Willi turned her head slowly; but when she saw the stony eyes she shrieked and the child fell out of her arms. I heard the ice crack and crackle, and then there was nothing more. Willi lay on the ground unconscious, and people who were just passing the bridge peeped down, shook their heads and raised her up. I do not know where they took her, beautiful Willi with her wild shock of fair hair and her bright brown eyes. Oh, mother, what have I done! Can you not help?" "Not yet," said Patience, and looked dreamingly in front of her, "but I shall help when it is time." Winter was past, the world began to stir anew, the tomtits and blackbirds twittered, in the fields there was merry life, when Willi stood before her judges accused of infanticide. She was white as a sheet, her eyes gleamed unnaturally from out of dark hollows, and to all questions she only replied by a shake of the head. Brow and lips had a strange expression. Was it the reflection of that terrible face that had stared at her on the bridge, or of the thoughts with which she had wrestled in prison? In the whole assembly there reigned breathless silence and strained expectation. The judge's voice grew momentarily sharper, more incisive. "Do you not know, then, that your life is in danger if you give no answer?" was sounding from his lips, when there arose a commotion in the assembly. All turned towards the door, by which entered the Holt farmer. He was bowed down, his hair was white and there were deep furrows in his face. When Willi saw him her hand clutched into a fist, which she raised threateningly. Of a sudden she let it sink. She knew not what came to her, but something soft laid itself round her heart that seemed to melt its ice. Invisible to all, behind the farmer, some one else had stepped into court; it was Mother Patience. She saw with a glance that things were not well for Willi. Like a soft, tender air of spring, she passed by all assembled, touched Willi's hard brow, whispered some words to her counsel, began to dictate questions to the judge, and stretched out her hand to support the farmer. The whole aspect of the room was changed. Even the pale youth Death, who stood behind Willi and waited for her, retired a few steps. It would seem as if this time she would escape him. "Tell me, my child," said the judge, quite gently, "were you long on the high roads?" Willi answered firmly-- "I no longer know." "Were you out at night?" "Yes; I was out at night--two nights, I think, in a snowstorm." "Did you ask none for alms?" Willi gnashed her teeth. "I went from house to house, and begged for milk for the--for the--fainting child; but none, none gave me aught. They scolded me, and called me bad names, but gave me not one drop." A murmur ran through the assemblage. People from the village were called in who stated that a person had begged from them for two days, and had then disappeared. "She wandered in the snowstorm with a new-born babe," said the judge, sternly; "and you gave her nothing?" "We thought she was a bad woman," answered the people. The judge shrugged his shoulders. "And then you came to a bridge, and leant against it to look into the water. What happened after?" Willi shuddered. "I looked down, and wanted to jump in, but I was so frozen I could not lift my feet, and then--then, some one touched me, and when I turned round I saw a terrible woman, with a face of stone, with wild hair, and then--then I heard the ice crack below me, and then I knew nothing more." The Holt farmer groaned aloud; the listeners looked at one another; the counsel began to speak with great eloquence, and bandied the word "Hallucination." Willi listened amazed. "So that is the name of that terrible woman," she thought. Once she gazed at her father. He looked so broken that her eyes grew moist and damp, and a tear rolled slowly down her emaciated face and fell upon her hand. She did not perceive that silent, pale Death retreated from her, as little as she had felt his proximity. She only looked with weary eyes towards the door that closed behind the jury. What to her were Life and Death? But another tear rolled forth as she looked at her father, who also gazed at the closed door, as if there would issue thence a thunderbolt that could kill him. At last, at last, the men came out and spoke solemnly and earnestly-- "Not guilty." Impossible to describe the commotion in the court. No one was calm save Willi, who leaned stunned against the wall, and only opened her eyes when she felt her head resting against a beating heart, and two arms flung around her neck, as they had often been flung when she was a small, weak child. The Holt farmer whispered softly into the ear of his rescued child, words that sank into her heart, as though no curious crowd surrounded her. When at last she found words she stammered with dry lips-- "Mother, where is mother?" Then there flashed a look like sheet lightning across the old man's face. "Mother is ill, very, very ill; perhaps we shall no longer find her." "Oh, come, father; quick, let us go," said Willi, and she drew him away so eagerly the old man could hardly follow. On the threshold of the farm they stood still a second; Willi laid her hand on her heart, but it would not be calmed. "Father," she whispered, "father, I am afraid." "I, too," he said softly, from his inmost soul. Willi re-entered her home trembling, trembling she stood in the dear old room. There lay her mother, deadly still, pale as marble; but Mother Patience had kissed her at the last, and that was why her white mouth smiled. Willi knelt by the bed, and her whole body shook with suppressed sobs. The farmer stood leaning on his stick in the doorway; the tears ran down his face. He knew it, he had himself closed those eyes that had at last ceased from weeping. Then he went out, he could look no longer. Sorrow was in the room; she laid her arm round Willi and murmured-- "My sister!" Mother Patience was there too. She stroked Willi's locks and poured peace into her weary soul, so that at last she could bear to look at her dead mother, ay, could even touch the cold hands with her lips. Then Patience pointed the way to her father outside, to whom she remained as sole comfort and support. Ay, Willi was a strong soul. She began a hard, weary life with a broken heart and a weakened body. She had often need to call upon Mother Patience, when her strength was at an end, and her father, old and crabbed, demanded too much from her; when the farm-servants obeyed her reluctantly and morosely; when the villagers avoided her at the church door. She became a mother to the poor, and quietly did more good than all the villagers together. Yet all were somewhat in awe of the grave, stern woman, who was never hard or angry, but never cheerful. She will not marry, least of all the man who brought her to shame and deserted her in her need; her property she will leave to the orphaned. Yes, yes, Mother Patience, you can work miracles. [Footnote 1: A German idiom. A "raven mother" means a bad, unnatural mother.] _THE HERMIT._ The Hermit. Sorrow wanted to rest, so one hot midsummer's day she climbed lightly into the high mountains, amid the ancient forests, high, high up, into the region of quiet, solemn solitude. Only here and there a streamlet trickled, or a dry branch that lay upon the thick moss broke under her footsteps. From time to time the leaves swayed, as though the trees breathed; then a sunbeam would creep through and slide across the fallen mossy giant trunks upon which younger life was disporting; little firs and beeches, strawberries and ants in dense confusion. Of a sudden there was an opening, and Sorrow found herself stepping upon a narrow path, beneath towering rocks, at her feet a yawning precipice. After a while the space grew a little wider, and she came to a tiny house attached to the rock like to an eagle's eyrie. Beside it, in a niche cut in the living rock, sat a man with long white beard, leaning on his stick, and staring with somber dark eyes down into the valleys that opened out from all sides. As far as the eye could reach there was only mountain and forest. Two eagles hovered almost immovable in the trembling summer air, and then flew after each other in slow circles. "I am weary," said Sorrow, and seated herself in the thyme at the feet of the hermit, who looked at her slowly from top to toe. "Is that all that you bring?" he asked, grimly. "You had promised you would sometime bring me Rest, but I see no one." "I think she is coming after me," said Sorrow, dreamily; "the forest is getting so quiet; but I will not let her come if you do not keep your promise to me and tell me your history." Once again a somber look from out those black eyes was fixed on Sorrow; then they looked nervously, searchingly out into the wood; then the white beard trembled a little, and dull, muffled tones issued from the man's chest. "The price is heavy, but Rest is sweet. In my youth I was poor and never looked at the girls, for I did not want to create misery about me, and I knew hunger and thirst too well to ask them of my own accord to dwell in my hut. I was strong as a lion, and industrious, so I slowly earned a good piece of bread and a house that I had almost built by myself. Then it occurred to me that, as youth was nearly past, I must make haste if I wanted to marry. I knew a lovely girl, with eyes like a deer, whom a youth in the village had long desired, but she had refused him several times, until at last he saw that she would have nothing to say to him. Then he had a mind to drown, but he thought better of it and went to foreign parts, and nothing more was heard of him. The same day I wooed Marie, and nearly fainted for joy when, in answer to my timid question, 'If I am not too old for you, I should like to have you to wife, will you be mine?' she answered with glad eyes, quite softly, 'Most willingly.' I believe that if one begins to love young, one does not know what such happiness means. But if one has been alone for years, and then comes home and there by the hearth stands a young, beautiful woman who laughs at one roguishly, it makes one hot about the heart and head, and one takes up one's happiness in one's arms and runs about with it like one demented. You even cavil with the wind if it blows on your wife, and you hardly like to suffer the sun to shine on her. Yes, I was quite beside myself with love and happiness; and when next year she presented me with a son, I really had to tear myself away to go to my work. And the child had just such eyes as hers, so beaming and merry. Soon it could stretch out its little hands and pull my beard, and then we laughed. Six years passed thus happily; every day the boy grew more beautiful and clever, and my Marie remained merry and young in our little house by the mountain. True I was passionate sometimes, but then she would always send me our boy and I grew quiet at once, for no one could look into his eyes and be angry, so angelic was that face with its golden curls. "One day the rejected wooer returned to the village; we saw him as we went to church, and it gave me a pang to see that Marie grew pale and red and could not cease from looking at him. It is true that she laughed at me for this, and said that she was quite proud that I could even be jealous of the past. "But I could not forget his look, and why had she grown red? All the villagers had noticed it and smiled, and as it was the younger men were jealous of me. Nor was there an end with this first meeting. He insisted on his old acquaintanceship and visited us often, and as he had nothing to do, he sometimes came when my wife was alone at home. I began to be vexed at this, especially since a horrid old woman, with a fair young girl, that was as like you as pea to pea, turned in at our house one day and warmed themselves by our fire. She let all sorts of words fall, about evil tongues, about an old man and a young wife and an ancient lover, and while she jabbered the girl looked at me piteously, like you look now--I can never forget that look. My wife was in the bedroom putting our boy to sleep, and as she was not there to cheer me with her dear presence, the poison sank deep into my heart. From that hour I grew irritable and passionate towards her, which made her lose her cheerful calmness and look nervous whenever the uninvited guest appeared. I wanted to show him the door, but she would not allow it, saying wisely: 'Do you want him to tell the whole village that you are jealous of him, and that you mistrust your wife?' "How many bitter hours he cost us both! Whenever he had been I scolded Marie till far into the night. It was her fault; if she were not so pleasant to him he would certainly not come again. And I, who formerly would have let her tread on me, if that could spare her aught, could now look on coldly when she wept for hours. Her joyous laughter ceased, and she always looked at me terrified. I wanted that she too should feel some of the misery that gnawed at my heart, for was it not her fault? The bad old woman often came through the forest where I hewed down trees and said-- "'Go home, you will find him there.' "And I did find him once or twice, and at last I said: 'Marie, if I find him once more, there will happen mischief; I forewarn you.' "And yet again one evil day that old woman came tramping through the deep snow, and laughed maliciously and said-- "'Go home! go home!' "I shouldered my ax and ran home. There stood my wife, and she was red and angry, and was scolding that man. He only laughed. I seized him by the breast and swung the ax over his head. Marie seized me by the arm and cried-- "'Think of your son. He shall not have a murderer for his father!' "My arm sank. I ran out of the door, far into the wood. There lay the stems and trunks I had hewn down, a crust of ice covered the snow, beneath ran the path that my enemy must tread to return to the village. I stretched out my arm and began to arrange the blocks in such a manner that they would slowly roll down. One must hit him, I thought, and then he will be dead, and I shall be no murderer. "At the first footsteps I heard below I threw the trunks down, and they followed thick as hail. I did not look down. Suddenly a cry that pierced my very marrow rang upon the air. It was the cry of a child. I grew dizzy. True I sprang with lightning speed to the spot whence the cry had come. There lay the golden curls of my boy pressed in the snow; out of his open mouth there trickled blood, and his deer-like eyes looked at me solemnly. I called him by name; I pressed him to me; I breathed into his mouth; in vain--he was dead, dead! I took him in my arms and bore him home; kicked open the door with my foot, and gave him to his mother with the words-- "'There you have your boy! The tree that was destined for your friend hit him.' "She did not cry; she did not moan; she shed no tears; only her lips grew ashy. She held the boy for two days on her lap and spoke no word save a soft-- "'My child! my child!' "It had to be taken from her forcibly to bury it. We did not speak again to one another. The friend had vanished, and the bad old woman, too, did not come again. Other people soon kept away, as I was so gruff and my wife so silent. So the days passed, and the weeks and the months. I might not enter her room. She begged me to leave her alone. I think she sat all night long beside the bed of the child and pressed kisses on his pillow. Day by day she faded. I did not notice it. It never occurred to me to send for a doctor. I wanted no human being to behold our misery. "One evening she called me with a weak voice to her bedside, and said calmly-- "'To-night I must die, but before I do I want to confess myself to you. I have hated you since the hour you killed my joy, and much though I have struggled, and greatly though I desired to have pity on you, yet hate was stronger.' "'The greater your love for that other,' I hissed forth. "She raised her hand in oath. "'Never; I was your faithful wife until the end. I thank you for all the happiness of those first years, and I forgive you the misery of the last. Kiss me, I love you once more.' "For the first time I wept and craved her pardon for all I had done to her. She laid her hand once more on my brow, sighed a deep sigh, and was dead. "Then I ran away into the mountains and could look at no human being. I wanted never to speak again, never to hear the sound of voices. I sought for Rest in the woods, in the rocks, with the eagles and bears, and yet I have not found her. My suffering is so great, I believe the very stars have pity on me. And old as I am, I cannot forget that I myself murdered my happiness." The Hermit had done speaking. All the hot passions of his past life had been reflected by his features. Sorrow's eyes had looked at him fixedly, calmly, pityingly, sympathetically. Now she beckoned towards the mountains behind which the sun was about to sink. On large broad pinions Rest came floating onwards, looked into the old man's eyes until they drooped, closed them with gentle hand, breathed over his rigid features till all traces of bitterness vanished thence, and the mouth, that was closed for ever, looked almost gentle. Sorrow had already vanished. She descended into the valley and wandered all night. For as often as she desired to turn the handle of a door, she drew it back, and thought of the Hermit and his fate. _LOTTY._ Lotty. It was Christmas Eve. The snow was whirling in dense masses outside, and the wind was so strong that it swept one side of the street quite clean, and piled up whole mountains of snow across the way. Through all the windows there gleamed the bright light of the merry Christmas trees, and the voices of hundreds of happy children were heard. Alone and softly Sorrow crept along in the snowstorm. She turned her eyes neither to right nor left, that she might throw no shadow over these Christmas gayeties; she was making for a house where there was no joy to destroy. She passed two children--a girl in thin outgrown clothes, and a little boy who wanted to see all the lovely things that were inside the houses. His sister raised him up with all her strength, so that he could grapple hold of the window-sill, and with enchantment he looked at all the wonders within. But lifting her arms had made her poor old dress crack, and a sleeve came out of its seam. A tear ran down her face; it froze on her cheek. Sorrow stroked her head with her hand. "I was coming to you," she said; "how go things at home?" The girl shrugged her shoulders. The little one coughs and can barely breathe, and the older sister says the pains in her legs are so bad with this wind. "Won't you come home with me?" "Oh no," said the boy, "it is so beautiful in there, so bright. Do you hear how they laugh?" Sorrow did not look up but went further, and did not notice that Envy was creeping behind her, with his thin lips and sharp nose and squinting eyes. He came up to the children and whispered to them-- "Yes, it is beautiful in the homes of the rich, is it not? What have you got, you poor things? Is it not Christmas too for you?" "Hu, how cold it is!" the boy said suddenly. "Come, it is no longer pretty here." And they ran home. As they opened the door a haggard woman called out sharp and impatiently-- "Quick, shut the door, or all the snow will come in." They cowered into a corner behind the hearth; the woman walked up and down, carrying a child in her arms that coughed and choked and gasped for air. In the only bed lay a feverish girl, emaciated, with unkempt hair and large restless eyes. Sorrow sat on the edge of the couch and held her hand; the girl talked incessantly, softly and quickly-- "You see it is Christmas, once that was so beautiful, when things still went well with us. Then we always had a tree and apples and gingerbread, and I had a doll that had clothes like a princess. I liked sewing them for my dolly; I don't like it now for other people." She smiled. "What a pity you can't see the little dress I made for this evening, white and red, with cords and pink bows." Then the crack of the door opened and Envy pushed himself in softly, invisibly. It grew markedly colder in the room. The mother's face became gloomy, the feverish girl more restless. "Oh," she cried, impatiently, "always sewing, always sewing. Why do the others, who were poor, drive about in fine carriages, and wear soft clothes and laugh so merrily! If they are wicked, well, then it must be nice to be wicked. What does my labor bring me?--hunger and pain!" The mother did not hear her daughter's rapid words, for the child in her arms was wrestling with death. Outside the wind howled. The two other children had fallen asleep in their corner, hungry and exhausted, and in their dreams Envy had no more power over them, and they only saw the beautiful Christmas tree shimmering. It was a long night in which the lamp of life flickered up and down in that little house, and a young soul fought at the hand of Sorrow the fight for life and death. Towards morning the wrestling of both was ended. The child lay dead in its mother's lap, the young girl slumbered restlessly. The storm was over. The glittering snow lay piled up high, looking blue in the shadows of the houses, and softly tinted with red where the rising sun met it. Then the bells began to peal for merry Christmas. That woke the two children, who stared aghast at the little corpse. The young girl raised herself, and saw that her mother wept, but from her eyes there came no tears--she envied the dead child its rest. A merry sound of sledge bells sounded, and like a lovely dream two beautiful young girls flew past in a sledge, wrapped snugly in rich furs. Their cheeks and eyes sparkled with joy in the beautiful sunshine. It passed like lightning, this vision, but all in the little house were dazzled by it. The sick girl drew her thin hands through her black hair, the poor woman bit her teeth together, and the two children said-- "Mother, were those angels?" "No," she uttered harshly; "they were human beings like ourselves, only rich and happy, who are not hungry, and have warm clothes." Sorrow touched her arm-- "If you desire it, I will bring them here, into your home; but at one price--they will suffer pain and misery, and their joy will vanish. Do you want that?" "Yes," said the woman, "I do. Why should not they watch and weep as we do?" Sorrow sighed. "Shall I fetch them?" she asked once again. "Go, go; do you not see that my children starve? What do other people's children concern me?" Sorrow neared the young girl's bed. "Farewell for the present," she said; "be brave and reasonable, and take care of yourself, that I may not have to come to you again to punish." She kissed the children. "I send you the angels and a good Christmas, have patience." Then she softly lifted the door latch and was gone. Envy slid after her; and in her place, on the first sunbeam that smote the rows of houses, Hope floated into the room and made it light. Mother and children looked out expectantly. The girl pushed back her hair from her brow, and the bad thoughts retreated. Sorrow paced so lightly across the snow that she scarcely left a trace, as though she were borne by the sharp east wind, whose pungent tongue mocked the fine winter morning. She went through the most aristocratic streets, and vanished into one of the stateliest houses; entering so softly that no one noticed her, not even the servants, who were stretching themselves on red cushioned divans in the entrance hall; not even the parrot that always cried, "Canaille! Canaille!" and made a wise face. She went up the broad stairs, where everything was perfumed of fir-trees, straight towards a high door, whence the laughter of youthful voices resounded. Unnoticed she stood in the high large room through whose many windows the sun streamed, touching the white-covered, long tables, on which still lay all the presents given the night before. At one end of the room stood three tall fir-trees, their branches bent under a gay weight, and round about the room some thirty smaller ones. The six huge chandeliers were encircled with garlands of fir and chains of glass balls, and from one to the other hung rows of colored paper lamps. It must have looked quite fairy-like in the evening with all the candles alight. Amidst this glory two tall slim, supple figures, in dark, close-fitting, cloth dresses, were playing battledore and shuttlecock. Every movement was of rare grace, and the delicate profiles with the dark arched eyebrows, stood out well against the somber firs. The gold brown hair of the one hung in voluptuous waves over her shoulders, only held together by a ribbon; a weight of fair plaits hung down the neck of the other. Their heads thrown backwards revealed faultlessly set necks and laughing rows of pearly teeth. It was a sight for gods, and the young man who looked on thought so, as he sat in Olympian calm carelessly reading in an armchair, dressed in an elegant morning suit, a cigarette in his ring-covered hand. From time to time, in a powerful baritone, he hummed some rather frivolous songs that each time drew down on him a storm of laughing reproaches. "I beg my stern cousins to remark," he said, "that the ball has now fallen fourteen times to the ground, and that I consequently regret that my proposal was negatived that each such miss should be punished with a kiss." The girls laughed, but suddenly they noticed Sorrow, who looked on seriously at their merriment, like a distant hail-cloud at a harvest home. "Who are you?" both girls asked at once, approaching their strange guest. Sorrow would fain have cast down her eyes that she might not look at the three young heads in that room; but she saw them, and felt herself spellbound. She looked at all three, and then said in her soft, deep tones-- "I have just come from a house where since yesterday no one has eaten, where this night a child has died, and a girl lies sick in bed; two other children I found out in the snowstorm as they were admiring a Christmas tree. Can you not help?" "Yes, yes, at once," cried the one with the gold brown locks. "Albert, be so good as to order the sledge. Cara, do you run to mother and ask her for money. I will get food and clothes." With all imaginable speed every thing was got ready. After a brief half-hour the sledge stood before the door laden with wood and baskets, and one of the Christmas trees. There was barely room for the three young people to squeeze in. The mother, a stately, elegant woman, with wise eyes, restrained the eldest girl, Doris, for a second, to say something to her very earnestly, upon which she kissed both her hands. Then she, too, flew downstairs after the others, and as fast as the wind they trotted to the house of the poor people. "Mother, the angels have come," cried the children. They got out and brought in the tree. Cara knelt down by the hearth and made a fire, and Doris placed the tree by the bedside of the sufferer, darkened the room and lighted it. She gave the children bread and cake, and then the two lovely girls stood by the sick girl's bedside and sang a Christmas carol. The little boy, with folded hands, looked now at the lights, now at the angels, and large tears rolled over his pale face. Albert did not quite know what to do with himself; but now that the two girls helped the mother to warm some soup and cut up meat for the children, he neared the bed, and looked with scrutiny into the black eyes that glowed and reflected with uncanny fire the lights of the Christmas tree. "What is your name?" he asked kindly with his pleasant voice. The girl looked at him long and earnestly; she felt the gaze of his beautiful blue eyes burn into her heart. Then she grew red, cast down her eyes, and said: "Lotty." Soon an animated conversation sprang up between the two. Albert took out his pocket-book, wrote a few lines, and sent off the servant with orders to bring the doctor back in the sledge. They would wait till he came. Doris's eyes rested for an instant on her cousin, who had seated himself on the edge of the bed and talked eagerly to Lotty. Scarcely was the sledge gone than she said-- "There, that will do for to-day; I will walk home. We will come again in a few days, till then you have provision." And so speaking she walked out of the house, regardless of her cousin's remonstrances. Next day all looked bright and cheerful in the little room, but grief and pain had entered the palace. Cara had fallen on the ice while skating, and lay in bed maimed in all her limbs, and suffering keenly. Her snow-white hands lay quiescent beside her plaits upon the coverlet. Her father patted them, and the tears ran down his cheeks. Then Cara smiled, but her eyes looked out dim and deep from their hollows, and round her lips there quivered a suppressed sigh. Wearily she dragged on her life for weeks and weeks; but if any one asked Cara how she was, she would always answer kindly-- "I think I am much better." But pain had pinched her face and emaciated her body, and her hands and feet remained paralyzed. Her only recreation were Albert's visits. He told her all manner of things, and sang her merry songs. Doris grew pale and thin with continued nursing, so that at last her mother had to force her to go out. She bethought her of Lotty, and went to call on her. How amazed was she to find the little house transformed, and Lotty changed more than all! Graceful, rounded in all her limbs, she stepped towards her, and the slight limp that remained from her illness only gave her an added grace. Her eyes had learned to laugh, and her whole being had gained something attractive and bright. "But, Lotty, how well you look! I was afraid you would think we had forgotten you." "How could I think that," said Lotty, "when your brother always came to see us!" "He is not my brother," Doris said shortly, and grew scarlet. Then ensued an awkward silence, interrupted by Doris, who asked to see the children's school-books, which, superintended by Lotty, bore inspection well. They had gained good instruction in the time that had passed. A few days after Albert went away on a journey. It was a hard parting for the two girls. At the last he kissed Doris's hand, and looked at her earnestly, deep down into her eyes. They filled with large tears. She wanted to say something more, but could not bring forth a sound. "I shall come back in the summer," he said, and was gone. Lotty was soon so well that she could walk and call on Cara, who was so pleased to see her that she did not want to let her go. So she was engaged as companion and nurse for Cara, and soon grew indispensable to her. In the spring the family moved to their castle in the country, where the poor invalid could lie all day under tall trees. Albert soon came there too, and Doris took long rides with him through the park, or they sat for hours chatting with Cara. Yet he always found time and opportunity to see Lotty alone. At first she was distant with him, but with his heart-winning ways he soon recovered the empire he had had in the little house in the town; and she was happy when he said that the parents insisted on marrying Doris to him, but that he did not think of it for she did not please him at all. Cara noticed that there was something amiss with her Lotty, but she never dreamed what a fight the girl was fighting with her heart, that impetuously demanded love and happiness, and her conscience that recalled to her her duties and strove to calm her. Doris guessed nothing. She was entirely absorbed in the joy of having her adored Albert beside her. Albert really loved Lotty, but he did not want to lose the rich marriage with Doris; so he was full of little delicate attentions to her, which in quiet hours were counted up and talked over with Cara. Lotty knew herself to be beloved, therefore her jealousy of Doris knew no bounds. Every kind look, every unconscious little joke of Doris's was gall and wormwood to her. She had to help Doris adorn herself, and see how she looked into the glass with beaming eyes, certain of victory, full of hope. She had to suffer that her adored Cara did all to make her sister appear in the best light to Albert. Many an evening in the park there ensued angry scenes in which Lotty broke forth into wild reproaches, and Albert made passionate love protestations. Lotty was proud; she would be his wife, and at last he promised her that he would marry her as soon as he had found a post that insured enough for them both. He was soon to go abroad to join an embassy. Lotty demanded that he should say openly at the house that he meant to marry her, but this she could not attain. Once more Lotty thought-- "If only I were rich, like the others." Many a long night she tossed about her black locks on the pillow, and next day her eyes glowed like coals, so that Albert grew almost afraid, and feared she might make things uncomfortable for him. He hurried forward his parting preparations. On the last evening he was in the park with Doris, and began to speak to her of his future, and that he should come back a made man. Then he would woo her, and he hoped he should not be refused. At the last he put a bracelet round her wrist, encircled her with his arm and pressed a kiss on her lips. Doris flushed all over, ran off to Cara, fell on her knees beside the bed, kissed her hands, her hair, her eyes, and was so wildly happy that it grew almost too much for the poor invalid. When Albert wanted to leave the park Lotty stood before him and looked at him so sphinx-like that he grew afraid. He hoped she had heard nothing, and took a step forward. But she struck him in the face with her fist. Then she vanished. She ran as fast as she could into her room, and raved all night long, bit her pillow, and thought to die of rage and despair. Albert, who slept little, could not see Lotty again and extort from her a promise of silence. Twice he knocked at her door, but she kept quiet till he had gone and then she muttered curses after him. Next morning he departed without having seen her. Doris waved her hand after him long, long after he was out of sight, and wept blissful tears. But Cara was alarmed when she saw Lotty. A complete alteration had come to her face; it was as though something had snapped. She had to endure hearing Albert talked of incessantly. Towards Doris she felt a veritable hatred. At first there came letters from Albert, but they grew rarer and briefer. After a year there came none. Doris had been radiantly happy some time and developed to rare beauty. At her side Hope stood shimmering, rosy, like peach blossoms. By Cara's bed sat Mother Patience, invisible to all, and transfigured the pale face with her calm presence. Beside Lotty strode Envy and Hate, and tugged at her with all their might night and day. In the second year Hope vanished from beside Doris; in the third, the girl crept wearily through the house as though each step were leaden. Lotty revived; yes, Doris even noted that when Lotty combed her hair she could see in the glass how her black eyes sparkled maliciously, and seemed to search her weary face. Doris's parents grew old and gray during these years of waiting. Albert's name was never breathed, it was as though he was blotted out of all their memories, and yet all thought only of him. One morning Doris was sitting at breakfast with her parents. Cara was still in bed, she was never carried down till later in the day. The father read out of his paper, his wife rested her chin on her slender fingers. Countless fine lines had become graven into her face, Care was her daily guest; yet she looked kindly from under her gray hairs and her elegant cap. Secretly her glance sought the face of her daughter, who had leaned back wearily in her chair, toying with a flower and gazing out vacantly into space. Sometimes she would look out of the window, and watch with heavy eyelids the falling of the faded autumn leaves, which sank to earth in the thick mist. A fire burnt in the chimney; it was the only lively thing in the room. Then a letter was brought in and given to Doris's father. He twirled it between his fingers and looked at the address and seal. Doris had glanced up indifferently. Suddenly every muscle of her face trembled, and she rested large, flashing eyes upon her father, her nostrils quivered, and her breath came short and fast. "Oh, father, read, read quickly!" He read long, long, without speaking one word. At last he folded up the letter. Doris's torture was at an end, she was near to faint. "Albert is coming," he said gravely, and would have gone on speaking, but from Doris's breast there came a cry of mingled joy and sobbing. She sprang up, embraced her mother and rushed out of the room and up the stairs to Cara. "Cara, he is coming, is coming," she cried, and covered her sister with kisses. Lotty rushed to the bedside; it was as though a fallen angel looked at the happy girl. At last harshly and roughly she muttered-- "Who knows what he has become." Doris felt the poisoned dart, but before she could answer her mother called her down. As she entered the room she saw her father pacing up and down restlessly. He did not notice her. Her mother sat in a little armchair beside the fire, staring into the embers. Doris noticed every thing at a glance. It was as though something heavy and cold fell upon her heart. "Come here, dear child," said her mother; "kneel down here, I have something to say to you. You have always trusted us, have you not, my child? You always believed that we have felt your sufferings too, and have felt them the more that we could not help you?" Doris could not speak, she kissed her mother's hand and looked at her again with large, glowing eyes. "If, then, I tell you that Albert is not worthy of you, my child will believe it, will she not? He has not kept good; it is said he has gambled away his fortune, and we should not like him to ask the hand of our daughter merely in order to pay his debts. I know you will be proud and meet him as it becomes your maidenly dignity. You will let him see nothing of your soul's combat and woe, but meet him as he deserves." "When will he come?" said Doris, curtly. Her voice was hard. "In a few days; we cannot forbid him the house for his mother's sake. I count on you, my child." Doris's eyes flashed. She raised herself and stood her full height; she seemed to have grown, and looked defiant, ready for fight. Without a word she went outside into the mist. She paced the park for hours, heedless of the paths and ways; she painted to her mind that meeting, how cold and proud she would be. She snapped off the twigs as she passed, and crunched them with her white teeth. It seemed to her as though she never could go home, as though she must thus rove the wood for ever. When she came back to the house at last, her hair, dress, and eyebrows were covered with glistening drops. She looked into the glass that reflected her hard-drawn face. "The wood," she said, "has had pity on me; those are its tears." She could not make up her mind to go in to Cara; she felt as though she could not bear her affection. Cara wept in her father's arms. He dried the tears she was shedding for her sister, and spoke to her tenderly. Lotty clenched her fists. "She shall not have him as long as I live." Henceforward Doris went often into the wood, especially along the path beside the old willow-trees. The sun still shone warmly there, and that did good to Doris, who could not get rid of a feeling of cold. Once she leaned exhausted against a mighty trunk; she had laid her hand upon her aching heart, and closed her eyes. Suddenly she heard a voice close by her, whose tone made her shrink together as a flower does in spring rain-- "Doris." And there stood Albert, with the same lovely eyes, the same charm of movement, and yet how changed. He held out his hand towards her. She laid her icy fingertips into his; but when she wanted to draw back her hand he retained it. "Am I to be condemned unheard?" he asked gently, and smiled so sweetly that Doris could not be as distant and cold as she had resolved. He did not wait for an answer, but spoke eagerly and earnestly, accused and defended himself at the same time, reminded her of their sweet love that could not possibly be vanished and fled; ay, he read it in her face that she had thought of him, while poor Doris, now red, now pale, could merely look at him. When he turned to go to the house and greet his aunt, she remained outside, for an awkward friend, Conscience, told her that she had not been all that her parents expected. They did not repeat their injunction, and the meetings in the park grew more and more frequent; a correspondence even ensued that was intrusted to a hollow willow. Doris's mother noticed a strange, wild look in the girl's eyes, but she put this down to the struggle her child was undergoing. Often Doris would have opened her lips to confess, but always closed them again. Daily she grew more irritable, spoke in hollow tones, and laughed at every thing. Lotty knew exactly all that went on. She bided her time, ready to spring like a cat whenever the hour should be ripe. One day Doris could not get out, and so begged Lotty, in a seemingly indifferent tone, to carry a letter to the tree. Lotty held the letter between her fingers and looked now at it, now at Doris. "Well," said Doris, sharply, but without looking up, "is it inconvenient to you?" "No," said Lotty, carelessly, went towards the door, and then came back beside Doris. "I shall only carry that letter," she said, "after I have told you what manner of man your lover is." Lotty looked so fierce that Doris shuddered. "He loved me, me, long before he loved you: me he has kissed many hundred times in this very park ere ever he gave you the one that made you so happy; me he promised to wed. It is me he called his dear heart, his love, all the soft names he has called you; and on the evening you were betrothed to him, I hit him in his face, and now he is so vile that no decent girl would wish to have him; and you, you carry on a secret love affair with him." Doris grew giddy; but before she had taken in the full sense of these words, Lotty had left the room and did not re-appear. The following evening, when Lotty had just got into bed, Doris stood before her like a ghost. She shook her arms and said-- "Come!" She followed Doris into her room. The girl shut and locked the door, and pocketed the key. "Now tell it me all again," she said, speaking with effort. Lotty no longer felt the satisfaction she had experienced that first moment. She was ashamed of her weakness, and told her tale with hesitation and with reserve. While she did so she had ever to look at Doris, who grew momentarily more haggard, and who bent herself twice, thrice; whether in physical or mental pain Lotty did not know. Suppressing a low moan, she drew a small roll of paper from her pocket, and smiled with trembling lips. "You have avenged yourself on me; now is your turn with him; you owe me this, for you should have spared me this agony. To-morrow morning you go to town and give him this; you yourself must give it to him; I demand it." Scarcely had Doris uttered these words than she began to moan piteously, and now followed a night during which Lotty was terrified by the sufferings of her young mistress. Constantly she tried to get the key and call the family; Doris would not let her. "No," she said; "we two must pass this night alone together." Only when consciousness began to leave her, Lotty succeeded in wrenching the key from her clenched hands. She called up the parents, who arrived but in time to receive their daughter's last breath. She opened her eyes once again, knew her mother, kissed each of her fingertips and whispered-- "Farewell, mother; farewell, forgive me." Then a last terrible spasm shook her, and when the sun rose she was a corpse. While the parents were with Cara, trying to break the news gently to the poor invalid, Lotty slipped away into her own room. There she unrolled the paper and read-- "Could I have believed in you, I should have lived.--DORIS." Then she set out for the town and sought out Albert, who was still in bed sleeping restlessly. Lotty looked at him long and severely. Her gaze was so savage that a feeling of fear shot through him and woke him. He started up. "What is it?" he cried aghast. Lotty handed him the paper without speaking a word, and before he had unfolded it she had gone. He threw on his clothes and hurried after her, but he could not find her. He ran about all day: he hovered round the castle, he chased through the park. He looked as though the Furies pursued him. At last he went home, sat down to his desk, and began to turn over a pile of dirty papers. Great drops stood on his brow. In the evening he went to see a friend, and gambled the whole night. In a short time he had won large sums, but then a few days after he lost them all again, those and much more besides. One morning he tottered into his room, loaded a pistol and shot himself. Lotty got home unnoticed as she had gone out; but as she entered Sorrow stood in front of her, and her eyes were so terrible that Lotty fell down before her on the earth and covered her face with her hands. But when Sorrow began to speak, Lotty was seized with trembling at the stern words that fell upon her like hammer blows; she writhed on the ground like a worm, but Sorrow was inexorable. "You have done your work well," she said; "you have avenged yourself. But on whom? On those who have done you kindness from the first hour when they raised you out of misery and wretchedness, those to whom you owe all--your life, your health--who have treated you as a child and a sister. They were happy before I brought them to your house, and what are they now? I know you want to throw yourself into the water, but I will not suffer it, for you need a whole long life to make good the thoughts that have poisoned your youth. You must give up your whole strength to poor Cara, beside whose bed you will yet often see me, and take care that you need not tremble before my face, as you must to-day. Cara needs you, for her parents are broken down, and only through boundless self-sacrifice may you dare to hope for forgiveness. As yet I cannot accord it." Once more it was Christmas Eve. A beautiful tree was alight in the little house. Lotty had brought it there in Cara's name. The children had red cheeks and shouted joyously. The mother too had grown to look younger and smiled often. Only Lotty was pale as death and dark as remorse. "Here my mother looks at me," she thought; "and thinks Lotty has grown bad; and there Doris's mother looks at me and thinks, 'Had you but called me we could have saved the child.' Oh that I had starved to death!" In the castle a shaded lamp burnt beside Cara's bed. Her father was reading to her with weary voice, the mother sat by, stroked the girl's hands, and dried the heavy, slow-falling tears that rolled down her child's face with a soft handkerchief. Cara had not spoken all the evening. Only once she asked-- "Is not this Christmas Eve?" _MEDUSA._ Medusa. The waters tossed and foamed through the huge rocks that were pressed so close together that up amid the heights a strip of blue sky was scarcely to be seen. Upon a narrow slippery path, alongside the oozy rocky walls, ran Sorrow, as fast as though the path were sure and the surroundings a flowery meadow. The rushing waters threatened every moment to ingulf her. Their thunder, repeated by a thousand echoes, seemed to grow yet louder, and sounded so menacing as though the audacious pilgrim must turn back before them. But with burning cheeks Sorrow hurried onwards, and her long black hair floated behind her like a somber cloud. Her nostrils quivered, her lips opened and shut, with outstretched arms she whispered or called something, but the sound died away before it was spoken. Her eyes stared into space as though she would search the depths, and yet they had fain be cast down, for the gorge narrowed and the last trace of a path was inundated by the water. Beneath her surged a whirlpool, above her rushed the water, rushed down in ever new masses; now it sounded like song, now like moaning voices, now like pealing thunder. One moment she halted, then she raised her thin skirts and began to wade through the water where the rocks had quieted it a little and scooped out a place large enough for her small feet. With one hand she held herself against the rocky wall and looked from time to time into the depths where yawned the opening of a cavern. At the risk of death she reached the entrance and stood still a second, breathing deeply. Once more her gaze eagerly swept the sides of the cliffs; there was no projection on which to gain a footing, no bird could have stood there. Out of the cavern's mouth there gushed water, and it too offered no road. One more look did she cast back, then she resolutely entered the cave and groped through it in the dark, along the wet stones. Often she sank deep into the waters. When she lost sight of the last sheen of daylight she resolved to wade, and did not feel in the icy cold of the water how the stones cut her feet. At last a red spot gleamed. She thought it was the daylight outside the cavern. Then the space enlarged. In this impenetrable darkness there was a huge vault adorned with columns and capitals and ornaments of all kinds. Darting lights and shades quivered through the hall, which re-echoed with the sound of weeping and moaning. It was a confusion of sobbing women, whimpering children, groaning, sighing men, and every flash of light seemed to increase the misery. Sorrow pressed her hands upon her breast and panted. She was so dazzled that at first she could not see whence these lightnings came; the horrible sounds about her made her giddy. She leaned against one of the shining columns and shading her eyes with her hand, sought to follow the water-course and so discover the exit. There she beheld a colossal man, as tall, rough, and angular as the columns around. His ardent eyes were fixed on her. In his hand he held the lightnings, which from time to time he threw across the cave like fiery arrows or blue snakes. "Come here, little Sorrow," he called in a voice of thunder. "Have you found your way to me? Come here, for you are mine." Sorrow clung to the pillar against which she leaned and seized one of its pendent points. Pale as death, she glared at the monster who beckoned to her. "I will not come to you," she said at last. "I do not know you. I seek for Peace whom I saw go in here, and I am hurrying after him. Oh," she cried, and wrung her hands; "oh, have you hidden him here, or perchance killed him, you terrible man?" "I am Pain. Peace is not here, but beyond this cave, in the happy valley." "Show me the exit that I may follow him;" and Sorrow sank down on her knees imploringly. The fearful man laughed, and his laughter was louder than the rushing and thundering of the waters, more terrible than the sound of moaning round about. "No, child; you and I, we do not belong to the happy valley, and the exit thither is barred to us by the weepers who fill this cave, and who are our victims. We two belong together. You shall be my wife, and we will seek a spot to fix our dwelling." "Your wife!" The words came from Sorrow's breast like a cry, but they were drowned in laughter. Then she darted up and turned to fly. But her arm was seized in such a grip that she thought it would break, and Pain swung his lightnings over her head. "If ever you flee from me," he roared, "one of these shall fall on you, and what you will then feel will be so horrible that crushed, burnt, tortured, you will scarcely be able to moan like these wretches. I will show them to you." He lifted the hand that held the lightnings and illuminated the whole space. No human words can tell what fearful forms filled it. Of every age and sex stricken ones lay around. They wound themselves in agony, they lacerated themselves with their fists, they clawed the stones and with the nails of their hands and feet tried to raise themselves. Horrid wounds were held under the falling drops to cool them. Women writhed in eternal birth-throes and could not bring forth; children beat their heads sore against the rocky walls to overpower the pain that gnawed their entrails. Many lay on their knees and wrung their hands and beat their breasts in unextinguishable remorse. Others lay motionless, as though dead, only their eyes moved slowly in their sockets, following the direction of the light. Sorrow veiled her face and tottered; Pain caught her in his arms and pressed her to his breast. "As great as are these agonies, so great is my love," he said. Sorrow wept passionately. "How could you think Peace could be yours. You have nothing in common with him. You are mine; you belong to me. I have loved you in your deeds without beholding you; your traces delighted my eyes." He drew her hands away from her face and kissed her. Sorrow closed her eyes that she might not see him, but under her dark lids tears welled forth, which he kissed away. "Weep, weep, my little maid; your tears are dew, far fairer than your laughter, they refresh and cheer me." She tried to get loose from him, but he held her with his iron grasp. "If you are afraid here," he said, "I will bear you to a sweet spot and win you there with violence." He hastily raised the trembling maiden in his arms, threw a lightning in front of him that traced a line of light along the whole dark passage, and wading through the waters that seemed to retreat from his feet, he hurried to the cavern's mouth. He bore her past the waterfall, and when he let her glide to earth, he took hold of her hand, as though he feared she would escape him. She often looked back and tried to think of the happy valley, but to her mental vision there ever appeared only the cave with its desperate inhabitants. She hoped the terrible man might grow weary, and then if sleep overcame him, she could flee; therefore she complained of fatigue. But Pain was never weary; he instantly carried her again, and went onwards yet faster. "Be happy," he said, "for now at least some one carries you." She turned her head away from his gleaming eyes. Then a great sense of weakness came over her, and it seemed to her as though they were going backwards, as though the rushing of the river came ever nearer, as though his eyes pierced her breast. Powerless to speak or move, she lay in the arms of Pain. Oh, where--where was her brother Death, who could have freed her? Where her father Strife? He would have wrestled with her captor. Or was he too powerless against this all-mighty Pain? She would have prayed the river, the trees, the grasses to help her, but they did not see her need. At last she lost consciousness, and when she woke she lay under a rock amid deep hot sand--no tree, no song of bird, no murmur of waters; only sand, yellow burning sand and golden air that quivered in the heat. "My wife," said Pain, and his eyes burnt like the sand and the air, and seemed to drain Sorrow's life blood. Her tears began to flow anew. "Oh! how thirsty I am," she moaned. Pain looked at her with satisfaction. "Well," he said, "was it not beautiful in that cool gorge, so near to the cold foaming river? Do you recall how clear it was, and how it gushed out of the rocks? It came from the happy valley, that is so full of luscious fruits, fruits such as you have never beheld. Shall I show it you?" At his words Sorrow's eyes had grown ever bigger, her lips more parched. "Yes, yes," she panted, and behold, away, across the sand, there shimmered in the air a broad stream, and beside it were shady trees laden with fruits. Without knowing what she did, Sorrow sprang up and ran to the river as fast as she could, through the deep sand, under the scorching sunbeams. But the river seemed to retreat ever further from her, and at last it had vanished. At the same moment Pain laughed behind her, and it sounded as though the whole desert laughed. "Do you now see that you are wholly in my power; you can even only think as I will. Here is water." He showed her a few trees that overshadowed a well. Sorrow fell down beside it and drank eager draughts. Then she sank into a deep sleep. When she woke the trees were withered, the well dried up, and there was again nothing but sand as far as the eye could reach. "Do you see," said Pain, "we are stronger than the sun and the desert wind; all must vanish before our might. Wherever we have passed pestilence has broken out, towns and villages are burnt; and where we set up our dwelling the earth grows a desert." Sorrow wrung her hands. She sprang up and hurried forward. A whole long day she sped on, on, and did not see that he followed. At evening he came towards her and laughed, and laughed so long that the whole desert grew noisy, and hyenas and jackals began to howl, and lions approached roaring. But Pain held them in check with his look of fire, so that they only walked round them from afar off all the night. When day dawned the wild beasts withdrew. "Oh," said Sorrow, "I die of fear. Take me away from here, wherever you will, only away from this heat, these horrid beasts." "Do you want coolness, love? You shall have it." He took her in his arms and bore her fast as the wind towards the north, ever further, past the homes of men, past fields and cities, across the ocean, which he waded through, up to the North. There lay a lovely islet, and birches shook their tender foliage in the fresh breezes. "Here we will found our happy valley," said Pain, and beckoned. And as he beckoned the wind blew colder and sharper, the grass crackled under his feet as it withered and froze, and from the ocean there neared crystal mountains that came closer and closer to the land, and the wind that drove them to shore howled dismally. Soon the whole air was filled with snow that whirled from above, from below, from all sides, choking like fine sand. Ice-blocks were piled upon ice-blocks, there was much thundering and crackling, but at last all was still, wrapped in snow and awful silence. The transparent rocks stared up to the heavens like frozen joy. Pain flung a lightning dart into the ice. It bored a blue-green glistening cave in which he laid Sorrow. "Do you stay here and rest," he said; "I will search for a verdant spot. But do not stir from here, for out of the ice-fields you will never find your road back to the happy valley." Scarcely had he gone than Sorrow felt her frozen blood revive, and the terrible woe in her breast seemed to yield. First she leaned on her hand and peeped out, then she knelt and breathed on her numbed fingers, then she stepped outside. There towered blocks of ice; here snow was spread in endless extent. She knew that the snow covered the island and the ice-blocks the sea, and it was over the ice-blocks she must wander, for otherwise she could not get across it. She began to slip through the cracks and crevices, to jump from one block to another, following the sunbeams that alone marked a track for her. She did not rest when night came for fear she should be pursued. Twice she went round the island without knowing it, in her senseless fear; but at last the sun led her out of the ice-bound world and across the first green blades of grass. Then she sank down for very weariness. How she found her road back to the mountain gorge she never knew. She entered it trembling. If he was already here, he from whom she had fled, then she was lost. After her wanderings upon the ice, this road seemed to be quite easy, and her fearful glances around were not directed to the masses of water that poured down yet more wildly than when she had first come here, and which seemed to threaten her tender form at every moment, as though they would sweep her away like a leaf. Trembling in every limb, and with chattering teeth, Sorrow entered the dreadful cave. It was dark, and the confusion of voices sounded painfully through the vaults. Suddenly she felt herself surrounded on all sides, and held by her hands and clothes. "I will not let you go before you liberate me," a voice sounded at her ear. "Give me back happiness," moaned another. "Make me well again," cried a third. "We are but echoes of the woes of earth," they cried; "but you shall hear us, though you stay here forever." "But I cannot help you," wailed Sorrow. "Yes," they shrieked; "you can bring woe, but you will not free us. Revenge! revenge!" And Sorrow felt herself pressed against the angular columns, and in the noise that clamored round her, she heard-- "Bind her, bind her, tear out her heart. Blind the eyes of her who has brought so much woe." In her fear she cried-- "Beware what you do, Pain comes behind me, and terrible will be his revenge if you hurt a hair of my head." Then she forced a road for herself and ran on, on to the spot where she fancied was the outlet She groped a long while along the dripping walls, but just as she had found it, she felt herself held anew, and a voice said-- "And what will Pain do to you if you flee thither? Kiss me, or I will betray you." "Do not kiss him, his face is quite mutilated," called another voice. "I will betray you," was whispered into her ear. "I will hold you fast until Pain comes. Kiss me." Sorrow bent down trembling, and touched a hideous mass with her delicate lips; then she freed herself shuddering, and fled on again along the dark passage. She had to bend nearly double, it grew so low. She dipped her hand in the water and washed her face. It seemed to her as if she never advanced, as if she would never reach the end. At last there shone a bright spot that slowly grew larger. There, yes, there, gleamed the dear sun; there must be the happy valley. But how, if Peace, whom she had sought in vain over the whole earth, were there no longer! But if he were not, she could at least follow in his footsteps, and rest there where he had passed. Now the outlet of the cave yawned, and Sorrow stood still dazzled. Whatever there was that was fair on earth, whatever could be pictured of power and beauty, was all collected in that valley--luscious greenery, wealth of flowers that covered the earth or crept along the giant trees in lovely garlands, trees that no ax had ever touched, and a singing of birds like heavenly music. A deep green lake reflected all this beauty; deer and gazelles stood around it and drank. At Sorrow's feet shone strawberries in rich red masses, above her head hovered a bird of paradise, the tip of his golden tail touched her hair. Suddenly Sorrow heard a voice, at whose tones it seemed to her as though her heart leapt from her mouth. At first it sounded so soft, so full and gentle, like purest melody; then it seemed to retreat. Sorrow held her breath. Now again it came nearer, and at last she could hear the words. "You are the only maid on earth whom I can love, and you will not stay with me! Is it not fair enough here to please you?" To whom were these words spoken, for whom the caressing sound of that voice? Sorrow bent back a branch and beheld Peace with his heavenly eyes, calm like a deep lake, and his radiant face of blooming youth. Sorrow was so sunk in contemplation that she forgot herself, her existence, and the sufferings she had endured. Her soul was in her eyes and quaffed eagerly this first refreshment. Then another face came to view. Sorrow at once recognized Work by her bright blue eyes and the waving of her golden locks. She was blushing and tending her sweet lips to Peace. How lovely they both were under the green half shadows of the broad leaves! Sorrow held her breath, the branch trembled in her hand. "Do not go back to earth," Peace pleaded; "you know what that is like." "I must, I must," said Work. "I am the comforter in all need, I have dried the tears of even Sorrow herself." "Oh do not speak of Sorrow here." "Have you ever beheld her?" "I have beheld her!" and Peace's eyes grew veiled; "and she destroyed my heaven with her ugly eyes. I have fled from her across the whole world and hidden here from her sight, for through that awful cave she will not come. Her victims will not let her pass, if ever she sets foot in it." At that instant the poor listener felt herself seized in an iron grasp, and the cry that would have issued from her was stifled by a strong hand. She reeled back through the dark passage, into the cavern in which lightning flamed. Now she was forcibly bound and before her stood Pain in towering passion. "What shall I do to you, faithless one?" he gnashed. "Revenge, revenge!" resounded from all sides, and a rain of stones hit the defenseless one. Sorrow sank on her knees, but Pain raised her. "No," he said, "she is not to be given over to you, for she must return to earth; but I will return her to earth in such a manner that she shall with unconcern do yet more mischief than heretofore." He seized Sorrow by her hair and drew her forth relentlessly, away from the howls of the cave which pursued her long. It was twilight outside; under the rocks it was already night. Sorrow was dragged onwards, she knew not how, she knew not whither. Now she flew up the mountain sides, ever higher, higher, dragged, when her tottering knees would no longer bear her, across bare stones and through thorn-bushes. A fearful storm raged. At last she reached a high mountain top on which there was only room for her foot. Here she stood a second above the dark-threatening mountain forest lashed by the wind, high and free, above the mountains and the clefts, above the firs and the waters, alone in the world. She no longer felt, she did not see Pain who cowered near to her on a rocky ledge and waited. Now he raised his hand and cast lightning upon lightning towards her. From her crown to her feet she felt herself torn and penetrated by these glowing rays. She silently extended her arms and turned round slowly. As she did so, the last lightning dart pierced through her eyes into her heart, and she fell down, down, deep into the yawning precipice. Pain listened until he heard her fall, and then laughed terribly. The mountains answered his laugh with thundrous voice, the firs bent and broke, the waters stood still a second for fear. How long Sorrow lay in that abyss none knew, for none asked after her. The firs alone kept watch over the sleeper and whispered dreams to her that she did not hear. One day strong steps broke the silence, and Courage, his club upon his shoulder, came singing by. He beheld Sorrow as she lay there, her head on a stone, her feet in the water, encircled with her long black hair that had been bathed in blood. He raised the body and rubbed her numb hands. "Have I got you at last?" he said, "I wanted to find you. You may not die, you must be alive again." He warmed her in his arms, he revived her with his breath until she opened her eyes. "Why do you seek me?" she asked in tuneless voice. "I am dead." "The world misses you, you must wander again. Sin reigns unchecked since you have vanished." "Let her keep her empire," said Sorrow, and closed her eyes. Courage shook her. "It must not be, little sister, you must wander again." "But I am dead, do you not see? Do you not see that I am burnt?--my brain, my eyes, my heart; leave me alone." "That does not concern the world whether you wander through it dead or alive, but wander you must. I will not let you go till you do." He raised her on her feet. She turned and looked at him. He grew pale. Her face was stony, her eyes stony, her hair hung round her rigid and dead. "Shall I go?" she said, without moving her lips. "Go," said Courage, "for you all pains are past; you will gaze into the world indifferently, a fearful enemy to Sin." Sorrow swept her hair from off her marble brow, and tried to collect herself. As memory stirred, her eyes began to flash again; but their light died down almost immediately. Yes, she had grown terrible, as terrible as Pain had desired in his fierce vengeance, as terrible as she needed to be to put a curb on Sin. Poor little Sorrow! _HEAVENLY GIFTS._ Heavenly Gifts. The forest gorge was full of the sound of trickling and running waters. A streamlet skipped from rock to rock. Through the dense foliage a sunbeam crept here and there, and changed into a rainbow in the embraces of the waters. Here and there dark little pools formed, upon whose surface floated a withered leaf, until it came too close to the current and vanished, whirling over the nearest waterfall. Huge tree trunks had fallen across the gorge. They were used as bridges by the mosses and climbing plants that overgrew them with exuberant vitality, and hung down from their sides as though they would drink of the waters that murmured beneath. There of a sudden a wondrously white arm stretched forth from out of the climbing plants. In its delicate hand it held a staff of rock crystal with a diamond knob, that flashed and glistened strangely, as though the sun had stepped down to behold itself in the mountain stream. Then fair curls came to view over the confusion of plants that covered the tree trunk; then a rosy face, with large dreamy eyes, now black, now dark blue in color, according to the thoughts that swayed under the cover of its curls. Anon the charming being knelt, and one could see the golden girdle that held the soft garment which clung about her tender form, and her other hand that held a spindle cut from a single emerald, which she twirled in the air as though she would that it outshine the green of the beech leaves. "Oh, M�¤rchen,[2] M�¤rchen," the brook began to sing, "will you not bathe to-day? Put by your staff and spindle and dip down to me. I have not kissed you to-day." The fair head peeped down and looked into the wood. No, there was no one there, not even a deer. So M�¤rchen laid distaff and spindle among the moss of the tree trunk, twisted her hair into a knot, let fall her linen garment, and, seizing hold of two twigs, let herself glide down to the surface of the brook, and then began to swing merrily to and fro, her feet touching the water as she swung. But the brook did not cease from singing, and from imploring her to come down into him. Then she let go the twigs, and fell, like a shower of spring blossoms, into its wavelets. Far from here was a lonely gorge. Rock towered upon rock, and a torrent forced its way through with difficulty. There a grave man leaned and looked down into the waterfall. His brow was thoughtful; the hand that rested upon the stones was delicate, almost suffering. A pencil had fallen from its grasp. Suddenly there sounded a wondrous singing from out the waterfall, and the man's brow grew clearer as he listened. That was the moment when M�¤rchen had touched the waters, and it sang and sounded and was full of lovely forms and sweet songs and many fair things that attracted that lonely man. He listened enraptured, and his soul expanded with the things he heard. The brook itself hardly knew what it babbled; it still trembled from having felt M�¤rchen's touch, and it sang for sheer joy. The lonely man departed with lightened brow and airy steps as though the air bore him. He had not long gone before M�¤rchen appeared upon one of the highest rocks, swung her distaff in the air, and filled it with gossamer that glistened in the dew. Then she skipped down, broke a branch from a blossoming wild rose-bush and encircled the distaff with it in lieu of a ribbon, put it into her belt, and, jumping from stone to stone, crossed the brook and went far into the forest. The birds flew about her and chirped to her news of the east and west, the north and south. Squirrels slid out of the trees, seated themselves at her feet, looked at her with their sage eyes, and recounted all that had happened in the wood. The deer and does came about her; even the blind worms reared their heads and chattered with their sharp tongues. M�¤rchen stood still and listened; and from time to time she touched her distaff as though she would say, "Remember." The forest grew ever denser, the flowers that sent out their scent to M�¤rchen more luxurious. At last she had to bend the branches apart in order to penetrate further. There stood a dream-like castle with tall gabled windows, into which grew the tree branches, and from out which tumbled creeping plants. Roof and walls had vanished beneath the roses that grew over all things, and out of the castle sounded a thousand songs of birds. M�¤rchen stepped to the open door and entered the wide hall, whose floor and walls were of jewels, and in whose midst a tall fountain played. Round about stood hundreds of Kobolds. They had brought with them little stools of pure gold, and waited to see if their sweet queen be content. She smiled approvingly, and thanked her friends. In midst of all this shimmering splendor fair M�¤rchen stood like a reviving sunbeam. "See how I have filled my distaff to-day," she said, genially. "I believe a magnet lives in your crystal, to which all things fly. Will you not fill it yet fuller?" The Kobolds frowned, which made them look very comic, and one said-- "We have resolved to tell you nothing more, because you let it flow from you like the water that tumbles yonder. We have watched you. When you go forth at eve, you go to our enemies, the mortals--those wretched thieves that rob our treasures, and you tell them our secrets." "No," said M�¤rchen, "I do not go to all mortals; only to some--your friends, who love you as I do; and I only tell them as much as they deserve. Will you not go on trusting me?" They pushed a golden stool near to the fountain and began to recount to M�¤rchen, whose eyes gleamed like the ocean. When she had heard enough, and given it to the distaff to guard, she nodded to her little guests, who hurried away. She then passed into the nearest chamber. There stood such a wealth of flowers that one could not tell where first to rest one's eyes. The walls were covered with all the wonders of the tropics; from the ceiling hung orchids; the floor was overgrown with soft green moss, from which peeped crocuses, hyacinths, violets, primroses, and lilies of the valley. Hummingbirds and nightingales greeted their queen joyously, while from the flower crowns elves uprose and stretched out their arms in love. M�¤rchen seated herself on the grass and let them talk to her, toyed with the fair flower-children and began to sing in unison with the birds. Then she entered the next room, whose walls were pure rock crystal, that reflected M�¤rchen many hundred times. In its center, under mighty palm fans, was a large basin, studded with rubies, into which foamed a waterfall. The nixes lay around it upon couches, and waited for the beauty whom as yet they had not seen that day. But M�¤rchen wanted to hear no more; she had, like a true queen, given ear to so many that she was overpowered with fatigue, and craved rest. So she passed into the next room, that was a single little bower of rushes and bindweeds; the ground was strewn with poppy flowers, and in its midst stood the fairest couch eye has seen--one single, large rose--into which M�¤rchen laid herself, and that closed its leaves above her. Now the rushes began to rustle like an echo of distant singing, and the bindweeds tolled their bells, and the poppies gave forth their faint odor, and M�¤rchen slumbered deep and sweet until the evening. When the sun was sinking, and gazed like a large, glowing eye between the trunks of the forest, so that all the leaves looked golden, M�¤rchen awoke, placed her distaff in her girdle, put the spindle beside it, and stepped outside. Twilight was creeping up mysteriously and dreamily and spreading its wings over the forest. The birds grew still; only the toads in the watery gorge began their one-toned song. A gentle murmur ran through the leaves and across the parched grass, for all wanted to look on M�¤rchen and aspired towards her. Now the moon rose and threw bright lights hither and thither and haunted the trees. He wanted to kiss M�¤rchen and entice her forth to play upon the forest meadow. "The elves await you," he called after M�¤rchen, who would not listen, but floated on airily, as though the evening breezes bore her. A mill stood beside the brook in the shadow of the beeches. A fire gleamed within it, around which people sat gathered. M�¤rchen entered, and called the children. They flew towards her and drew her to the fireside, brought her a stool to sit upon, and gazed with large, eager eyes at her full distaff. M�¤rchen caressed the dear, fair heads, drew forth the spindle, knotted the yarn, and began to spin. And while the spindle floated up and down, swirling, she told them what she beheld in the yarn, until from sheer listening the children's eyes fell to, and they never knew next day whether they had really seen M�¤rchen or only in their sleep. She herself slipped out and glided between the trees till she came to a meadow shimmering in evening mist. Hundreds of butterflies hung upon the myriad flowers, two and three on one blossom, and slept so deep and sound that the heads of the sleepy flowers hung deep down under the weight of so many guests. Only the large night-moth floated about darkly and watched over the whole. "I wonder if the butterflies dream," thought M�¤rchen, as she knelt down beside the flowers and approached her ear. Yes, they dreamed of the journeys they had taken that day; they dreamed they had gained far fairer colors: just such green, blue, and red hues like the flowers and leaves. Even the plainest gray one dreamt of colors brighter than the gayest parrot. The flowers dreamt that a warm wind touched them, and gave to them far sweeter scents than they had ever owned--quite intoxicatingly luscious. It was M�¤rchen's breath which they had felt in their sleep. Soon M�¤rchen came to a pretty house beside a gurgling stream. The water formed a quiet little pool, in which the moon and the ivy-grown house were reflected. The beeches dipped the tips of their branches into it, and a nightingale sang lonesomely into the night. Up in the house burnt a solitary light, like to a glowworm. M�¤rchen entered the house as though it were most familiar to her, opened a door softly, and stepped within a little room. In a deep armchair, beside a writing-table, sat a handsome, pale, agitated man. His head was sunk in his palm, and he gazed with lightless eyes across the table, on which Sorrow was resting both her hands. "See," he said, "this morning, beside the mountain stream, I was glad for a moment. Pictures filled my brain, but now all is empty and dead, and I am so weary--so weary. I wish to die. I cannot forgive my body that it still lives on, and yet a heavenly gift dwells within me that keeps me alive and makes me believe I could still create. But I do nothing more. Fatigue has grown stronger than aught else in this ugly world. Would that I had never been born, for I am a man who must reflect the whole world in its pain and suffering and falsehood. I love men too much, and therefore they have no faces for me. I only see their souls, and these are beautiful notwithstanding all wickedness and misery. Now I grow miserable with them. I should like to hide before my own eyes, for I am worth nothing--nothing. All that I do is vain, and will vanish unheard; all I think others know much better. A fire burns in me that consumes me in lieu of warming my fellow-men. I feel like one that is drowning, to whom no saving hand is extended. I should be a man and save myself, but my strength is at an end. I have lived too much. I have lived through all that which others have felt, and borne my own woes besides. Now it is too much, do you see--too much; and I can no longer give to the world what I fain would have given it--all the new, great, lovely things that dwell in my brain. But it had no time to listen to me. And perhaps there is, after all, no value in these things, though to my small mind they seemed so great. Yet they cannot bear the light. I am weary. I want to die." Sorrow listened, and never took her eyes from him; but her pitying gaze made him yet more irritable and desperate. Suddenly M�¤rchen stood before him, with glittering distaff, with shining teeth and beaming eyes; dimples in her cheeks, and the distaff of promise in her hands. He looked at her and was dazzled. "I wanted to help," said Sorrow, "but he grew ever worse." "_You_ help him!" M�¤rchen laughed. "Go your ways and leave him to me; I will manage him. I know all. You are once more weary of the world and want to die, and have no talent, and men are all bad, very wicked indeed, and faithless, and have deserted you, and do not believe in you. Oh, you poor, poor human soul! Why do you not become a butterfly and sleep on a flower? He knows that he has wings, and that his flower has scent, and that his meadow is quite full of blossoms. What does he care whether the others see it since he sees it! And now look here; I have come back, although you scarcely deserve it, you doubter. Look at this heavy laden distaff, that is for you, only for you, if you will listen to me." And M�¤rchen began to spin and sing and narrate all night long, and her friend wrote and wrote, without knowing that his pencil moved; he thought he had only heard and listened. He wrote down thoughts and songs and poems; they streamed like living fire from under his hand. And what he wrote moved the world. Men thought his thoughts after him, and sang his songs, and wept over his stories, and knew not that the poet who had given them all these things was sad unto death, misunderstood of all, and that Sorrow visited him far oftener than M�¤rchen. They called him a child of the gods and a genius, and knew not that he was a man for whose soul Sorrow and M�¤rchen struggled ceaselessly, and who had suffered so much grief and seen so many wonders that his strength was broken. Ay, the children of the gods must suffer much on earth, and M�¤rchen only visits those that have been proved, and ever departs from them if they have made themselves unworthy of her. Once she told at parting the tale which follows:-- [Footnote 2: I have been forced to keep the German word, as no English one covers that peculiar type of German fanciful stories that are known under this appellation. _M�¤rchen_ are something more than fairy tales; something deeper, wider, richer, and more varied. The queen calls the present book a cycle of _M�¤rchen_.--TRANSLATOR.] _THE TREASURE SEEKERS._ The Treasure Seekers. The Philosopher and the Poet set out together on a pilgrimage, to seek after the hidden treasure of cognition[1] and to raise it. They had been told that it lay buried there where the rainbow touches the earth, and that it was quite easy to find. The Philosopher dragged instruments with him, and began accurate measurements, and as often as he saw a rainbow he carefully measured the distance, determined the spot with mathematical accuracy, hurried thither and began to dig. The Poet, meanwhile, laid himself in the grass and laughed and toyed with the sunbeams. They played about his happy brow, they told to him bright fairy tales of dreamland, and showed him the life and working of nature. He grew familiar with all plants and creatures, he learnt to know their speech, and he became versed in their secret whisperings and sighs. Ay, all created things came to have faces for him, from the tenderest plant and the most insignificant beast, and before his eyes were unrolled deeds full of woe and joy. When at last the Philosopher, with solemn look, torn hands, and weary back, rose from his shaft back into daylight, laden with some new stones, he marveled when he saw the Poet's face radiant, as though he had heard wonders. "How transfigured you are, you lazy one!" he said angrily. "Who tells you that I am lazy?" "You always remain here on the surface while I go into the depths." "Perhaps the surface, too, offers some solutions, and perchance I read these." "What can the surface offer? One must penetrate into the depths. I have as yet not found the right spot in which the promised treasure lies, but I have made some most important discoveries, though never yet the right ones, those that I apprehend." "Let us seek further," said the Poet. Suddenly he held his friend by the arm, and pointed with breathless delight. "Another rainbow!" cried the Philosopher, and began his measurements. But the Poet had seen behind the sun-glittering rainbow a wondrous form with black hair and large, sad eyes. She seemed to wait for him; then she turned away slowly. As though demented, the Poet rushed after her; he forgot the aim of his pilgrimage, forgot his friend, who had descended into a new shaft. He only hurried after that wondrous being whose eyes had sunk into his soul. Over hill and dale, from house to house he followed the fair form. He saw the world and its agonies, wherever he looked he beheld woe, for in his own heart dwelt the greatest woe, the gnawing pangs of love. He ever thought he must attain to his enchantress, who stepped in front of him so calmly, through the fallen autumn leaves, across the soft snow, in the bitter north wind--north, south, east, and west, ever unapproachable. Once or twice she looked round after him, and her gaze only increased his yearning. At last Spring neared on the wings of the wind. At the spot whence the Poet had set out the fair form halted. Now he should reach it. But at that moment a hurricane broke loose that shook the world. Forests were uprooted, and all the sluices of heaven seemed opened. The Poet crossed the foaming mountain stream at the peril of his life, and came up to her who stood calm amid all this uproar, and only gazed at him. He seized her hand. "You are mistaken in me," she said, sadly. "I wanted to flee from you because I love you, for I bring you no happiness. I am Sorrow, and must leave you a heavy heart and serious thoughts. Farewell! You have found your treasure; now you need me no longer." So speaking she vanished. The hurricane had changed into a fine, drizzling rain, through which the Spring sunbeams pierced to the Poet. At that moment the Philosopher rose out of the earth richly laden. He let all his burden fall, folded his hands, and cried--"Why, you lucky wight, you stand in the very midst of the rainbow, straight upon the treasure." "Who? I?" said the Poet, waking from his stupor. Then he threw himself to earth and wept aloud and cried-- "Oh that I had never been born! I suffer unspeakable torture." The Philosopher shrugged his shoulders and began to dig anew. "There stands one right upon his treasure," he said, "and does not know it; and when I tell him he weeps. Oh these poets!" [Footnote 3: _Erkenntniss_ is the German word. The tree of knowledge of good and evil is called in German "der baum der Erkenntniss." The clumsy philosophical term "cognition" alone seems to me to embrace all the author would include in her meaning.--TRANSLATOR.] _A LIFE._ A Life. I wanted to find Truth. Then Sorrow took me by the hand, and said-- "Come with me, I will lead you to Truth, but you must not faint or fear by the way." "I! I fear nothing; and I am so strong I could carry mountains." Sorrow looked at me pityingly, and gave no answer, but led me into a hall that was vast and high and airy, filled with wondrous strains of music, glorious pictures, and statues. I wandered among them bewildered. There was nothing to fear here. "See," said Sorrow, "here live the Arts; you may choose one of them. But of your own accord you must select that which suits you; and it will help you on the road to Truth." Then I laid my hand on an instrument-- "Music tempts me," I said; "I will sing and play like a god, and it cost me my life and my happiness." With what ardor, what fire did I begin to play! I followed music like an adored mistress. I besought her to lead me to Truth. But she ever went too fast or soared above my head, while I played till my hands failed me. Song sounded weak and small in my throat, instead of sobbing and storming. Then I ran into the Wood in my distress, and it comforted me. One day Sorrow touched my shoulder. "You still play badly, you still sing feebly; let us go further: you are no artist." I laid aside my instrument and wept. "Hush!" said Sorrow; "you wanted to carry a mountain." And she led me into a large, solemn, dimly lit room, that was full of books from floor to ceiling. "Here is food for your spirit," said Sorrow; "seek, seek; in Science lives Truth." I seated myself in a tall, worn armchair, and began to learn. But I could only study slowly, for ever my thoughts would wander their own ways. Now the fire burned too brightly and told me fairy tales; now the wind howled round the old house, so that I thought I must away, and the letters grew dim to my eyes. I strove to check this hapless fantasy that held me back on the road to Truth; but it was stronger than I. Sometimes it pressed a pencil into my hand, and then I wrote secretly poor little verses, which I hid from the very books, from the very air of the room. At last I threw myself back in the chair and cried-- "Wisdom, too, is not for me. She seems to me dead and dusty, and I--I desire to live." "Do you want that?" said Sorrow. "But then you must not fear." "I do not fear, I want to live." Then I stood beside a sick bed, where a lovely gifted boy struggled with Death. His sufferings exceeded the measure of the endurable, yet Sorrow would not quit him. But Courage, too, remained at his side. Two years the terrible struggle lasted, and I asked-- "Where is Truth? Is this to live?" When he died I trembled, for the first time, for fear. Then Sorrow took me from one deathbed to another. How many fair maiden flowers that had grown up beside and with me did I see fade! And I wept till my eyes were dim. "Is this to live?" I asked again. Then Sorrow took me with her on long journeys to the North, South, East, and West. I saw all men, all arts, all treasures, the mighty sea, and the petty towns, till I grew homesick for the old house in which I had seen so many die, in which my father had now closed his eyes. For when I came back I found his armchair empty. Then I was ready to die of grief. "What," said Sorrow, "die already? And you could carry a mountain? Why, you have not lived yet, for you have not loved." While she said this she laid her hand on my heart, and like a mighty stream love entered in with song and rejoicing. Only the Wood saw it, and it rejoiced with me, and yet more secretly I wrote now and again a little poem. But Truth was not in love, neither was it in renunciation, for I murmured and knew not why I should renounce. Sorrow's hand lay heavy on my arm, and for a long time my steps were weak and slow. I no longer sought after Truth. But at last I seemed to see that she must lie in Work, in great, rich Work. When Sorrow heard me say this, she raised my drooping head and pointed before me. "Here stands a good man, and waits for you. Will you love him your life long? Here is your path, it is rough and stony, and leads past precipices to steep heights. Will you walk on it? And there lies work for you, mountains high. Will you carry it?" "I will," I said. Then Sorrow led me into marriage, and made me a mother, and laid great rich labors upon my shoulders. I groped about to find the right path, and we had to meet with mistrust and misunderstanding, and on the steep path stood hate and strife. But I did not fear, for I was a mother. But not many years was this high dignity mine, my child's fair eyes closed, and I laid his curly head in the grave. Yet I stood erect, notwithstanding the fire in my breast, and I asked of Sorrow-- "Where is Truth? Now that all earthly joy, all earthly hopes have been borne to the grave, there remains for me nothing but Truth; I have a right to find her." Then Sorrow pressed into my hand a pencil, and said--"Seek." And I wrote and wrote, and knew not that I exercised an art, for years since, I had with heavy heart renounced being an artist. I sought to do good where I could. I learnt to understand men and to think myself into their innermost being; but I did not find Truth. My steps once more grew heavy and weary, until at last, conquered by sickness, I had to lie down. And during this long illness I tasted all life's bitterness, all chagrin and despair that can reside in one poor human breast, and I desired to die. But Sorrow taught me to be well again, and ever faster flew my pencil, ever richer streamed my thoughts, ever wider grew my field of labor, ever sterner the care for others' weal. Then the ground beneath our feet trembled and War drew nigh with his companions. His breath was thunder, his eye fire, his hand the lightning. The cloak that infolded him wrapped the whole heavens in black night. We staked life and wealth and honor, and our heart's blood fell to earth in the terrible struggle, from which our trusty ones, who stood by us as firmly as we stood by them, issued victorious. It was my part to heal the wounds and soften the sufferings. But neither was Truth here. True, we came forth from the strife fearless and purified, but already envy and jealousy lurked on our path, and made it slippery and unsafe. "Oh, Truth, Truth," I cried, "my youth is past; I have fought the hardest fights and I still live, but I have not yet seen Truth." "There she stands," said Sorrow, and when I raised my eyes I saw in the distance, besides a silent water, a little child whose eyes gleamed. "Is that child Truth?" I asked. Sorrow nodded. "She is not to be feared, is she?" But while Sorrow spoke thus, the child grew taller and taller, until she held the whole earth in her hand, and embraced the whole heavens. "Do you see Truth," said Sorrow. "And now look within yourself; she is there too." And as I gazed within, I cried-- "Wherefore have I suffered and fought? she was ever there, about me, and in me, and now I will die." "Not yet," said Sorrow. Then it grew misty before my eyes, and I saw nothing more. But Sorrow took me by the hand, and led me further. * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ Punctuation errors and typos have been standardised. 
33564	----	John Bull, Junior MAX O'RELL John Bull, Junior OR FRENCH AS SHE IS TRADUCED BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND," ETC. WITH A PREFACE BY GEORGE C. EGGLESTON CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED 104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1888, By O. M. DUNHAM. _All rights reserved._ PREFACE. It must be that a too free association with American men of letters has moved the author of this book to add to his fine Gallic wit a touch of that preposterousness which is supposed to be characteristic of American humor. For proof of this, I cite the fact that he has asked me to introduce him upon this occasion. Surely there could be no more grotesque idea than that any word of mine can serve to make Max O'Rell better known than he is to the great company of American readers. Have not the pirate publishers already introduced him to all Americans who care for literature? Have not their translators done their best, not only to bring his writings to the attention of readers, but also to add to the sparkle and vivacity of his books by translating into them many things not to be found in the French originals? These generous folk, who have thus liberally supplemented his wit with flashes of their own stupidity, have treated his text after the manner of a celebrated Kentuckian of whom it was written that his love of truth was so great that he gave his entire time and attention to the task of ornamenting and adding to it. But with all their eagerness to render interested service to a distinguished man of letters who was not then here to look after his own affairs, the pirates missed this, the best of his books; and finding that no surreptitious edition of it has appeared in this country, the author has felt himself privileged to re-write it and make such changes in it and additions to it as his own judgment has suggested without the prompting of voluntary assistants, and even to negotiate with a publisher for the issue of an edition on his own account. I have called this work the best of Max O'Rell's books, and I think the reader will approve the judgment. Here, as in all that this author has written, there is a biting wit, which saturates the serious substance as good, sharp vinegar pervades a pickle; but here, as elsewhere, the main purpose is earnest, and the wit is but an aid to its accomplishment. A very wise and distinguished educator has declared that "the whole theory of education is to be extracted from these humorous sketches," and the story goes--whether Max O'Rell will vouch for its accuracy or not, I do not venture to say--that the head boy of St. Paul's School in London, after hearing the sketches read in public, said: "We boys enjoyed the lecture immensely, but _that fellow knows too much about us_." With a tremor of apprehension, we reflect that Max O'Rell's period of observation among ourselves will presently end, and that when he comes to record the result in his peculiar fashion, we are likely to echo that school-boy's plaint. But at any rate we shall know our own features better after we have contemplated them in his mirror; and, meantime, those of us who have enjoyed his acquaintance are disposed earnestly to hope that a guest whom we have learned to esteem so warmly may not think quite so ill of the American character as the barbaric condition of our laws respecting literary property would warrant. GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON. NEW YORK, February, 1888. INTRODUCTION. _A Word to the Reader and another to the Critic._ To write a book in a foreign tongue is risky, and I had better at once ask for indulgence. The many scenes and reminiscences belong to England, and, if translated into French, the anecdotes and conversations would lose much of whatever flavour and interest there may be in them. This is my reason for not having written this book in French. Let my reason be also my apology. * * * * * If any of my readers should feel inclined to think my review of British school-boys somewhat critical, let them take it for granted that when I was a boy I was everything that was good. * * * * * Now, gentle American Critic, whose magnanimity is proverbial, before thou abusest this little book, reflect how thou wouldst feel if thy Editor were to bid thee write thy criticism in French. MAX O'RELL. _Contents._ PAGE Preface, Introduction, I am Born.--I am Deeply in Love.--I wish to be an Artist, but my Father uses strong Argument against it.--I produce a dramatic Chef-d'oeuvre.--Parisian Managers fail to appreciate it.--I put on a beautiful Uniform.--The Consequence of it.--Two Episodes of the Franco-Prussian War.--The Commune explained by a Communist.--A "glorious" Career cut short.--I take a Resolution and a Ticket for London, 1 II. EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A FRENCHMAN IN SEARCH OF A SOCIAL POSITION IN ENGLAND. Arrival at Charing Cross.--I have Nothing to declare to the Exciseman but Low Spirits.--Difficulty in finding a comfortable Residence.--Board and Lodging.--A House with Creepers.--Things look Bad.--Things look Worse.--Things look cheerful, 15 III. I make the acquaintance of Public School Boys.--"When I was a little Boy."--An Awful Moment.--A Simple Theory.--I score a Success, 34 IV. The _genus_ Boy.--The only one I object to.--What Boys work for, 38 V. Schoolboys I have met.--Promising Britons.--Sly Boots.--Too Good for this World.--"No, thanks, we makes it."--French Dictionaries.--A Naughty Boy.--Mothers' Pets.--Dirty, but Beautiful.--John Bully.--High Collars and Brains.--Dictation and its Trials.--Not to be taken in.-- Unlucky Boys.--The Use of Two Ears.--A Boy with One Idea.--Master Whirligig.--The Influence of Athletics.--A Good Situation.--A Shrewd Boy of Business.--Master Algernon Cadwaladr Smyth and other Typical Schoolboys, 40 VI. French as she is Traduced.--More Grumblings.--"La Critique" is not the Critic's Wife.--Bossuet's Prose, and how it reads in English.--Nothing improves by Translation except a Bishop.--A Few French "Howlers."-- Valuable Hints on translating Unseen Passages, 72 VII. English Boys on French Etymologies.--Why "Silence" is the only French Noun ending in "ence" that is of the Masculine Gender.--A Valuable Service rendered by the Author to his Land of Adoption.--Learned Etymologies.--Return to old Philological Methods.--Remarkable Questions.--Written and Oral Examinations.--A Kind Examiner.--How long would it take the Moon to Fall to the Earth?--How many Yards of Cloth it takes to cover an Ass, 80 VIII. English Boys on French Composition.--"Go ahead" is not in French "Allez une Tête."--How Boys set about French Composition.--A Written Proof of their Guilt.--How Large Advertisements can help them.--A Stumbling-Block cleared away, 90 IX. Suggestions and Hints for the Class Room.--Boys on History and Geography.--"Maxims" and "Wise Thoughts."--Advice to those about to Teach.--"Sir," and not "Mossoo."--"Frauleins" and "Mademoiselles."-- Check your Love for Boys.--No Credit.--We are all liable to make Mistakes.--I get an insight into "Stocks," 95 X. English Boys' Patriotism put to a Severe Test.--Their Opinion of French Victories.--King Louis VI. of France and the English Soldier at the Battle of Brenneville.--An English Boy on French Wrestling.--Young Tory Democrats.--"Imperium et Libertas."--A Patriotic Answer.--Duck and Drake, 110 XI. Cricket.--I have an Unsuccessful Try at it.--Boys' Opinion of my Athletic Qualities.--French and English Athletes.--Feats of Skill and Strength _versus_ Feats of Endurance and Brute Force.--A Case of Eviction by Force of Arms, 116 XII. Old Pupils.--Acquaintances renewed.--Lively Recollections revived.--It is easier to Teach French than to Learn it.--A Testimonial refused to a French Master.--"How de do?"--"That's What-d'ye-call-him, the French Master," 121 XIII. Debating Societies.--A Discussion on the Pernicious Use of Tobacco.-- School Magazines in France and England.--A Business-like Little Briton.--An Important Resolution passed unanimously.--I perform an Englishman's Duty, 125 XIV. Home, sweet Home!--Boys' Opinion of the Seaside.--French and English Beaches.--Who is he at Home? What was his Grandfather?--Remarks on Swaggering.--"I thought he was a Gentleman," 128 XV. He can not speak French, but he can read it, you know.--He has a try at it in Paris.--Nasal Sounds and accented Syllables.--How I reduced English Words to single Syllables, and was successful in the Object I had in View.--A Remark on the Connection of Words, 133 XVI. Public School Scholarships and Exhibitions.--Grateful Parents.-- Inquiring Mothers.--A Dear Little Candidate.--Ladies' Testimonials. --A Science Master well recommended, 138 XVII. The Origin of Anglomania and Anglophobia in England.--A Typical Frenchman.--Too much of an Englishman.--A remarkable French Master. --John Bull made to go to Church by a Frenchman.--A Noble and Thankless Career.--A Place of Learning.--Mons. and Esquire.--All Ladies and Gentlemen.--One Exception.--Wonderful Addresses, 148 XVIII. The Way to Learn Modern Languages, 158 XIX. English and French Schoolboys.--Their Characteristics.--The Qualities of the English Schoolboy.--What is required of a Master to Win, 165 Appendix, 169 _John Bull, Jr._ I. I AM BORN.--I AM DEEPLY IN LOVE.--I WISH TO BE AN ARTISTE, BUT MY FATHER USES STRONG ARGUMENT AGAINST IT.--I PRODUCE A DRAMATIC CHEF-D'OEUVRE.--PARISIAN MANAGERS FAIL TO APPRECIATE IT.--I PUT ON A BEAUTIFUL UNIFORM.--THE CONSEQUENCE OF IT.--TWO EPISODES OF THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR.--THE COMMUNE EXPLAINED BY A COMMUNIST.--A "GLORIOUS" CAREER CUT SHORT.--I TAKE A RESOLUTION, AND A TICKET TO LONDON. I was born on the ---- But this is scarcely a "recollection" of mine. * * * * * At twelve I was deeply in love with a little girl of my own age. Our servants were friends, and it was in occasional meetings of these girls in the public gardens of my little native town that my chief chance of making love to Marie lay. Looking back on this little episode in my life, I am inclined to think that it afforded much amusement to our attendants. My love was too deep for words; I never declared my flame aloud. But, oh, what a fluttering went on under my small waistcoat every time I had the ineffable pleasure of a nod from her, and what volumes of love I put into my bow as I lifted my cap and returned her salute! We made our first communion on the same day. I was a pupil of the organist, and it was arranged that I should play a short piece during the Offertory on that occasion. I had readily acquiesced in the proposal. Here was my chance of declaring myself; through the medium of the music I could tell her all my lips refused to utter. She must be moved, she surely would understand. Whether she did or not, I never had the bliss of knowing. Shortly after that memorable day, my parents removed from the country to Paris. The thought of seeing her no more nearly broke my heart, and when the stage-coach reached the top of the last hill from which the town could be seen, my pent-up feelings gave way and a flood of tears came to my relief. The last time I visited those haunts of my childhood, I heard that "little Marie" was the mamma of eight children. God bless that mamma and her dear little brood! * * * * * At fifteen I was passionately fond of music, and declared to my father that I had made up my mind to be an artiste. My father was a man of great common sense and few words: he administered to me a sound thrashing, which had the desired effect of restoring my attentions to Cicero and Thucydides. It did not, however, altogether cure me of a certain yearning after literary glory. For many months I devoted the leisure, left me by Greek version and Latin verse, to the production of a drama in five acts and twelve tableaux. For that matter I was no exception to the rule. Every French school-boy has written, is writing, or will write a play. * * * * * My drama was a highly moral one of the sensational class. Blood-curdling, horrible, terrible, savage, weird, human, fiendish, fascinating, irresistible--it was all that. I showed how, even in this world, crime, treachery, and falsehood, though triumphant for a time, must in the long run have their day of reckoning. Never did a modern Drury Lane audience see virtue more triumphant and vice more utterly confounded than the Parisians would have in my play, if only the theatrical directors had not been so stupid as to refuse my _chef-d'oeuvre_. For it was refused, inconceivable as it seemed to me at the time. The directors of French theatres are accustomed to send criticisms of the plays which "they regret to be unable to accept." The criticism I received from the director of the Ambigu Theatre was, I thought, highly encouraging. "My play," it appeared, "showed no experience of the stage; but it was full of well-conceived scenes and happy _mots_, and was written in excellent French. Horrors, however, were too piled up, and I seemed to have forgotten that spectators should be allowed time to take breath and wipe away their tears." I was finally advised not to kill all my _dramatis personæ_ in my next dramatic production, as it was customary for one of them to come forward and announce the name of the author at the end of the first performance. Although this little bit of advice appeared to me not altogether free from satire, there was in the letter more praise than I had expected, and I felt proud and happy. The letter was passed round in the class-room, commented upon in the playground, and I was so excited that I can perfectly well remember how I forgot to learn my repetition that day, and how I got forty lines of the _Ars Poetica_ to write out five times. What a take-down, this imposition upon a budding dramatic author! * * * * * Examinations to prepare compelled me for some time to postpone all idea of astonishing the Paris playgoers with a "new and original" drama. I took my B.A. at the end of that year, and my B.Sc. at the end of the following one. Three years later I was leaving the military school with the rank of sub-lieutenant. My uniform was lovely; and if I had only had as much gold in my pockets as on my shoulders, sleeves, and breast, I think I ought to have been the happiest being on earth. The proudest day of a young French officer's life is the day on which he goes out in the street for the first time with all his ironmongery on, his moustache curled up, his cap on his right ear, his sabre in his left hand. The soldiers he meets salute him, the ladies seem to smile approvingly upon him; he feels like the conquering hero of the day; all is bright before him; battles only suggest to him victories and promotions. On the first day, his mother generally asks to accompany him, and takes his arm. Which is the prouder of the two? the young warrior, full of confidence and hope, or the dear old lady who looks at the passers-by with an air that says: "This is my son, ladies and gentlemen. As for you, young ladies, he can't have all of you, you know." Poor young officer! dear old mother! They little knew, in 1869, that in a few months one would be lying in a military hospital on a bed of torture, and the other would be wondering for five mortal months whether her dear and only child was dead, or prisoner in some German fortress. * * * * * On the 19th of July, 1870, my regiment left Versailles for the Eastern frontier. As in these pages I simply intend to say how I came to make the acquaintance of English school-boys, it would be out of place, if not somewhat pretentious, to make use of my recollections of the Franco-Prussian War. Yet I cannot pass over two episodes of those troublous times. * * * * * I was twelve years of age when I struck up a friendship with a young Pole, named Gajeski, who was in the same class with me. We became inseparable chums. Year after year we got promoted at the same time. We took our degrees on the same days, entered the military school in the same year, and received our commissions in the same regiment. We took a small _appartement de garçon_ at Versailles, and I shall never forget the delightful evenings we spent together while in garrison there. He was a splendid violinist, and I was a little of a pianist. Short, fair, and almost beardless, Gajeski was called the "Petit Lieutenant" by the soldiers, who all idolized him. At the battle of Wörth, after holding our ground from nine in the morning till five in the evening, against masses of Prussian troops six times as numerous as our own, we were ordered to charge the enemy, with some other cavalry regiments, in order to protect the retreat of the bulk of the army. A glance at the hill opposite convinced us that we were ordered to go to certain death. My dear friend grasped my hand, as he said with a sad smile: "We shall be lucky if we get our bones out of this, old fellow." Down the hill we went like the wind, through a shower of bullets and _mitraille_. Two minutes later, about two-thirds of the regiment reached the opposite ascent. We were immediately engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight. A scene of hellish confusion it was. But there, amidst the awful din of battle, I heard Gajeski's death-cry, as he fell from his horse three or four yards from me, and I saw a horrible gash on his fair young head. The poor boy had paid France for the hospitality she had extended to his father. I fought like a madman, seeing nothing but that dear mutilated face before my eyes. I say "like a madman," for it was not through courage or bravery. In a _mêlée_ you fight like a madman--like a savage. I had no brother, but he had been more than a brother to me. I had had no other companion or friend, but he was a friend of a thousand. Poor fellow! * * * * * I had been in captivity in a stronghold on the Rhine for five months, when the preliminaries of peace were signed between France and Germany in January, 1871, and the French prisoners were sent back to their country. About five hundred of us were embarked at Hamburg on board one of the steamers of the Compagnie Transatlantique, and landed at Cherbourg. Finding myself near home, I immediately asked the general in command of the district for a few days' leave, to go and see my mother. Since the day I had been taken prisoner at Sedan (2d of September, 1870), I had not received a single letter from her, as communications were cut off between the east and the west of France; and I learned later on that she had not received any of the numerous letters I had written to her from Germany. This part of Normandy had been fortunate enough to escape the horrors of war, but, for months, the inhabitants had had to lodge soldiers and militia-men. At five o'clock on a cold February morning, clothed, or rather covered, in my dirty, half-ragged uniform, I rang the bell at my mother's house. Our old servant appeared at the attic window, and inquired what I wanted. "Open the door," I cried; "I am dying of cold." "We can't lodge you here," she replied; "we have as many soldiers as we can accommodate--there is no room for you. Go to the Town Hall, they will tell you we are full." "_Sapristi_, my good Fanchette," I shouted, "don't you know me? How is mother?" "Ah! It is Monsieur!" she screamed. And she rushed down, filling the house with her cries: "Madame, madame, it is Monsieur; yes, I have seen him, he has spoken to me, it is Monsieur." A minute after I was in my mother's arms. Was it a dream? She looked at me wildly, touching my head to make sure I was at her side, in reality, alive; when she realized the truth she burst into tears, and remained speechless for some time. Such scenes are more easily imagined than described, and I would rather leave it to the reader to supply all the exclamations and interrogations that followed. * * * * * I could only spend two days at home, as my regiment was being organized in Paris, and I had to join it. On the 18th of March, 1871, the people of Paris, in possession of all the armament that had been placed in their hands to defend the French capital against the Prussians, proclaimed the Commune, and, probably out of a habit just lately got into by the French army, we retreated to Versailles, leaving Paris at the mercy of the Revolutionists. This is not the place to account for this revolution. An explanation of it, which always struck me as somewhat forcible, is the one given by a Communist prisoner to a captain, a friend of mine, who was at the time acting as _juge d'instruction_ to one of the Versailles courts-martial. "Why did you join the Commune?" he asked a young and intelligent-looking fellow who had been taken prisoner behind some barricade. "Well, captain, I can hardly tell you. We were very excited in Paris; in fact, off our heads with rage at having been unable to save Paris. We had a considerable number of cannon and ammunition, which we were not allowed to use against the Prussians. We felt like a sportsman who, after a whole day's wandering through the country, has not had an opportunity of discharging his gun at any game, and who, out of spite, shoots his dog, just to be able to say on returning home that he had killed something." * * * * * On the 14th of April, 1871, my regiment received the order to attack the Neuilly bridge, a formidable position held by the Communists. What the Prussians had not done some compatriot of mine succeeded in doing. I fell severely wounded. After my spending five months in the Versailles military hospital, and three more at home in convalescence, the army surgeons declared that I should no longer be able to use my right arm for military purposes, and I was granted a lieutenant's pension, which would have been just sufficient to keep me in segars if I had been a smoker. But of this I do not complain. Poor France! she had enough to pay! * * * * * At the end of the year of grace, 1871, my position was very much like that of my beloved country: all seemed lost, _fors l'honneur_. Through my friends, however, I was soon offered a choice between two "social positions." The first was a colonel's commission in the Egyptian army (it seemed that the state of my right arm was no objection). I was to draw a very good salary. My friends in Cairo, however, warned me that salaries were not always paid very regularly, but sometimes allowed to run on till cash came into the Treasury. It was during the good times of Ismail Pacha. This made me a little suspicious that my salary might run on so fast that I should not be able to catch it. The other post offered me was that of London correspondent to an important Parisian newspaper. * * * * * I had had enough of military "glory" by this time. Yet the prospect of an adventurous life is always more or less fascinating at twenty-three years of age. Being the only child of a good widowed mother, I thought I would take her valuable advice on the subject. I am fortunate in having a mother full of common sense. With her French provincial ideas, she was rather startled to hear that a disabled lieutenant could all at once become an active colonel. She thought that somehow the promotion was too rapid. Alas! she, too, had had enough of military "glory." Her advice was to be followed, for it was formulated thus: "You speak English pretty well; we have a good many friends in England; accept the humbler offer, and go to England to earn an honest living." This is how I was not with Arabi Pacha on the wrong side at Tel-el-Kebir, and how it became my lot to make one day the acquaintance of the British school-boy of whom I shall have more to say by-and-by. * * * * * On the 8th of July, 1872, I took the London train at the _Gare du Nord_, Paris. Many relations and friends came to the station to see me off. Some had been in England, some had read books on England, but all seemed to know a great deal about it. Advice, cautions, suggestions, were poured into my ears. "Be sure you go and see Madame Tussaud's to-morrow," said one. "Now," said another, "when you get to Charing Cross, don't fail to try and catch hold of a fellow-passenger's coat, and hold fast till you get to your hotel. The fog is so thick in the evening that the lamp-lights are of no use, you know." All information is valuable when you start for a foreign country. But I could not listen to more. Time was up. I shook hands with my friends and kissed my relations, including an uncle and two cousins of the sterner sex. This will sound strange to English or American ears. Well, it sounds just as strange to mine, now. I do not know that a long residence in England has greatly improved me (though my English friends say it has), but what I do know is, that I could not now kiss a man, even if he were a bequeathing uncle ready to leave me all his money. II. EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A FRENCHMAN IN SEARCH OF A SOCIAL POSITION IN ENGLAND. ARRIVAL AT CHARING CROSS.--I HAVE NOTHING TO DECLARE TO THE EXCISEMAN BUT LOW SPIRITS.--DIFFICULTY IN FINDING A GOOD RESIDENCE.--BOARD AND LODGING.--A HOUSE WITH CREEPERS.--THINGS LOOK BAD.--THINGS LOOK WORSE.--THINGS LOOK CHEERFUL. _8th July, 1872._ 8.30 P.M.--Landed at Folkestone. The London train is ready. The fog is very thick. I expected as much. My English traveling companions remark on it, and exclaim that "this is most unusual weather." This makes me smile. 10.15 P.M.--The train crosses the Thames. We are in London. This is not my station, however, I am told. The train restarts almost immediately, and crosses the river again. Perhaps it takes me back to Paris. Hallo! how strange! the train crosses another river. "This is a town very much like Amsterdam," I say to my neighbor. He explains to me the round taken by the South-Eastern trains from Cannon Street to Charing Cross. 10.25 P.M.--Charing Cross! At last, here I am. The luggage is on the platform. I recognize my trunk and portmanteau. A tall official addresses me in a solemn tone: "Have you any thing to declare?" "Not any thing." "No segars, tobacco, spirits?" "No segars, no tobacco." My spirits were so low that I thought it was useless to mention them. In France, in spite of this declaration of mine, my luggage would have been turned inside out. The sturdy Briton takes my word[1] and dismisses my luggage with: [1] Things have changed in England since the dynamite scare. "All right. Take it away." 11 P.M.--I alight at an hotel near the Strand. A porter comes to take my belongings. "I want a bedroom for the night," I say. "_Très bien, monsieur._" He speaks French. The hotel is French, too, I see. After a wash and brush-up, I come down to the dining-room for a little supper. I do not like the look of the company. They may be French, and this is a testimonial in their favor, but I am afraid it is the only one. Three facetious bagmen exercise their wit by puzzling the waiter with low French slang. I think I will remove from here to-morrow. I go to my bedroom, and try to open the window and have a look at the street. I discover the trick. How like guillotines are these English windows! I pull up the bottom part of mine, and look out. This threatening thing about my neck makes me uncomfortable. I withdraw. English windows are useful, no doubt, but it is evident that the people of this country do not use them to look out in the street and have a quiet chat _à la française_. Probably the climate would not allow it. * * * * * _9th July, 1872._ A friend comes to see me. He shares my opinion of the French hotel, and will look for a comfortable apartment in an English house for me. We breakfast together, and I ask him a thousand questions. He knows every thing, it seems, and I gather valuable information rapidly. He prepares a programme of sight-seeing which it will take me a good many days to work through. The weather is glorious. My boxes are packed and ready to be removed--to-night, I hope. Will pay my first visit to the British Museum. I hail a cab in Regent Circus. "Is the British Museum far from here?" I cry to the man seated on a box behind. "No, sir; I will take you there for a shilling," he replies. "Oh! thank you; I think I will walk then." Cabby retires muttering a few sentences unintelligible to me. Only one word constantly occurring in his harangue can I remember. I open my pocket-dictionary. Good heavens! What have I said to the man? What has he taken me for? Have I used words conveying to his mind any intention of mine to take his precious life? Do I look ferocious? Why did he repeatedly call me _sanguinaire_? Must have this mystery cleared up. _10th July, 1872._ An English friend sets my mind at rest about the little event of yesterday. He informs me that the adjective in question carries no meaning. It is simply a word that the lower classes have to place before each substantive they use in order to be able to understand each other. * * * * * _11th July, 1872._ Have taken apartments in the neighborhood of Baker Street. My landlady, _qui frise ses cheveux et la cinquantaine_, enjoys the name of Tribble. She is a plump, tidy, and active-looking little woman. On the door there is a plate, with the inscription, "J. Tribble, General Agent." Mr. Tribble, it seems, is not very much engaged in business. At home he makes himself useful. It was this gentleman, more or less typical in London, whom I had in my mind's eye as I once wrote: "The English social failure of the male sex not unfrequently entitles himself _General Agent_: this is the last straw he clutches at; if it should break, he sinks, and is heard of no more, unless his wife come to the rescue, by setting up a lodging-house or a boarding-school for young ladies. There, once more in smooth water, he wields the blacking-brush, makes acquaintance with the knife-board, or gets in the provisions. In allowing himself to be kept by his wife, he feels he loses some dignity; but if she should adopt any airs of superiority over him, he can always bring her to a sense of duty by beating her." * * * * * _12th July, 1872._ Mr. Tribble helps take up my trunks. On my way to bed my landlady informs me that her room adjoins mine, and if I need any thing in the night I have only to ask for it. This landlady will be a mother to me, I can see. The bed reminds me of a night I passed in a cemetery, during the Commune, sleeping on a gravestone. I turn and toss, unable to get any rest. Presently I had the misfortune to hit my elbow against the mattress. A knock at the door. "Who is there?" I cry. "Can I get you any thing, sir? I hope you are not ill," says a voice which I recognize as that of my landlady. "No, why?" "I thought you knocked, sir." "No. Oh! I knocked my elbow against the mattress." "Ah! that's it. I beg your pardon." I shall be well attended here, at all events. * * * * * _13th July, 1872._ The table here is not _recherché_; but twelve months' campaigning have made me tolerably easy to please. What would not the poor Parisians have given, during the Siege in 1870, for some of Mrs. Tribble's obdurate poultry and steaks! * * * * * _19th July, 1872._ I ask Mrs. Tribble for my bill. I received it immediately; it is a short and comprehensive one: £ _s._ _d._ Board and Lodging 5 5 0 Sundries 1 13 6 ---------------- Total £6 18 6 I can understand "lodging"; but "board" is a new word to me. I like to know what it is I have to pay for, and I open my dictionary. "Board (subst.), _planche_." _Planche!_ Why does the woman charge me for a _planche_? Oh! I have it--that's the bed, of course. My dictionary does not enlighten me on the subject of "Sundries." I make a few observations to Mrs. Tribble on the week's bill. This lady explains to me that she has had great misfortunes, that Tribble hardly does any work, and does not contribute a penny toward the household expenses. When he has done a little stroke of business, he takes a holiday, and only reappears when his purse is empty. I really cannot undertake to keep Tribble in _dolce far niente_, and I give Mrs. Tribble notice to leave. * * * * * _20th July, 1872._ 9 A.M.--I read in this morning's paper the following advertisement: "Residence, with or without board, for a gentleman, in a healthy suburb of London. Charming house, with creepers, large garden; cheerful home. Use of piano, etc." "Without board" is what I want. Must go and see the place. 6 P.M.--I have seen the house with creepers, and engaged a bedroom and sitting-room. Will go there to-night. My bed is provided with a spring mattress. Won't I sleep to-night, that's all! * * * * * _21st July, 1872._ I remove my goods and chattels from the charming house. I found the creepers were inside. It will take me a long time to understand English, I am afraid. * * * * * _8th August, 1872._ I examine my financial position. I came to England with fifty pounds; have been here thirty days, and have lived at the rate of a pound a day. My money will last me only twenty days longer. This seems to be a simple application of the rule of three. The thought that most Lord-Mayors have come to London with only half-a-crown in their pockets comforts me. Still I grow reflective. _25th September, 1872._ I can see that the fee I receive for the weekly letter I send to my Parisian paper will not suffice to keep me. Good living is expensive in London. Why should I not reduce my expenses, and at the same time improve my English by teaching French in an English school as resident master? This would enable me to wait and see what turn events will take. I have used my letters of recommendation as a means of obtaining introductions in society, and my pride will not let me make use of them again for business. I will disappear for a time. When my English is more reliable, perhaps an examination will open the door of some good berth to me. * * * * * _3rd October, 1872._ Received this morning an invitation to be present at a meeting of the Teachers' Association. Came with a friend to the Society of Arts, where the meeting is held in a beautiful hall, and presided over by Canon Barry. What a graceful and witty speaker! He addresses to private school-masters a few words on their duty. "Yours," he says, "is not only a profession, it is a vocation, I had almost said a ministry" (hear, hear), "and the last object of yours should be to make money." This last sentence is received with rapturous applause. The chairman has evidently expressed the feeling of the audience. The Canon seems to enjoy himself immensely. Beautiful sentiments! I say to myself. Who will henceforth dare say before me, in France, that England is not a disinterested nation? Yes, I will be a school-master; it is a noble profession. A discussion takes place on the merits of private schools. A good deal of abuse is indulged in at the expense of the public schools. I inquire of my friend the reason why. My friend is a sceptic. He says that the public schools are overflowing with boys, and that if they did not exist, many of these private school-masters would make their fortune. I bid him hold his wicked tongue. He ought to be ashamed of himself. The meeting is over. The orators, with their speeches in their hands, besiege the press reporters' table. I again apply to my friend for the explanation of this. He tells me that these gentlemen are trying to persuade the reporters to insert their speeches in their notes, in the hope that they will be reproduced in to-morrow's papers, and thus advertise their names and schools. My friend is incorrigible. I will ask him no more questions. * * * * * _4th October, 1872._ There will be some people disappointed this morning, if I am to believe what my friend said yesterday. I have just read the papers. Under the heading "Meeting of the Teachers' Association," I see a long report of yesterday's proceedings at the Society of Arts. Canon Barry's speech alone is reproduced. * * * * * _24th May, 1873._ For many months past, M. Thiers has carried the Government with his resignation already signed in his frockcoat pocket. "Gentlemen," he has been wont to say in the Houses of Parliament, "such is my policy. If you do not approve it, you know that I do not cling to power; my resignation is here in my pocket, and I am quite ready to lay it on the table if you refuse me a vote of confidence." I always thought that he would use this weapon once too often. A letter, just received from Paris, brings me the news of his overthrow and the proclamation of Marshal MacMahon as President of the Republic. * * * * * _28th May, 1873._ The editor of the French paper, of which I have been the London correspondent for a few months, sends me a check, with the sad intelligence that one of the first acts of the new Government has been to suppress our paper. Things are taking a gloomy aspect, and no mistake. * * * * * _12th June, 1873._ To return to France at once would be a retreat, a defeat. I will not leave England, at any rate, before I can speak English correctly and fluently. I could manage this when a child; it ought not to take me very long to be able to do the same now. I pore over the _Times_ educational advertisements every day. Have left my name with two scholastic agents. _25th June, 1873._ I have put my project into execution, and engaged myself in a school in Somersetshire. The post is not a brilliant one, but I am told that the country is pretty, my duties light, and that I shall have plenty of time for reading. I buy a provision of English books, and mean to work hard. In the mean time, I write to my friends in France that I am getting on swimmingly. I have always been of the opinion that you should run the risk of exciting the envy rather than the pity of your friends, when you have made up your mind not to apply to them for a five-pound note. * * * * * (M----, Somerset.) _2d August, 1873._ Arrived here yesterday. Find I am the only master, and expected to make myself generally useful. My object is to practice my English, and I am prepared to overlook many annoyances. Woke up this (Sunday) morning feeling pains all over. Compared to this, my bed at Mrs. Tribble's was one of roses. I look round. In the corner I see a small washstand. A chair, a looking-glass six inches square hung on the wall, and my trunk, make up the furniture. I open the window. It is raining a thick, drizzling rain. Not a soul in the road. A most solemn, awful solitude. Horrible! I make haste to dress. From a little cottage, on the other side of the road, the plaintive sounds of a harmonium reach me. I sit on my bed and look at my watch. Half an hour to wait for my breakfast. The desolate room, this outlook from the window, the whole accompanied by the hymn on the harmonium, are enough to drive me mad. Upon my word, I believe I feel the corner of my eye wet. Cheer up, boy! No doubt this is awful, but better times will come. Good heavens! You are not banished from France. With what pleasure your friends will welcome you back in Paris! In nine hours, for a few shillings, you can be on the Boulevards. Breakfast is ready. It consists of tea and bread and butter, the whole honored by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. R. I am told that I am to take the boys to church. I should have much preferred to go alone. On the way to church we met three young ladies--the Squire's daughters, the boys tell me. They look at me with a kind of astonishment that seems to me mixed with scorn. This is probably my fancy. Every body I meet seems to be laughing at me. _20th August, 1873._ Am still at M., teaching a little French and learning a good deal of English. Mrs. R. expresses her admiration for my fine linen, and my wardrobe is a wonder to her. From her remarks, I can see she has taken a peep inside my trunk. Received this morning a letter from a friend in Paris. The dear fellow is very proud of his noble ancestors, and his notepaper and envelopes are ornamented with his crest and crown. The letter is handed to me by Mrs. R., who at the same time throws a significant glance at her husband. I am a mysterious person in her eyes, that is evident. She expresses her respect by discreetly placing a boiled egg on my plate at breakfast. This is an improvement, and I return thanks _in petto_ to my noble friend in Paris. * * * * * _22nd August, 1873._ Whatever may be Mr. R.'s shortcomings, he knows how to construct a well-filled time-table. I rise at six. From half-past six to eight I am in the class-room seeing that the boys prepare their lessons. At eight I partake of a frugal breakfast. From half-past eight till half-past nine I take the boys for a walk. From half-past nine till one I teach more subjects than I feel competent to do, but I give satisfaction. At one I dine. At five minutes to two I take a bell, and go in the fields, ringing as hard as I can to call the boys in. From two to four I teach more subjects than--(I said that before). After tea I take the boys for a second walk. My evenings are mine, and I devote them to study. * * * * * _23rd August, 1873._ Mr. R. proposes that I should teach two or three new subjects. I am ready to comply with his wishes; but I sternly refuse to teach _la valse à trois temps_. He advises me to cane the boys. This also I refuse to do. * * * * * _15th September, 1873._ I cannot stand this life any longer. I will return to France if things do not take a brighter turn. I leave Mr. R. and his "Dotheboys Hall." At the station I meet the clergyman. He had more than once spoken to me a few kind words. He asks me where I am going. "To London, and to Paris next, I hope," I reply. "Are you in a hurry to go back?" "Not particularly; but----" "Well, will you do my wife and myself the pleasure of spending a few days with us at the Vicarage? We shall be delighted if you will." "With all my heart." * * * * * _25th September, 1873._ Have spent a charming week at the Vicarage--a lovely country-house, where for the first time I have seen what real English life is. I have spoken to my English friend of my prospects, and he expresses his wonder that I do not make use of the letters of recommendation that I possess, as they would be sure to secure a good position for me. "Are not important posts given by examination in this country?" I exclaimed. But he informs me that such is not the case; that these posts are given, at elections, to the candidates who are bearers of the best testimonials. The information is most valuable, and I will act upon my friend's advice. My visit has been as pleasant as it has been useful. * * * * * _12th January, 1874._ A vacancy occurred lately in one of the great public schools. I sent in my application, accompanied by my testimonials. Have just received an official intimation that I am elected head-master of the French school at St. Paul's. * * * * * _14th January, 1874._ One piece of good luck never comes alone. I am again appointed London correspondent to one of the principal Paris papers. _Allons, me voilà sauvé!_ III. I MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF PUBLIC SCHOOL BOYS.--"WHEN I WAS A LITTLE BOY."--AN AWFUL MOMENT.--A SIMPLE THEORY.--I SCORE A SUCCESS. I am not quite sure that the best qualification for a school-master is to have been a very good boy. I never had great admiration for very good boys. I always suspected, when they were too good, that there was something wrong. When I was at school, and my master would go in for the recitation of the litany of all the qualities and virtues he possessed when a boy--how good, how dutiful, how obedient, how industrious he was--I would stare at him, and think to myself: How glad that man must be he is no longer a boy! "No, my dear little fellows, your master was just like you when he was mamma's little boy. He shirked his work whenever he could; he used to romp and tear his clothes if he had a chance, and was far from being too good for this world; and if he was not all that, well, I am only sorry for him, that's all." * * * * * I believe that the man who thoroughly knows all the resources of the mischievous little army he has to fight and rule is better qualified and prepared for the struggle. We have in French an old proverb that says: "It's no use trying to teach an old monkey how to make faces." The best testimonial in favor of a school-master is that the boys should be able to say of him: "It's no use trying this or that with him; he always knows what we are up to." How is he to know what his pupils are "up to" if he has not himself been "up to" the same tricks and games? The base of all strategy is the perfect knowledge of all the roads of the country in which you wage war. To be well up in all the ways and tricks of boys is to be aware of all the moves of the enemy. * * * * * It is an awful moment when, for the first time, you take your seat in front of forty pairs of bright eyes that are fixed upon you, and seem to say: "Well, what shall it be? Do you think you can keep us in order, or are we going to let you have a lively time of it?" All depends on this terrible moment. Your life will be one of comfort, and even happiness, or one of utter wretchedness. Strike the first blow and win, or you will soon learn that if you do not get the better of the lively crew they will surely get the better of you. * * * * * I was prepared for the baptism of fire. I even had a little theory that had once obtained for me the good graces of a head-master. This gentleman informed me that the poor fellow I was going to replace had shot himself in despair of being ever able to keep his boys in order, and he asked me what I thought of it. "Well," I unhesitatingly answered, "I would have shot the boys." "Right!" he exclaimed; "you are my man." If, as I strongly suspected from certain early reminiscences, to have been a mischievous boy was a qualification for being a good school-master, I thought I ought to make a splendid one. The result of my first interview with British boys was that we understood each other perfectly. We were to make a happy family. That was settled in a minute by a few glances at each other. IV. THE "GENUS" BOY.--THE ONLY ONE I OBJECT TO.--WHAT BOYS WORK FOR. Boys lose their charm when they get fifteen or sixteen years of age. The clever ones, no doubt, become more interesting to the teacher, but they no longer belong to the _genus_ boy that you love for his very defects as much as for his good qualities. I call "boys" that delightful, lovable race of young scamps from eleven to fourteen years old. At that age all have redeeming points, and all are lovable. I never objected to any, except perhaps to those who aimed at perfection, especially the ones who were successful in their efforts. For my part, I like a boy with a redeeming fault or two. By "boys" I mean little fellows who manage, after a game of football, to get their right arm out of order, that they may be excused writing their exercises for a week or so; who do not work because they have an examination to prepare, but because you offer them an inducement to do so, whether in the shape of rewards, or maybe something less pleasant you may keep in your cupboard. V. SCHOOL BOYS I HAVE MET.--PROMISING BRITONS.--SLY-BOOTS.--TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD.--"NO, THANKS, WE MAKES IT."--FRENCH DICTIONARIES.--A NAUGHTY BOY.--MOTHERS' PETS.--DIRTY BUT BEAUTIFUL.--JOHN BULLY.--HIGH COLLARS AND BRAINS.--DICTATION AND ITS TRIALS.--NOT TO BE TAKEN IN.--UNLUCKY BOYS.--THE USE OF TWO EARS.--A BOY WITH ONE IDEA.--MASTER WHIRLIGIG.--THE INFLUENCE OF ATHLETICS.--A GOOD SITUATION.--A SHREWD BOY OF BUSINESS.--MASTER ALGERNON CADWALADR SMYTH, AND OTHER TYPICAL SCHOOLBOYS. Master Johnny Bull is a good little boy who sometimes makes slips in his exercises, but mistakes--never. He occasionally forgets his lesson, but he always "knows" it. "Do you know your lesson?" you will ask him. "Yes, sir," he will reply. "But you can't say it." "Please, sir, I forget it now." Memory is his weak point. He has done his best, whatever the result may be. Last night he knew his lesson perfectly; the proof is that he said it to his mother, and that the excellent lady told him he knew it very well. Again this morning, as he was in the train coming to school, he repeated it to himself, and he did not make one mistake. He knows he didn't. * * * * * If he has done but two sentences of his home work, "he is afraid" he has not quite finished his exercise. "But, my dear boy, you have written but two sentences." "Is that all?" he will inquire. "That is all." "Please, sir, I thought I had done more than that." And he looks at it on all sides, turns it to the right, to the left, upside down; he reads it forwards, he reads it backwards. No use; he can't make it out. All at once, however, he will remember that he had a bad headache last night, or maybe a bilious attack. The bilious attack is to the English schoolboy what the _migraine_ is to the dear ladies of France: a good maid-of-all-work. * * * * * Sometimes my young hero brings no exercise at all. It has slipped, in the train, from the book in which he had carefully placed it, or there is a crack in his locker, and the paper slipped through. You order excavations to be made, and the exercise has vanished like magic. Johnny wonders. "Perhaps the mice ate it!" you are wicked enough to suggest. This makes him smile and blush. He generally collapses before a remark like this. * * * * * But if he has a good excuse, behold him! "I could not do my exercise last night," said to me one day a young Briton. It was evident from his self-satisfied and confident assurance that he had a good answer ready for my inquiry. "You couldn't," I said; "why?" "Please, sir, grandmamma died last night!" "Oh! did she? Well, well--I hope this won't happen again." This put me in mind of the boy who, being reproached for his many mistakes in his translation, pleaded: "Please, sir, it isn't my fault. Papa _will_ help me." An English schoolboy never tells stories--never. A mother once brought her little son to the head-master of a great public school. "I trust my son will do honor to the school," she said; "he is a good, industrious, clever, and trustworthy boy. He never told a story in his life." "Oh! madam, boys never do," replied the head-master. The lady left, somewhat indignant. Did the remark amount to her statement being disbelieved, or to an affirmation that her boy was no better than other boys? * * * * * Of course every mother is apt to think that her Johnny or Jenny is nature's highest utterance. But for blind, unreasoning adoration, commend me to a fond grandmamma. The first time I took my child on a visit to my mother in dear old Brittany, grandmamma received compliments enough on the subject of the "lovely petite blonde" to turn her head. But it did not want much turning, I must say. One afternoon, my wife was sitting with Miss Baby on her lap, and grandmamma, after devouring the child with her eyes for a few moments, said to us: "You are two very sensible parents. Some people are so absurd about their babies! Take Madame T., for instance. She was here this morning, and really, to hear her talk, one would think that child of hers was an angel of beauty--that there never was such another." "Well, but, grandmamma," said my wife, "you know yourself that you are forever discoursing of the matchless charms of our baby to your friends." "Ah!" cried the dear old lady, as serious as a judge; "but that's quite different; in our case it's all true." * * * * * If you ever hope to find the British schoolboy at fault, your life will be a series of disappointments. Judge for yourself. I (once): "Well, Brown, you bring no exercise this morning. How is that?" PROMISING BRITON: "Please, sir, you said yesterday that we were to do the 17th exercise." I (inquiringly): "Well?" P. B. (looking sad): "Please, sir, Jones said to me, last night, that it was the 18th exercise we were to do." I (surprised): "But, my dear boy, you do not bring me any exercise at all." P. B. (looking good): "Please, sir, I was afraid to do the wrong one." Dear, dear child! the thought of doing wrong but once was too much for him! I shall always have it heavy on my conscience to have rewarded this boy's love of what is right by calling upon him to write out each of those exercises five times. * * * * * That thick-necked boy, whom you see there on the front row aiming at looking very good, and whom his schoolfellows are wicked and disrespectful enough to surname "Potted Angel," is sad and sour. His eyes are half open, his tongue seems to fill his mouth, and to speak, or rather to jerk out the words, he has to let it hang out. His mouth moves sideways like that of a ruminant; you would imagine he was masticating a piece of tough steak. He blushes, and never looks at you, except on the sly, with an uncomfortable grin, when your head is turned away. It seems to give him pain to swallow, and you would think he was suffering from some internal complaint. This, perhaps, can be explained. The conscience lies just over the stomach, if I am to trust boys when they say they put their hands on their conscience. Let this conscience be heavily loaded, and there you have the explanation of the grumbling ailment that disturbs the boy in the lower regions of his anatomy. To be good is all right, but you must not over-do it. This boy is beyond competition, a standing reproach, an insult to the rest of the class. You are sorry to hear, on asking him what he intends to be, that he means to be a missionary. His face alone will be worth £500 a year in the profession. Thinking that I have prepared this worthy for missionary work, I feel, when asked what I think of missionaries, like the jam-maker's little boy who is offered jam and declines, pleading: "No, thanks--we makes it." I have great respect for missionaries, but I have always strongly objected to boys who make up their minds to be missionaries before they are twelve years old. * * * * * Some good, straightforward boys are wholly destitute of humor. One of them had once to put into French the following sentence of Charles Dickens: "Mr. Squeers had but one eye, and the popular prejudice runs in favor of two." He said he could not put this phrase into French, because he did not know what it meant in English. "Surely, sir," he said to me, "it is not a prejudice to prefer two eyes to one." This boy was wonderfully good at facts, and his want of humor did not prevent him from coming out of Cambridge senior classic, after successfully taking his B.A. and M.A. in the University of London. This young man, I hear, is also going to be a missionary. The news goes far to reconcile me to the noble army of John Bull's colonizing agents, but I doubt whether the heathen will ever get much entertainment out of him. * * * * * Some boys can grasp grammatical facts and succeed in writing a decent piece of French; but, through want of literary perception, they will give you a sentence that will make you feel proud of them until you reach the end, when, bang! the last word will have the effect of a terrible bump on your nose. A boy of this category had to translate this other sentence of Dickens:[2] "She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for bed. But who could sleep? Sleep!"[3] [2] "The Old Curiosity Shop." [3] Here I have to make a painful confession. I have actually acceded to a request from my American publishers, men wholly destitute of humor, to supply the reader with a translation of the few French sentences used in this little volume. This monument of my weakness will be found at the end. His translation ran thus: "Elle se retira dans sa chambre, et fit ses préparatifs pour se coucher. Mais qui aurait pu dormir? _Sommeil!_" I caught that boy napping one day. "Vous dormez, mon ami?... _Sommeil_, eh?" I cried. The remark was enjoyed. There is so much charity in the hearts of boys! Another boy had to translate a piece of Carlyle's "French Revolution": "'Their heads shall fall within a fortnight,' croaks the people's friend (Marat), clutching his tablets to write----Charlotte Corday has drawn her knife from the sheath; plunges it, with one sure stroke, into the writer's heart." The end of this powerful sentence ran thus in the translation: "Charlotte Corday a tiré son poignard de la gaîne, et d'une main sûre, elle le plonge dans le coeur de _celui qui écrivait_." When I remonstrated with the dear fellow, he pulled his dictionary out of his desk, and triumphantly pointed out to me: "WRITER (substantive), _celui qui écrit_." And all the time his look seemed to say: "What do you think of that? You may be a very clever man; but surely you do not mean to say that you know better than a dictionary!" Oh, the French dictionary, that treacherous friend of boys! The lazy ones take the first word of the list, sometimes the figurative pronunciation given in the English-French part. Result: "_I have a key_"--"_J'ai un ki_." The shrewd ones take the last word, to make believe they went through the whole list. Result: "_A chest of drawers_"--"_Une poitrine de caleçons_." The careless ones do not take the right part of speech they want. Result: "_He felt_"--"_Il feutra_"; "_He left_"--"_Il gaucha_." With my experience of certain French dictionaries published in England, I do not wonder that English boys often trust in Providence for the choice of words, although I cannot help thinking that as a rule they are most unlucky. Very few boys have good dictionaries at hand. I know that Smith and Hamilton's dictionary (in two volumes) costs twenty shillings. But what is twenty shillings to be helped all through one's coaching? About the price of a good lawn-tennis racket. I have seen boys show me, with a radiant air, a French dictionary they had bought for six-pence. They thought they had made a bargain. Oh, free trade! Oh, the cheapest market! Sixpence for that dictionary! That was not very expensive, I own--but it was terribly dear. * * * * * When an English boy is about to write out his French exercise, he invariably begins by heading the copy "FRENCH," written with his best hand, on the first line. This is to avoid any misunderstanding about the language he is going to use. I have often felt grateful for that title. * * * * * Children are very great at titles and inscriptions. Give them a little penny pocket-book, and their keen sense of ownership will make them go straightway and write their name and address on the first page. When this is done, they will entitle the book, and write on the top of each page: "Memorandum Book." When I was at school, we French boys used to draw, on the back of the cover of our books, a merry-Andrew and a gibbet, with the inscription: "Aspice Pierrot pendu, Quod librum n'a pas rendu. Si librum redidisset, Pierrot pendu non fuisset." I came across the following lines on some English boys' books: "Don't steal this book for fear of shame, For here you see the owner's name; Or, when you die, the Lord will say: 'Where is that book you stole away?'" * * * * * Boys' minds are like a certain place not mentioned in geographies: they are paved with good intentions. Before they begin their work, they choose their best nib (which always takes some time). This done, they carefully write their name and the title of the exercise. FRENCH looks magnificent. They evidently mean to do well. The first sentence is generally right and well written. In the second you perceive signs of flagging; it then gets worse and worse till the end, which is not legible. Judge for yourself, here is a specimen. It collapses with a blot half licked off. Master H. W. S.'s flourish after his signature is not, as you see, a masterpiece of calligraphy; but it is not intended to be so. It is simply an overflow of relief and happiness at the thought that his exercise is finished. Translate the flourish by-- "Done!!!" * * * * * H. W. S. is not particularly lucky with his genders. Fortunately for him, the French language possesses no neuter nouns, so that sometimes he hits on the right gender. For this he asks no praise. Providence alone is to be thanked for it. Once he had to translate: "His conduct was good." He first put _sa conduite_. After this effort in the right direction, his conscience was satisfied, and he added, _était bon_. Why? Because an adjective is longer in the feminine than in the masculine, and with him and his like the former gender stands very little chance. * * * * * I remember two very strange boys. They were not typical, I am happy to say. When the first of them was on, his ears would flap and go on flapping like the gills of a fish, till he had either answered the question or given up trying, when they would lie at rest flat against his head. If I said to him sharply: "Well, my boy, speak up; I can't hear," his ears would start flapping more vigorously than ever. Sometimes he would turn his eyes right over, to see if he could not find the answer written somewhere inside his head. This boy could set the whole of his scalp in motion, bring his hair right down to his eyes, and send it back again without the least difficulty. These performances were simply wonderful. The boys used to watch him with an interest that never flagged, and more than once I was near losing my countenance. One day this poor lad fell in the playground, and cut his head open. We were all anxious to ascertain what it was he had inside his head that he always wanted to get at. The doctor found nothing remarkable in it. The other boy was a fearful stammerer. The manner in which he managed to get help for his speech is worth relating. Whenever he had to read a piece of French aloud, he would utter the letter "F" before each French word, and they would positively come out easily. The letter "F" being the most difficult letter for stammerers to pronounce, I always imagined that he thought he would be all right with any sound, if he could only say "F" first. He was successful. A boy with whom you find it somewhat difficult to get on is the diffident one who always believes that the question you ask him is a "catch." He is constantly on guard, and surrounds the easiest question with inextricable difficulties. It is his misfortune to know that rules have exceptions, and he never suspects that it would enter your head to ask him for the illustration of a general rule. He knows, for instance, that nouns ending in _al_ form their plural by changing _al_ into _aux_; but if you ask him for the plural of _général_, he will hesitate a long while, and eventually answer you, _générals_. "Do you mean to say, my boy, that you do not know how to form the plural of nouns in _al_?" "Yes, sir, but I thought _général_ was an exception." * * * * * I pass over the wit who, being asked for the plural of _égal_, answered, "two gals." * * * * * A diverting little boy in the class-room is the one who always thinks "he has got it." It matters little to him what the question is, he has not heard the end of it when he lifts his hand to let you know he is ready. "What is the future of _savoir_?" "Please, sir, I know: _je savoirai_." "Sit down, you ignoramus." And he resumes his seat to sulk until you give him another chance. He wonders how it is you don't like his answers. His manner is generally affable; you see at once in him a mother's pet who is much admired at home, and thinks he is not properly appreciated at school. Mother's pets are to be recognized at a glance. They are always clean and tidy in face and person. Unfortunately they often part their hair in the middle. * * * * * Such is not the testimonial that can be given to young H. He spends an hour and a pint of ink over every exercise. He writes very badly. To obtain a firm hold of his pen, he grasps the nib with the ends of his five fingers. I sometimes think he must use his two hands at once. He plunges the whole into the inkstand every second or two, and withdraws it dripping. He is smeared with ink all over; he rubs his hands in it, he licks it, he loves it, he sniffs it, he revels in it. He wishes he could drink it, and the ink-stands were wide enough for him to get his fist right into it. This boy is a most clever little fellow. When you can see his eyes, they are sparkling with mischief and intelligence. A beautiful, dirty face; a lovely boy, though an "unwashed." * * * * * A somewhat objectionable boy, although he is not responsible for his shortcomings, is the one who has been educated at home up to twelve or fourteen years of age. Before you can garnish his brain, you have to sweep it. You have to replace the French of his nursery governess--who has acquired it on the _Continong_--by a serious knowledge of _avoir_ and _être_. He comes to school with a testimonial from his mother, who is a good French scholar, to the effect that he speaks French fluently. You ask him for the French of "_It is twelve o'clock_," and he answers with assurance: "_C'est douze heures_." You ask him next for the French of "_How do you do?_" and he tells you: "_Comment ça va-t-il?_" You call upon him to spell it, and he has no hesitation about it: "_Comment savaty_?" You then test his knowledge of grammar by asking him the future of _vouloir_, and you immediately obtain: "_Je voulerai_." You tell him that his French is very shaky, and you decide on putting him with the beginners. The following day you find a letter awaiting you at school. It is from his indignant mother. She informs you that she fears her little boy will not learn much in the class you have put him in. He ought to be in one of the advanced classes. He has read Voltaire[4] and can speak French. [4] Poor little chap! She knows he can, she heard him at Boulogne, and he got on very well. The natives there had no secrets for him; he could understand all they said. You feel it to be your duty not to comply with the lady's wishes, and you have made a bitter enemy to yourself and the school. This boy never takes for granted the truth of the statements you make in the class-room. What you say may be all right; but when he gets home he will ask his mamma if it is all true. He is fond of arguing, and has no sympathy with his teacher. He tries to find him at fault. A favorite remark of his is this: "Please, sir, you said the other day that so-and-so was right. Why do you mark a mistake in my exercise to-day?" You explain to him why he is wrong, and he goes back to his seat grumbling. He sees he is wrong; but he is not cured. He hopes to be more lucky next time. When you meet his mother, she asks you what you think of the boy. "A very nice boy indeed," you say; "only I sometimes wish he had more confidence in me; he is rather fond of arguing." "Oh!" she exclaims, "I know that. Charley will never accept a statement before he has discussed it and thoroughly investigated it." * * * * * As a set-off for Charley, there is the boy who has a blind confidence in you. All you say is gospel to him, and if you were to tell him that the French word _voisin_ is pronounced _kramshaka_, he would unhesitatingly say _kramshaka_. Nothing astonishes him; he has taken for his motto the _Nil admirari_ of Horace. He would see three circumflex accents on the top of a vowel without lifting his eyebrows. He is none of the inquiring and investigating sort. * * * * * Another specimen of the Charley type is the one who has been coached for the public school in a Preparatory School for the Sons of Gentlemen, kept by ladies. This boy has always been well treated. He is fat, rubicund, and unruly. His linen is irreproachable. The ladies told him he was good-looking, and his hair, which he parts into two _ailes de pigeon_, is the subject of his incessant care. He does not become "a man" until his comrades have bullied him into a good game of Rugby football. * * * * * On the last bench, right in the corner, you can see young Bully. He does not seek after light, he is not an ambitious boy, and the less notice you take of him the better he is pleased. His father says he is a backward boy. Bully is older and taller than the rest of the class. For form's sake you are obliged to request him to bring his work, but you have long ago given up all hope of ever teaching him any thing. He is quiet and unpretending in class, and too sleepy to be up to mischief. He trusts that if he does not disturb your peace you will not disturb his. When a little boy gives you a good answer, it arouses his scorn, and he not uncommonly throws at him a little smile of congratulation. If you were not a good disciplinarian, he would go and give him a pat on the back, but this he dares not do. When you bid him stand up and answer a question, he begins by leaning on his desk. Then he gently lifts his hinder part, and by slow degrees succeeds in getting up the whole mass. He hopes that by this time you will have passed him and asked another boy to give you the answer. He is not jealous, and will bear no ill-will to the boy who gives you a satisfactory reply. If you insist on his standing up and giving sign of life, he frowns, loosens his collar, which seems to choke him, looks at the floor, then at the ceiling, then at you. Being unable to utter a sound, he frowns more, to make you believe that he is very dissatisfied with himself. "I know the answer," he seems to say; "how funny, I can't recollect it just now." As you cannot waste any more time about him, you pass him; a ray of satisfaction flashes over his face, and he resumes his corner hoping for peace. The little boys dare not laugh at him, for he is the terror of the playground, where he takes his revenge of the class-room. His favorite pastime in the playground is to teach little boys how to play marbles. They bring the marbles, he brings his experience. When the bell rings to call the boys to the class-rooms, he has got many marbles, the boys a little experience. * * * * * One of my pet aversions is the young boy who arrays[5] himself in stand-up collars and white merino cravats. [5] Being a little bit of a philologist, I assume this verb comes from the common (very common) noun, _'Arry_. George Eliot, I believe, says somewhere that there never was brain inside a red-haired head. I think she was mistaken. I have known very clever boys with red hair. But what I am positive about is that there is no brain on the top of boys ornamented with stand-up collars. Young Bully wears them. He comes to school with his stick, and whenever you want a match to light the gas with he can always supply you, and feels happy he is able for once to oblige you. * * * * * In some boys I have often deplored the presence of two ears. What you impart through one immediately escapes through the other. Explain to them a rule once a week, they will always enjoy hearing it again. It will always be new to them. Their lives will ever be a series of enchantments and surprises. You must persevere, and repeat things to them a hundred times, if ninety-nine will not do. Who knows there is not a John Wesley among them? "I remember," once said this celebrated divine, "hearing my father say to my mother: 'How could you have the patience to tell that blockhead the same thing twenty times over?' 'Why,' said she, 'if I had told him only nineteen times, I should have lost all my labor.'" * * * * * I am not sure that the boy with only one ear is not still more tiresome. He always turns his deaf ear to you, and makes his little infirmity pay. "He is afraid he did not quite hear you, when you set the work yesterday." For my part, I met the difficulty by having desks placed each side of my chair. On my left I had the boys who had good right ears; on my right, those who had good left ones. I can not say I ever saw many signs of gratitude in boys for this solicitude of mine in their behalf. * * * * * At dictation time the two-eared boy is terrible, and you need all the self-control you have acquired on the English shores to keep your head cool. Before beginning, you warn him that a mute _e_, or an _s_, placed at the end of a vowel, gives a long sound to that vowel, that _ie_ is long in _jolie_, and _i_ is short in _joli_; that _ais_ is long in _je serais_, and _ai_ is short in _je serai_. Satisfied that he is well prepared, you start with your best voice: "_Je serais...._" The boy looks at you. Is he to write _je serais_ or _je serai_? To settle his undecided mind, you repeat: "_Je serais_," and you may lay great emphasis on ais, bleating for thirty seconds like a sheep in distress. He writes something down at last. You go and see the result of your efforts. He has written "_Je serai._" _Drat_ the boy! Next time you dictate a word ending in _ais_, he won't be caught again. He leaves a blank or makes a blot. * * * * * You must never take it for granted that you have given this boy all the explanations he requires to get on with his work. You will always find that there is something you have omitted to tell him. He is not hopelessly stupid, he personifies the _vis inertiæ_; he is indifferent, and takes but one step at a time. He will tell you he did not know that there were notes at the end of his French text-books. When he knows that there are such notes, he will inform you next time that you did not tell him he was to look at them. He sees things, but at first he does not know what they are for unless they are labelled, and he will ignore the use of a chair if you do not point out the flat part of this piece of furniture, or better still, touch it, saying, "Chair--to sit upon." The following are bits of conversation you will have with him in the class-room: "How is it you have no copy to give me?" "I thought we only had to prepare the piece." Of course you know what it means when a boy tells you he has "prepared" his work, but has not written it down. So you tell him he is to bring a copy next time. He does, for he is most anxious to do as he is told. When you ask him to give you the translation of the piece _viva voce_, he tells you: "Please, sir, you did not tell us we were to learn the piece." "But, my boy, don't you understand that you are doing a piece of French twice a week in order to learn the language?" He never thought of that. He had to write out the translation of a piece of French, and he has done it. He did not know he had to draw such bewildering conclusions as you have just mentioned. He does as he is told, and he marvels you do not consider him a model of a boy. If he were placed at the door of the reading-room of the British Museum, with orders to inform people that they must take their umbrellas or sticks to the cloak-room, he would carry out the intentions of the librarians with a vengeance. "Take your stick or your umbrella to the cloak-room," he would say to the first person presenting himself at the door. "But I have not got either," might reply the visitor. "That's no business of mine; go and fetch them," he would naturally suggest. He can grasp but one idea at a time, and this one idea does not lead to another in his mind. There it remains like the buried talent. * * * * * Master Whirligig is a light-headed boy. It requires very little to entertain him. The falling of a book, a cough, a sneeze, an organ in the street, will send him into fits of hilarity behind his pocket-handkerchief, and when the school breaks up for the Midsummer holidays, he will be able to tell you the exact number of flies that passed through the class-room during the term. He is never still for a moment. Always on the look-out for fresh events, he is the nearest approach to perpetual motion yet discovered. The cracks in this boy's cranium may be explained physiologically. Matter subjected to constant motion gets heated, as we all know. Now young Whirligig's skull is but scantily furnished with brain matter, and it would be wise of him to keep it still. This he seems to be incapable of doing. He is for ever jerking and shaking it, churning the contents in fact. The churn heated, hot vapors are generated; they expand, the pressure is too great, they must escape--they force an outlet--hence the cracks.--Q.E.D. * * * * * If you want to see the good average English schoolboy in all his glory, make him write out a rule of French grammar, and tell him to illustrate it with an example. Nine times out of ten his example will illustrate the contrary to the rule. He has heard over and over again, for instance, that a French past participle, conjugated with the auxiliary _avoir_, sometimes agrees with its direct object and sometimes does not. This he thinks very hard upon him. Funny temper these past participles have! You never know when they will agree. It is not fair, now, is it? By consulting his grammar, he would be enabled to satisfy his master. But he does not do that. He trusts to his luck, and has a shot. After all, his chance is 50 per cent. He generally fails to hit. Is he not a most unlucky little creature? Ask this boy to give you the French for "this woman is good," he will answer you: "_Bonne est cette femme_." He has heard that _bon_ was one of those few adjectives that have to be placed before the noun, and that is very unfair to him, isn't it? * * * * * If you set an exercise to English boys, to be written out on the spot, they all set off quickly, the question being, as they look at one another: "Who shall have finished first?" This I hold to be due to the influence of athletics. "Please, sir, I've done!" will exclaim the winner triumphantly, as he looks at the rest of the class still busy scratching their paper. You generally like to know what boys intend to be, in order to direct your attention more specially to the subjects they will require to be grounded in for such or such an examination. Most boys from twelve to fourteen years old will tell you "they do not know," when you ask them what they will be. Many of them are undecided, many indifferent; some are shy, and afraid you will think it conceited of them to believe they are fit to be one day doctors, officers, barristers, clergymen, etc. A few answer "I don't know," on the tune of "What is that to you?" As it is always impolitic to take more interest in people than they do themselves, you do not insist. Once I asked a nice and clever little boy what he wanted to be. This little boy's papa was at the time enjoying the well-salaried _far niente_ of a chaplaincy attached to an old philanthropical institution that had not had any inmates for many years past. "Please, sir, I want to be like papa," he answered, ingenuously. * * * * * My young friend T. had no taste for languages, except, perhaps, bad language, if I am to believe certain rumors of a punishment inflicted upon him by the head-master not long ago. He prepares for the army, but I doubt whether he will succeed in entering it, unless he enlists. I regret it for her Majesty's sake, for he would make a capital soldier. He is a first-rate athlete, resolute, strong, and fearless. He would never aim at becoming a field-marshal, and I hold that his qualities ought to weigh in an examination for the army as much as a little Latin and Greek. I never heard of great generals being particularly good at Latin, except Julius Cæsar, who wrote his Commentaries on the Gallic Wars in that language, and without a dictionary, they say. My young friend is the kind of boy who, in the army, would be sure to render great service to his country; for, whether he killed England's enemy or England's enemy killed him, it would eventually be for the good of England. * * * * * Ah! now, who is that square-headed boy, sitting on the second form near the window? He looks dull; he does not join in the games, and seldom speaks to a school-fellow. He comes to school on business, to get as much as he can for his money. He is not brilliant, but steady-going; he is improving slowly but surely. He goes on his jog-trot way, and always succeeds in being placed among the first twelve boys of the class. He is what is called a "respectable person." He never smiles, and you would think he had on his shoulders the responsibility of the management of the London and Westminster Bank. His books are carefully covered in brown paper or American cloth. He writes rough copies on the backs of old exercises, and wipes his pen when he has finished his work. He buys his books second-hand in Holywell Street,[6] and when he has finished with them they have the same market value as when he bought them. [6] A street in London where Jews sell second-hand books. He lends old nibs and half-sheets of paper, and requires the borrower to give him back new nibs and foolscap sheets. He studies French with all the energy he is capable of, because his father has told him that, with a good knowledge of French, he will command a good salary in the City. You ask him what he will be, and he answers you: "In business." This boy will be a successful man--a lord-mayor, perhaps. I can not take leave of the class-room without mentioning the boy who is proud of his name. "What is your name, my boy?" "Algernon Cadwaladr Smyth." "Oh! your name is Smith, is it?" "No, sir; my name is Cadwaladr Smyth." "You spell your name S-m-i-t-h, don't you?" "No, sir; S-m-y-t-h," he answers, almost indignantly. Dear boy! he is as proud of the y of his name as a Howard is of his ancestors--although I am not quite sure the Howards ought to be very proud of their name, seeing that it is but a corruption of _Hog-ward_. I always thought it was somewhat hard on a boy to have to go through life labeled Cadwaladr; but, as I have remarked elsewhere, in England there is nothing to prevent parents from dubbing their offsprings Bayard, Bertrand du Guesclin--or, for that matter, Nebuchadnezzar. VI. FRENCH AS SHE IS TRADUCED.--MORE GRUMBLING.--"LA CRITIQUE" IS NOT THE CRITIC'S WIFE.--BOSSUET'S PROSE AND HOW IT READS IN ENGLISH.--NOTHING IMPROVES BY TRANSLATION EXCEPT A BISHOP.--A FEW FRENCH "HOWLERS."-- VALUABLE HINTS ON TRANSLATING UNSEEN PASSAGES. English boys have invented a special kind of English language for French translation. It is not the English they use with their classical and other masters; it is not the English they use at home with their parents, or at school with their comrades; it is a special article kept for the sole benefit of their French masters. The good _genus_ boy will translate _oui_, _mon père_, by "yes, my father," as if it were possible for him to forget that he calls his papa _father_, and not _my father_, when he addresses him. He very seldom reads over his translation to ascertain that it reads like English; but when he does, and is not perfectly satisfied with the result, he lays the blame on the French original. After all, it is not his fault if there is no sense in the French, and he brings a certain number of English dictionary words placed one after the other, the whole entitled FRENCH. Of course he can not call it ENGLISH, and he dares not call it NONSENSE. He calls it French, and relieves his conscience. * * * * * It will take boys long to understand that _la trompette_, _la médecine_, _la marine_, _la statuaire_, are not respectively the wives of _le trompette_, _le médecin_, _le marin_, _le statuaire_. An honest little boy once translated "_La critique doit être bonne fille_" by "The critic's wife ought to be a good girl." Poor little fellow! it is most probable that no dictionary within his reach would have explained to him that the expression _bonne fille_ meant "good-humored." * * * * * O Bossuet, veil thy face! The finest piece of French prose in existence is undoubtedly the following sentence, taken from Bossuet's funeral oration on the Great Condé: "_Restait cette redoutable infanterie de l'armée d'Espagne, dont les gros bataillons serrés, semblables à autant de tours, mais à des tours qui sauraient réparer leurs brèches, demeuraient inébranlables au milieu de tout le reste en déroute, et lançaient des feux de toutes parts._" This reads like a chant of Homer, does it not? It reads quite differently in boys' translations, I assure you, when you come to "towers that would be able to mend their breaches." This confirms you in your belief that nothing improves by translation--except a bishop. * * * * * From my little collection of what is called in the scholastic profession "Howlers," I extract the following, with my apologies to their perpetrators. * * * * * _La fille de feu ma bonne et estimée cousine est toujours la bienvenue_, "My good and esteemed cousin, the daughter of fire, is always welcome." * * * * * _Mon frère a tort et ma soeur a raison_, "My brother has some tart and my sister has some raisins." * * * * * _Elle partit dans la matinée du lendemain_, "She took part in the morning performance of legerdemain." This is a specimen of German _geist_ perpetrated by a candidate to our scholarships, and a young subject of his Venerable Majesty Emperor William. Honor to whom honor is due. * * * * * When I said that boys do not look at the notes given at the end of their text-books, it was nothing short of a libel, as two cases following will prove. * * * * * _Diable! c'est qu'il est capricieux, le bonhomme!_ A boy looked at a note on this phrase, and found: "_capricieux_, akin to Latin _capra_ (a goat)." Next day, he brought his translation, which ran thus: "The good man is devilishly like a goat." * * * * * The next two "howlers" were indulged in by my boys, as we were reading Jules Sandeau's _Mademoiselle de la Seiglière_. The Baroness de Vaubert says to the Marquis de la Seiglière: "_Calmez-vous_." A boy having translated this by "Calm yourself," I observed to him: "Couldn't you give me something more colloquial?" Boy, after a moment's reflection: "Keep your hair on, old man." * * * * * _Je laisse Renaud dans les jardins d'Armida_, "I leave this fox in the gardens of Armida," and, between brackets, the following explanatory statement: ("Jerusalem delivered Tasso in the hands of an enchantress named Armida.")[7] [7] I reproduce the note which had "helped" the boy: ["_Renaud dans les jardins d'Armida_," _the enchanted gardens of Armida_ ("_Jerusalem Delivered_," _Tasso_), _figuratively, in the hands of an enchantress._] * * * * * _Chaque âge a ses plaisirs_ was translated by a nice little boy, "Every one grows old for his preserves." (Evidently written after a surfeit of jam.) * * * * * The vagaries of my young friends are thrown into the shade by some achievements of professional translators which I have come across in America. A French master may occasionally enjoy the drolleries that a magnificent disdain for dictionary trammels and a violent yearning towards the playground will betray his pupil into; but I imagine that a publisher, who pays in hard cash for the faithful translation of a French book, can scarcely be pleased to find that the work has been interlarded with mirth-provoking blunders thrown in gratis. I extract the two following examples of "French as she is traduced" from the translation of one of my books that the American pirates did me the honor to publish: _Les exploits d'Hercule sont de la Saint Jean auprès de_..., "The exploits of Hercules are but of the St. John order compared to...." _Monsieur, ne vous retournez pas_, "Sir, do not return yourself." * * * * * But to return to John Bull, junior. I pass young worthies who translate "_I have never read any thing by Molière_" by "_Je n'ai pas jamais lit quelque chose par Molière_," on the ground that "it is so in English." This "French" sentence was, by-the-bye, the first essay on Molière I received at the hands of the English boys. Some little fellows, trusting their sense of sight, have the objectionable habit of writing the translation of a text before looking at it, at all events before seeing it. Result: "_Il raccommodait les vieux souliers_"--"_He recommended the old soldiers._" A clever boy, whilst reading a comedy at first sight, translated "EGLANTINE (_baissant les yeux_)" by "EGLANTINE (_kissing his eyes_)." You naughty boy! * * * * * I once read the following sound advice given in the preface of a French Translation book: "HINTS ON TRANSLATING UNSEEN PASSAGES." "1. Read the passage carefully through, at least twice." "2. Keep as closely as possible to the original in sense, but use English idiom boldly." "3. Never write down nonsense." Now, and whilst I think of it, why _unseen_? It may be that I do not perceive the niceties of the English language, but this commonly used word, "unseen," never conveyed any meaning to my mind. Would not "unforeseen" be a better word? I would timidly suggest. If the book in question succeeded in making boys carry out the foregoing suggestions, it would be worth its weight in gold. As far as my experience goes, the only hint which I have known them follow is the one that tells them to use English idiom boldly. A drawback to these hints is that they are given in the preface. Now, dear colleagues and _confrères_, which of you has ever known a school-boy read the preface of his book? VII. ENGLISH BOYS ON FRENCH ETYMOLOGIES.--WHY "SILENCE" IS THE ONLY FRENCH NOUN, ENDING IN "ENCE," THAT IS OF THE MASCULINE GENDER.--A VALUABLE SERVICE RENDERED BY THE AUTHOR TO HIS LAND OF ADOPTION.--LEARNED ETYMOLOGIES.--RETURN TO OLD PHILOLOGICAL METHODS.--REMARKABLE QUESTIONS. --WRITTEN AND ORAL EXAMINATIONS.--A KIND EXAMINER.--HOW LONG WOULD IT TAKE THE MOON TO FALL TO THE EARTH?--HOW MANY YARDS OF CLOTH IT TAKES TO COVER AN ASS.--I EXAMINE IN GERMAN. French boys, and only of late, are made to go through a course of French philology during their last two years at school; but English school-boys, who are seldom taught to speak French, and who would find it just as difficult to make themselves understood in Paris as they would in Pekin, are made to study the "rudiments" of French philology, that is to say, the origin of words they are unable to put together so as to make French sentences of them. I might take this opportunity for discussing whether English school-boys should not leave alone all this nonsense, and devote the little spare time they have to learning how to put French words together with a decent pronunciation; but I have promised myself to discuss nothing in this little volume of personal recollections, and I will keep my word. After all, what Englishmen want to be able to do is to write a letter in French, and to ask for a steak or a mutton-chop in a French restaurant, without having to low or bleat to make the waiter understand that it is beef or mutton they want. I did not go to England to make reforms; I accept things as I see them, and I generally wait to give my advice until I am asked for it. So French philology is taught. A hundred exercises, which I have under my eyes, show me the results of the philological teaching of French in England. * * * * * For once--now for once only, let me make a boast. Small as I am, I have rendered a valuable service to the land of my adoption. Yes, a service to England, nothing short of that. For over fifteen years, the French examiners in the University of London invariably every year asked the candidates for Matriculation the following question--I had almost said riddle: "Which is the only French substantive ending in _ence_ that is of the masculine gender, and why?" You may picture to yourself the unhappy candidates, scratching their heads, and going, in their minds, through the forty and some thousand words which make up the French vocabulary. Those only who were "in the know" could answer that the famous word was _silence_, as it came from the Latin neuter noun _silentium_, the other French nouns ending in _ence_ (from Latin feminine nouns in _entia_) being feminine. "Well," I said one day to the examiner, an eminent _confrère_ and friend, "don't you think you make the candidates waste a good deal of their valuable time, and that it would be better to ask them the question (if you must ask it) in a straightforward manner?" He thought I was right, and for two years more the question was asked again, but in the following improved manner: "Explain why _silence_ is the only French noun, ending in _ence_, that is of the masculine gender." This was sensible, and I hoped the examiner would for a long time to come be in smooth water. The gods willed it otherwise. One morning he came to me in a great state of excitement. "I am furious!" he said. "I believe one of the candidates has been laughing at me." "You don't say so!" I remarked. "I believe so," he continued, whilst untying a bundle of papers. "Now look at this," he cried, handing me a copy; "have you ever seen such impudence?" I looked, but could make nothing out of it. "What's the matter?" I inquired. "Well, I asked the candidates the question about the gender of _silence_." "I know, the famous question, eh?" "Never mind that. See the answer one of them gives me," and he pointed it out to me. It ran thus: "_Silence_ is the only French noun, ending in _ence_, that is masculine, because it is the only thing women can not keep." Tears of sympathy for the boy trickled down my cheeks; I thought it was lovely. "Well," I said, when I had recovered, "it serves you right." "I will _plough_ that boy!" he ejaculated. "No, you won't do that," I said. "How did he do the rest of the paper?" "Very well, indeed; the impudent scamp is a clever fellow." "And a wit," I added; "you must not _plough_ him." I never knew the fate of that boy, although I believe I saved him. But what I do know is that never, never since, has the question found place in the Matriculation papers of the University of London. * * * * * A boy, having to give the etymology of the French word _dimanche_, and explain why "book" and "pound" are expressed by the same French word _livre_, perpetrated the following: "_Dimanche_ is a compound word, formed from _di_ (twice), and _manche_ (to eat), because you take two meals on that day (Sunday)."[8] [8] _Dear boy! he probably was a weekly boarder, and the Sunday fare at home had left sweet recollections in his mind. This beats Swift's etymology of "cucumber," which he once gave at a dinner of the Philological Society: "King Jeremiah, Jeremiah King, Jerkin, Gherkin, Cucumber."_ "_Livre_ stands for 'book' as well as for 'pound,' because the accounts of 'pounds' are kept in 'books.'" It was the same boy who, being asked for the meaning of _cordon bleu_, answered "a teetotaler." * * * * * A young Briton, having to derive the French word _tropique_, wrote: "This word comes from _trop_ (too much), and _ique_ (from Latin _hic_ which means _here_), with the word _heat_ understood, that is to say: _Tropique_, it is too hot here." * * * * * Another boy, with a great deal of imagination and power of deduction, having to give the derivation of the French word _cheval_, wrote the following essay: "_Cheval_ comes from the Latin _equus_. The letter _u_ was written _v_, which gave _equus_ = _eqvus_ = quevus. "This word became _quevalus_, which finally gave _cheval_." We might exclaim with d'Aceilly: "_Cheval_ vient d'_equus_, sans doute; Mais il faut convenir aussi Qu'à venir de là jusqu'ici, Il a bien changé sur la route."[9] [9] "_'Cheval' comes from 'equus' no doubt; but it must be confessed that, to come to us in that state, it has sadly altered on the way._" * * * * * This boy's method is, after all, a return to the old methods. If we consult Ménage's Etymological Dictionary, we see that he easily derives _rat_ from _mus_, and _haricot_ from _faba_, to take only two instances of the method. "The Latin _mus_," he says, "became _muratus_, and then _ratus_, which gave us _rat_." He deals no less successfully with _haricot_, viz: "The Latin _faba_ became by corruption _fabaricus_, which altered into _fabaricotus_, and finally into _aricotus_, which gave us _haricot_." After this we may appreciate Voltaire's remark that "philologists take no account of vowels, and very little notice of consonants." Nor do boys. * * * * * If the answers given by candidates at examinations are often remarkable, the questions asked by the examiners are often more wonderful still. Here are a few which have been seriously asked, and--_proh pudor!_--published: "Define, with reference to passages in the _Lettres Provinciales_, 'grâce suffisante,' 'grâce efficace,' 'grâce actuelle,' '_casuisme_,' 'pouvoir prochain,' 'probabilisme.' Also explain what is meant by 'casuistry.' What can be said in its defence?" "Give some account of Escobar." "What are the principal differences between the Latin and the French languages?" Well might an eminent _confrère_ exclaim one day: "Is not all this printed and published to discourage the study of French?" * * * * * I once heard an examiner ask a dear little fellow, aged eleven, the following poser: "Give me the derivations of all the words of the French sentence you have just read aloud." Poor little boy! He took the examiner for a wonderful man. So he was. * * * * * English examinations consist of so many papers to be taken up; the "viva voce" does not play an important part in England, as it does in France. A "viva voce" examination very often gives the examiner a better idea of the candidate's abilities and knowledge than a written one, but it has many drawbacks. It favors babblers and the self-assured, and does not enable the timid to show themselves at their best. The more learned the examiner, the more kind and indulgent is he to the candidates. Sainte-Claire Deville, the famous French chemist, had to be declined by the authorities at the Sorbonne as an examiner, because he used to answer his questions himself to save the candidates trouble. "How do you prepare oxygen?" he would ask. "By heating chlorate of potash, don't you?" "Yes, sir." "You place the chlorate of potash in a thin glass flask, don't you?" "Yes, sir." "Now a small quantity of manganese bi-oxide, mixed with the chlorate of potash, enables you to obtain the oxygen at a much lower temperature, does it not?" "Yes, sir." "Very good--now, another question." And so forth. * * * * * On the other hand, there are examiners who make it a rule to bully the candidates, or, worse still, to snub them. They will ask preposterous questions with the mere object of disconcerting them. "How long would it take the moon to fall to the earth?" I once heard an examiner ask a candidate to the _baccalauréat ès-sciences_. A facetious examiner once got his due from a young Parisian candidate. After asking him a few "catches," and obtaining no answers he suddenly said to him: "Do you know how much cloth would be required to cover an ass?" "I do not, sir," replied the lad, "but if you are anxious to know, I will ask your tailor." The audience laughed heartily, and the examiner, seeing that this time the laughter was not on his side, congratulated the boy on his wit, and immediately asked him a few sensible questions, which were answered respectfully, and proved that the candidate had his subjects as ready as his wit. * * * * * I was once asked to examine the French and German classes of an important English school. I wrote to "my lords and gentlemen," saying that my knowledge of German was not such as to enable me to find fault with other people's. The governors answered that it did not matter, and I was directed to proceed to the Examination. I got over the difficulty by sharing the work and the fees with an able German, who prepared the questions and corrected the copies. VIII. ENGLISH BOYS ON FRENCH COMPOSITION.--"GO AHEAD" IS NOT IN FRENCH "ALLEZ UNE TETE."--HOW BOYS SET ABOUT FRENCH COMPOSITION.--A WRITTEN PROOF OF THEIR GUILT.--HOW LARGE ADVERTISEMENTS CAN HELP THEM.--A STUMBLING-BLOCK CLEARED AWAY. You have achieved a great success when you have succeeded in getting into young boys' heads that French is not English replaced by equivalent words to be found in a dictionary. This is the way boys generally set about writing a piece of English into French. They take the first English word, open their dictionary, and put down the French word they have found for it (the wrong one, as a rule, if more than one is given). Then they take the second English word, to which they apply the same process, until they come to a stop, which they carefully reproduce in the French (many don't). This done, they take their blotting-paper, apply it on the copy, rub it hard for a minute or two, and knock off to enjoy a well-deserved rest. The amount of blotting-paper used by boys is prodigious. A word is no sooner written down than it is fixed on the paper by a good hearty rubbing down. They are afraid it will evaporate if not properly secured on the paper at once. * * * * * Suppose your young pupils have to put into French "I give you." They will first write _je_, then _donne_. After the English word "you," they are referred to a note. They look at this note (many don't), and see that they must put the pronoun _vous_ before the verb. They do so between the lines, and thus write down the proof of their iniquity: _vous_ "_je_ ^ _donne_." * * * * * Although the boys use their eyes to look at things, there are few who use them to see. Young S. was an exception. Having to put into French, "No sovereign ever was more worthy," he brought me: "_Jamais souverain ne fut plus digne._" I congratulated him on his achievement, and as I was suspicious he had been helped at home I asked him how he came to write this. He then said to me that on his way home he had seen in the station a large advertisement of a tooth-paste maker. The advertisement consisted of a huge woman's head, showing two rows of beautiful teeth, with this inscription: "_Avec de belles dents jamais femme ne fut laide._" He had come to the conclusion that this French phrase could help him, and he took it down at the station. This young Briton has a great future before him. * * * * * A boy having to translate "I have gone out," begins by writing "_j'ai_." That is understood. When afterwards he finds that the verb _sortir_ is conjugated with the auxiliary _être_, he changes _j'ai_ into _je suis_. Nine times out of ten he trusts his memory, or rather he leaves it to chance, and he keeps _j'ai_. French books are loaded with facts, but few with explanations. All the French grammars I know publish the list of the neuter verbs that are conjugated with the auxiliary _être_, but none give boys the reason _why_ these verbs are conjugated with _être_ and not with _avoir_. Boys learn this list of verbs and forget it, and you know little of boys' nature if you imagine that they will consult their grammar at every turn. Some do, to be sure, but how many? I do not know of one French grammar that tells students that neuter verbs, which express a state as well as an action, or rather that neuter verbs which express that a _state_ is enjoyed as soon as the _action_ is over, are conjugated with _être_. A boy will understand you, and remember what you say, if you tell him: "As soon as you _have_ died, you _are_ dead. This is why the verb _mourir_, expressing the _state of being_ dead, as soon as the _action_ of dying is over, has to be conjugated with _être_." "As soon as you _have_ arrived, you _are_ arrived." "As soon as you _have been_ born, you _are_ born." "Therefore all these verbs _arriver_, _naître_, _venir_, _sortir_, _partir_, etc., are conjugated with _être_." "By this reasoning, with _courir_ (to run) you get an absurdity. 'As soon as you _have_ run you _are_ run' is an absurdity. Therefore _courir_, expressing only an action, not a state, takes _avoir_." Yes, boys will understand all that, and nothing gives them more pleasure than having their minds satisfied with a little explanatory food. I have seen rays of happy satisfaction flashing over scores of young faces as they got hold of these facts. For the same reason, reflexive verbs are conjugated with _être_, because they also express that a state is enjoyed as soon as the action is over. "As soon as you _have_ washed yourself you _are_ washed--if you have done it properly, of course." Tell the boys so, and they will laugh, and they will understand you, and they will be grateful to you. * * * * * I could give hundreds of instances in which a few explanatory words would settle grammatical facts in boys' minds; but, although I am tempted at almost every page to turn this book into a class--book, I must bear in mind that my aim is not to instruct, and pass on. IX. HOW TO BE HAPPY THOUGH A SCHOOL-MASTER.--SUGGESTIONS AND HINTS FOR THE CLASS-ROOM.--BOYS ON HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY.--"MAXIMS" AND "WISE THOUGHTS."--ADVICE TO THOSE ABOUT TO TEACH.--"SIR," AND NOT "MOSSOO." --"FRAULEINS" AND "MADEMOISELLES."--"CHECK" YOUR LOVE FOR BOYS.--NO CREDIT.--WE ARE ALL LIABLE TO MAKE MISTAKES.--I GET AN INSIGHT INTO "STOCKS." I know masters who spend their time looking at their books with their heads downwards, and who only occasionally lift them up to say to a boisterous class: "Now then, now then!" They might as well tell the boys: "Just take a minute's rest, my dears, will you? In a moment I shall be looking at my desk again, then you will be able to go on." * * * * * Face the boys, or you will be nowhere. * * * * * Always be lively. If you once let the boys go to sleep, you will never wake them up again. Always look the same in face and person. Your moustache curtailed, your whiskers shaved, or the usual shape of your coat altered, will cause a revolution in your class. * * * * * Never show your temper if you have one, and keep the changes of your temperature for the benefit of your wife and family. If you once show your boys that they have enough power to disturb your equilibrium and interfere with your happiness, it is for them a victory, the results of which they will always make you feel. * * * * * If you are annoyed by a boy constantly chatting with his neighbors, see if he has a brother in the class. If he has, place them side by side, and peace will be restored. Brothers will sometimes quarrel in class, but have a quiet chat together, never. * * * * * Never overpraise clever boys, or they will never do another stroke of work. Never snub the dull ones; you don't know that it is not out of modesty that they will not shine over their schoolfellows. Never ask young English public schoolboys any questions on history that may be suggested to you by the proper names you will come across in the text. Their knowledge of history[10] does not go much beyond the certainty that Shakespeare was not a great Roman warrior, although his connection with Julius Cæsar, Antony, and Coriolanus keep a good many still undecided as to the times he lived in. [10] _I mean "modern history," for although public school-boys know little or nothing of Marlborough and Wellington, they could write volumes about Pericles, Scipio, and Hannibal. Ask them something about the Reform Bill, the Repeal of the Corn Laws, or the causes which led to American Independence, and you will have little essays worth inserting in a comic paper._ Ask them under whose reign Ben Jonson flourished, and you will be presented by them with a general survey of English history from the Norman Conquest to the reign of Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria. A good many will also take the opportunity of making a show of their knowledge of literary history (the temptation is irresistible), and add that he was a great man who wrote a good dictionary, and was once kept waiting for a long time in Lord Chesterfield's antechamber, "which he did not like." Boys are generally good at historical anecdotes, a remnant of their early training. We once had to put into French the following sentence: "Frederick the Great of Prussia had the portrait of the young Emperor in every room of his Sans-Souci Palace, and being asked the reason why he thus honored the portrait of his greatest enemy, answered that the Emperor was a busy, enterprising young monarch, and that he found it necessary always to have an eye upon him." I asked the class who this Emperor was that Frederick the Great seemed to fear so much, and I obtained many answers, including Alexander the Great and most well-known imperial rulers down to Napoleon the First; but not one named Joseph II. of Austria. Another time we were translating a piece of Massillon, taken from his celebrated _Petit Carême_. When we came to the following passage, in his sermon on _Flattery_: "The Lord," once said the holy King, "shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things," I asked the boys, who, by-the-bye, were referred in the notes to Psalm xii. 3, who was this holy King mentioned by Massillon? The first answer was "Charles I." The second was "Saint Louis," and I should not probably have received the proper answer if I had not expressed my astonishment at finding that nobody in the class seemed to know who wrote the Psalms. Even after this remark of mine, many boys remained silent; but at last one timidly suggested "David." He did not seem to be quite sure. "This," I thought to myself at the time, "is hardly an encouragement to make children read the Bible twice a day from the time they can spell." * * * * * The knowledge of geography is not more widespread than the knowledge of history among these same boys. So, if you have no time to waste don't ask them where places are. They know where England is; they know more or less precisely the position of India, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the Cape of Good Hope, and such other spots of the earth as are marked in red on the maps published in England. France, Russia, Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Turkey, they could after a few hesitations find out on the map of Europe, but as they are not marked in red, their patriotism prevents them from taking any more interest in these countries. France, however, is rather interesting to them as being a part of the globe in which the French irregular verbs come by nature. Never expect any thanks for all the trouble you have taken over your pupils. When boys succeed in their examinations, it is owing to their intelligence and industry; when they fail, it is owing to the bad teaching of their masters. Boys can do no wrong; get this well engraven on your minds. * * * * * When a boy laughs at a mistake made by a schoolfellow, do not believe that he does so out of contempt, and that he knows better. Ask him for the answer immediately, and he will be as quiet as you please. If you observe him a little, you will see that he never begins to laugh before you have declared the answer of his schoolfellow to be wrong; he would never know himself. * * * * * I always carefully prepared the piece of French that my pupils had to translate, in order to be ready with all the questions suggested to me by the text; but I never prepared composition: I preferred working it in class with them, so as to show them that scores of French sentences properly rendered an English one. I think it is a mistake to impose one rendering of an English sentence. Anybody can do this--with a key. Be not solemn in class, nor aim at astonishing the boys with your eloquence. To look at their staring eyes and gaping mouths, you may perhaps imagine that they are lost in ecstatic admiration. Look again, they are all yawning. * * * * * When you have made the personal acquaintance of the boys who are to make up a class during the term, you can easily assign to them seats that will not perhaps please them, but which will insure peace. A quiet boy placed between two noisy chatterboxes, or a chatterbox placed between two solemn boys, will go a long way towards securing your comfort and happiness. The easiest class-room to manage is the one furnished with separate desks. Then you may easily carry the government on the old principle of _Divide et regna_. * * * * * If you see a boy put his hand before his mouth whilst he is talking, snub him hard for it. Tell him that, when you were a boy and wanted to have a quiet chat with a neighbor, you were not so silly as to thus draw the master's attention and get your little conversation disturbed. We are none of us infallible, not even the youngest of us, as the late Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, once wittily remarked. Never be tired of asking for advice; you will become a good school-master only on condition that you will take constant advice from the old stagers. If, however, you should discover that, in the middle of your lesson, your pupils are all sound asleep, don't go and tell the head-master, and ask him how you should set about keeping them awake. This is beyond his advice. * * * * * The General commanding a French military school had once decided upon having a lecture on Hygiene given to the pupils on Monday afternoons. The day was badly chosen. A French Sunday always means for a French boy a little dissipation in the shape of a good dinner at home or with friends, and on Monday afternoons we generally felt ready for a little doze, if the lecture was in the least prosy. The lecturer, tired of addressing sleeping audiences, lodged a complaint with the General, and asked that his lecture should henceforth take place on another day of the week. This could not be arranged, but the General soon decided upon a plan to set matters to rights. "I will place a _basof_[11] in the room," he said; "he will take down the names of all those who go to sleep, and I shall have them kept in on the following Sunday." [11] Abbreviation of "bas-officier" (non-commissioned officer). When the lecturer made his next appearance, followed by the _basof_, we thought it would be prudent to listen, and the lesson passed off without accident. The following Monday, however, the poor lecturer had not proceeded very far, when he discovered that we were all asleep--and that so was the _basof_. Of course the General inflicted a severe punishment upon us, and also upon the offending Cerberus. _Moral._--I believe that, if a lecturer or a master had gone to complain to an English head-master that all his pupils went to sleep whilst he lectured, the head-master would have answered him: "My dear sir, if your lecture sends your audience to sleep, it is your fault, not mine, and I don't see how I can help you." And the sooner the man sent in his resignation, the better for the comfort of all concerned. If you are a Frenchman, never allow your boys to call you _Mossoo_, _Myshoo_, _Mounzeer_, or any other British adaptation of _Monsieur_. If you do, you may just as well allow them to pat you on the back and call you "Old chappie." They should call you "Sir," otherwise you will lose your footing and fail to be the colleague of the English masters. You will only be the _Mossoo_ of the place, something, in the world, like the _Mademoiselle_ (from Paris), or the _Fraulein_ (from Hanover), of the Establishment for Young Ladies round the corner. * * * * * All the _Frauleins_ come from Hanover, as all the _Mademoiselles_ are Parisian and Protestants, if I am to believe the column of scholastic advertisements in the English newspapers. This is wonderful, is it not? * * * * * If you set any value on your reputation and your time, never carry the interest which you naturally take in your pupils the length of inviting them to come to your house to receive extra teaching at your hands, unless it be as a means of improving your revenue. I once determined to devote all my Saturday evenings to two young fellows whom I was anxious to pass through the Indian Civil Service examination. I thus worked with them five months. Their fathers were men of position. I never received so much as a post-card of thanks from them. If I had charged them a guinea for each visit, I should have received two checks with "many thanks for my valuable services," which would have benefited my banking account and given satisfaction to my professional vanity. I have since "checked" my love for boys. * * * * * Shun interviews with parents, mothers especially, as you would the plague. Leave this privilege to the head-master, who is paid handsomely for these little drawbacks to his position. If they invite you to dinner, do not fall into the snare, but remember that a previous engagement prevents you from having the pleasure of accepting their kind invitation. Never enter into correspondence with them on the subject of "their dear boy." If, to inflict scruples on your conscience, they should enclose a stamped envelope, give a penny to the first beggar you meet on leaving school. Relieve the conscience, but, whatever you do, don't answer. * * * * * Always pretend you have not seen a breach of discipline when you are not quite sure about the offender, or, when sure, you can not bring a clear charge against him. You have no time for investigations. Wait for another chance. A boy never rests upon an unpunished offence. Offence and punishment should be exchanged like shots. No credit: cash. * * * * * If you correct little boys' copies yourself, you will find that you have undertaken a long and wearisome task that brings no result. When you return these copies, they are received with thanks, folded up, carefully pocketed, and never looked at again. Make the boys reserve a good wide margin for the corrections. Underline all their mistakes, and, under your eyes, make them correct the mistakes themselves. * * * * * However well up you may be in your subjects, you are sure to find yourself occasionally tripping. The derivation of a certain word will escape you for a moment, or the right translation of another will not come to your mind quickly enough. With grown-up and intelligent young fellows in advanced classes, no need to apologise. But with little boys you must remember that you are an oracle. Never for a moment let them doubt your infallibility; call up all the resources of your ingenuity, and find a way out of the difficulty. So a good actor, whose memory fails him for the time, calls upon his imagination to supply its place. And must not any man, who would gain and keep the ear of a mixed audience, be a bit of an actor, let his theatre be the hustings, the church, or the class-room? Has not a master to appear perfectly cross when he is perfectly cool, or perfectly cool when he is perfectly cross? Is not this acting? It once fell to my unhappy lot to be requested to take an arithmetic class twice a week, during the temporary absence of a mathematical master. In my youth I was a little of a mathematician, but figures I was always bad at. As for English sums, with their bewildering complications of pounds, shillings, pence, and farthings, which that practical people still fondly cling to, it has always been a subject of wonder to me how the English themselves do them. How I piloted those dear boys through Bills of Parcels I don't know; but it is a fact that we got on pretty well till we reached "Stocks." Here my path grew very thorny. One morning the boys all came with the same sad story. None had been able to do one of the sums I had given them from the book. They had all tried; their brothers had tried; their fathers had tried; not one could do it. A short look at it convinced me that I should have no more chance of success than all those Britons, young and old, but it would never do to let my pupils know this. They must suppose that those few moments had been sufficient for me to master the sum in. So, assuming my most solemn voice, I said: "Why, boys, do you mean to tell me you can not do such a simple sum as this?" "No, we can't, sir," was the general cry. "Why, Robinson, not even you?" I said to the top boy. "I always considered you a sharp lad. Jones, you cannot? Nor Brown? Well, well; it's too bad." And, putting on a look of pitying contempt--which must have been quite a success, to judge by the dejection written on the faces before me--I proceeded to give them a little lecture on their arithmetical shortcomings. I felt saved. It was near the time for dismissing the class. "Boys," said I, to finish up, "I must have been sadly mistaken in you; the best thing we can do is to go back to addition and subtraction to-morrow." Without being quite so hard as that upon them, I set them an easy task for the next lesson; the bell rang, and the boys dispersed. I immediately went to the head mathematical master, and had the difficulty explained away in a few seconds. How simple things are when they are explained, to be sure! Armed with a new insight into Stocks, I was ready for my young friends the following Friday. After the ordinary work had been got through: "Now," I said, "have you had another try at that sum, any of you?" "Yes, sir; but we can't do it," was the reply. "Well," I said, in a relenting tone, as I went to the blackboard, "I suppose we had better do it together." I made the boys confess it was too stupid of them to have proved unequal to this _simple_ sum; and thus they regained my good graces. Later in the day I received the glad tidings that the master I replaced was better (goodness knows if I had prayed for the return of his health!). He was to have his boys next time. Thus was I enabled to retire from the field with flying colors. * * * * * If you do not love boys, never be a school-master. If you love boys and wish to become a school-master, see that you are a good disciplinarian, or take _Punch's_ advice to those about to marry: "Don't." X. ENGLISH BOYS' PATRIOTISM PUT TO A SEVERE TEST.--THEIR OPINION OF FRENCH VICTORIES.--KING LOUIS VI. OF FRANCE AND THE ENGLISH SOLDIER AT THE BATTLE OF BRENNEVILLE.--AN ENGLISH BOY ON FRENCH WRESTLING.--YOUNG TORY DEMOCRATS.--'IMPERIUM ET LIBERTAS.'--A PATRIOTIC ANSWER.--DUCK AND DRAKE. I am afraid I often put the patriotism of English boys to a severe test. I generally liked to place in their hands such books as would relate to them the glorious past of France, and teach them to respect her. Let those who do not love their country throw the first stone at me. Bossuet's "Funeral Orations," Voltaire's "Siècle de Louis XIV.," D'Aubigné's "History of Bayard," Bonnechose's "Lazare Hoche," were among my favorite text-books. I need not say that I always avoided recommending historical books which, like Bonnechose's "Bertrand du Guesclin," for instance, referred to struggles between France and England. For obvious reasons, I have always preferred reading the accounts of the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt in French histories to reading them in English ones;[12] and I imagined that Bertrand du Guesclin would not inspire in my pupils the same admiration as he did in us French boys. [12] _I have always been doubtful whether these battles are properly related in histories published in England._ * * * * * But what fiery patriots these British lads are! Why, they would like to monopolize all the victories mentioned in history. Bossuet's panegyric of Louis XIV. drove them frantic, half mad. Dear little fellows! they were wriggling with pain on their seats as we were reading: "This king, the terror of his enemies, who holds the destinies of Europe in the hollow of his hand and strikes with awe the whole astonished world." "The whole world struck with awe!" that could not be. Surely Bossuet ought to have said "with the exception of England"--a sad omission on his part. "Who is it Bossuet is speaking of?" once remarked a good little patriot, on hearing this sentence. "Louis XIV." "Louis XIV.?" "Yes; never heard of him?" I don't think he had. Bayard they all liked. His personal deeds of valor appealed to their young imaginations. His athletic powers especially stirred their hearts with admiration. Besides, his exploits took place such a long time ago that they felt ready to be lenient towards him. * * * * * We once came across the name of Louis VI. of France in some French text, and I was unfortunate enough to mention in class that, at the battle of Brenneville, an English soldier came up to the French king, and called upon him to surrender, when Louis VI. remarked: "Don't you know that, at chess, the king cannot be taken prisoner?" and immediately struck the English soldier dead on the spot. The boys seemed displeased. They looked at one another; it was evident that they thought there was something wrong. The dose was too strong for them to swallow. I inquired of a little lad, who appeared particularly distressed, what was the matter. "Please, sir," he said, "did not the English soldier try to kill the French king?" "Well, I suppose he did," I replied; "but King Louis VI. was very strong, you know." "He must have been!" he remarked, no doubt feeling more comfortable after my explanation. * * * * * This historical anecdote of an Englishman allowing himself to be felled to the ground by a Frenchman puts me in mind of a little conversation I heard in my school-days. Two young boys, one French, the other English, were talking athletics in the playground, and the English boy asked his young friend to explain to him the principles of French wrestling. The little French lad proceeded, in a vivacious manner, to describe the successive moves of the sport. He used the first person singular to make his description more forcible. "First," he said, "I would get a good grasp of your waist with my right arm, whilst I would collar you with my left one; then, don't you see, I would twist my right leg round one of yours; then----" "Ah! but wait a minute," exclaimed the English boy, with a smile. "What should I be doing all this time? Looking at you, I suppose?" It was at the meetings of our French Debating Society that free play was given to youthful patriotism. Good heavens! what a _tabula rasa_ of the map of the world! What fresh jewels added to the British crown! I don't think there is a single little corner of the globe worth mentioning that these boys did not lay their hands on. With what a crushing majority the "Peace, Retrenchment, and Reform" policy was defeated! Was it not an insult to this glorious country to suggest that a reform was needed? "The Liberals," exclaimed a young member, with a movement of Homeric indignation, "may be appreciated in Russia, but they are not Englishmen." * * * * * French _collégiens_ are red radicals, socialists, anarchists, revolutionists--until they leave school. As I have said elsewhere, leading the lives of prisoners, they dream wild dreams of liberty, they gasp for freedom. Young Britons, enjoying liberty from tender years, are perfectly satisfied with their lot, and are mostly Conservatives. They identify Conservatism with patriotism; and if the Franchise were extended to them, the Liberal Party would have seen its best days. The new political school inaugurated by Lord Randolph Churchill is greatly in favor with English boys; we had many Tory Democrats among us. "Imperium et Libertas" are two words which sound pleasantly in young English ears: the possession of a mighty Empire, and the enjoyment of that "thrice sweet and gracious goddess," Liberty. * * * * * I once asked a little English lad why his compatriots ate roast goose on the 29th of September, the anniversary of the defeat of the Spanish Armada. "Because," he answered proudly, "the King of Spain was such a goose as to come and attack our navy!" A colleague of mine asked the same question in a different manner, and obtained an equally wonderful answer. "What is it the English eat on the 29th of September to commemorate the defeat of the Spanish Armada?" he asked. "Roast duck, sir, because it was Drake who beat the Spanish!" XI. CRICKET.--I HAVE AN UNSUCCESSFUL TRY AT IT.--BOYS' OPINION OF MY ATHLETIC QUALITIES.--FRENCH AND ENGLISH ATHLETES.--FEATS OF SKILL AND STRENGTH VERSUS FEATS OF ENDURANCE AND BRUTE FORCE.--A CASE OF EVICTION BY FORCE OF ARMS. I never tried my hand at cricket but once, and did not get on very well. I was entrusted with the bat. It was a heavy responsibility. When I saw the ball come I hit hard at it, but missed it. The nasty thing struck me a woful blow on the jaw. I did not see much in the game, and I withdrew. Yet I confess that, as I began to understand the rules of cricket, I also began to conceive a certain amount of admiration for the game--at a respectful distance. * * * * * I always suspected the boys did not entertain any great opinion of my athletic powers. The following anecdote, related to me by some ladies, friends of mine, set my mind at rest on the subject. These ladies, it appears, were traveling one day on the London District line. In the same compartment happened to be half-a-dozen boys, who were going to our annual school sports. The boys soon began to discuss the respective merits of the favorite runners, as well as their chances, and I am not quite sure that a little betting was not indulged in; but this the ladies did not tell me, and you must never run the risk of bringing unfounded charges against boys. Presently a little fellow suggested that much fun would be added to the sport by the introduction of a master's race in the programme, and naturally this led the conversation to the athletic merits of the masters. Said one of the merry company: "What do you think of the French master?" "Not much," said the chorus. "Well, he is powerfully built," intimated one with a knowing look, who was, perhaps, bringing some personal recollection to bear on the subject. "Yes," said another; "but he is too fat; he has no wind. He would be nowhere." "What would you take him at?" asked the one with a knowing look. "Sixty to one," was the reply. Some discussion took place, and I "closed" at fifty to one. Thus was my case settled. * * * * * As to the matter of athletics, to which English boys are such devotees, I cannot help thinking that they are overdone, made a hobby of, and, like most hobbies in England, ridden to excess. No doubt it is a fine thing for a boy to have plenty of outdoor amusements; it is good for him to be an adept at running, leaping, climbing, swimming; but what in the world does he learn at football, the great winter game of the English schoolboy? Why do the English so neglect pastimes that would develop dexterity of hand and limb, and devote themselves to a game which seems to me to teach nothing except respect of brute force? "Oh! but it cultivates their powers of endurance," says somebody. That is true, I believe; although, from what I have seen of the two, I never could discover that an Englishman was more patient under the toothache than a Frenchman. Now, to get bruised ribs and dislocated shoulders in practicing flights out of second and third storey windows I should understand; an accomplishment of that kind might be useful in case of fire; but to what end does all the bruising of football tend? The game of football itself seems to be the end, and "not a means to an end," as, I believe, Mr. Matthew Arnold has remarked. * * * * * Yet, behold John Bull, junior, on the football ground! The hero of a bad cause, but for all that a hero; a lusty little fellow, fearless, hardy, strong-knit, iron-muscled, and mule-headed, who, rather than let go a ball that he holds firmly in his arms, will perform feats of valor; who, simply to pass this ball between two goals, will grovel in the dust, reckless of lacerated shoulders, a broken rib or jaw-bone, and will die on a bed of suffering with a smile upon his lips if he can only hear, before closing his eyes, that his side has won the game. * * * * * Speaking from my experience, I should say that at gymnastic exercises, and all pastimes requiring a little skill, French boys are more than the equals of John Bull, junior. They are better at leaping, climbing, and wrestling. As for swimming, nine out of ten French boys are good swimmers. They do not want to emulate Captain Webb's feats when they grow up, because the object or beauty of such feats as his has never been revealed to them. But that is the Englishman all through. Can he swim well? Then he must straightway swim across the English Channel; he must outswim his fellow-creatures; he must be the champion of the world, and have the betting in his favor, until he turns his gift into a hobby, sets off on it, and, to the entertainment of a few Yankee excursionists, ends by being drowned in the Niagara Falls. * * * * * As for the _savate_, the _canne_, fencing, which all bring the wits into play as well as the muscles, they, even the last-named, are very little known or practiced in England. In these most young Frenchmen are well up, and as for gymnastic exercises they are more practiced in France than in England, although the English boy fondly imagines he is at the top of the ladder in all matters athletic. * * * * * The craze for athletics has inculcated in English boys the admiration for physical strength. This they like to find in their masters, as well as firmness of mind. It is not necessary that masters should use the former. Not by any means; but there it is, and they might use it. There is nothing to inspire people with peaceful dispositions like the sight of a good display of war material. An ex-colleague of mine became very popular by the following occurrence, the tale of which spread through the school like wildfire. This gentleman used to teach in a little class-room that led to the playground. One day a big boy of seventeen opened the door from the building, coolly crossed the room, and was about to open the door opposite to let himself out, when my friend caught hold of him by the collar, lifted him off the ground, and, to the stupefaction of the boys, carried him back through the room, as he would have a dog by the skin of his neck, and quietly dropped him outside the door he had entered by. Not a word was uttered, not an _Oh!_ not an _Ah!_ The performance, if I remember rightly, terminated somewhat comically. The boy had on a paper-collar, which remained as a trophy in the master's hands. It was, as you see, a case of eviction _vi et armis_, by the force of arms. XII. OLD PUPILS.--ACQUAINTANCES RENEWED.--LIVELY RECOLLECTIONS REVIVED. --IT IS EASIER TO TEACH FRENCH THAN TO LEARN IT.--TESTIMONIAL REFUSED TO A FRENCH MASTER.--"HOW DE DO?"--"THAT'S WHAT-D'YE-CALL-HIM, THE FRENCH MASTER." I like meeting old pupils, especially those who, I am vain enough to think, owe to me a little part of their success in life. Others have greatly improved since they left school. I used to consider them hopelessly stupid, and now I see them able to speak on general topics with a great amount of common sense. Though they were not fit for school, they are fit for the world. They have good manners and are gentlemen. Some you cannot recognize with their "chimney-pots"; some will take no notice of you. Some will come and shake hands with you, and make a tardy acknowledgment of the debt they owe you; some will express their regret that they do not owe you more. Some will approach you diffidently, and with a grin: "How do you do, sir? Don't you know me? I am So-and-So." "To be sure I do." "Don't you remember I once threw a paper ball in the room, and it fell on your desk by accident?" "To be sure. And don't you remember what you got for it?" "Indeed I do. But that was an accident, you know, sir." "I dare say it was. And how are you getting on?" "Pretty well. I am in a bank." "Adding pounds, shillings, and pence?" "Yes--rather slow sport." "Slow, yes, when the pounds, shillings, and pence don't belong to you." "You are right, sir." "Well, you might, perhaps, have done better for yourself; you were an able boy." "I don't know about that, but I often regret I did not avail myself of the advantages that were offered to me." A repentant boy is always a sad sight, and one to be shunned. You comfort him, wish him success, and shake hands. * * * * * The interest you have taken in boys at school is put to a severe test when you receive a letter like the following: "DEAR SIR: "I have decided on doing a little teaching while my father is trying to obtain a situation for me. I know the interest you have always taken in me and my welfare, and I write to ask if you will kindly give me a testimonial as to my ability to teach French. I am aware that I always was, and am still, a very poor French scholar, so that I can ask for a testimonial from you only as a great personal favor; but I hope you will not refuse me." After thanking me for past, present, and future kindnesses, he subscribes himself "My obedient and grateful pupil." This boy, having heard me one day say in class that it was easier to be examiner than to be examined, had probably come to the conclusion that it was also easier to teach French than to learn it. A testimonial from me could have but very little value; still, the poor boy had to add to his experiences that it was easier to ask for one than to obtain it. Some old pupils approach you with a patronizing "How de do?" When asked by a friend who it was they had spoken to, they replied: "Oh! that's What-d'ye-call-him, the French master--a rather nice fellow, you know." This was an excuse for condescending to speak to him. They were under him for ten years only, and they could hardly be expected to remember his name. XIII. DEBATING SOCIETIES.--A DISCUSSION ON THE PERNICIOUS USE OF TOBACCO.-- SCHOOL MAGAZINES IN FRANCE AND ENGLAND.--A BUSINESS-LIKE LITTLE BRITON.--AN IMPORTANT RESOLUTION PASSED UNANIMOUSLY.--I PERFORM AN ENGLISHMAN'S DUTY. Like their seniors in Great Britain, English boys have a little weakness for airing their virtuous sentiments in public, and the school debating societies offer them ample opportunity of giving them full play. I was once present at a debate on "The Use of Tobacco." Forty young fellows from seventeen to nineteen years of age took part in it. I never was so edified in my life. The dear boys beat Alphonse Karr in their diatribes against the use of tobacco. "Of course," remarked one member, "it is somewhat pretentious of me to speak of tobacco, as, I am happy to say, I have no experience of it. But I have read a great deal on the subject, and all our scientific men are unanimous in condemning the use of this baneful plant." "The Use of Tobacco" was condemned by a show of hands, _nem. con._ It would be wicked to suppose that any member had a little book of "Persian Rice" paper, and half an ounce of "Straight Cut" in his pocket, wouldn't it? * * * * * Our school magazine, edited by the boys, is a well-conducted and interesting record of school events. I can never look at it, printed as it is on beautiful paper, without going back to my school-days in France. We had a magazine of our own, too, but we had to write out two copies of each issue ourselves, and keep them locked in our desks. If we were caught reading them they were confiscated, and we were punished. In English public schools the masters subscribe, and not uncommonly write, for the magazine. The result is that, in England, the periodical is made up of wholesome literary essays, poetry, school news and anecdotes, reports of athletic and other meetings, etc., whereas, in France, it mainly consists of satires against the college and caricatures of the masters. * * * * * In a small private preparatory school where I attended for a short time, the little boys (fourteen in number) one day resolved to start a magazine. I was asked to preside at the meeting. Of course a printed paper was out of the question, and it was decided at the meeting that each of the boys would write it out in turn. Presently a true-born little Briton proposed that an annual dinner, in connection with the paper, should take place. As it was doubtful whether the magazine would enjoy life very long, an amendment, moved by another business-like member, was seized by the forelock, to the effect that the annual dinner should take place at once, and was passed unanimously. The discussion of the _menu_ was then entered into, strong preference being manifested for tarts and cream and doughnuts. I most solemnly signed the minute of the previous meeting, and retired with the feeling that I had performed the work of a good British citizen. XIV. HOME, SWEET HOME!--BOYS' OPINION OF THE SEASIDE.--FRENCH AND ENGLISH BEACHES.--WHO IS HE AT HOME? WHAT WAS HIS GRANDFATHER?--REMARKS ON SWAGGERING.--"I THOUGHT HE WAS A GENTLEMAN." I should like to echo the sentiments of many schoolboys on the subject of the place chosen by their parents for their Midsummer holidays. As a rule, parents think themselves in duty-bound to take their boys to the seaside for these holidays. In the case of people occupying "desirable" residences in London, this is sensible enough. But boys who live in the country generally regret to hear that they will not be allowed to spend most of the holiday-time at home, in the midst of all their own belongings. They would prefer building houses for their rabbits, enjoying the favorite walks of their childhood; rowing on the neighboring river with their friends, even if they have to put up, in the evening, with the inconvenience of having to hear their sisters play the piano--a kind of inconvenience to which we are all subject nowadays. But no; they are packed off to lodgings at the seaside; and they think that the sight of the sea and a few fishing-boats do not make up for rickety chairs, springless sofas, empty rooms, cheerless walls, beds stuffed with pebbles from the beach, and the loss of all home comforts and associations. * * * * * If, as is the case in France, these boys were allowed to mix with those they meet on the beach, and get up parties with them, life might be made supportable; but, obliged as they are to keep to themselves, or to the company of their brothers and sisters (some have none), they think it was not necessary to come so far in search of boredom. * * * * * French and English beaches illustrate best to my mind the way in which the two nations take their pleasures. The French seem to set out for their holiday with a thorough determination to enjoy themselves. When they go to the seaside they go there on pleasure bound. On French beaches every body makes acquaintance; the children play together under the eyes of happy papas and mammas, the grown-up ones go out in large parties bathing, boating, and fishing; and in the evening all meet at the Casino, where there are ball-rooms, concert-rooms, reading and smoking rooms, etc. No doubt many of the people you mix with there are not such as you would wish to invite to your house on a visit, but, the season over, these friends of a day are forgotten, and there remains the benefit to health and spirits from a thorough merry time. In the English seaside resort, every bather looks askance at his fellow. "Who is he at home?" or "What was his grandfather?" are questions that he must get satisfactorily answered before he associates with him; and rather than run the risk of frequenting the company of persons of inferior blood he is often bored to death with the monotony of the life, and is glad when it is time to take the children back to school or his own occupations call him away from the sea. Dear British parents, if you have a garden and fields near your house, and you would like to make your boys happy, call them home for the holidays. * * * * * Apart from the aristocracy, it has always been a subject of wonder to me that caste should be so strong among the middle classes, in a country like England, who owes her greatness to her commercial and adventurous spirit. In France, what is required of a _gentleman_ is high education and refined manners. A peasant's son possessing these is received in any society. In England, boys begin swaggering about their social position as soon as they leave the nursery, and if you would have some fun, you should follow groups of public school-boys in the playground or on their way home. Of course, in public schools, the occupation of parents cannot be an objection to their sons' admission, and in your class-room you may have dukes' and saloon-keepers' sons sitting on the same form. These are treated on an equal footing; although I believe the head-master of a working public school would prefer the hangman's son, if a clever lad, to the son of a duke, if he were a fool. Yes, those groups will afford you a great deal of amusement. Here are the sons of professional men, of officers, clergymen, barristers. See them pointing out other boys passing: "Sons of merchants, don't you know!" These are not without their revenge, as they look at a group close by: "Sons of clerks, you know!" But you should see the contemptuous glance of the latter as they pass the sons of shopkeepers: "Tradespeople's sons, I believe!" * * * * * Here is a little sample conversation I caught as I passed two boys watching a game of cricket in the playground. "Clever chap, So-and-So!" said one. "And a nice fellow too, isn't he?" said the other. "By-the-bye, did you know his father was a chemist?" "A chemist! No!" exclaimed the dear boy in a subdued tone, as if the news had taken his breath away. "A chemist! you don't mean to say so. What mistakes we are liable to make, to be sure! I always thought he was a gentleman." XV. HE CAN NOT SPEAK FRENCH, BUT HE CAN READ IT, YOU KNOW.--HE HAS A TRY AT IT IN PARIS.--NASAL SOUNDS AND ACCENTED SYLLABLES.--HOW I REDUCED ENGLISH WORDS TO SINGLE SYLLABLES, AND WAS SUCCESSFUL IN THE OBJECT I HAD IN VIEW.--A REMARK ON THE CONNECTION OF WORDS. When you ask an Englishman whether he can speak French, he generally answers: "I can read it, you know." "Aloud!" you inquire, with a significant smile. "Well," he says, "I have never had much practice in reading French aloud. I mean to say that I can understand what I read. Of course, now and then I come across a word that I am not quite sure about, but I can get on, you know." "I suppose you manage to make yourself understood in France." "Oh! very little French is required for that; I always go to the English hotels." He always does so on the Continent, because these hotels are the only ones that can provide him with English comfort. When he starts for Paris he gets on capitally till he reaches Calais. There he assumes his insular stiffness, which we Continental people take for arrogance, but is, in reality, only dignified timidity. Arrived at the Gare du Nord, he takes a cab and goes to one of the hotels in the Rue Saint Honoré or the Rue de Rivoli. The first time he reached one of these establishments, he tripped on getting out of his cab, and fell on the pavement. The porter helped him up and asked him: "_Avez-vous du mal, monsieur?_" He thought the porter took him for a Frenchman, and he prepared to answer in French. Believing he was asked if "he had two trunks," he answers: "No, only a portmanteau." After this first success, he thought he would air his French. "_Garçon!_" he calls; "_j'ai faim._" He pronounces this quite perfectly, so perfectly that the waiter, understanding that he is married, informs him that he can have apartments ready for Madame. "He is obstinate and will have another shot: "_Je suis fameux, garçon!_" The waiter bows respectfully. This won't do, dear fellow; try again. "_Je suis femme!_" he yells. This staggers the waiter. It is time to inquire of him if he speaks English. "Can you speak English?" "Oh yes, sir." Our traveler is all right again, but he thinks that those confounded French people have a queer manner of pronouncing their own language. * * * * * With the exception of our nasal sounds, which I know are stumbling-blocks to Englishmen--who will always insist on calling our great music composer and pianist Saint-Saëns, "Sang Songs"--I never could understand that the difficulty of our pronunciation was insuperable. Our vowels are bold, well-marked, always sounded the same, and, except _u_, like the English vowels, or so nearly like them that they can not prevent an Englishman from understanding French and speaking it. The greatest mistake he makes is in not bearing in mind that the accent should always be laid on the last syllable, or on the last but one if the word ends in _e_ mute. How much easier this is to remember than the place of the English accented syllable, which varies constantly! In _admirable_, you have it on the first; in _admire_, on the second; in _admiration_, on the third. On the contrary, no difficulty about the pronunciation of the three French words, _admirable_, _admirer_, and _admiration_; the tonic accent falls on the last sound syllable in every case. * * * * * The less educated a man is the more stress he lays on the accented syllables; and you find the lower classes of a country lay such emphasis on these syllables that they almost pronounce nothing else. Being unable to make myself understood when pronouncing whole English words, I have often tried to use only the accented syllables when speaking to the lower class people of England; in every attempt I have been successful. I obtained a basket of strawberries in Covent Garden Market by asking for a "_bask of strawbs_." A lower class Yankee will understand few Frenchmen who speak to him of _America_; but he will understand them if they speak to him of _Merk_. * * * * * The greatest defect in an Englishman's pronunciation of French is generally in the wrong connection of words between which there is no pause. The final consonant of a word, followed by another beginning with a vowel or _h_ mute, should be pronounced as if it belonged to the latter word. An Englishman sounds _ses amis_ as if it was _seize amis_. He should say: "se samis." "Mon ami est à Paris" = "Mo nami è ta Paris." Perhaps the following remark on the separation of syllables may fix the rule: The English say: _mag-nan-im-ity_. The French say: ma-gna-ni-mi-té. * * * * * You see, dear reader, how difficult it is to refrain from talking "shop," when one has been a school-master. XVI. PUBLIC SCHOOL SCHOLARSHIPS AND EXHIBITIONS.--GRATEFUL PARENTS.-- INQUIRING MOTHERS.--A DEAR LITTLE CANDIDATE.--LADIES' TESTIMONIALS. --A SCIENCE MASTER WELL RECOMMENDED. It seems strange that in a democratic country, overburdened with school-rates, free education should be offered in the public schools to the children of the well-to-do and even wealthy people. To give opportunities to those who have clever children and cannot afford to pay for their education, such was the spirit which dictated the foundation of scholarships and exhibitions in the public schools, which schools are under the supervision of the Charity Commissioners. The Charity Commissioners! The organizers of that well-ordered British charity which begins at home! But all this again does not concern me. If it did, I should say to gentlemen enjoying revenues of £700, £800, and £1,000 a year: "My dear sirs, you can afford to pay school fees for your children; please to leave these scholarships to your less fortunate countrymen." My diary contains a few recollections about foundation scholars and their parents which suggested the foregoing remarks to me. Pardon me for having given them a place here. * * * * * I have always noticed that the parents of foundation scholars are much more troublesome and exacting than those who pay their twenty or thirty pounds a year to the school for their sons' tuition fees. The school is their property, the masters their servants, and when complaints are lodged with the authorities you may be sure they come from them. They imagine, for instance, that the school ought to provide the boys with books, and think it very hard that they should be called upon to pay for them. When their sons are ordered to get a new book, they generally take a fortnight to obtain it. "Where is your book?" you say to a scholar you see looking at his neighbor's. "Please, sir, it has not come yet; I have ordered it at the stores." Two weeks later the book makes its appearance. When the boys raise subscriptions for their sports, which ought to be supported especially by those who owe a debt of gratitude to the school, or for a testimonial got up in favor of a retiring master, or in memory of a celebrated old pupil, the few recalcitrants are invariably to be found among the free scholars. * * * * * Our boys one day decided on founding a little literary society. As a few periodicals were to be bought and other little expenses incurred, their committee passed a resolution that an annual subscription of five shillings should be demanded of the members. A father immediately wrote to the young president of the new society, asking if it was compulsory for his boy to join the society, as he did not see the force of paying five shillings for what, he thought, his boy was entitled to enjoy for nothing. The _pater_ received his due by return of post. The president of the society answered: "DEAR SIR: "Your son is not at all compelled to join our society. The subscription of five shillings was decided upon simply to keep our meetings select." * * * * * The Englishman has a supreme contempt for what is cheap. It is in his nature. He cannot understand that there is any value in what he has not to pay for. I cannot forget the time when a young lunatic hanged himself at Christ's Hospital, and the plethora of letters that were sent to the papers by parents who seemed to be anxious to seize the opportunity of trying to bring discredit on that splendidly conducted school, one of the most interesting philanthropic institutions in England. A father, sheltering himself behind a pseudonym, went the length of writing to the _Daily News_ to say that he had had three sons educated at Christ's Hospital, but that he thanked God he had not any more to send there. The Governors of Christ's Hospital spend £60 a year upon each blue-coat boy. The three sons of this "indignant" father therefore cost the Hospital something like £2,000. What respect this man would have felt for the school if the money had been drawn out of his own pocket in the shape of capitation fees! * * * * * The following conversation once took place between a lady and the head master of a great public school: "I have a little boy eleven years old," said the lady, "whom my husband is anxious to have educated here. He is a very clever little fellow. We have heard that, on leaving the school to go to one of the two great universities, some boys received exhibitions varying in value from £80 to £100 a year for four years. Do you think, sir, that our son would get one, for the probability of his obtaining such an exhibition would be a great inducement to us to trust the boy to your care?" "Well," replied the head-master, with great command over his countenance, "I am afraid I cannot commit myself to any such promise." The lady retired. Her promising son was probably sent to a more accommodating school. * * * * * The same head-master once received the visit of a man who asked him point-blank if the scholarship examinations were conducted honestly, or, in other words, if the scholarships were given according to merit. From the answer he received he deemed it expedient to beat a speedy retreat. * * * * * When a school has to offer, say, six scholarships to the public, and there are a hundred candidates applying for them, you may easily imagine that it is difficult to persuade the parents of the ninety-four boys who fail that the scholarships are given according to merit. In distributing six scholarships among a hundred candidates you make six ungrateful fathers and ninety-four discontented ones. * * * * * Whilst our school was being rebuilt in another part of the metropolis, a loving mother called on the head-master in the City to intimate her intention of placing her little boy in the school as soon as the new building would be finished, and also to ask if she would be allowed to see the room in which her dear child would be taught. It was a great pity the building was not advanced enough at the time to permit of her securing a corner for "her darling pet." * * * * * The mother to be most dreaded is the one whose husband has left her for India, or some other warm climate. She is restless, inquisitive, and never satisfied. Each remark you make to her son brings her on the school premises for inquiries. She writes letter upon letter, pays visit upon visit. Once a week her son brings you a little note in the following style: "Mrs. X. presents her compliments to Mr. So-and-so, and begs that her son may be excused for not having prepared his lesson, as he had a bad headache last night." A husband may be a nuisance in a house, but when I was a school-master I always thought he was a great improvement to it. * * * * * (_In the Examination Room._) Sometimes parents send up their sons for scholarship examinations with very little luggage. I remember a dear little boy, between ten and eleven, who was a candidate for one of our vacant scholarships. On reaching the seat that was assigned to him, he was provided with the Latin paper by the school secretary, and presented with half a ream of beautiful writing paper for his answers. We thought he did not appear very busy, and presently, as I came up to him, I spoke a few kind words and gave him a little pat on the back. "Well, how are you getting on?" I said. "Please, sir, I can't do this paper. I don't know what it is about," he said, looking at me as if for help. "Don't you know any Latin?" I inquired. "Yes, sir; I know my first two declensions." "Is that all the Latin you know?" "Yes, sir." "I suppose you won't take up Greek, will you?" "I expect I had better not, sir, as I have never learned any," he replied, with his eyes half out of their sockets. "Is it difficult, sir?" he suggested, thinking I was not looking satisfied with his answer. "Not very," I replied; "but if I were you I would not have my first try at it to-day." "Thank you, sir," said my little friend. "Do you know any French?" I then asked. "Please, sir, mamma taught me a few sentences." "Well, let me hear." "Please, sir, I know _Quelle heure est-il?_ and _Comment vous portez-vous?_" "Any grammar?" "No, sir." "Don't you know the French for _I shall have_?" "No, sir, I don't think I do." "Do you know any mathematics?" "Do you mean arithmetic, sir?" "Yes, I do." "Please, sir, I can do addition, subtraction, multiplication, and short division." "I suppose you will try the English subjects. Do you know any English?" "Yes, sir, I can speak English," he said, looking at me with surprise. "Of course you can," I replied; "but you know some history, I suppose. Have you ever read any English history?" "Yes, sir, I have read 'Robinson Crusoe.'" "Well, well, my poor boy, I am afraid you have not much chance of getting a scholarship." "Haven't I?" said the dear child, and he burst into tears. Then he handed me a letter, which was addressed to the head-master. It was a supplication from his mother. Her little boy was very clever, she said, and she hoped he would not be judged by what he actually knew, but by what she was sure he would be able to learn if admitted into the school. Poor child! we comforted him as well as we could, and sent him back to his mamma. He was very miserable. * * * * * Ladies are sometimes great at testimonials, and they must think it very ungentlemanly of men not to favor their candidates. When our head science mastership was vacant, over a hundred applications were lodged with the head-master for his consideration. I remember that among the candidates there was one who was only provided with a single testimonial, and this from a lady (an old lady, I imagine). The testimonial was to the effect that "she had known Mr. P. for many years. He was a good and steady young man, and she knew he was very fond of science." This testimonial failed to secure the appointment for its owner. XVII. THE ORIGIN OF ANGLOMANIA AND ANGLOPHOBIA IN ENGLAND.--A TYPICAL FRENCHMAN.--TOO MUCH OF AN ENGLISHMAN.--A REMARKABLE FRENCH MASTER. --JOHN BULL MADE TO GO TO CHURCH BY A FRENCHMAN.--A NOBLE AND THANKLESS CAREER.--A PLACE OF LEARNING.--MONS. AND ESQUIRE.--ALL LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.--ONE EXCEPTION.--WONDERFUL ADDRESSES. The French in England are of two sorts, those who, by their intelligence, industry, and perseverance, have succeeded in building up an honorable position for themselves, and those who, by the lack of these qualities, vegetate there as they would be pretty sure to do anywhere. The former do not all love the land of their adoption, but they all respect it. The latter, unwilling to lay their poverty at their own door, throw the blame upon England for not having understood them, and they have not a good word to say for her. It never occurred to them that it was theirs to study and understand England, and that England is not to be blamed for not having studied them and changed her ways to accommodate them. They never part with a shilling without remarking that for a penny they would be able to obtain the same value in France. You often wonder how it is they stick to this country instead of honoring their own with their presence. * * * * * I have always been an admirer of that worthy Frenchman who carries his patriotism to the extent of buying all his clothing in France. He declares it impossible to wear English garments, and almost impossible to wear out French ones. Besides, he does not see why he should not give his country the benefit of some of the guineas he has picked up over here. Like every child of France, he has the love of good linen, and according to him the article is only to be found in Paris. So he goes about in his narrow-brimmed hat, and turned-down collar fastened low in the neck, and finished off with a tiny black tie, a large expanse of shirt-front, and boots with high heels and pointed toes. As he goes along the street, he hears people whisper: "There's a Frenchman!" But, far from objecting to that, he rather likes it, and he is right. He speaks bad English, and assures you that you require very few words to make yourself understood of the people. He does not go so far as Figaro, but his English vocabulary is of the most limited. Without making any noise about it, he sends his guinea to all the French Benevolent Societies in England, and wherever the tricolor floats he is of the party. He likes the English, and recognizes their solid qualities; but as he possesses many of his own, he keeps to his native stock. * * * * * How this good Frenchman does shine by the side of another type, a type which, I am happy to say, is rare--the one who drops his country. The latter, when he speaks of England, says: "_We_ do this, _we_ do that, in England," not "The English do this, the English do that." He would like to say, "We English," but he hardly dares go that length. He dresses _à l'anglaise_ with a vengeance, makes it a point to frequent only English houses, and spends a good deal of his time in running down his compatriots. He does not belong to any of the French societies or clubs in England. These establishments, however, do not miss him much more than his own country. I once knew one of this category. His name ended with an _e_ mute preceded by a double consonant. The _e_ mute was a real sore to him, the grief of his life. Without it he might have passed for English. It was too provoking to be thus balked, and, as he signed his name, he would dissimulate the poor offending little vowel, so that his name should appear to end at the double consonant. He was not a genius. * * * * * Acting under the theory of Figaro, "_Qu'il n'est pas nécessaire de tenir les choses pour en raisonner_," I have heard an Englishman, engaged in teaching French, maintain that it was not necessary to be able to speak the French language to teach it. On the other hand, I once heard an eminent Frenchman hold that the less English a French master knew the more fit he was to teach French. Both gentlemen begged their audience to understand that they made their statements on their own sole responsibility. * * * * * I never met a French master who had made his fortune, nor have you, I imagine. I once met in England a French master who had not written a French grammar. I was one day introduced to a Frenchman who keeps a successful school in the Midland counties. He makes it a rule to sternly refuse to let his boys go home in the neighboring town before one o'clock on Sundays. When parents ask him as a special favor to allow their sons to come to their house on Saturday night or early on Sunday morning, he answers: "I am sorry I cannot comply with your request. It has come to my knowledge that there are parents who do not insist on their children going to church, and I cannot allow any of my pupils to go home before they have attended divine service." John Bull made to go to church by a Frenchman! The idea was novel, and I thought extremely funny. * * * * * To teach "the art of speaking and writing the French language correctly" is a noble but thankless career in England. In France, the Government grants a pension to, and even confers the Legion of Honor upon, an English master[13] after he has taught his language in a _lycée_ for a certain number of years. [13] Among the nominations in the Legion of Honor, published on the 14th of July, 1884, I noticed the name of the English master (an Englishman) in the _lycée_ of Bordeaux. The Frenchman who has taught French in England all his lifetime is allowed, when he is done for, to apply at the French Benevolent Society for a free passage to France, where he may go and die quietly out of sight. * * * * * If you look at the advertisements published daily in the "educational" columns of the papers, you may see that compatriots of mine give private lessons in French at a shilling an hour, and teach the whole language in 24 or 26 lessons. Why not 25? I always thought there must be something cabalistic about the number 26. These gentlemen have to wear black coats and chimney-pots. How can they do it if their wives do not take in mangling? Mystery. * * * * * In a southern suburb of London, I remember seeing a little house covered, like a booth at a fair, with boards and announcements that spoke to the passer-by of all the wonders to be found within. On the front-door there was a plate with the inscription: "Mons. D., of the University of France." Now Englishmen who address Frenchmen as "Mons."[14] should be forgiven. They unsuccessfully aim at doing a correct thing. But a Frenchman dubbing himself "Mons." publishes a certificate of his ignorance. [14] "_Mons._, a familiar and contemptuous abbreviation of Monsieur."--LITTRÉ, "Dictionnaire de la Langue Française." The house was a double-fronted one. On the right window there was the inscription: "French Classes for Ladies." On the left one: "French Classes for Gentlemen." The sexes were separated as at the Turkish Baths. On a huge board, placed over the front door, I read the following: "_French Classes for Ladies and Gentlemen. Greek, Latin, and Mathematical Classes. Art and Science Department. Music, Singing, and Dancing taught. Private Lessons given, Families waited upon. Schools attended. For Terms and Curriculum, apply within._" What a saving of trouble and expense it would have been to this living encyclopædia if he had only mentioned what he did not teach! Since I have called your attention to the expression _Mons._, and reminded you of its proper meaning, never send a letter to a Frenchman with the envelope addressed as _Mons._ I know, dear American reader, that _you_ never do. But you have friends. Well, tell them to write _Monsieur_ in full; or, as cobblers in their back parlors are now addressed as _Esquires_, rather confer the same honor upon a Frenchman. He will take it as a compliment. Democracy is making progress in England. Where is the time when only land-owners, barristers, graduates of the Universities, were addressed as Esquires? All ladies and gentlemen in England now. * * * * * Not all, though. A young lady friend, who visits the poor in her district, called one day at a humble dwelling. She knocked at the door, and on a woman opening it, asked to see Mrs. ----. "Oh! very well," said the woman, and, leaving the young lady in the street, she went inside, and called out at the top of her voice: "Ada, tell the _lady_ on the second floor that a _young person_ from the district wants to see her." _Apropos_ of "Esquire" I should like to take the opportunity of paying a well-deserved compliment to the Postal Authorities in England. Some eight years ago, I lived in the Herbert Road, Shooter's Hill, near London. After three weeks of wonderful peregrinations, a letter, addressed in the following manner, duly reached me from France: Angleterre Esquire Monsieur.... Erbet Villa près Londres. My dear compatriot had heard that "Esquire" had to be put somewhere, or else the letter would not reach me. * * * * * This is not the only letter addressed to me calculated to puzzle the postman. A letter was once brought to me with the following high-flown inscription: "Al gentilissimo cavaliere professore Signor...." But what is even this, compared to the one I received from a worthy Bulgarian, and which was addressed to "Monsieur.... Métropolitain de Saint Paul." I was at the time teaching under the shadow of London's great cathedral. XVIII. THE WAY TO LEARN MODERN LANGUAGES. I have always felt a great deal of sympathy, and even respect, for that good, honest, straight-forward young British boy who does not easily understand that in French "a musical friend" is not necessarily _un ami à musique_, nor "to sit on the committee," _s'asseoir sur le comité_, unless the context indicates that it is the painful operation which is meant. Poor boy! For him a foreign language is only his own, with another vocabulary; and so, when he does a piece of translation, he carefully replaces on his paper each word of his English text by one of the equivalents that he finds for it in his dictionary, rarely failing to choose the wrong one, as I have already said. Now comes _que_. Shall he put the subjunctive or the indicative? He has learnt his grammar: he could, if occasion required, recite the rules that apply to the employment of the terrible subjunctive mood. He has even, once or twice in his life, written an exercise on the subject, and as it was headed "Exercise on the Subjunctive Mood," he went through it with calm confidence, putting all the verbs in the subjunctive, including those that it would have been advisable to put in the indicative. This done, he was not supposed to commit any more mistakes on this important point of grammar. He might as well be expected to be an experienced swimmer after once reading Captain Webb's "Art of Swimming," and going through the various evolutions indicated in the pamphlet, _à sec_ on the floor of his papa's parlor. I admit that the French teacher of a public school ought to be a good philologist to make his lessons attractive to the students of the upper forms, and insure their success under examination; I admit that he should know English thoroughly, to be able to explain to them the delicacies of the French language, and maintain good discipline in his classes; I admit that he should be able to teach grammar, philology, history, literature; but I maintain that he ought never to lose sight of the most important object of the study of a living language,--the putting of it into practice; he should, above all things, and by all means, aim at making his pupils speak French. It is not enough that he should speak to them in French, even in the upper forms, where he would be perfectly understood: understanding a language and speaking it are two very different things. Neither will he attain his end by means of dull manuals of imaginary conversations with the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker; these will, at most, be useful in helping a foreigner to ask for what he wants at a _table d'hôte_. You will not get grown-up, intelligent, and well-educated boys to come out of their shells, unless you make it worth their while. Now, Englishmen, like Americans, love argument, very often for argument's sake, and every school-boy, in England as in America, is a member of some society or committee, and at its meetings tries his wings, discusses, harangues, and prepares himself for that great parliamentary life, which is the strength of the nation. Then, I ask, why not turn this love of discussion to account? Start a French debating society in every school, and you will teach your generation to speak French. Such a proposition may sound bold, but it has been tried in several public schools, and has proved a complete success. What cannot a teacher do that has succeeded in winning the esteem and affection of his pupils? First, make them respect you, then gain their hearts, and you will lead the young by a thread. Take twenty or thirty boys, old enough to appreciate the interest you feel in them, and say to them, "My young friends, let us arrange to meet once a week, and see if we cannot speak French together. We will chat about any thing you like: politics even. Do not be afraid to open your lips, it is only _la première phrase qui coûte_. I am neither a Pecksniff nor a pedant, a dotard nor a wet blanket; in your company, I feel as young as the youngest among you. Do not imagine that I shall bring you up for the slightest error of pronunciation you make. I remember the time when I murdered your language, and I should be sorry to cast the first stone at you. At first I shall only correct your glaring mistakes; by degrees, you will make fewer and fewer, although, alas! you will very likely always make some. What does it matter? I guarantee that in a few months you will be able to understand all that is said to you in French, and express intelligibly in the same language any idea that may pass through your brain." These little French parliaments work admirably; the earliest were started in two or three English schools four or five years ago. Each has its president--the head French teacher of the school, its honorary and assistant secretaries, and, if you please, its treasurer, who supplies the members with two or three good French papers, and, when the finances of the society permit, provides the means of giving a _soirée littéraire_. I have seen the minute-book of one of these interesting associations. Since its formation, this particular debating society has altered the whole map of Europe, greatly to the advantage of the United Kingdom. The young debaters have upset any number of governments, at home and abroad, done away with women's rights, and declared, by a crushing majority, that ladies who can make good puddings are far more useful members of society than those who can make good speeches. Young British boys have very strong sentiments against women's rights. In literature, the respective merits of the Classicists and the Romanticists have been discussed, and the "three unities" declared absurd and tyrannical by these young champions of freedom. The speakers are not allowed to read their speeches, but may use notes for reference, and I notice that speakers, who at first only ventured short remarks, soon grew bold enough to hold forth for ten minutes at a time. In many instances, the president has had to adjourn a debate to the next meeting, on account of the number of orators wishing to take part in it. These minutes, written in very good French indeed, do great credit to the young secretary who enters them. I have myself been present at meetings of these societies, and I assure you that if you could see these young fellows rise from their seats, and, bowing respectfully to the president, say to him: "_Monsieur le Président, je demande la parole_," you would agree with me that, so far as good order, perfect courtesy, and unlimited respect for opposite views are concerned, these small gatherings would compare favorably with the meetings of honorables and even right-honorables that are held at the Capitol, the Westminster Palace, and the _Palais Bourbon_. It is clear to my mind that, by such means, English boys can be made to speak French in the most interesting manner, and the one best suited to their taste. I firmly believe that if the great schools, public or private, were to start similar societies, that if all the young men knowing a little French were to form in their districts, such associations under the leadership of able and cheerful Frenchmen, England, or America for that matter, would in a few years, have a generation of French-speaking men. I have always been at a loss to understand how boys who have been studying a language for nine or ten years should leave school perfectly unable to converse intelligibly in that language for five minutes together. It seems nothing short of scandalous. Yet the reason is not far to be found. In England, at any rate, modern languages are taught like dead languages: they are taught through the eyes, whereas they should be taught through the ears and mouth. The French debating society seems to me the best mode of solving the difficulty. I have often given this piece of advice to John Bull, and I myself founded a successful French debating society in England. Let Jonathan forgive my presumption if I avail myself of his kind and generous hospitality to give him the same advice. XIX. ENGLISH AND FRENCH SCHOOLBOYS.--THEIR CHARACTERISTICS.--THE QUALITIES OF THE ENGLISH SCHOOL-BOY.--WHAT IS REQUIRED OF A MASTER TO WIN. I have often been asked the question, "Are English boys better or worse than French ones?" Well, I believe the _genus_ boy to be pretty much the same all the world over. Their characteristics do not show in the same way, because educational systems are different. Both English and French boys are particularly keen in finding out the peculiarities of a master, and taking his measure. They are both inclined to bestow their affection and respect on the man who is possessed of moral and intellectual power; it is in their nature to love and respect what is powerful, lofty, and good. Boys are what masters make them. Both English and French boys are lazy if you give them a chance; both are industrious if you give them inducements to work. They will not come out of their shells unless you make it worth their while. Both are as fond of holidays as any school-master alive. * * * * * French boys are more united among themselves, because their life would be intolerable if close friendship did not spring up between them, and help them to endure a secluded time of hardship and privations. English boys are prouder, because they are freer. Their pride is born of liberty itself. The former work more, the latter play more. But comparisons are odious, especially when made between characters studied under such different circumstances. * * * * * What I can affirm is that a Frenchman need not fear that English boys (such as I have known at any rate) will take advantage of his shortcomings as regards his pronunciation of the English language to make his life uncomfortable. I have always found English boys charitable and generous. A Frenchman will experience no difficulty in getting on with English schoolboys if his character wins their respect, and his kindness their affection; if he sympathizes with them in their difficulties; if he deals with them firmly, but always in a spirit of fair play, truth, and justice; if he is "To their faults a little blind, And to their virtues very kind." THE END. _Appendix._ "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a joke."--(MARK TWAIN.) PAGE. 7. _Appartement de garçon_, "bachelor's quarters," not "waiter's apartment." 12. _Fors l'honneur_, "except honor" (a phrase used by Francis I. of France, when he announced his defeat at Pavia to his mother). 13. _Gare du Nord_, "Great Northern Railway Terminus," in Paris (celebrated for its Cloak Room, where, on his arrival from England, John Bull deposits his baggage of superfluous virtue). 16. _Très bien, Monsieur_, "Very well, sir." (I owe to the reader many apologies for translating such an _idiomatic_ phrase as this.) 19. _Qui frise ses cheveux et la cinquantaine_, literally, "Who curls her hair and fifty summers." (The word _friser_ means both "to curl" and "to border on." I hope the reader will see the joke.) 21. _Recherché_, "refined." 22. _Planche_, "a plank." 33. _Allons me voila sauvé_, "Now I am saved." 41. _Migraine_, "Sick headache," an indisposition to which French ladies are subject, when they are reading a novel and do not wish to be disturbed by callers. 48. _Elle se retira...._ "She retired to her room and prepared for bed. But who could sleep? Sleep!" 48. _Celui qui écrit_, literally "He who writes." 49. _Poitrine_, "chest" (part of the body). _Caleçons_ (unmentionables). 49. _Il feutra, il gaucha_, formed from the nouns _feutre_ ("felt," material) and _gauche_ ("left,"contrary of "right"). 51. "Look at Pierrot hanging Because he did not restore the book; If the book he had restored Pierrot wouldn't have been hanged." FAC-SIMILE OF JOHN BULL, JUNIOR'S, EXERCISE. 1. Europe is a part of the world. 2. Asia is a part of the world. 3. Africa is a part of the world. 4. America is a part of the world. 5. My father is in France. 6. My cousin is in Germany. 7. Your brother is in Dresden. 8. Where is thy sister? She is in Paris. 54. _Egal_, "Equal." 55. _Savoir_, "to know." The future is _je saurai_. 57. _Vouloir_, "to want." The future is _je voudrai_. 63. _Je serai_, "I shall be." _Je serais_, "I should be." 73. The feminine words respectively mean "trumpet," "medicine," "navy," "sculpture," whereas the masculine names respectively mean "trumpeter," "doctor," "sailor," "sculptor." This is an old examination question, a time-honored chestnut of the University of London. 73. _Restait cette redoutable infanterie...._ "There remained the redoubtable infantry of the Spanish army, whose big close battalions, like so many towers, but towers that could repair their own gaps, stood unshaken in the awful din of battle and fired from all parts" (with my apologies to the shade of Bossuet). 74. _La fille de feu...._ "The daughter of my good and esteemed deceased cousin is always welcome." 74. _Mon frère...._ "My brother is wrong and my sister is right." 74. _Elle partit...._ "She left the following morning." 75. _Diable!..._ "Good heavens! the old man is capricious!" 76. _Je laisse Renaud...._ "I leave Renaud in the gardens of Armida." (The worthy boy took _Renaud_ for _Renard_, a fox--that's near enough.) 76. _Chaque âge a ses plaisirs._ "Each age has its pleasures." 77. _Les exploits d'Hercule...._ "The exploits of Hercules are mere play compared to." 77. _Monsieur, ne vous retournez pas._ "Sir, do not look round." 78. _Il raccommodait...._ "He mended old shoes." 78. _Baissant les yeux_, "Casting down her eyes." 84. _Dimanche_, "Sunday." 84. _Manche_, near enough to _manger_ (to eat) for Johnny. 84. _Cordon bleu_, skilful cook. (Teetotalers in England wear blue ribbons, hence the boy's confusion.) 89. _Baccalauréat-ès-sciences_, degree of B.Sc. 92. _Avec de belles dents...._ "With fine teeth never was a woman ugly." 93. _Arriver, naître, venir, sortir, partir_, "to arrive," "to be born," "to come," "to go out," "to set out." 120. _Savate_, boxing and kicking; _canne_, cane (fencing expression). 135. _Avez-vous du mal?_ "Are you hurt?" The Englishman understands _Avez-vous deux malles?_ "Have you two trunks?" 135. _Garçon, j'ai faim_, "Waiter, I'm hungry." 138. _Ses amis_, "his friends." _Seize amis_, "sixteen friends." 146. _Quelle heure est-il?_ "What o'clock is it?" _Comment vous portez-vous?_ "How do you do?" 152. _Qu'il n'est pas nécessaire...._ "That it is not necessary to know any thing of a subject to speak on it." 153. _Lycee_, "French public school." 159. _Un ami à musique_ would mean a friend who could give off a tune by being pressed _upon_. 163. _Monsieur le Président, je demande la parole_, "Mr. President, I ask for the floor." _UNLIMITED FUN!_ MARK TWAIN SAYS: "It is a darling literary curiosity." ENGLISH AS SHE IS TAUGHT. Genuine answers to Examination Questions in our Public Schools. Collected by one who has had many years' experience. For glaring absurdities, for humorous errors, for the great possibilities of the English language, see this book. 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A QUEER RACE. By WM. WESTALL. MRS. PEIXADA. By SIDNEY LUSKA. JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. AS IT WAS WRITTEN.--A Jewish Musician's Story. By SIDNEY LUSKA. WHO IS GUILTY? By PHILIP WOOLF, M.D. WANTED--A SENSATION; A Saratoga Incident. By EDWARD S. VAN ZILE. A MORAL SINNER. By MYRTILLA N. DALY. SCRUPLES. By MRS. J. H. WALWORTH. MARVELOUS IN OUR EYES. By EMMA E. HORNIBROOK. CALAMITY JANE. By MRS. G. E. SPENCER. WITNESS MY HAND. By the author of "Lady Gwendolen's Tryst." A PRINCE OF DARKNESS. By FLORENCE WARDEN. KING SOLOMON'S MINES. By H. RIDER HAGGARD. NATASQUA. By REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. OLD FULKERSON'S CLERK. By MRS. J. H WALWORTH. OUR SENSATION NOVEL. Edited by JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY, M.P. MORGAN'S HORROR. By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. A CRIMSON STAIN. By ANNIE BRADSHAW. _OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION._ CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, 102 and 104 Fourth Avenue, New York. 
29068	----	[NOTE DU TRANSCRIPTEUR: Vu que ce livre n'est qu'une partie d'un ouvrage beaucoup plus important, nous avons cru bon de dévier des normes PG et conserver la structure et numérotation des pages. Ceci a pour but de faciliter la recherche des objets mentionnés à l'index, au lexique et la table des matières. Les références aux pages 1 à 890 ne pourront pas être trouvées dans ce livre.] Page 891 AN INTRODUCTORIE FOR TO LERNE TO REDE, TO PRONOUNCE AND TO SPEKE FRENCH TREWLY, COMPYLED FOR THE RIGHT HIGH, EXELLENT AND MOST VERTUOUS LADY THE LADY MARY OF ENGLANDE, DOUGHTER TO OUR MOST GRACIOUS SOVERAYN LORDE KYNG HENRY THE EIGHT. Page 892 AVIS DE L'ÉDITEUR. L'auteur de cette Grammaire ayant apporté un soin extrême à marquer la prononciation pár l'accent, on a dû s'attacher à reproduire scrupuleusement les accents du texte original. Mais il faut savoir que Du Guez, par un système particulier, emploie l'accent placé _sous_ la voyelle. Nous avons reporté l'accent au-dessus, conformément à l'usage moderne. Cette substitution a d'autant moins d'inconvénient, que nulle part Du Guez n'emploie l'accent supérieur; par conséquent, il n'y a point de confusion à craindre. C'est un très-petit détail dont il suffit que le lecteur soit averti. F. G. Page 893 AN INTRODUCTORIE FOR TO LERNE TO REDE, TO PRONOUNCE AND TO SPEKE FRENCH TREWLY. FOR IMPLORATION OF GRACE. [Sidenote: [written vertically] GILES DU WES] Grace of God that I love so moche G race de Dieu que jayme tant I your requier ryght humbly I e uous requier treshumblement the gift of love without any further L e don damour sans plus auant of it to make any refuce E n faire aulcun refusement If ye do fynde in any wise S e uous trouués aulcunement of me service, but in trouth D e moy seruice quen loyaulté I gyve you leve utterly U ous habandonne entierement to wyll at all at your wyll U oulloir du tout a uoulenté toward me to use of great rigour U ers moy user de grant rigeur and me to banysshe from all good hap E t me bannir de tout bon heur without more of me to have pite. S ans plus de moy auoir pité. Sola salus seruire Deo, sunt cetera fraudes. Page 894 AN INTRODUCTORIE TO THE LADY MARY. For the honour of Mary Pour lhonneur de Marye God doughter to saynt Mary filleule a saynte Marye virgin and mother Jesu Christ vierge et mere Jhesuh Crist have these verses ben written. ont ces verse esté escripts. MARIA. glasse mesure shewynge mirouer mesure monstrant lenyng lovynge fulfilled appuis amoureus assouuie rose redde well smellyng rose rouge redolente that can nat vade yonge jolie inmarcessible jeune jolie amonge chosen exellente entre eslytes exellente for ever more be ye blessyd. a tousjours mais soyez benye. Amen. THE PROLOGUE. How beit that I do nat, nat knowe how that many as well lerned in good Combien que ne ignore point que pluisieurs tant qualifiéz es bonnes lettres as also well spoken in the frenche tonge (at the lest nat beyng lectres come aussy élégant en la langue francoise (au moins pour non estre naturall and borne of the lande and countrey) have composed, and written rules and naturél et natif du territoire et pais) ont composés et escripz régles et principles for introduction in the sayd tonge the whiche par aventure, as principes pour introduction en la dicte langue les quelz peult estre, come witnessed saint Hierome to Paulin, have tought before that they have ben tiesmoigne saint Hierome a Paulin, ont ensegnés auant que auoir esté conynge, for how beit that arte is folower of nature folowyng her right nygh, scauantz, car ja soit que art soit imitatrice de nature lensuiuant de bien pres, Page 895 yet neuerthelesse can nat she ouertake her. Wherfore the sayd composytours sy ne la peult elle toutefois aconsuiuir. Pourquoy les ditz compilateurs all togyder leanyng to the same ben by nature in sondrie places checked reproued du tout adherens à icelle sont par nature en diuers lieux cancellés repris and corrected. Shulde it nat seme a thynge selde and strange to se a Frenchman et corrigéz. Ne sembleroit ce point chose rare et estrange ueoir ung Francois endeuoir and inforce himself to teche unto the Germayns the langage of Almaine: se ingerer et efforcer dapprendre aux Allemans la lange tyoise, ye and that more over is, upon the same to compyle rules and principles, how beit uoire et qui plus est, sur icelle composer régles et principes, combien that agaynst me and my reason some body myght say, that one que contre moy et ma rayson quelque ung pourroit dire que on shulde fynde no body whiche shulde teche Hebreu, Greke, nor Laten, if it were nat laufull ne trouueroit ame qui ensegneroit Hebrieu, Grec, ne Latin, sil ne loisoit to any body so to do but to him which shulde have it of nature: to whom I a auscun de ce faire sinon a celui qui laroit de nature: a quoy je answere that it is another thyng to teche and instruct by the principles respons que cest aultre chose densegnér et daprendre par les principes and reules made by divers well expertz auctours, by great space and longe proces et régles faictz par diuérs expertz aucteurs, par interualle et diuturnité of longe tyme well approved, than at the fyrst metyng and nat havyng a de long temps bien approuuéez, que de premiére abordée et nauoir ung language but meanely and as a thynge borowed to be wyllyng by and by langage que moienement et come par emprunt, en uoulloir cy pris cy mis, nat only instructe the others, but also to compyle upon the same reules non seullement ensegnér les aultres, mais aussy composér sur ce régles certayne, the whiche doyng is nat graunted but unto ryght few of them whiche infallibles, ce que scauoir faire nest ottroie a bien peu de ceulz qui ben borne of the sayd langage, for touchyng my self to whom the sayd sont mesme natif du dict langage, car touchant moy mesmes a qui la dicte tonge is maternall or naturall, and whiche by the space of therty yeres langue est maternelle ou naturelle, et qui par lespase de trente ans and more have besyed me how beit that I am ryght ignorant, to teche et plus me suis entremis (combien que soie tres ignorant) densegnér Page 896 and instruct many great princes and princesses, as to decessed of et apprendre pluisieurs grandz princes et princesses, comme a feu de noble and recomended memory the prince Arthur, the noble kyng Henry noble et recommandée memoire le prince Arthur, le noble roy Henry for the present prosperously regnyng, to whom God gyve lyfe perpetuall: pour le present prospereusement regnant, a qui Dieu doint uie perpetuelle: the quenes of France and Scotlande, with the noble marquis of Excestre, les roynes de France et dEscosse, auec le noble marquis dExcestre, etc. for the whiche thynge to fulfyll I have done my power and dever to serche pour la quelle chose accomplir jay fait mon pouoir et debuoir de perscruter and seke all that which hath semed me to this purpose te serve: I have nat nevertheless et cercher tout ce qui ma semblé a ce propos seruir: sy nay je toutesfois founde rules infallybles, bycause that it is nat possyble to fynde any peu trouvér régles infalibles, pour ce quil nest possible de telles les suche, that is to say, suche whiche may serve without any faulte, as do trouuer, cest a dire, telles que puissent seruir infalliblement, comme font the rules compiled for to lerne Laten, Greke and Hebreu and other suche les régles composéez pour apprendre Latin, Grec et Hebrieu et autres telz languages: the whiche nevertheless the sayd compilatours have overtaken, langages: ce que neantmoins les ditz compilateurs ont entrepris te the ende that I ne say presumed to do, how beit they have nat ben but lytell (affin que ne die presumés) de faire, ja soit quilz naient esté que petit de tyme to lerne it, but now beit so that suche rules and techyng ben temps a laprendre, mais or soit ainsy que telz régles et ensegnementz soient sufficient and farre above my workes, by cause nevertheless that tressuffisans et loing par desus mes oeuures, pour ce toutes fois que now natwithstandyng myn ignorancy, I am agayne by my most redoubted maintenant (nonobstant mon ignorance) suis derechief (par mon tres redoubté lorde and prince the kynge above named, ordayned to administre myn accustomed seigneur et prince le roy dessus nommé) ordonné dadministrer mon accoustumé poore and unworthy servyce to most illustre, ryght exellente and ryght poure et indigne seruice a tres illustre, tres exellente et tres vertuouse lady my lady Mary of Englande his ryght entierly well beloved uertueuse dame ma dame Mary dEngleterre sa tres entierement bien aymée Page 897 doughter, the whiche right specially and straytly hath me commanded and fille, laquelle tres espécialement et estroitement ma comandé et encharged to reduce and to put by writtynge the maner how I have proceded enchargé de reduire et mectre par escript la maniere coment jay procédé towarde her sayd progenitours and predecessours, as that same also by the which enuers ses dictz progeniteurs et predecesseurs, come celle aussy par la quelle I have her so so taught, and do teche dayly whiche to refuse, je lay tellement quellement instruit, et instruis journellement, ce que refuser nat withstandynge the reasons above sayd alleged, I durst nat, nor wolde nat (nonobstant les raisons dessus dictes alleguée) noseroie ne uouldroie, how beit that I am ryght well assured to merite more for and by cause of myn combien que soie tres asseuré de plus meriter pour et cause de mon obedience than by any seruice or sacrifyce that to her I may do, fulfyllyng obedience que par aulcun seruice ou sacrifice que luy puisse prestér, accomplissant her most noble and gracious comandement, gratious say I, by cause son tresnoble et gracieux comandement, gracieus dis je, pour ce that her beniuolence and good wyll is to proffite to others as to que sa beniuolence et bon uoulloir est de prouffiter aux aultres come a herselfe, wherfore I supplie and require all reders the causes and reasons elle mesme, pourquoi je suplie et requier tous lecteurs les causes et raisons aboue sayd contempled and consydered to have me for to be excused, and ther dessus dictes contempléez et consideréez mauoir pour excusé, et la where they shall se the good Homer have ben aslepe to be wyllyng by good maner où ilz verront le bon Homère auoir dormy le uoulloir par bonne maniere to wake him, in correctyng the fautes in the whiche by cause of the same he is esueiller en corrigeant les faultes esquelles a cause de ce il est fallin, the whiche doyng they shall deserve nat only to be lauded and praysed, encouru, ce que faisantz ilz mériteront nonseullement destre loués et prisés, but also in theyr workes and operations taxed and estimed of maner mais aussy en leurs euures et operations taxés et estimés de maniere lyke, and to the same answeryng. reciprocque et corespondent. ENDE OF THE PROLOGUE. Page 898 HERE AFTER FOLOWETH THE TABLE OF THIS PRESENT TREATYSE. This lytle worke shalbe devided in two bokes, wherof the fyrst shal have two partes. In the fyrst part shalbe treated of rules, that is redyng frenche, and what letters shall be lefte unbesounde, and the cause therof. The seconde parte shalbe of nownes, pronownes, adverbes, participles, with verbes, prepositions, and conjunctions. Also certayne rules for conjugations. Item fyve or six maners of conjugations with one verbe. Item conjugations with two pronownes and with thre and fynally combining or joinyng II verbes togeder. The second boke shall be of lettres missyves in prose and in ryme. Also diuerse comunications by way of dialoges, to receyve a messager from the emperour, the frenche kynge, or any other prince. Also other comunications of the propriete of mete, of love, of peas, of warres, of the exposicion of the masse, and what mannes soule is, with the division of tyme, and other conseites. FINIS. A PROLOGUE FOR AN INTRODUCTORY. The thynges that directely expressed maye nat be ought to be declared Les choses qui a droit exprimer ne se peuuent doibuent estre declareez by syncopation of sylence, by cause that by sylence one doth answer to many par sincopacion taciturne, pour ce que par silence on respond a pluisieurs thynges. Syncopation is none other thyng but abreviation of length, and prolixite choses. Sincopation nest aultre chose quabreuiacion de prolixite, et prolixite is superfluitie of wordes in declarying a thyng. Wherfore in all est superfluite de paroles en declarant une chose. Pourquoy en toutes workes one ought to be shorte. We shall begynne this boke than in the name oeuures on doibt estre brief. Nous commencerons ce liure doncques ou nom of God all mighty and shall ende it with the helpe of hym, procedyng by the de Dieu tout puissant et lacheuerons a laide diceluy, procedant par le counsayle of Orace, whiche is as shorte as possible shalbe. conseil dOrace, qui est le plus brief que possible sera. Page 899 HERE FOLOWETH THE FYRST BOKE OF SEVYN RULES FOR TO REDE AND TO PRONOUNCE FRENCHE TREWLY. THE FYRST is howe the fyve vowels, that is to saye _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, and _v_, shalbe sounded in redyng french. Ye shal pronounce your _a_, as wyde open mouthed as ye can; your _e_, as ye do in latyn, almost as brode as ye pronounce your _a_ in englysshe; your _i_, as sharpe as can be; _o_, as ye do in englyssh, and _v_ after the Skottes, as in this worde _gud_. These fyve uowels be consonantes when they receyve nat their full sounde, as in this worde _jamais_ the fyrst _a_ is a uowell, and the seconde is a consonant. Example of _e_, as _déité_ and _magesté_, where bothe _ees_ of _deite_ be uowels, and the fyrst of _magesté_ is a consonant and the seconde is a uowell. Wherfore ye shall understande that the moste parte of _ees_ in french be consonantes, save fewe with suche wordes as come out of latyn. Example of me, the, hym, that, of, the, do, to say, to put, oure, your, consonantes _me_, _te_, _se_, _que_, _de_, _le_, _faire_, _dire_, _mectre_, _nostre_, _vostre_, wher is never a uowel. All the _ees_ that shalbe uowels in this present boke shalbe marked as the dyptong is in latyn, thus _é_. THE SECONDE RULE. Also in redyng frenche ye shall leave the last letter of every worde unsounde, endyng in _s_, _t_, and _p_, save of the same worde wherupon ye do pause or rest, for if ye do pronounce every worde by hymselfe, that is to say, restyng upon the same, ye ought for to pronounce and sounde him thorowe. And if any word endyng with an _s_, have the next worde folowyng begynning with a uowell, than shall ye sounde the said _s_, lyke a _z_, never others as in these wordes _jamais aultres_ ye shal rede _jamaiz aultre_, as it were but one worde, but if the next worde commyng after the _s_ be a consonant, than shall the said _s_ remayne unsounde, as in these wordes _jamais narés_, (never shall ye have) the _s_ of _jamais_ shall nat be sounde. Provyded alwayes, as is sayde before, that ye do nat pause nor rest upon the worde, for so doyng ye must sounde it parfitely. THE THYRDE RULE. Whan one worde doth ende with a uowell, and the next folowyng after Page 900 begyn with another, than the fyrste shalbe unsounde, as in these wordes, but in you I me have I the have I him have _que en uous_, ye shall rede _quen uous_, and _je me ay_, _je te ay_, je le ay_, ye shall rede _je may_, _je tay_, _je lay_, and so of all suche lyke, excepte some wordes whiche be nat used in Fraunce, as _tu as_, _thou hast_. Where bothe uowels must be sounde, howbeit the Picardes sounde it after the sayd rule, sayeng _tas_ for _tu as_, _tes_ for _tu es_, thou arte. And if ye fynde two _ees_ endynge and begynnynge a worde, ye shall leave the tone, as in these it is with the well wordes, _il te est bien_, ye shall rede _il test bien_. And of _e_, and _a_, as in these wordes _que a_, but te, ye shall rede _qua_. Of _e_, and _o_, as in these wordes, _que on_, but one, ye shal rede _quon_. Of _a_ and _o_, as in these wordes, _pourra on_, may one, ye shall rede _pourran_. And in lyke maner of all other of that termynation. THE FOURTH RULE. An _s_, in the begynnynge of a worde hath his full sounde, as dothe wyse wylde appere by these wordes folowyng, _sage_, _sauuage_, _sapient_, _etc._ but in the myddes beynge eyther before a consonant or a uowell, shall be sounded I sayde I dyd I brake I holde peace. lyke a _z_, as in these wordes _disoie_, _faisoie_, _brisoie_, _taisoie_, _etc._ THE FYFTH RULE. Whan _st_ dothe come togider in a worde hauing a uowell before it, than the sayde _s_ shall remayne unsounde, but it shall encreace the sounde of to wast to taste to haste, the sayde uowell, as in these wordes _gaster_, _taster_, _haster_, ye shall rede _gaater_, _taater_, _haater_. myne hoste come agayne anone And _mon hoste reuenes tantost_: ye shall rede _mon hoote reuenes tantoot_: ye shall nevertheles except al those that be nyghe the to protest to shewe latyn, as _protester_, _manifester_, _contester_, to withstande: and suche lyke, whiche must have the sayd _s_, well and parfitly sounded and pronounced, for it is nat possyble to fynde a rule so generall and infallible to serue for euery worde as was said aboue in the prologue. THE SIXT RULE. There is in french dyuers wordes, whiche for denotation or signifycation Page 901 of plurarite dothe ende with an _s_, or with a _z_, for without he same they be synguler nombre, as these wordes and such lyke worde fyste write a lefe _mot_, _puing_, _escript_, _feullet_, whiche be all synguler nombres: and if ye do adde a _z_, at the latter ende of them, than are they plurell nombres, as _motz_, _puingz_, _escriptz_, _feulletz_: and than shall ye nat sounde the letter before the sayd _z_, redynge _mos_, _puins_, _feullés_. And lyke wise whan a worde hath a _p_, or _b_, in the myddes endyng the syllable, ye shall leaue them unsounde, as in these wordes and dewtie dette to write suche lyke, _debuoir_, _debte_, _escripre_: ye shal rede _deuoir_, _det_, _escrire_. But whan they do begyn the worde or the syllable, than shall they be pronounced, putte away debated to breke as these wordes, _deboute_, _debatu_, _debriser_, _etc._ THE SEVENTH RULE. There is two maner of wordes harde for to be pronounced in french. The fyrst is written with a double _ll_ whiche must be souned togider, as _lla_, _lle_, _lly_, _llo_, _llu_, as in these wordes, gave cutte gader lefe bayly fayle _bailla_, _tailla_, _ceulle_, _feulle_, _bally_, _fally_, white knele a tymer hamer full of leaves _moullet_, _engenoullet_, _mallot_, _feullu_, _houllu_. The seconde maner harde to pronounce ben written with _gn_, before a uowell, as _gna_, _gne_, _gni_, _gno_, _gnu_. As in these wordes wan dyd blede lyne combe vyne scabbe felowe _gagna_, _saigna_, _ligne_, _pigne_, _uigne_, _tigne_, _compagne_, swell wanton wanton _laigne_, _mignon_, _mignarde_, ye shal except many wordes that be so written and nat so pronounced, endyng specially in _e_, as worthy swanne hyghe corage _digne_, _cigne_, _magnanime_, _etc._ They that can pronounce these wordes in latyn after the Italians maner, as (_agnus_, _dignus_, _magnus_, _magnanimus_) have bothe the understandyng and the pronouncynge of the sayde rule and of the wordes. Ye shall fynde many suche among the nownes, uerbes, and adverbes that herafter be folowynge, the whiche shall have the double _l_, thus written _ll_, besyde the word and _gn_, besyde the tother. THE NAMES OF MEMBRES LONGYNG TO MANNES BODY ASWELL INWARDE AS OUT WARDE. the heed or chyfe le chief the scoull la teste the heeres les cheueulz Page 902 womens heares les tresches the busshe la cheuelure the perwyke la perrucque the heares ll. la cheuechalle the forhed le front the temples les temples the browes les sourcilz the visage le visage the berde la barbe the face le viaire the face la face the eye or eyes loeul the eyes les yeux the lydde la paulpiere the lyddes les paulpieres the ball of the eye la pupille the nose le naes the nose thrilles ll. les narilles the chekes les joes the nether chekes les bajoes the eare loreille the eares les oreilles the mowth la bouce beastes mowthe la geule the lyppes les leures the tonge la langue the rouf of the mowth le palais or ou palet the teeth les dentz the gommes les genciues the jaws les machoires the inward jawes les mandibulles the chynne le menton the throte bo?te le gosier the gorge la gargate the gorge la gorge the necke le col the knot of the neck le neu du col the hole of the necke la fosse du col the kenel of the necke la canol du col the sholder lespaule the armes les bras the elbowe la coude the elbowes les coudes the fyste le puing the fystes les puingz the hande la main the handes les mains the bat of the hande le dos de la main the balle of the hande la paulme the balles les paulmes the finger le doigt the fingers les doigz the thombe le poulce the thombes les poulces the jointe la joincte the joyntes les joinctes Page 903 the naile longle the nayles les ongles the brest la poictrine the forke of the brest la fourcelle the breste la mamelle the brestes les mamelles the body le corps the wast le fauz du corpz the holes under the armes les esselles the bely le uentre the nauyl le nombril the backe le dos the chyne leschine the rayns les rains the buttockes les fesses the buttocke la fesse the hippe la hanche the hippes les hanches the grynes les ames the nether beerde la penilliere the thighe la cuisse the thighes les cuisses the knee le genouil the knees les genoulz the hamme le jaret the hammes les jaretz the legge la jambe the legges les jambes the chyne boone la greue or the backe of ou le dos de the legge la jambe the calfe of the legge le pomeau the ancle ll. la cheuille the ancles ll. les cheuilles the hele le talon the foote le pied the feetes les piedz the back of the foote le dos du pied the soole la plante the sooles les plantes the great too le graunt orteil the toes les orteilz THE INWARD MEMBRES. the braine le cerueau the hering louye the sight la ueue the smellyng lolfact the smellyng le flairer the taste le goust the telynge le taste the chawyng le macer the swalowyng lauailer the hert le ceur the stomake lestomac the galle le feil the leuer le foie the lyver le gisier Page 904 the longe le poulmo the mylte lesplene or the mylte ou la rate or mylte ou ratelle the bledder la uessie the kydneys gn. les rognons the uryne lurine the guttes les boiaulz the small guttes les intestins thinward part of the bely ll. les entrailles the gader la coree the blode le sang the coller la colere the melancoly la melencolie the fleame le flegme the senewes les nerfz the ueynes les uaines the ueynes of the puls les arteres the pulse le pulse the rybbes les costes the bones les os the brethe lalaine the spyttell la saliue the spyttyng le crachat OTHER NAMES BEYNG IN MAN. the soule lame the spyrite lesperit the wytte le sens the wyll le uoullior the wyll la uoullente the rayson la raison the memory la memoire the understandyng lentendement the thought la pensée the ymagination limagination the jugement le jugement the opynyon lopinion the stomake le courage the hardynesse la hardiesse the cowardnesse la couardise feblenesse of corage la lacheté the feare la peur the truthe la uerité the leasyng le mensonge the drede la crainte the ferefulnesse lespouantement the strength la force the feblenesse la foiblesse the mansuetude la debonaireté the angrefull disposition la felonie the malyce la malice the cruelnesse la cruaulté the goodnesse la bonté the frowardnesse la mauuaisté the peace la paix the rest le repos the trouble le trouble Page 905 the labour ll. le trauaill the stedfastnesse la constance the unstedfastnesse la uariableté the hatered la hayne the frendship lamitié the joye la joye the sorowe la tristesse the heuynesse lennuy the rejoysyng le rejouissement the angre le corous the sporte lesbatement the wrath lire the pacyence la pacience the pride lorgeul the mekenesse lhumilité the envy lenuie the charyte la charité the dilygence la deligence the lytell corage la pusillanimité the glotony la glotonnie the sobernesse la sobrieté lechery luxure the chastyte la chasteté coueytyse conuoitise lyberalytie liberalité auaryce auarice waste prodigalité to go about rychesse ambicion wylfull pouertie uoluntaire poureté boostyng la uantance presumptuous larrogance the truthe in lyueng la preudomie the falsehed la faulceté the lyfe la uie the dethe la mort the youthe la jeunesse the age ll. la uiellesse the ignorauncy lignoraunce the wysdome la sagesse the byrth la neissance the chyldhode lenfance the feblenesse la debilité the manhood la uirilité the foulenesse la turpitude the honeste lhonnesteté the insolency linsolence the stablenes la fermeté the bondage la seruitude the fredome la liberté the honoure lhonneur the shame la honte the rychesse la richesse the nedynes la poureté the sikenes la maladie the helth la santé the pourete lindigence the plente la plenté Page 906 the plenty labondance the nigardnes la chiceté the rudenes la rudesse the swyftness la promptitude the inclynation la propension facyle inclynation la procliuité the desyre to slepe lassoupissement the quyckenesse la uiuacité the graunt lottroy the denyeng le deniement the heate la challeur the coldnesse la froydure the drynesse la seicheur the moystnesse lhumidité the laughyng le rire the wepyng le plourer the complaynyng le playndre the lamentyng le lamenter the yexyng le sanglouter the neesyng lesternuer the snowring le ronfler the syghynges le souperer syghes soupirs the yexynges les sanglous the spyttyng le cracher to blowe the nose le mouchér the slepynge le dormir the watchyng le ueillier the slepe le sompne the dreamyng le songer the drinkyng le boire the eatynge le menger the sacyate le saoul the hungry le familleus THE NAMES OF WOMENS REMENTES. the smocke le chemisse the coler le colet the sleves les manches the gussettes le goucerons the surfyls les ourletz the seames les coustures the kyrtell le corset the krytell la cottelette the petycote la cotte simple the gowne la robbe the placharde le placart the cuffes les bonbardes the purfyll la bordure the lynynge la doublure the furre la fourrure the under gyrdell le demy chaint the gyrdell la chainture the purse la bourse the pyncase lespinceau or the case for pynnes ou lespinglier the heed atayre lattour the frenche hode le chapperon a plis Page 907 the bonette le bonnet the crispynes les crespines the frontler of velvet ll. les beatilles the templettes les templettes the partelet le gorgias the necke kerchef la colerette the kercher le ceuurechief the partelet le colet the partelet le colier the bracel le bracelet the tache lesgrappe the ringes les aneaulz the owche la bague to close the necke kercher ll. le fermall a broche lafficque an image limage the gabardine la gauardine the tipet la cornette the cloke le manteau the bone grace le moufflet the knyves les coutteaus the beedes les patenostres the hande kercher lesmouchail the hande kercher ou mouchoir the lace le lacz the small lace le lacet the combe le pigne the lye la lessiue the gloves les gantz the tymble le does the nydel ll. lesguille the pynnes les espingles the brusshe to swepe les espoussettes, la uerge a esterdre the hooses les chausses the garters les jartiers the pynson showes les eschapins the showes les soliés the buskyns les brousequins the slyppars les pantouffles the sheres les forces the small sheres ou forcettes MENS REMENT. the sherte la chemisse the doublet le pourpoint the coote le seon or say the jacquete la jacquete the jacquete le hecqueton the gowne la robbe the partelet le colet the hat le chapiau lappe of man la tocque the cappe le bonnet the hoode le chaperon the gyrdel la chainture the sworde lespee Page 908 the spanische sworde la rapiere the dagar la dague the bagge la gibessiere the purse la louiere the purse laulmoniere the bootes les botes the bootes les houseaus the spores les esperons the shylde lescu the paueys la parme a great buccler la taloche the buccler le bouclier the camell le camiau the drommadary le dromadaire the asse lasne the horse le cheual and all beestes et touttes bestes bearyng sadyls portant selles or fardels ou fardeau or packes ou uoiture have nede ont mestier of packe sadyls or of de batz ou de saddyls, the whiche selles, les quelles have a pomell a pommeau backe and boweth dos et archons sursyngles soursangles and pannels et paneaus than the heed-stall, puis la testierre reyne, and resne, et byttes, make the mors, font la bridell bride the petrell le poitral the gyrthes les sengles the styroppes les estries the styrop ledders les estriuieres the crouper la croupiere the buckeles les boucles and the nayles et les clous that one can nat quon ne peult make nor forge faire ne forger without the anuyle sans lenclume the fyle the la lime, le hammer marteau the pyncettes ll. les tenailles the coles les charbons with the fyre auec le feu ayre, water, and aire, eaue et erthe, with the terre, auec le smyth marechall or locker ou serrurier THE CHAMBRE. the bedde le lict the bolster le trauersin or the bolster ou le chauet the pyllowes ll. les oreilliers the blankettes les blanchetz the shetes les linceulz Page 909 the couerlette le couuertior the sparuer le ciel the sparuer ll. le pauillon the curtyns les courtines the hangyng la tapisserie the carpettes les tapis uelus the quyishens les carriaus all one les coissins the bedde portatyve le lict de camp the bedstede le chalict the borde la table the trestels les tresteaus the forme le banc the chayres les chaieres the stools les escabelles the forte stoole le marce pied the table cloth la nape the napkyns les seruiettes the salt le sel the salt saler la saliere the chafyng dysshe la chauffette the spones les cuillieres the trenchers les trenchoirs the platters les platz the dysshes les escuelles the sawcers les saussiers the bred le pain the fleshe la cher the butter le beurre the chese le fromage the egges les oeufz the whyte wyn le uin blanc the claret le claret the rede darke ll. le uermeill the wyne red le uin rouge ypocras ypocras the waffers les oubliez the succades la succad the confittes la dragerie the confections les confitures the coup borde le buffet the pottes les potz the flagons les flagons the couppes les couppes the boles les tasses a genial name for cuppes les hanapz the gobbelettes les gobeletz the glasses les uoires and the water et leau for to washe them pour les rincer the bacin le bacin the ewer lesguiere THE KECHIN. the mayster coke le sommelier the yoman coke les cuisinies gromes of the kechin uarletz de cuisin turne broches les galopins Page 910 the pottes les potz the pannes les poelles the caudrons les chaudrons the spyttes les hastiez the spyttes les broches the morters les mortiers the pestels les pestiaus the serces les tamis the stamels les estamines the instrument for to larde le lardeur the bacon le lard the mustarde la moustarde the grene sauce la sausse uerde the gambon le jambon the befe le beuf the bull le tor the cowe la uache the calfe, vele le ueau the mutton le mouton the sholder lespoule the gygot, a brest le gigot the chyne leschine the rybbes les costes the necks le colet the trotters les trottins the lambe gn. lagneau the heed la teste the gader or nombles la couree the skynne la piau the ramme le belin the ewe la brebis the he gotte le bouc the she gotte la chieuure the swyne or hogge le pourceau the boore le uerrart the boore le uer the wylde boore le senglier the sowe la truye the pygge le cochon HAUKES OF PRAY SYXTENE KYNDES. the egle laigle gerfaucon gerfau the tercell gerk sacres sacres the tercell sacretz falcons faulcons the tercell tierceletz lenners lainers lanerettes laneretz meryllons ll. esmerillons hobbeys hobriaus goshaukes austours tercels tierceletz uperhaukes esparuiers muskettes mouchetz crystrels cretreulles the thrusshe mauluis Page 911 the cocowe coucou cocowe cocou glede mellans puttockes escoufles the blewe kyte faulz perdrier bussardes busartz bruhiers bruhiers greater than the egle uoultoires the ducke oule le duc chahuan the oule le chahuan the lytell oule la chouette the ravyn le corbiau the crowe la cornaille the highwale lespec the unthatche le picmars the dawe le canne the pye la pie the pye lagace the jaye le jay the henne la poulle the henne le geline the chekyns les poucins the cocke le coc the capon le chappon the partryche la perdris the yong partryches les pertriaus the fesaunt le faisant the dove le coulomb the rynged dove le ramier the stocke dove le creuset the turtle dove la tourtrelle the pygions les pigeons the cormorande le cormorain the wodcocke la becasse the quayle la quaille the larke lalouette the plouuer le pluuier the lapwyng le uaniau the crane la grue the bustarde lautarde the pecoke le paon the swanne le signe the goose louoye wylde souuage tame domenche the barnacle le barnacle the gander le jar the goslynges les oisons the heyron le heron the shoveler le trublet theggret laigret the byttour le buto the storke la cigoin the malarde le malard the malarde le canart the ducke la canne the ducke lanette Page 912 the ducklyns les annetons the coote la joudelle the coote la blarie the teyle le cercelle the starlyng lestourneau the star lesprohon the felde fare la griue the osyll le merle the sparowe le passereau the sparowe le moisson the fynche le pinchon the blewe back and redbrest la pioue the wagtayle la bergieronnet the wagtayle le hochecul the grene fynche le frion the grene fynche la verdiere the gold fynche la cardinotte the lynnnet la linotte the coldmouse la messange the nyghtyngale gn. le rossignol rocyn redbrest la robaille the wrenne le rotelet FRUTES. cherys cherises small cherys guingues great cherys gascongnes small cherys merises [something missing?] cormes [something missing?] sorbes raspyse franboises gose berrys groiselles strawberys freses apples pommes perys poires plummes prunes dampsons prunes de damas peches pesches mulberys moures melons melons gourdes gourdes coucumbers coucombres granades grenades orenges orenges openarses mesles medlers neffles chestayns gn. chatangnes walnottes nois fylberdes nois franches small nottes noisettes WHYT MEATES. custardes dariolles flawnes flans tartes tartes pasteys pastés frytters bignetz VENESON. the harte le cerf Page 913 the hynde la biche the bucke le dain the doe la daine the robucke le saillant the robucke la capreolle the robucke le cheuriau the hare le leure the watte le leurart the conys les connis the rabettes les lapriaus the rabettes les lapins FYSHES. alose or shaddes aloses eeles ll. anguilles whelkes balaines barbyls barbeaus base bars breames bresmes pykes brocetz carpes carpes haddockes cableaus myllers thombes caboceaus congers congres coccles cocques crabbes crabbes dogge fysshe chien de mer cheuyns chieuennes shrimpes creuettes porpasse daulphin sturgyons esturgeons smeltes espelans creuice deau douce escreuice goienne gougeons crevyce of the see houmars whyte heryng harenc blanc reed heryng harenc sor lampreys lamproiez loches loches makerell macreaus muskels moulles whytynges melans mullettes muletz the see swyne marsouin oysters hiutres perches perces plaise plais ray or thornbacke rayes roches roches husses roussettes rochettes rougetz salmons saulmons solles solles tonyne toninnes tenches tences gournardes tumbes trowtes treute turbottes turbot Page 914 menews uerron [something missing] uendoise TREES. the almande tre amandier thelder aulne hau thorne bearing aubespin portant the beris curelles wodde, tymber bois, fust tymber fewell mairien laigne fagottes faceaus, fagotz logges huches kyndlyng fagottes bourreez barberis barberis boxe buis heyth bruiere busshes buissons byrche bouill a place full of hasels couldrieres hasell couldre chestayne tree chataignier chery tree cherisier honysocle tre eiebrou all one chieurefeul tyller of a crosbowe cormier cornus ll. cornillier oke beryng chesnes portant acornes glandz cipre tree cipres quyne aple tre coingz palmier datiers maples errables thornes blacke espines noire and whyte et blanche eglentine esglentier biche or the tre fou ou haitre that beareth qui porte the maste foynes figge tre figuier raspis tre francboisier ashe fresne small chery tre guinguier the same agayne badeolier wylde cherys merisier great chery tre gascongnier gowsbery tre groiselier grenade tre grenadier browme genistres the pocke tre gaiaqz ou eban holy or holme houll jue yerre jenoper jenopure ewe iff firres or gost songniarins ou rauenelles the bay tre laurier more bery tre mourier medler meslier Page 915 opyners tre nefflier walnot tre noier basels noisiers oliue tre oliuiers wylows or osiers osiers orange tre orengiers elmes ourmes aple tre pommiers peerre tre poiriers plomme tre pruniers peche tre peschiers pinaple tre pins plane planes poplar tre poupeliers rosiers rosiers breeres rouces rosmarie rosmarins fyrs sapins the place of wilowes saussoie wylowes saus serues tre seruiers elder tre sehuc aspes trembles tron a lytell tre trosne vynes uignes cornes bledz whette fourment rye seigle daruell iuraie all one jargerie all one or zizany droe ootes auaine barley myll orge myll beanes febues peeses pois great peeses cices small peeses ll. lentilles small beanes lupins all one lobis ryse riez fetche uesche hempe sede canebuise line side linuuy rape side nauette mostard syde senneué strawe estrain straw or hay feurre hey foyn litter or chaff paille pease strawe pesas mele flour farine fleur branne tercou alle one son trowgh mayt paste levyn paste leuain to knede pestrir ouuen four Page 916 to put in the ouuen enfourner { white { blanc { brede { black pain { bis { { brown { brun NAMES OF OFFICERS REGALLES. the great master le grand maistre the steward le maistre dhostel the great chamberlayn le chambrier the second chamberlin le chamberlain the cuppe bearer le echanson the seuer le pannetier sergeantes officers le somellier master of horses le grant escuier the squier under him lescuier descurie the great hownter le grant ueneur the master of hawkes le grant faulconner the master of the forest le verdier the see la mer of the see la marinne of the see in the masculin marin the tyde marée springe sourjon springe sourse fountayne fontaine riuer riuiere the shawre riue a furde le gué the poole le uiuier the great poole lestant the hole la fosse the dykes les fosses the broke le rieu the broke or chenell le ruisseau cysterne citerne a shyppe nauire a barge nef a shyppe bote scaffe a lytell bote nacelle a ferry bote bac a square bote bacquet a lytell barge chalan all one santine a whery cymbe to suche flocke a tel aumaille suche shepherde tel bergier { of shepe { de brebis { flocke { of gotes ung { de chieures tropeau { { of kyne { de uaches { { of mares { de jumentz stoude of stalons haras des talons of coltes de poulains PROPERTES OF BEESTES. a man dothe syng ung homme chante an asse ung asne recane a cowe lowes une uache mugist a shepe bletes une brebis beste a wolfe and a ung loup et ung Page 917 dogge houles chien hulent the cat and the lyon le chat et le lion grynneth groulent a hogge ung pourceau groneth grongne a chorle hommeth ung uillain or grudgeth hongne a dogge barketh ung chien abaie a foxe and ung renart et an otter panteth ung putois glatissent the serpentes hysses les serpens siblent the byrdes les oiseauz chermes and chattereth jargonent et degoisent the man is well lhomme est bien shaped, that hath the fourmé, qui a le troncke ryght, and the tronc droit, et le remenaunt lyke tige semblable longe long, longue shorte court, courte brefe brief, briefue great grand, grande groose gros, grosse dimynutyve groset, grossette small or sclender gresle fatte gras, grasse thynne delié tenue small menu menue thycke espes espesse thycke or rype drue drue lyght legier legiere hevy pesant pesante holowe creu creuse hole or sounde entier entiere solude massif massifue streyght estroit estroite large large largeur ynough plenté all one prou plentie foison inough assés ynough lytell assés pou all one assés petit to moche trop more lesse plus moins nygarde escars, escarse softe mol molle harde dur dure duret durette lyar menteur mentresse swete douls doulce bytter amer amere bytternesse amertume vyle ord orde foule sal salle spotted souillé souillée vyllayne villain villaine craver truand truande Page 918 begger belitre, belitresse lepre pouacre infect knave coquin coquine begger kemand kemande boy gyrle garcon garce boy gyrle hardeau hardele glotton gourmand gourmande malapert cocard cocarde lykerous friand friande wanton mignon mignart wanton woman mignarde lyar mensongier mensongiere jester bourdeur bourderesse beggler trompeur trompeuse jangler cacqueteur cacquetresse reprover ramponeur ramponeresse hore monger paillard hore paillarde hore monger ribauld hoore ribaulde hoore monger putier hoore putain baude macreau macquerelle a thefe laron a she thefe laronnesse SALUTATYONS IN FRENCHE, WHICHE MAY BE TOURNED TWO MANER WAYES, AS WHAN YE SAYE IN ENGLISSHE, GOD GYVE YOU GOOD MOROWE, YE MAY SAYE, GOOD MOROWE GYVE YOU GOD, AS YE SHALL SE HERE FOLOWYNGE. good morowe bon jour good yere bon an good evenyng bon vespre good evyn bon soir good nyght bonne nuyt good meetyng bon encontre good joye bon joie Page 919 me good lyfe and longe me me bonne vie et longue me the good fortune the te bonne fortune te God hym gyve good prosperyte and to you him gyve God Dieu luy doint bonne prosperité et a vous luy doint Dieu us well to prospere us nous bien prosperer nous you good lucke you vous bon heur vous them good begynnyng them leurs bon commencement leurs good meane bon moien good ende, and well to fynisshe bon fin, ou bien acheuer well to lyve, well to dye bien uiure, bien mourir good helthe bonne sante paradyse at the ende paradis en la fin the hole, or the fulfyllyng of your desyres lentier ou laccomplissement de vos desirs God kepe, God blesse, God save, God gyde you. Dieu gart, Dieu benie, Dieu sauue, Dieu uous conduye. God be within, God be your helpe, God be wyllynge to helpe you, God kepe you Dieu soit ceans, Dieu vous soit en aide, Dieu vous veulle aider, Dieu vous garde from yvell and trouble, I bydde you farwell, God be with you, I take my leave of you, farwell de mal et dencombrier, a dieu vous dis, a dieu soiez, adieu sans adieu, adieu tyll we se agayne. jusques au reueoir. Page 920 THE GENERATION OF COLOURS WITH THE BLASON OF THEM. Colour is lyght incorporate in a body visyble pure and clene. There Coulleur est lumiere incorporée en ung perspectif pur et nect. Ilz ben two dyfference of perspectyves, the one is pure, separate of erthlynesse, sont deux difference de perspectifz, lung est pur, séparé de terrestréité, and the tother is spotted by the same and myxed lyght is devyded in et lautre est coinquiné par icelle et mixtioné lumiere est four partes, that is to say clere, darke plentuous or scant, whiche is to understande quadri-partite, cest a dire clere, obscure habondante et rare, qui est a entendre great or small. Wherfore it appereth that thre thynges dothe cause grande ou petite. Pourquoy il appert que trois choses causent the essence of whythnesse, that is to say, clerenesse with habundaunce of the same, lessence de blancheur, cest a scauoir, clarté avec multitude dicelle, and a body visyble clene and pure. And thre thynges lykewyse ben cause of et ung perspectif pur et nect. Et trois choses semblablement sont cause de blacke colour, it is to say, lyght, darke with scarsnesse of it, and coulleur noir, cest a scauoir, lumiere, obscure auec paucite dicelle, et perspectyve unclene. And by this is open the sayeng of Arystotell, and of Avenrois, perspectif impur. Et par ce est esclarcy le dict dAristote et de Avenrois, whiche have put blacknesse for privation and whytnesse for habytude qui ont mis noircheur pour priuacion et blancheur pour habitude or forme. And knowe ye that in these two colours lyeth all the others. ou forme. Et sachés quen ces deux coulleurs gisent toutes les aultres. mournyng blacke deul noir sable mekenesse whyte sylver humilite blanc argent pride reed orgeul rouge geule love grene amoureus verd sinople stedfast blewe constant bleu asure Page 921 gyle darke blewe deception pers werynes tawny fatygation tauné possessyon yelowe jouissance jaulne hoope gray esperance gris purple magesté pourple blody colour cherité sanguin vyolette trahison violet flour of peche tree fleur de pescier carnatyon dissymulation carnation chaungeable changeant pale pale darke colour pasle blesme obscur deed colour horse flesshe coulleur morte cher de cheual HERE FOLOWETH DYVERS REASONS WITH SOME STRANGE WORDES FOR INTRODUCTION OF THE FRENCHE TONGE. Out sette the hevynesse of slepe vayne and longe, a quyete slepe Hors mis lentommissement du somne vain et long, ung taisible dormir is right necessary and delycious. est tres necessaire et delicieus. A man doutfull and suspect of jelous is sone converted and tounred Ung homme doubteus et soupeconeus est tost conuerty et tourné in smerte. en cusancon. Page 922 A man alredy luke warme in deedly hete, kyndled of angre and Homme desja tiéde en mortelle challeur, embrasé de eorous et madde of dispayre. forsené de désespoir. A goodly lady, meke, trymmed, currteyse: damosell stedfast, symple, Dame gaillarde, benigne, cointe, courtoise: damoiselle constant, symple, chaste, shamefast and honest. chaste, pudique et honeste. A woman dishonest, redy to fall, shamelesse, wanton, subtyle, paynted Femme impudicque, lubricque, affrontée, mignarde, affaitée, fardée and disceyvable. et rusée. A gyrle havyng laughyng eyes, full of swete promyse, bearyng wytnesse Une garce aiant yeulx riantz, plains de doulx promettre, faisant foy of a wanton wyll. dung voulloir feminin. He is worthy of prayse, whiche enforceth him to gete by vertue greater Il est digne de louenge, qui senforce dacquerer par vertu plus haulte lyght, for of it to sparcle the beames through all the worlde. lucence pour en espandre les rais par tout le monde. It is folly to set our trust in thynges whiche shall fall sythe that we knowe Cest folie de nous fier ez choses qui cherront puisque cognoissons selfely the soveraygne lyghtnesse to be darked of a lyght cloude. neiz les souuerains resplendisseurs estre obscurciez dune legiere nuée. O fortune, sorowe encreasyng, and slombryng all delyces with great blame O fortune, doulleur aggrauant, et soupissant tous delices, a grant tort a body by a lytell immoderate colere, doth angre hymself agaynst une personne par ung petit de colere immoderée, se indigne contre his frende, at the lest without a faute goyng before. son amy, au moins sans prealable offence. It is shame to a noble person with his strength to darke his honour Cest honte a une noble personne selon sa force obscurcir son honneur by his shame. par ses hontes. Page 923 If the humayne inclynation, whiche is wont for the most parte to refuse that Se lhumaine propension, qui seult pour la plus part refuser ce which one to him doth ministre for most necessary, is nat somwhat restrayned, quon luy administre pour plus necessaire nest aulcunement cohibée, scante shalbe able in any scyence to profyte. a paine pourra en aulcune science prouffiter. We be right nygh clevyng the one to the other, bycause of naturall Nous sommes de pres adherentes les ung des aultres, a cause de naturalle inclynation, specially havyng symilytude of maners togyder. procliuité, signament aiantz confirmité de meurs ensemble. Those whiche by dignyties ben shewed above others ought to then sample Ceulz qui par dignites sont prééminence par dessus les aultres deueroient selon of God, to put downe their pride and highnesse. Dieu, rabaisser leur crestes et haultesses. To do the contrary is an infortunate accident springyng of malyce, and Faire au contraire est ung fortuit accident procedant de malice, et yeldyng a man right dull, wherfore for nat to be gainsayeng and rendant ung homme fort empos, pour quoy pour non estre restif et refusyng good counsayle: it is farre better to sustayne a good quarell, oppugnant bon conseil, trope mieulx vault soubstenir bonne querelle, than to yelde hymselfe in suche trouble. que de soy rendre en telle berelle. Pronownes devyded by the sixe articles of declynation, both synguler and plurell nombre. And these that ende in _a_, as _ma, ta, sa, la,_ ben all feminyn. And all those that dothe ende in _on_, and in _e_, as _mon, ton, son; me, te, se, le,_ ben all masculyne. And _mien, tien, sien,_ synguler nombre and masculyn, _miens, tiens, siens; mes, tes, ses,_ plurell nombre and masculyn. _Mienne, tienne, sienne, singuler; miennes, tiennes, siennes,_ plurell nombre and feminyn. But there ben certayne names of the femynyn, whiche do requyre the pronownes masculyns that must be excepted, as _mon ame, mon hotesse,_ and suche lyke: where both _ame_ and _hotesse_ ben femynyn gender, and _mon_ he (she) masculyn. And _me, te, se,_ ben indifferent, as in these wordes: _il, (elle) sayth to me, he (she) saith to the, he (she) saith to him; me dit, il (elle) te dit, il (elle) se dit;_ where _me, te, se,_ serve Page 924 bothe for the masculyn and femynin. I, of me, to me, at me, o me, _Je, de moy, a moy, a me, a moy, o moy_, for me, to me, of me. _pour moy, a moy, de moy._ our, we, ours; of ours, to us, by Plurell, _nos, nous, nostres; les nostres, a nous, par_ our. for Thou, of the, to the; by the: o thou, _nos. O nous, o nos, pour nous. Tu, de toy, a toy; par te, par toy: o tu, o toy:_ by the. your, you, of yours; to you, by your, o ye: by you. He _par toy._ Plurell, _vos, vous, des vostres; a vous, par vos, o vous: pour vous. Il_ she, he, him; that same the same, that same, that or this. They, they, _elle; cil, luy; celuy, celle, icelle, icelluy, cestuy, ceste. Ilz, ceulx, elles_, them, those. What, howe, which, the which, of whom, to have. _celles, icelles, eulz, iceulz. Que, qui, quel, lequel, laquelle, de qui, a cui,_ by whom, the whiche. My, myne: to my, of my, myne: for _par quel, quelz, laquelle, lesquelles. Mon, mien: a mon, de mon, mien: pour_ me, for my: for myne: o my, o myne, for me, for _me, pour mon: pour le mien, par le mien: o mon, o my, o mien: pour me, pour_ myne, for Plurell nombre, Thy, my, his: thy, my, his: _mien, pour mon. Mes, miens, mienne, miennes, Ta, ma, sa: tes, mes, ses:_ thyne, myne, his: _tiens, miens, siens: miennes, tiennes, siennes._ Example for the femynin: _Ma mere, ma seur, ma maistresse, ma cousine:_ _Ta mere, ta seur, ta maistresse, ta cousine:_ _Sa mere, sa seur, sa maistresse, sa cousine:_ _La mere, la seur, la maistresse, la cousine._ Example howe the pronowne masculyne shal be applyed as _Mon pere, mon frere, mon maistre, mon cousin:_ _Ton pere, ton frere, ton maistre, ton cousin:_ _Son pere, son frere, son maistre, son cousin:_ _Le pere, le frere, le maistre, le cousin_, and _mes, tes, ses, les_, for bothe plurell. Also there be two pronownes, that ben pronounced in french by syncopation, the same and that same: for the femynine: as _cestuy cy_ et _cestuy la: ceste cy_ et _ceste la:_ where ye shall take but the last syllable of them, sayeng _stuicy, stuyla: stecy, stela._ PREPOSITIONS. Nyghe, nyghe: towarde, towarde: for, by, up, downe, above, under Pres, joucte: enuers, deuers: pour, par, sus, jus, dessus, dessoubz: Page 925 afore, before, agaynst, with, to, to the, of the, of, at this syde, beyonde. auant, deuant, contre, en contre: auec, a, au, du, de, deça, dela. CONJUNCTIONS. If, if, and, Sy, se, et, etc. Here foloweth the adverbes, and howe ye shall turn, and forme an adverbe from englisshe into frenche, and specially those that signifye qualities, takyng this syllable _ly_ from them, and addyng _ment_ for it, as in these wordes folowynge: propre } parfaite } honeste } habondant } cordial } prompte } incessante } real } instante } due } ment commune } ly signant } competente } reuerente } decente } couarde } harde } loial } condicional } compendieuse } OTHER ADVERBES IN GENERALL. this day huy all this day meshuy in this day au jourdhuy yester day hiér before yester day auant hiér the tother day lautre hiér to morowe demain the day after lendemain after to morowe appres demain from hens forth desormais ones agayne derechief from hens forth dicy en auant from hens forwarde de la en auant this yere ouan al this yere mesouan not long a gone nagaires but lytel agone depuis nagare { lytel { petit { sith { lytel depuis { pou { { lytel { peu of tyme de temps anone tost anone or sone tantost incontynent incontinent by and by cy pris cy mis nowe maintenant { up { sus { now { here ore { ca { { there { la Page 926 yere while orains nowe ades at this tyme a ceste heure somtyme jadis tyme paste temps fust than lors from than des lors at that tyme alors for that tyme pour lors for all that toutesfois alwayes toutteuoies many tymes maintefois oftentymes souuentefois at somtyme a la fois many tymes pluisieurs fois betyme parfois somtyme aulcunnefois in the meane tyme endementiers duryng the tyme entandis whyle it was tandis alwayes toudis ever tousjours never jamais for ever a jamais never syns oncques puis never more oncques mais than donques at that tyme adonques alredy desja unto this jusques cy unto that jusques la moche moult right or most tres in maner de maniere in so moche en tant in the meane whyle entretant duryng that tyme ce pendant of maner de sorte in maner en sorte in a facyon en fachon of facyon de fachon in suche wyse tellement as it was quellement almost quasy natwithstandyng nonobstant withstandyng obstant natwithstandyng non pourtant nat neverthelesse non pourquant neverthelesse neant mains howbeit combien all beit ja soit as comme howe, and howe moche comment what quoy to what a quoy of what de quoy in what en quoy Page 927 for what pour quoy upon what sur quoy as what come quoy selfely mesmement farre loing a longe whyle longuement more late plus tard to soone or tymely trop tempre ADVERBES OF SWERYNG. i, so ouy, sy no, nay non, nenny in earnes a certes for earnes pour certes of earnes de certes in certayne a certain for certayne pour certain of certayne de certain certaynly certainement in trewth en uerité in sothe en uray for truthe pour uerité for sothe pour uray of truthe de uerité of sothe de uray trewly urayment veritably veritablement in my God en mon Dieu in good lucke en bon omen by the faith of par la foy de fayre women belles femmes I you assure je vous asseure I promyse you je vous promectz I certifye you je vous certifie without any faute sans faulte in my trewth en ma uerité in my loyaltie en ma loyaulté in my worthynesse en ma prudommie by my holynesse par ma saincteté trewe man preudhomme trewe woman preude femme yare so aincois ainsy otherwyse aultrement also aussy quickely uitement goodly bonnement betyme tempre tymely temprement early matin at the prick of day au point du jour the dawing of the day a laube du jour at the dayeng a lajourner at the cockes crowynge au chant du coc at pryme a prime at thirde hour a heure de tierce at noone a none at mydde day a mydy at evynsong a vespre Page 928 at evenyng au soir betwene lyght and dark entre chien et loup at the sonne settynge a soleil couchant at the nyght a la nuyt at mydnyght a mie nuyt at the day au jour ADVERBES OF NOMBRES, WITH THEIR DIRIVATYVES, WHERE THE LONGEST OF TWO BEYNG LYKE IS FOR THE FEMYNYNE, AND THE TOTHER MASCULYNE: AND BOTHE OF ONE SIGNIFYCATION. UNG I fyrst, fyrst, emprent, premier fyrstly, one premierment, ung, une onely, evyn, unie, unicque, uniement, uny, evenly, union, unie, uniement, unite, of one voyce, of variable signification. uniuocque, equiuocque. onely all onely seul, seulle, seulement, seullet, solytary. seullette, solitaire. DEUX II seconde, seconde, deusiésme: second, seconde, double, doubled, double, doublé, doublée, doublenesse, dualité, duplicité, doublement, secondary, parted in two. secondement, bipartit. TROIS III thyrde, thirdly, tiers, tierce, tiercement, the thirde, troisiéme, trinité, all one, ternil, triangle, triplicité, triple, terciane, tripartit. QUATRE IIII fourth, the fourth, quart, quarte, quatriesme, fourthly, quartement, quaternité, the fourth parte, square, quadril, quarré, quarrée, foure cornarde, quadrangle, foure double, a crosse way, quadruple, quarefour, the quartayne, forthy, quartaine, quarantaine, forthy or lent, lent. quadragesime, quaresme. CINCQ V fyfth, fyfthly, quint, quinte, quintement, the fyfth, of fyve, cinquiesme, quintuplice, pentecost, whit sonday. cinquesme. Page 929 SIX VI the sixte sixtely sixt, sixte, sixtement, of sixe, sixe cornarde sextil, sextangle, sisiéme, sexagesime. SEPT VII the seventh seventhly, septiesme, septiesmement, ones sevyn, in sevyn septaine, septuplice, sevyn corners. septangle, septuagesime. HUIT VIII the eight huitaine, huitiésme huitiésmement NEUF IX the nynth nyne neuuiésme, neuuayne, nynthly neuuiésmement DIX X tenne dix, disiésme, is he that hath charge of x men. desinier, disayne. ONSE XI theleventh onsiéme onsaine. DOUSE XII twelfthly dousiéme, dousaine. TRAISE XIII the thirtenth traisiéme. QUATORSE XIIII the fourtenth quatorsiéme QUINSE XV the fyftenth quinsiéme. SAISE XVI the sixtenth saisiéme DIX SEPT XVII the sevententh dix septiésme DIX HUIT XVIII the eightenth dishuitiésme. DISNEUF XIX the nyntenth disneufiésme VINGT XX twenty the twenteth vintaine, vingtiéme TRENTE XXX the thirteth, thirtie trentiesme, trentaine QUARANTE XL the fourteth quarantiésme CINQUANTE L acompte of fyftie the fyfteth cincquantaine, cincquantiésme. Page 930 SOISSANTE LX the sixteth threscore. soissantieme, soisantaine. SEPTANTE LXX the sevynteth septantiésme OCTANTE LXXX the eighteth octantiésme NONANTE XC the nynteth nonantiésme CENT C hundreth, the hundreth, centaine, centiésme, the hundredeth, lykewyse centeniér, centurion. DEUX CENS CC TROIS CENS CCC QUATRE CENTZ CCCC CINQ CENTZ V. C. SIX CENTZ VI. C. SEPT CENTZ VII. C. HUIT CENTZ VIII. C. NEUF CENTZ IX. C. MIL. A THOUSANDE DIX MILE X. M. CENT MILE C. M. UNG MILION M. M. FORMATYON OF THE INDICATYVE PRESENT TENSE. Here after foloweth the maner, howe one shall make and fourme the present of the indicatyve or shewyng mode, of the verbes folowyng. The maner to fourme the present of the verbes infynityve mode, here after folowynge, is: that all those that ende in _er_, puttyng the _r_ away, and makyng the _e_ a consonant, ye shall have the present of the indicatyve, as in these wordes: _parler, appeller, appaiser, appuier_, etc.; puttyng _r_ away, ye have: _parle, appelle, appaise; appuie:_ sayeng, _japelle, tu appelle, il appelle, nous appellons, vous appelles, ilz appellent._ Ye shall neverthelesse except some verbes defectyves, as _aller_ that do make, _je voy, tu vas_, in the present, and such lyke. Also all suche as have _d_ in the last syllable, ye shall leave all the letters commynge after the _d_, and shall adde _s_, or _z_ to it: ye shall have the plurell nombre of them, as in those wordes _tordre, mordre, prendre, attaindre, auaindre_, and such lyke, puttynge _s_ or _z_ to the _d:_ ye shall have _tordz, mordz, prendz, attainz, auaindz:_ howbeit that ye shall nat sounde the sayde _d_, accordynge to the sixte rule in the begynnyng of this worke. Also all those that doth ende in _ir_, as _tenir, uenir_, with all them that be dirivate of them: as _contenir, maintenir, soubstenir, preuenir, reuenir, paruenir, deuenir_, and such lyke, must be all ended in _iens_, as _tiens, viens, contiens,_ Page 931 _maintiens, soubstiens, preuiens, reuiens, paruiens, deuiens._ Sayeng: _je tiens, tu tiens, il tient, nous tenons, vous tenes, ilz tienent._ There is another sorte endyng in _ir_, as _conuertir, assoupir, appourir, attendrir, benir, bannir_, etc. the whiche chaungynge the _r_ in _s_, ye have _conuertis, assoupis, appouris, benis, bannis;_ sayeng: _je bannis, tu bannis, il bannist, nous bannissons, vous bannisses, ilz bannissent;_ and lykewyse of the tothers. Also there must be many except, as _consentir, assentir, mourir, querir, dormir,_ whiche do make their present: _je consens, je assens, je meurs, je quiers, je dors, tu dors, il dort, nous dormons, vous dormes, ilz dorment._ Also there is two other that doth ende in oir, the tone hath an _a_, in the penultyme syllable, as _auoir_ and _scauoir;_ whiche do make _ay_ and _scay_ in the present. The tother maner hath lyke termynation without an _a_, as _apperceuoir, deuoir, pouruoir, concepuoir, decepuoir,_ whiche do make their present, _japercoy, je doy, je pouruoy, je concoy, je decoy;_ how be it _ualloir_ and _uolloir_ must be except which do make in the present _je vaulz_, and _voulloir, je veulz, tu ueulz, il ueult, nous uoulons, uous uoules, ilz ueulent._ Also there is another sorte endynge in _e_, in the infinitive, as saying, _laughyng, redyng, frieng, _dire, rire, lire, frire,_ etc. say, laugh, rede, frye; which make in their present, _dis, ris, lis, fris;_ sayeng, _je lis, tu lis, il list, nous lisons, vous lises, ilz lisent._ Also there ben others endyng in _ore_, as _clore_, shitte, with all his compost, that is to saye, _disclore_, unshitte, _forclore_, shitte out, etc. whiche do make in their present, _clos, declos, forclos,_ etc. and for cause that rules ben infinites, and that they ben more necessary for the teacher than for the lernar, I suppose that those above sayd ben sufficyent for the indicative present. It is to be noted that in the frenche tongue is but two cojugacions: the first shal be discerned and knowen by the first persone plurel nombre of the present in the shewynge moode, for where the sayd fyrst persone hath no _s_ in the seconde sillable before his termination or ende, than it is of the we love, we have, we bette, we gyve, first, as in these verbes, _aymons, auons, batons, donons,_ with such lyke; and where there is an _s_ begynning the last syllable of the forsayd fyrst persone, than it is of the second, as in these verbes, _baisons, taisons, brisons, faisons, disons, lisons, pensons,_ etc. Page 932 Ye shal note lykewyse that in the indicative mode ye have for the moste parte, foure preterites, that is to say, the imperfect, parfect and indiffinitive with the plusperfect, whiche ben communely founde in all verbes save in them that ben defectives, as it apereth by this verbe, I say, thou sayest, _je dis, tu dis,_ wherfore the preterit imperfyte is: I dyde say; _je disoie;_ the perfect, I sayde _je deis;_ the indiffynitive, I have sayd; _jay dit;_ the plusperfect, I had sayd. _jauoie dit._ Nevertheles for the most part there is no difference in englysshe betwene the perf. and imperf. that is to say, betwene _I dyd say_, and _I sayd:_ but bycause it is otherwise in french, I must use the said difference. OF THE FORMATION OF THE PRETERIT IMPARFYTE. Ye shall forme the preterit imperf. in all verbes of both conjugations by the fyrst person plurell nombre, turnyng this syllable _ons_, whiche is in every verbe, in _oie_ for the fyrst conjugation: and _sons_ in _soie_, in the second, soundynge _s_, lyke a _z_, as _zons, zoie._ Example for the fyrst conjugation as in this verbe _aymons_, whiche is the fyrst person plurell nombre of _jaime_, chaungyng this syllable _ons_ in _oie_, ye have _aimoie;_ of _auons_, ye have _auoie;_ of _donnons, donnoie_. Example for the seconde conjugation, as in these worde: _baisons_, turnynge the last syllable, whiche is _sons_ in _soie_, ye have of _brisons, brisoie;_ of _faisons_, _faisoie;_ of _disons, disoie;_ and the seconde persone shall termyne in _ois_, the thirde in _oit;_ the fyrst plurell nombre in _ions_ for the fyrst, and _sons_ for the seconde, as it shall appere clerely in the conjugations herafter folowing, and this rule is infallyble for all preterites imparfyte. OF THE PRETERIT PARFYTE. The preterit parfyte, as well of the fyrst as of the seconde conjugation hath dyvers termynations, but there is four speciall, that is to say in _us_, in _is_, in _ins_ and in _ay_. Example of _us:_ as _je bus, je fus, je leus, je congneus,_ etc. of _is:_ as _je escripuis, je deis, je mis, je feis._ of _ins:_ as _je tins, je prins, je uins, japrins._ of _ay:_ as _jaimay, je donnay, je baisay, je prisay, je laissay._ Page 933 And so the verbe that ende in _us_ shalbe, _je bus, tu bus, il but, nous bumes, vous butes, ilz burent._ Example of _is:_ as _je feis, tu feis, il feist, nous fismes, vous feistes, ilz firent._ of _ins:_ as _je uins, tu uins, il uint, nous uimmes, uous uintes, ilz uindrent._ of _ay:_ as _je donnay, tu donnas, il donna, nous donnasmes, vous donnastes, ilz donnerent._ THE PRETERIT INDIFFYNITYVE. Ye shall ever fourme the preterit indiffynityve with the thre persons, both singuler and plurell nombres of this verbe (have) in the present tensis, saying, _jay aymé_, I have loved; _tu as aymé_, thou hast loved; _il a aymé, nous auons, uous aues, ilz ont aymé;_ and likewise of all other verbes with the sayd have, as _jay dit, jay bu, jay lu, jay fait._ OF THE FORMATION OF THE PRETER PLUS PARFYTE. The preterit most parfect is ever formed with the preterit imperfyte of the foresayd verbe (have) as the indiffynityve is with the presente, sayeng I have done, thou haddest done, that is to say, _jauoie dit, jauoie aymé, jauoie bus, jauoie requis;_ and so thorowe the thre persons, never chaungynge the terminacion of the verbe, as _jauoie dit, tu auois dit, il auoit dit, nous auions dit, uous auies dit, ilz auoient dit;_ and so of all other lyke. THE FUTUR OF THE INDICATYVE. Ye shall understande that all maner verbes in generall ben termyned in their thre persons synguler and plurell nombres after this wayes: _ray, ras, ra: rons, res, ront_, so that ye shall take the verbe in the present, and put the _s_ away at the later ende, if it be of the seconde or the fyrst conjugacion, and adde therto the foresayd terminacyon: as in this worde _dis_, I saye; ye shall take awaye _s_ and adde _ray_, sayeng _diray, diras, dira, dirons, dires, diront. Jaimeray, tu aymeras, il aymera, nous aymerons, uous aymeres, ilz aymeront_. There be some verbes must have more addicion, as _dors_, I slepe, whiche must have _mi_, added unto it, sayeng, _dormiray_, and _boy, drinke,_ which sygnify I drinke; ye shal nat say _boiray_, but _buueray_, I shall drinke; and so of some other, as _doy_, ought; and _metre_, I put. How be it they be all termined with the above sayd termination. Page 934 OF THE IMPERATIVE, WHICHE SIGNIFYETH COMMAUNDYNG. The imperative for the most parte is ever lyke the verbe present tensis of the indicatyve moode, leavyng the fyrst persone and puttyng the pronowne after the verbe, for it differs nat: save in the thyrde persone synguler, and plurell nombre of some verbes, as _jay_, whiche doth make in the thirde person synguler, _il a_; and the thirde persone of the imperatyve is _quil ayt_, or _ayt cil_, ou _celuy_; and lykewyse of _scay_. But of the moste parte of others, it is lyke the present, leavyng the fyrst persone, whiche is nat in the imperatyve synguler nombre, as in this verbe _jaime_, _tu aime_, _il aime_, _nous aimons_, _uous aimes_, _ilz aiment_; which his present is that is a lyke in the imperatyve, leavynge the fyrst persone, sayeng _aime tu_, _aime cil_, _aimons nous_, _aimes uous_, _quilz aiment_; puttyng ever the pronowne after the verbe. The sayde imperatyve hath two futures, the tone affyrmatyve, and the tother negatyve, whiche have evermore these frenche wordes going before do, kepe, se, every person: _faitz_, _garde_, _voy_, Se that thou speke; loke that he move nat; as in this example: _Voy que tu parle_; _garde quil ne se meuue_; _prenons garde que nous ne mouuons_, _que vous ne mouues_; _prenez garde quilz ne se meuuent_; and lykewise of the affyrmative, leavyng this worde _ne_. THE OPTATYVE. After the olde grammer was wonte to be all one with his preterit imperf. but we shall make hym different from hym, puttyng before the verbe this worde _oh_, or _je vous prie_, sayeng, _oh que je boiue_, _je te prie que tu boiue_, etc. The sayd optatyve hath thre preterites, that is to say, imperf., parfyte, and plusperf., puttynge alwayes _a ma uoullente_, or _plust a Dieu_ before the verbe. The preterit imperf. is moost termyned in _usse, inse_, and in _asse_, whiche may serve lykewyse for the present, as in these verbes: _Pleust à Dieu que jaimasse_; _a ma uoullente que tu me congneusse_; _pleust a Dieu que tu prinsses courage_. The parfyte is moche lyke the preterit indiffynityve of the indicatyve, as a _ma uoullente que jaie aimé_. The plus perfyt hath ever this verbe _jeusse_ (I had) before hym, as _jeusse aimé_, _jeusse dit_, etc. His presente doth serve for his future, addyng either _tantost_ or _demain_, sayeng _pleust a Dieu que je uoise demain auec uous; a ma uoullente que deuiegne bon, a ma uoullente quil soit tantost corrige_. Page 935 THE SUBJUNCTIVE OR CONJUNCTIVE. The conjunctive is lyke the optative in his present and preterittes, save that we say in stede of _pleust a Dieu, a ma uoullente; sy, come, quant,_ or _ueu_, sayeng for the present, _sy je fuisse maintenant, comme jay congneu, quant jeusse sentu._ The sayd conjunctyve hath two futures, the tone hath alwayes this worde _mais_, goyng before the verbe, as _mais que je soie joieulz_, etc. The tother is borowed of the potenciall mode, and hath for his termynation, _roy, rois, roit: rions, ries, roient_, as _jaimeroie, tu aimerois, il aimeroit, nous aimerions, uous aimeries, ilz aimeroient;_ and likewyse of all others. The termination of the infinityve shall appere in the verbes here after folowyng, wherfore in eschewyng prolixite, I will no further speke of it. The preterit must ever have this verbe infynityve moode: _auoir_, before hym, as _auoir parlé, auoir dit, auoir mordz_, etc. The gerundyve is formed of the infinityve, and of the participle present tensis, as _de parler, pour conferer, en communicant_, etc. The overthrowen or supins which ben called _reuerses_, ye shall ever put the preterit parfit or the second futur of the conjunctive before him, sayeng: _je te uoulsisse_, or _je te uouldroye bien aimé de Dieu_, etc. A RULE FOR TO MAKE PARTICIPLES, ADVERBES AND NOWNES OF THE VERBES FOLOWYNGE. All maner verbes infinitive mode endyng in _er_, takyng the _r_ away, ye have the preterit masculin, and addyng an _e_ to the _é_ that remaine, ye have the participle feminin of the preterit tensis, as in this verbe _enseigner_, take away the _r_, ye have _enseigné_, which is masculin, and addyng another _e_ to it, ye have _enseignée_, which is the preterit feminin, soundyng the first _e_ as a uowel, and if ye adde _ment_ to it, ye shal have _enseignement_, which is an adverbe, and puttyng both _es_ away, and addyng _ant_, ye have the participle present, whiche is _enseignant_, and this rule is generall for the termination. Also all verbes endyng in _ir_, as _uenir_, and such as come of him must al change _ir _in _u_ for the preterit masculyn, and addyng an _e _to the sayd _u_ for the feminin. Exemple for the masculin, if ye take _ir_ away from _uenir, tenir, souuenir, soubstenir, maintenir_, and adde _u_ for it, ye shall have, _uenu, tenu, souuenu, maintenu_, and addyng an _e_ to it, ye shall have the feminin, whiche Page 936 be, _uenue, tenue, souuenue, maintenue_, etc. and if ye put away the sayd _u_ and _e_, and put _ant_ for it, ye shall have the participle present tensis, as _uenant, tenant, souuenant, maintenant_. There ben other verbes ending in _ir_, whiche must chaunge the _r_ in _e_ for the feminin, and without the _e_ for the masculin, as _benir_, take away the _r_, ye have _beny_, which is preterit masculin, and adde an _e_ to it, ye have _benie_, whiche is the feminin, and lykewyse of _bannir, banni, bannie; rauy, rauie_, and adding _ssant_ to the masculin, ye have _banissant, benissant, rauissant. Mourir_ and _querir_ must be excepted: for _mourir_ hath _mort_ for his masculyn, and _morte_ for the femynyn, and _querir, quis_ and _quise; mourant_ and _querant_ for the participle present tense. Also those wherof the infynityve termyne or ende in _tre_, or in _dre_, the _e_ beyng a consonant, as _batre, abatre, combatre, rabatre, debatre: pendre, fendre, deffendre, tendre, rendre, uendre_, must all chaunge _re_ in _u_ for the masculyn, sayeng _batu, abatu, combatu, pendu, fendu, deffendu, uendu, tondu_, addyng an _e_ to it for the femynyn, sayeng _batue, uendue, fendue, tondue_; ye must except _prendre_ with all his dirivatives, and make _pris, prise; repris, reprise; compris, comprise; mespris, mesprise_. There ben other that ende in _e_, as _mectre_, with all that of hym ben diryvate; whiche must folowe the sayd rule, as _permis, permise; mis, mise; demis, demise; commis, commise; promis, promise; remis, remise; compris_, etc. and bycause they be noted for the most parte among the Catalogue of verbes, and howe ye shall fourme lykewyse both nownes and adverbes: and also that it is harde for to fynde a rule generall and infallyble, I do here termyne the sayde rules. HERE AFTER FOLOWETH SOME VERBES AFTER THE LETTERS OF THE _A, B, C_. A. to cast downe abattre to barke abaier to stoupe abaisser to araye abiller to bourde aborder to water abruuer to make a fole or beest abestir to abuse abuser to leane the backe adosser to distroy abolir to make swete adoulcir to dresse or to order addouber to warne aduertir to touche adeser to auowe aduouer to wyne or to adde adjouter to swere adjurer Page 937 to go out of the way adirer to clyppe accoller to pacifye accoyser to tryme a woman achesmer to agre accorder to aquent accoynter to gader accumuler to bow downe, croked accroper to accepte accepter to bye acheter to harken accoupter to certyfye acertener to cache with a hoke acrocher to directe adrecer to mynister administrer to ordre at pleasure affaitter to make one lame affoller to make sharpe affiler to put on a mantel affubler to make fast affycher to make feble affoyblir to make fre affranchir to dresse agencer to tache with a hoke aggrapper to make more greuous aggrauer to tache aggripper to knele agenouller to flatter alechier to cherysshe aloser to gader amasser to wrappe amallotter to tye amarer to wake ambuler to leade amener to mende amender to love aimer to make lesse amaindrir to make softe amollir to make leane amesgrir to make smale amenuser to heape amonceler to drye adurer to arnat or prepare aourner to gyve sucke allaiter to kyndel alumer to alter alterer to waste anuller to anounce anoncer to appere apparoistre to pacify apaiser to aparel appareiller to call appeller to perceyve apercepuoir to make redy aprester to learne aprendre to flatre with myrth aploudir to aproche aprocher Page 938 to waxe poore apourir to tame apriuoiser to appoint apointer to leane upon appuier to go before anticiper to make propre aproprier to assemble assembler to assigne assigner to assure asseurer to kyl with a clubbe assommer to fulfyl assouuir to make one bownde asseruir to assople assouldre to make sadde assoupir to invade assailir to consent assentir to flatter assotir to make to swere assermenter to make subget assubgetter to resemble assimuller to fall in company associer to helpe assister to reste a man arester to enquere one araisonner to come or to lande arriuer to ronde or go about arondir to water or sparcle water arrouser to fal in the company arouter to tye atacher to tary or abyde attendre to dresse atourner to catche subtelly attraper to hitte or ouertake attaindre to reche auaindre to take hede auiser to go about auironner to auance auancer to have auoir to gyve auctorite auctoriser to somen adjourner to dawne ajourner to jeopard aduenturer to swalow or go downe aualler B to bete battre to buylde baatir to cast butter upon rost bastir to banysshe bannir to bast the roste bassér to stoupe baissér to kysse baisér to mocke bauér to barre a dore barrér to barter baretér to gape beer to gape ll. basllier to blote ll. barbouller Page 939 to bable lyke a duck barbottér to plee the fole baguenauder to beate at ars bacculer to shake a sworde brandir to brew brassér to bragge braguér to stutte begguér to ete lyke a gote broutér to brawle or to wage bransler to rocke the cradel berchér to hunt beres bersér to blysse benir to begge belistrér to bourde or jape bourdér to bathe baignér to put bouttér to crye or wepe braire to breke briser to speke fayre blandir to juste behourdér to bargayne barguignér to blame blasmer to swere blasphemér to yexe ll. balliér to bable ll. babillér to swepe baliér to stut balbutér to lyspe besguér to shave barbiér to blasonne blassonnér to drinke boire to eate gredely briffér to springe bourjonér to budde bouttonnér to set a broche brochér to bridel brider to worke besongnér to blotte broullér to bribe briber to hurte blesser to sethe or boyle boullonner to delve bescher to tourne away bestourner to dounse balloyer to cut busshes buissoner to burne brusler to stutte brettonner to brunishe brunir C to play at cardes carder to trifle cabasser to hide cacer to breke casser to hunte chasser to spit cracer to chope brede chapler to clatter caqueter Page 940 to rele chanceler to shake canceler to tickel catouller to danse caroler to cloute showes carler to charme charmer to hewe charpenter to carie charier to put on hoses chausser to caffe or warme chauffer to charge charger to do reverence chaproner to over charge crauenter to cherisshe cherir to shyfte cheuir to geder ceullier to certify certifier to walke cheminer to somme citer to tame cicurer to take right away ciffrer to cleyme clamer to shit clore to halte clocer to cover couurir to guyde conduire to knowe congnoistre to runne courrir to counsell consellér to ronne togider concourrir to correcte corrigér to speke togider conferér to situat colloquér to stoupe coytir to constrayne cohercér to reduce narowly coartér to confounde confoundre to go about costoiér to compasse compasser to nayle clouér to contryve controuuér to whelpe chiennér to tourne to a purpose conuertir to reken comptér to comprehende comprendre to strive contendre to make composér to compile compilér to discerne concernér to kepe conseruér to comaunde comandér to fortyfe corroborér to constrayne contraindre to graunt consentir to suffre comportér to forgyve condonnér to conceyve concepuoir Page 941 as liker throw a cloth coulér to corrumpe or corrupt corompre to shrive confessér to deffende cohibér to conforte confortér to ayde consoler to be ydel connuér to be suerte caucionér to sowe coudre to resyste contrestér to lye couchér to beshitte conchiér to winke clignér to drede craindre to feare crennir to burste creuér to farte or to burste crepitér to afferme creancér to crye criér to bake cuire to smarte cuyre D to dampne damnér to danse dansér to date dattér to cast a dart darder to aske demander to pay the costes deffroiér to disconfit desconfire to defende deffendre to unnayle desclouér to owe debuior to debate debatre to overcome debellér to juge decidér to begile defraudér to go out of the way desuoiér to denye deniér to spende despendre to unhange despendre to dye deuiér to purpose deliberér to unbynde desliér to devore deuorér to take away destituér to distrempe destrempér to disloge deslogér to deuine deuinér to bacbite detractér to deceyve decepuoir to gyve sentence determinér to discusse desrainér to distroy desmollir to distourbe destourber to untrusse destroussér to deliver deliurér to unneste deuisér Page 942 to prejudice deroguer to put of rementes ll. despoullér to disprayse desprisér to devise deuisér to come downe descendre to unfolde desuelopér to deprave deprauér to put downe deprimér to make fowle deturpér to unknowe descognoistre to forsake delaissér to devoure deglubér to sease desistér to robbe desrobér to go out of order desreglér to temper destrempér to unbridel desbridér to discharge deschargér to discorde descordér to put downe desmectre to denye sayeng desdire to put out deboutér to uncover descouurir to take away lande desterrér to disenherite desheritér to breke faste desunér to distroy destruire to dishonoure deshonorér to defyle deflorér to go from merite desmeritér to unpurvey despourueoir to rele desuidér to discorage descoragér to put out of the place desloquér to distroy the people depopulér to take awaye maydenhed despucelér to spoyle despredér to set forth and go back desmarchér to unbende a crosbowe descochér to clatter out descliquér to unhose deschaussér to spoyle despouller to unbende desbendér to unlace deslachér to make myrth as byrdes degoiger to deserve deseruir to delate delater to distroy dissiper to dispute discepter to dispence dispenser to say dire to have lordeshippe dominer to gyve donnér to slepe dormir to tame domptér to display despliér to unarme desarmér Page 943 E to sporte esbatre to bashe esbahir to be bawlde esbaudir to blusshe esblouir to here or harken escoutér to set upon the spit embrochér to teche endoctrinér to kepe skowte wache eschauguetér to scarche esgratignér to make softe emollir to wexe harde endurcir to wrappe enfardeler to folde up enueloper to put in the ovyn enfourner to esteme esmér to cromme esmiér to spare espargnér to sparcle espardre to sparcle about esparpilliér to enforce enforcér to hunt away enchassér to lyghten esclarcir to hyde away esconsér to eschewe escheoir to shake of excutér to bringe to passe executér to be delivered of a childe enfantér to breke enfraindre to sinke enfondrér to sinke enfonsér to set togider narowly enferrer to go out of the way escartér to put or blot out effacer to go out of the way egarér to waxe great engrossir to move esmouuoir to clyppe enbracér to lyght esclerér to scape eschappér to skyrmysshe escarmuchér to quarter escartelér to mocke escharmir to make afrayde espouentér to be marveyled esmerueillér to gete corage esuertuér to prove esprouuér to spurre esperonnér to understande entendre to cancre ll. enrouillér to waxe madde enragér to waxe riche enrichir to breake entamer to put in prison emprisonnér to grynde esmouldre to stoupe estoupér to sette at large eslargir Page 944 to sette up erigér to exalte exaltér to styre one exagitér to put out of order exorbitér to be buse exercitér to take without ryght extorquér to distroy exterminér to excuse excusér to shake of escussér to say nay escondire to declare explicquér to declare epiloquér to go about enuironnér to serche nygh expliquér to poyson empoysonnér to wrappe entortillér to flee escorchér to spye espiér to pluc away esraciér to hope esperér to enmayle esmaillér to stere out the brain esceruelér to clene the nose esmouchér to waxe a slepe endormir to wake esueillér to invade empaindre to press on espraindre to kyndle esprendre to teche enseignér to launch a bote esquipér to shake escourre to set a thyng in the wynde esuentér to drye uppe essuer to be abasshed estonnér to put liker in a vessel entonnér to put in the case estuyér to quenche estaindre to stablisshe establir to strive estriuér to sparcle estincilér to inforce enforcér to take corage encouragér to encrease encroistre to set a stringe upon a bowe encorder to write escripre to curse escomunier to undertake enprendre to undertake entreprendre to stretche estendre to tye with a chayne enchainér to close enclore to mete encontrér to borowe empruntér to bury ensepuelir to move esmouuoir to waxe riche enrichir to put in the grounde enterrér Page 945 to stanche estancer to lede away enmener to eschew euitér to set upon a hepe entassér to cut entaillér to folow ensuiuir to dye espirér to kyndle esprendre to lette empeschér to enbrace embrachér to make thicke espessir to ladle espuisér to bere away emportér to exorte enortér to nese estrenuér to sende enuoiér to scratche esgratignér to geve the first hansel estrinér to stoppe estanchér to pluck up parforce enrachér to kyndle embrasér to waxe fayre embellir to spotte with myre embouér to beshytte embrenér to scalde eschaudér to chaffe eschauffér to pluc from the shelle eschallér to make worse empirér to set in presse empressér to except exceptér to banishe exillér to breke a dere euiscerér F to talke fabulér to forge fabricquér to go about nought fatroullér to fantesy fantasiér to mow faulchér to penetre faussér to make false falsifiér to fayle faillir to do faire to paint as women do farder to wrappe fardeler to play or mocke farcér to stuffe mete farsir to feyne faindre to facion a thynge fassonnér to helpe fauorisér to make one wery facér to fawne faonnér to swadel fachér to make fertil fecondér to cleve fendre to strike ferir to make hay fenér to make feste festoiér Page 946 to put the levain fermenter to show horses ferrér to shytt fermér to forme or shape figurér to spinne filér to kasten a thynge on the grounde fichér to congele foitir to melte fondre to forge forger to hurte or to dresse cloth fouller to serche ll. fouller to furre fourrer to provaile fourboullir to go out of the way fouruier to waxe madde forsener to be killed with tempest fouldroier to play the fole folloier to confort a membre with a bathe fomenter to donge fienter to lay out fonser to shitte out forclore to furbisshe fourbir to banisshe forbanir to forfect forfaire to draw from another fortraire to forswere forjurer to scourge fouetter to fly fouir to fetche vitall fourrager to go from the lyne forligner to enforce forcer to shape former to use idel wordes flagorner to flatter flatter to smell flairer to tormente flageller to pipe flajoller to wade flaistrir to bow fleschir to florisshe flourir to haunte frequenter to quake fremir to frye fricquassér to frye frire to play the galant fringner to shake of the ague frissonnér to bruse froiér to rubbe frotér to breake froissér to ronne away fouir to assyst fulcir to thretten fulminér to fume fumér to disceyve frustrér G to mocke gabér to lay a wayes gagér Page 947 to gage a vessell gaugér to distroy any thyng garconnér to kepe gardér to garnysshe garnir to graunt garantir to galope a horse galloper to lette blode garsér to clatter garrulér to waste gaistér to rejoise gaudir to make mery, or to prike gallér to wynne gaigner to lye downe gesir to dresse gencér to frese gellér to turmente gehinér to confesse gehir to playne gemir to double geminér to tourne gerér to discryve the world or therth geographer to springe germiner to eate as a glotton gourmander to say meate gouster to droppe goutter to governe gouuerner to parbreke gosiller to barke as a fulmer glatir to gleane glenner to glorifye glorifier to glose gloser to folde togyder glomerer to glew glutiner to clawe grater to grave or sculpe grauer to noy greuer to grese botes gresser to hayle gresler to sclyde ll. griller to sclyde glisser to scratche griffer to grynne gn. grigner to gryppe or to clyme gripper to grudge gn. grongner to curle as a cattle gruler to heale guerir to rewarde guerdonner to forsake guerpir to caste geler to make warre guerroier to complayne guermenter to voyde guenchir to lyfte up guinder to gyde guyder to watche guetter to loke with one eye guigner Page 948 H to leave alone habandonner to have plentie habonder to cutte small hacher to haunte hanter to be sonne burnde hasler to plucke up ll. haller to rele threde hapler to catche happer to harpe herper to hate hair to pyke a quarell harceler to pyke a quarell harier to ryse up haulser to play at dyce hasarder to harborowe hebreger to lodge hosteler to harowe hercher to ney as a horse hennir to succede to heritage heriter to move hobber to be wery hoder to spotte honnir to make one ashame hontoier to grudge gn. hongner to put on botes houser to wynde up housser to calle hucher to suppe humer to humme huner to stryke with horns hurter to be meke humilier to hurtel togider hurteler to make a creste lyke a coke fighting hurer to houle as a dogge huler to set up the heres as a hedge dog herissonner I to boost jacter to chatter as byrdes jargonner to folowe imiter to trouble infester to say unto inferer to injury injurier to put upon inculquer to call inciter to bringe in introduire to stablysh a bisshop introniser to put in parforce intruser to enquere interroguer to teache instruire to attempte inuestiguer to finde inuenter to make unhappe infortuner to move instiguer to reprove improperer to wrappe intriguer to sacrify immoler Page 949 to invade inuader to intoxicat infectioner to be importunat importuner to require implorer to call inuocquer to gete impetrer to put on imputer to jeopart ingerer to inspire inspirer [missing English verb] involver to printe imprimer to cal to inviter to ordenne instituer to let interpeller to induce induire to teche or bringe in introduire to juste jouster to play jouer to joine joindre to fast juner to juge juger to swere jurer to justify justifier to do justice justicier to angre irriter to winter iuerner to go out issir to cut the trouth juguler to ronne upon one irruer to use dronkenship iurongner L to labour labourer to lace lacer to lose or let go lascer to provoke lacesser to leave laisser to wery lasser to lance lancer to stele larciner to sile a wale lambroisser to complayne lamenter to drinke as a dogge lapper to wepe larmoier to wepe lacrimer to stone to deth lapider to larde larder to lathe with lathes latter to wache lauer to lyke lescher to lyfte leuer to lure, as a hawke leurer to tye lier to fyle as a smyte limer to deliver liurer to rede lire to here louer to lawde loer Page 950 to shine luire to wrestell luiter M to chewe macher to mary marier to angre marir to blaspheme maulgrier to barguine marchander to martir martirer to martir martiriser to mastry maistrier to waxe leane maigrir to worke as a mason massonner to mainteyn maintenir to curse mauldire to handle manier to make foule maculer to make blacke machurer to trede marcher to marke marquer to hamer marteler to putte mectre to begge mendier to muse mediter to eate menger to thanke mercier to backebyte mesdire to medyll mesler to reken falce mescompter to do a mysse mesprendre to disprease mespriser to murdre meurdrir to lye mentir to deserve meriter to mysknowe mescognoistre to loke in a glasse mirer to dyg in the grounde miner to lede mener to asswage metiguer to shewe monstrer to mortifie mortifier to grounde mouldre to move mouuoir to make a molde mouller to wite ll. mouller to mue as a hawke muer to hide mucer to fortify munir to multiply multiplier to go to hervest moissonner all one messonner to playe the husbande mesnager to byte mordre to dye mourir to mounte monter to swepe the nose moucer to morfounde morfoundre Page 951 to mocke mocquer to put one yvell maumectre to mysdo mesfaire all one mesprendre N to swym nager to shewe narrer to serve at tennes nacqueter to give posession nantir to wounde naurer to be borne naistre to make mattes nater to set sinewes on a sadle neruer to make clene nettoier to denye nier to bride nidger to snuf with the nose niffler to becke with hedde niquer to knytte nouer to swimme noer to drowne noier to nombre nombrer to notte notter to nourishe norir to shade noncer to make black noircer to certify notiffier to name nommer to hurt nuyre to strive noisir O to obaye obair to be ocupyed occuper to darken obscurer to say yvell obtrecter to obtaine obtenir to bynde obliger to binde is all one obliger bloted forgotten obliterer to forgette oublier to withstande obuier to darken obfusquer to offende offencer to offrende offrir to kyll occire to hide occulter to make fole ordoier to ordayne ordonner to leve obmectre to hurte oultrager to uttre oultrer to obtaine obtenir to graunte obtemperer to constrayne opprimer to opose oposer to wene oppiner to oppresse oppresser Page 952 to dare oser to pray orer to enoisel as a hauke oisiler to warye ourdir to worke ouurer to open ouurir to take awaye oster to here ouir to graunte ottroier P to forgyve pardonner to prepare parer to speke parler to painte paindre to forswere parjurer to parforme parformer to make an ende parfaire to lese perdre to passe passer to perce percer to perceyve percepuoir to suffre permectre to waye peser to thynke penser to do perpetrer to perysshe pericliter to synne pecher to fysshe pescher to preache prescher to penetre or throwe penetrer to presente presenter to contynew preseruer to lose perdre to farte petter to knede pestrir to warantise pleuir to bere porter to thynke pourpenser to walke pourmener to prove prouuer to wepe plourer to dowke plonger to lye down as a hore prostituer to brynge forthe produire to shuldre pousser to powte poussir to bowe ploier to fole as a mare poulener to pygge as a sowe pourceler to sette planter to playde plaider to please plaire to plane planer to make even planier to lay a thynge downe or to rest poser to combe the hedde gn. pigner to pysse pisser Page 953 to prycke picquer to stampe piller to robbe ll. piller to take awaye priuer to banysshe prescripre to presuppose presuposer to beare perhiber to defende prohiber to procure procurer to say before predire to prayse priser to make poudre pulueriser to multiply as birdes pululler to purchase purchasser to polisshe as silver polire to caste downe precipiter to publysshe publier to sounde pasmer to complayne plaindre to lade out water puiser to suffre permectre Q to double furre quadrupler to square quarer to square quadrer to stoupe quatir to douke ou coitir to sertche or demande querir to pyke a quarell quereller to begge as a pardoner quester to move a questyon questionner to begge quemander to quyte quitter to begge quoquiner to play the fole quocarder R to bring lower rabaisser to bate of a somme rabattre to bring agayne ramener to gyve yll wordes ramponer to ravysshe rauir to take away all raser to raunsome ranconner to overtake rataindre to rake with a rake rateler to rampe as a cat ramper to remembre agayne ramenteuoir to alowe it ratifier to refresshe raffreschir to recreate recreér to spyll respandre to answere respondre to rejoyce resjouir to refuse refuser to feare resuer to reduce reduire to refuce recuser Page 954 to lament regretter to restore rendre to rebounde rebunder to reprove reprouuer to rest reposer to grudge gn. recigner to eate at after noon reciner to restore restituer to reherce recencer to resygne resigner to go backe reculer to reforme refermer to shave rere to reherce referer to releve releuer to bewray reueler to reherce reciter to repete repeter to repugne repugner to revoke reuocquer to restore in agayne restablir to restrayne restraindre to robbe rober to cancre ll. rouiller to stare ll. rouller to role rouller to snore ronfler to gnawe ronger to ruffle rouffler to take all away riffler to ryme rimer to rowe rymer to woe a woman rouuer to speke in ones ere runer to use subtilte ruser to repete by him self ruminer to strike agayne reuerberer to shine resplendir to rewarde remunerer to reise agayn resouldre to bye agayne racheter S to salte saller to salute saluer to lepe saulter to ken scauoir to blede saigner to yelke sangloutir to save sauluer to tast sauuorer to heale saner to halowe sainctifier to sacrify sacrifier to wede yvel herbes sarcler to grave sculper to saciate saouler to satisfie satisfaire Page 955 to saw semer to somme semondre to serve seruir to preche sermonner to sojourne sojourner to devide segreger to devyde separer to gyve jugement sentencier to signe signer to sporte solager to suffre souffrir to suspecte soupeconner to sawe soier to wysshe souhaiter to overcome sourmonter to subdue soubmectre to dreame songer to slombre sommeiller to assoyle souldre to syghe soupirer to beare or staye soubstenir to remembre souuenir to come sodenly souruenir to swete suer to set seoir to sowke sucher to folow suiuir to succede succeder to take sodenly surprendre to ayde suffulter to rone over suronder to soupe soupper to kare soucier to surname sournommer to helpe up sustenter to strayne serrer to flater sugerer to over wene surcuider to be sodenly afraide soursaillir to suffice suppeter to withdrawe soubstraire to begyle suplanter to calcule or nombre supputer to be delygent songnier T to blot or spote tacher to go about tacer to tabure tabourer to prike with heles tallonner to syfte tamisser to dye taindre to dresse ledder tanner to pike quarel tarier to grope or taste taster to taxe taxer to cut ll. tailler to taxe tausser Page 956 to bende or go about tendre to shere tondre to ley a tente tenter to tempte tenter to abide temporiser to make besynesse tempester to tempre temprer to holde tenir to make one wery tenner to vade ternir to ende terminer to karve trancher to chide tencer to plat heres trescher to draw tirer to styrre the fyre tiser to dresse a woman tiffer to clyppe heares touser to tourne tourner to swepe torcher to bete torcer to take away tollir to medle ll. touller to coughe toussir to wip teurdre to traite traiter to go overthwarde trauerser to forshape transmuer to trace, as a hare tracér to strike or blot out tracér to sounde transir to sende transmectre to transporte transporter to betray trahir to tremble trembler to draw trainer to find trouuer to travayle ll. trauailler to begyle tromper to trusse trousser to cut in gobettes tronchonner to falle tumber to kylle tuer to mocke trouffer to tormente tourmenter to just or fyght tournoier to begge truander to go thorow trespercher to expownde tropographer to drawe or to milke a cowe traire to crye crier U to varye uaciller to vayncquysshe uaincre to be worthe ualloir to fanne corne uaner to boste uanter Page 957 to varye uarier to be avenged uenger to go aboute uacquer to selle uendre to comme uenir to fysel uener to uernysshe uernir to boxe uentouser to verifye uerifier to make verses uersifier to serche the uttermoste uentiler to lye on the bely uentrouller to fil the cup uerser to make wynde uenter to shyt the bolte uerrouller to make grene uerdoier to shame uergonder to fysell uessir all one uesner to watche ll. uellier to se ueoir to muse uiser to vysyte uiseter to live uiure to turne uirer to shame uituperer to pisse uriner to put out uoyder to devoure uorrer to gather grapes uendenger to make shadowe umbroier Here consequently foloweth the conjugations wherof the fyrst shalbe tourned in one tens, synguler nombre and plurell, sixe and thirty maner awaye, every person sixe maner wayes, that is to say, the affyrmatyve thre wayes and the negatyve lykewise; as whan I say: I have, which is affyrmation or grauntyng, if ye do turne it, ye shall have, have I. And if ye put this worde, why, before it, ye shall have a questyon, as: why have I, and lykewyse of the negation or denying, whiche is, I have nat; turne it, ye have, have nat I: and puttyng why before it, ye have a question, whiche is: why have nat I. And in lyke maner thorowe every persone synguler and plurell; and so shall it be sixe and thirty wayes in one tens, and this rule is generall for every verbe. Also there is another maner, whiche shall serve for every verbe lykewyse, and shalbe turned in one tens an hundred and eyght wayes, with thre pronownes, that is to say: me, the, hym. Example for the fyrst persone: I have me, I have the, I have hym. And Page 958 we tourne it, we shall have: have I me, have I the, have I hym. Than puttyng why before it, we shall have: Why have I me, why have I the, why have I hym; and this is nyne wayes in the affyrmatyve. Nowe, if ye do lykewise in the negatyve, ye shall have other nyne wayes, as whan ye say: I have nat me, I have nat the, I have nat him, and tournyng it, ye have: have I nat me, have I nat the, have I nat hym; and puttyng why before, I have: why have nat I me, why have nat I the, why have nat I hym. And doynge lykewise of the seconde persone and the thyrde, and consequently with the plurell nombre, ye shall have syx tymes eightene variable and sondry wayes, which do amount to an hundred and viii wayes in one tense, and may be lykewise of every verbe; and if ye do take but the fyrste worde of every persone, ye shall have a syngle conjugacion, as: I have, thou hast, he hath: we have, ye have, they have, etc. Page 959 Here after foloweth the fyrst conjugation whiche is sixe and thyrty wayes in the presente, and lykewyse of every preteryte and future, in every tense and mode, except all the imperatyves the present of the optatyves. And bycause we can nat specifye by our wordes any of our dedes, signyfyeng action, without this verbe (have) we shall begyn with the same, addyng to it a worde or two for to shewe an example, howe one may make dyverse and many sentences with one worde, and percon- sequent come shortely to the french speche. Page 960 THE INDICATYVE PRESENT. I have great desyre [Symbol: hand] jay grant desir have I ay je why have I pourquoy ay je I have nat --- je nay pas have nat I great desyre nay je pas grand desir why have nat I pourquoy nay je pas thou hast [Symbol: hand] tu as hast thou good appetyte as tu bon appetit why hast thou pourquoy as tu thou hast nat --- tu nas pas hast thou nat good appetyte nas tu pas bon appetit why hast thou nat pourquoy nas tu pas he hath [Symbol: hand] il a hath he sorowe a il deul why hath he pourquoy a il he hath nat --- il na pas hath he nat sorowe na il pas deul why hath he nat pourquoy na il point Page 961 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we have [Symbol: hand] nous auons have we joye auons nous joie why have we pourquoy auons nous we have nat -- nous nauons mie have nat we joye nauons nous mie joie why have nat we pourquoy nauons nous mie ye have [Symbol: hand] uous auéz have ye right auéz uous droit why have ye pourquoy auéz uous ye have nat -- uous nauéz point have ye nat right nauéz uous point droit why have ye nat pourquoy nauéz uous point they have [Symbol: hand] ilz ont have they shame ont ilz honte why have they pourquoy ont ilz they have nat -- ilz nont pas have they nat shame nont ilz pas honte why have they nat pourquoy nont ilz pas Page 962 THE PRETERIT IMPARFYTE. I dyd have, or I was havyng, or I had [Symbol: hand] jauoy why had I good hope pourquoy auoy je bonne esperance I had nat -- je nauoy point had nat I good hope nauoy je point bonne esperance why had nat I pourquoy nauoy je pas thou haddes [Symbol: hand] tu auois haddest thou great feare auois tu belle peur why haddest thou pourquoy auois tu thou haddest nat -- tu nauois mie haddest nat thou great feare nauois tu mie belle peur why haddest nat thou pourquoy nauois tu mie he dyd have or had [Symbol: hand] il auoit had he understandyng auoit il entendement why had he pourquoy auoit il he had nat -- il nauoit pas had nat he understandyng nauoit il pas entendement why had nat he pourquoy nauoit il pas Page 963 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we had [Symbol: hand] nous auions had we layser auions nous loisir why had we pourquoy auions nous we had nat -- nous nauions pas had nat we layser nauions nous pas loisir why had nat we pourquoy nauions nous pas ye had [Symbol: hand] uous auiez had ye wronge auiéz uous tort why had ye pourquoy auiés uous ye had nat -- uous nauiéz point had nat ye wronge nauiéz uous point tort why had ye nat pourquoy nauiéz uous pas they had [Symbol: hand] ilz auoient had they well sayd auoient ilz bien dit why had they pourquoy auoient ilz they had nat -- ilz nauoient pas had they nat well sayd nauoient ilz pas bien dit why had they nat pourquoy nauoient ilz pas Page 964 THE PRETERIT PARFYTE. I had [Symbol: hand] je eus had I fayre pastyme eus je beau passe temps why had I pourquoy eus je I had nat -- je neus pas had nat I fayre pastyme neus je pas beau passe temps why had nat I pourquoy ne eus je pas thou haddest [Symbol: hand] tu eus haddest thou moche a do eus tu a besongnier why haddest thou pourquoy eus tu thou haddest nat -- tu neus point haddest nat thou moche a do neus tu point a besongnier why haddest nat thou pourquoy neus tu point he had [Symbol: hand] il eust had he that that he sought eust il ce quil cerchoit why had he pourquoy eust il he had nat -- il neust pas had nat he that that he sought neust il pas ce quil cerchoit why had nat he pourquoy neust il pas Page 965 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we had [Symbol: hand] nous eusmes had we good corage eusmes nous bon courage why had we pourquoy eusmes nous we had nat -- nous neusmes pas had nat we good corage neusmes nous pas bon courage why had nat we pourquoy neusmes nous pas ye had [Symbol: hand] uous eustes had ye the prise eustes uous le pris why had ye pourquoy eustes uous ye had nat -- uous neustes pas had nat ye the prise neustes uous pas le pris why had nat ye pourquoy neustes vous pas they had [Symbol: hand] ilz eurent had they the aduauntage eurent ilz laduantage why had they pourquoy eurent ilz they had nat -- ilz neurent pas had they nat the aduauntage neurent ilz pas laduantage why had they nat pourquoy neurent ilz pas Page 966 THE PRETERIT INDIFFYNITYVE. I have had [Symbol: hand] jay eu have I had to drinke ay je eu a boire why have I had pourquoy ay je eu I have nat had -- je nay pas eu have nat I had to drinke nay je pas eu a boire why have nat I had pourquoy nay je pas eu thou hast had [Symbol: hand] tu as eu hast thou had thurst as tu eu soif why hast thou had pourquoy as tu eu thou hast nat had -- tu nas pas eu hast thou nat had thurst nas tu pas eu soif why hast thou nat had pourquoy nas tu pas eu he hath had [Symbol: hand] il a eu hath he had to eate a il eu a manger why hath he had pourquoy a il eu he hath nat had -- il na pas eu hath he nat had to eate na il pas eu a manger why hath he nat had pourquoy na il pas eu Page 967 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we have had [Symbol: hand] nous auons eu have we had patience auons nous eu pacience why have we had pourquoy auons nous eu we have nat had -- nous nauons pas eu have we nat had pacyence nauons nous pas eu pacience why have we nat had pourquoy nauons nous pas eu ye have had [Symbol: hand] uous auez eu have ye had nede auéz uous eu necessite why have ye had pourquoy auéz uous eu ye have nat had -- uous nauéz pas eu have ye nat had nede nauéz uous pas eu necessite why have ye nat had pourquoy nauéz uous pas eu they have had [Symbol: hand] ilz ont eu have they had their wages ont ilz eu leur gages why have they had pourquoy ont ilz eu they have nat had -- ilz nont pas eu have they nat had their wages nont ilz pas eu leur gages why have they nat had pourquoy nont ilz pas eu Page 968 THE PRETERIT MOST PARFYTE. I had had [Symbol: Hand] jauoy eu had I had the payne auoy je eu la paine why had I had pourquoy auoy je eu I had nat had -- je nauoy pas eu had nat I had the payne nauoy je pas eu la paine why had nat I had pourquoy nauoy je pas eu thou haddest had [Symbol: hand] tu auois eu haddest thou had profyte auois tu eu prouffit why haddest thou had pourquoy auois tu eu thou haddest nat had -- tu nauois pas eu haddest thou nat had profyte nauois tu pas eu prouffit why haddest thou nat had pourquoy nauois tu pas eu he had had [Symbol: hand] il auoit eu had he had damage auoit il eu domage why had he had pourquoy auoit il eu he had nat had -- il nauoit pas eu had he nat had damage nauoit il pas eu domage why had nat he had pourquoy nauoit il pas eu Page 969 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we had had [Symbol: hand] nous auions eu had we had wynnyng auions nous eu gagnage why had we had pourquoy auions nous eu we had nat had -- nous nauions pas eu had we nat had wynnyng nauions nous pas eu gagnage why had we nat had pourquoy nauions nous pas eu ye had had [Symbol: hand] uous auiéz eu had ye had losse auiéz uous eu perte why had ye had pourquoy auiéz uous eu ye had nat had -- uous nauiéz pas eu had ye nat had losse nauiéz uous pas eu perte why had ye nat had pourquoy nauiéz uous pas eu they had had [Symbol: hand] ilz auoient eu had they had their pleasure auoient ilz eu leur plaisir why had they had pourquoy auoient ilz eu they had nat had -- ilz nauoient pas eu had they nat had their pleasure nauoient ilz pas eu leur plaisir why had they nat had pourquoy nauoient ilz pas eu Page 970 THE FUTURE. I shall have [Symbol: hand] je aray shall I have better fortune aray je meilleur fortune why shall I have pourquoy aray je I shall nat have -- je naray pas shall nat have I better fortune naray je pas meilleur fortune why shall nat I have pourquoy naray je pas thou shalte have [Symbol: hand] tu aras shalte thou have moche a do aras tu bien a faire why shalte thou have pourquoy aras tu thou shalte nat have -- tu naras pas shalte thou nat have moche a do naras tu pas bien a faire why shalte thou nat have pourquoy naras tu pas he shall have [Symbol: hand] il ara shall he have a strawe ara il ung festu why shall he have pourquoy ara il he shall nat have -- il nara pas shall he nat have a strawe nara il pas ung festu why shall he nat have pourquoy nara il pas Page 971 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. we shall have [Symbol: hand] nous arons shall we have that that we wene arons nous ce que nous cuidons why shall we have pourquoy arons nous we shall nat have -- nous narons pas shall we nat have that that we wene narons nous pas ce que nous cuidons why shall we nat have pourquoy narons nous pas ye shall have [Symbol: hand] uous aréz shall ye have your purpose aréz uous uostre purpose why shall ye have pourquoy aréz uous ye shall nat have -- uous naréz point shall ye nat have your purpose naréz uous point vostre purpose why shall nat ye have pourquoy naréz uous point they shall have [Symbol: hand] ilz aront shall they have the goyng for the comming aront ilz laler pour le uenir why shall they have pourquoy aront ilz they shall nat have -- ilz naront pas shall they nat have the going for the commyng naront ilz pas laler pour le uenir why shall they nat have pourquoy naront ilz pas Page 972 THE IMPARATYVE WHICHE IS SYNGLE. Have thou selfe, have the selfe, have he Ay tu mesme, ay toi mesme, ayt il, Have him, have she.--have we, have ye. Ayt celuy, ayt celle.--aions nous, aiéz uous. Have they. Aient ceulz, ou celles. THE FUTURE. Loke that thou have, that he have, that we have, that ye have, that they have. Garde que tu aye, quil ait, que nous aions, que uous aiéz, quilz aient. THE SECONDE FUTURE NEGATYVE. Do that thou have nat, do that he have nat, do that we have nat, that ye have nat, Fais que tu naye point, quil nait pas, que nous naions mie, que uous naiéz pas, that they have nat. quilz naient pas. The optatyve whiche is syngle lykewyse, the which shall serve for a future, with an addicion of the tyme to come, as _tantost_ or _demain_, etc. I praye you that I have, that thou have, that he have, Je uous prie que jaye, que tu aie, quil ayt, With my wyll that we have, that ye have, that they have. A ma uoullenté que nous ayons, que uous aiéz, quilz aient. The preterit imparfyte, whiche may serve lykewyse for the present, after the olde grammer. Wolde God that I had, that thou hadest, that he had. Pleust a Dieu que je eusse, que tu eusse, quil eust. Wolde God that we had, that ye had, that they had. Pleust a Dieu que nous eussions, que uous eussiéz, quilz eussent. THE PRETERIT PARFYTE. Wolde to God that I have had, that thou, that he. A ma uoullenté que jaye eu, que tu aie eu, quil ait eu. Wolde to God that we have had, that ye have had, that they have had. A ma uoullenté que nous aions eu, que uous aiez eu, quilz aient eu. Page 973 THE PRETERIT MOST PARFYTE. O if I had had, thou hadest had, he had had. O sy jeusse eu, tu eusse eu, il eust eu. O if we had had, ye had had, they had had. O sy nous eussions eu, uous eussiés eu, ilz eussent eu. The subjunctyve is lyke the optatyve save the future sayeng, _comme_ or _quant_. I have jaye thou have of custome Comme tu aye de coustome he have il ayt we have, ye have they have. Comme nous aions, uous aiéz, ilz ayent. THE PRETERITE IMPARFYTE. As I had or dyd have, as thou haddest, as he had, Comme jeusse ou jauois, comme tu eusses ou auois, comme il eust ou auoit, As we had or dyd have, as ye had, comme nous eussons ou auions, comme uous eusséz ou auyés as they had. comme ilz eussent ou auoient. THE PRETERITE PARFYTE. As I have had, as thou hast had, as he hath had, as we have had, Comme jaye eu, comme tu aye eu, comme il ayt eu, comme nous ayons eu, as ye have had, as they have had. comme uous ayéz eu, comme ilz ayént eu. THE PRETERITE PLUSPARFYTE. If I had had, if thou hadest had, if he had had, if we had had, if ye had Se jeusse eu, se tu eusse eu, se il eust eu, se nous eussions eu, se uous eussiez had, if they had had. eu, se ilz eussent eu. The fyrst future, which may be tourned XXXVI maner of wayes as the indicatyve. As I shulde have, thou he we Comme jaroie, tu arois, il aroit, nous arions, ye shulde have, they shulde have. uous ariez, ilz aroient. Page 974 THE SECONDE FUTURE. So that I have, that thou have, that he have, that we have, that ye have, that they have. Mais que jaye, que tu aye, quil ayt, que nous aions, que vous ayes, quilz ayent. THE INFINITIF. To have. Auoir. THE PRETERIT. To have had. Auoir eu. GERUNDIVES. To have, for to have, in havynge. Dauoir, pour auoir, en ayant. THE OVERTHROWEN or I you wolde had, I you desire had. SUPINS. Je uous uouldroie eu, je vous desire eu. And thus endeth the conjugation of this verbe, have. Here foloweth a conjugation of an hundred and eight wayes in one tence onely, wher ye shall reherce twise the interrogatyves of bothe the affirmatyve and negatyve: the fyrst tyme as it standeth written, and the seconde tyme, puttinge outher why or howe before it. THE FYRST PERSONE. I knowe me, I knowe the, I knowe hym. Je me congnoy, je te congnoy, je le congnoy. Why knowe I me, why knowe I the, why knowe I hym. Pourquoy me congnoy je, pourquoy te congnoy je, pourquoy le congnoy je. I knowe nat me, I knowe nat the, I knowe nat hym. Je ne me congnoy pas, je ne te congnoy pas, je ne le congnoy pas Howe knowe nat I me, howe knowe nat I the, howe knowe nat I hym. Come ne me congnoy je pas, come ne te congnoy je pas, come ne le congnoy je pas. THE SECOND PERSONE. Thou knowest me, thou the, thou him. Tu me congnois, tu te congnois, tu le congnois. How knowest thou me, how thou the, howe thou hym. Come me congnois tu, come te congnoys tu, come le congnoys tu. Page 975 Thou knowest nat me, thou nat the, thou nat hym. Tu ne me congnois pas, tu ne te congnois pas, tu ne le congnois pas. Howe knowest thou nat me, howe thou nat the, howe thou nat hym. Come ne me congnoys tu pas, come ne te congnois tu pas, come ne le congnois tu pas. THE THIRDE PERSON. He knewe me, he the, he him. Il me congnoit, il te congnoit, il le congnoit. Howe knewe he me, howe he the, howe he him. Come me congnoit il, come te congnoit il, come le congnoit il. He knewe nat me, he nat the, he nat him. Il ne me congnoit pas, il ne te congnoyt pas, il ne le congnoit pas. How knewe nat he me, howe nat he the, howe nat he him. Come ne me congnoit il pas, come ne te congnoit il pas, come ne le congnoit il pas. THE PLUREL NOMBRE. We knowe us, we you, we them. Nous nous congnoissons, nous uous congnoissons, nous les congnoissons. How know we us, how we you, how we them. Come nous cognoissons nous, come uous cognoissons nous, come les cognoissons nous. We know us nat, we you nat, we them nat. Nous ne nous cognoissons pas, nous ne uous cognoissons pas, nous ne les cognoissons pas. Why do we nat know us, why do we nat you, Pourquoy ne nous cognoissons nous pas, pourquoy ne uous cognoissons nous pas, why do we nat them. pourquoy ne les congnoissons nous pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye us know, ye you know, ye them know. Uous nous cognoissés, uous uous cognoissés, uous les congnoissés. Howe know ye us, how you us, how they us. Come nous congnoissés uous, come uous congnoissés uous, come les congnoissés uous. Ye know us nat, ye you nat, you them nat. Uous ne nous congnoissés pas, uous ne uous congnoissés pas, uous ne les congnoissés pas. How know ye nat us, how ye nat you, how ye nat them. Come ne nous cognoissés uous pas, come ne uous congnoissés uous pas, come ne les cognoissés uous pas. Page 976 THE THYRDE PERSONE. They know us, they you, they them. Ilz nous congnoissent, ilz uous congnoissent, ilz les congnoissent. How know they us, how they you, how they them. Come nous congnoissent ilz, come uous congnoissent ilz, come les congnoissent ilz. They dyd nat know us, they dyd nat you, they dyd nat them. Ilz ne nous cognoissent pas, ilz ne uous congnoissent pas, ilz ne les congnoissent pas. How know they nat us, how they nat you, howe they nat them. Come ne nous cognoissent ilz pas, come ne uous cognoissent ilz pas, come ne les cognoissent ilz pas. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. I dyd know me, I dyd the, I dyd him. Je me cognoissoie, je te cognoissoie, je le cognoissoie. How dyd I know me, how dyd I the, how dyd I him. Come je me cognoissoye je, come te cognoissoie je, come le cognoissoie je. I dyd nat knowe me, I dyd nat the, I dyd nat him. Je ne me cognoissoie pas, je ne te congnoissoie pas, je ne le congnoissoie pas. Why dyd nat I know me, how dyd I nat you, how dyd nat I him. Pourquoy ne me cognoissoie je pas, pourquoy ne te cognoissoie je pas, pourquoy ne le congnoissoie je pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Thou dydest knew me, thou dydest the, thou dydest him. Tu me cognoissois, tu te cognoissois, tu le cognoissois. How dydest thou know me, howe dydest thou the, how dydest thou him. Come me cognoissois tu, come te cognoissois tu, come le congnoissois tu. Thou dydest nat know me, thou dydest nat the, thou dydest nat him. Tu ne me cognoissois pas, tu ne te cognoissois pas, tu ne le cognoissois pas. How dydest thou nat know me, how dydest thou nat the, how dydest thou nat him. Come ne me congnoissois tu pas, come ne te congnoissois tu pas, come ne le congnoissois tu pas. THE THYRDE PERSONE. He dyd know me, he dyd the, he dyd hym. Il me cognoissoit, il te cognoissoit, il le cognoissoit. Page 977 Howe dyd he knowe me, how dyd he the, Come me cognoissoit il, come te cognoissoit il, howe dyd he hym. come le congnoissoit il. He dyd nat knowe me, he dyd nat the, he dyd nat Il ne me cognoissoit pas, il ne te cognoissoit pas, il ne hym. le cognoissoit pas. How dyd nat he know me, howe dyd nat he the, Come ne me congnoissoit il pas, come ne te congnoissoit il pas, how dyd nat he him. come ne le congnoissoit il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We dyd knowe us, we dyd you, Nous nous congnoissions, nous uous congnoissions, we dyd them. nous les congnoissions. Howe dyd we knowe us, howe dyd we you, Come nous congnoissions nous, come uous congnoissions nous, how dyd we them. come les congnoissions nous. We dyd nat know us, we dyd nat you, Nous ne nous congnoissions pas, nous ne uous congnoissions pas, we dyd nat them. nous ne les congnoissions pas. Why dyd nat we know us, Pourquoy ne nous congnoissions nous pas, why dyd nat we know you, pourquoy ne uous cognoissions nous pas, why dyd nat we know them. pourquoy ne les congnoissions nous pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye dyd knowe us, ye dyd knowe you, ye dyd knowe them. Uous nous cognoissés, uous uous cognoissés, uous les cognoissés. Howe dyd ye knowe us, howe dyd ye knowe you, Come nous cognoissés uous, come uous cognoissés uous, how dyd ye know them. come les congnoissés uous. Ye dyd nat know us, ye dyd nat know you,. Uous ne nous congnoissés pas, uous ne uous cognoissés pas, ye dyd nat know them uous ne les congnoissés pas. Howe dyd ye nat knowe us, how dyd ye nat know you, Come ne nous cognoissés uous pas, come ne uous cognoissés uous pas, how dyd ye nat know them. come ne les cognoissés uous pas. THE THYRDE PERSONE. They dyd know us, they dyd you, they dyd them. Ilz nous cognoissoient, ilz uous cognoissoient, ilz les cognoissoient. Page 978 How dyd they know us, how dyd they you, Come nous congnoissoient ilz, come uous congnoissoient ilz, how dyd they them. come les cognoissoient ilz. They dyd nat know us, they dyd nat you, Ilz ne nous cognoissoient pas, ilz ne uous cognoissoient pas, they dyd nat them, ilz ne les cognoissoient pas. How dyd they nat know us, how dyd they nat you, Come ne nous cognoissoient ilz pas, come ne uous cognoissoient ilz pas, how dyd they nat them, come ne les cognoissoient ilz pas. THE PRETERIT PARFET. I knew me, I the, I him. Je me cogneus, je le cogneus, je le cogneus. How knew I me, how I the, how I him. Come me cogneus je, come te cogneus je, come le cogneus je. I knewe nat me, I nat the, I nat him. Je ne me cogneus pas, je ne le cogneus pas, je ne le congneus pas. Howe knew nat I me, howe nat I the, Come ne me cogneus je pas, come ne te congneus je pas, howe nat I him. come ne le cogneus je pas. THE SECONDE PARSONE. Thou knewest me, thou the, thou him. Tu me cogneus, tu te cogneus, tu le cogneus. Why knewest the me, why the the, why the him. Pourquoy me cogneus tu, pourquoy te cogneus tu, pourquoy le cogneus tu. Thou knewest nat me, thou nat the, thou nat him. Tu ne me cogneus pas, tu ne te cogneus pas, tu ne le cogneus pas. How knewest thou nat me, how thou nat the, Come ne me cogneus tu pas, come ne te congneus tu pas, how thou nat him. come ne le cogneus tu pas. THE THYRDE PERSONE. He knew me, he the, he him. Il me congneut, il te congneut, il le cogneut. How knew he me, how he the, how he him. Come me cogneut il, come te cogneut il, come le cogneut il. He knew nat me, he nat the, he nat him. Il ne me congneut pas, il ne le congneut pas, il ne le cogneut pas. Why knew nat he me, why nat he the, Pourquoy ne me cogneut il pas, pourquoy ne te cogneut il pas, why nat he him. pourquoy ne le cogneut il pas. Page 979 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We knew us, we you, we them. Nous nous cogneusmes, nous uous cogneusmes, nous les cogneusmes. How knew we us, how we you, Come nous cogneusmes nous, come uous cogneusmes nous, how we them. come les cogneusmes nous. We knew nat us, we nat you, Nous ne nous cogneusmes pas, nous ne uous cogneusmes pas, we nat them. nous ne les cogneusmes pas. How knew we nat us, how we nat you, Come ne nous cogneusmes nous pas, come ne uous cogneusmes nous pas, how we nat them. come ne les cogneusmes nous pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye knew us, ye you, ye them. Uous nous cogneustes, uous uous cogneustes, uous les cogneustes. How knew ye us, how ye you, Come nous cogneustes uous, come uous cogneustes uous, how ye them. come les cogneustes uous. Ye knew nat us, ye nat you, Uous ne nous congneustes pas, uous ne uous congneustes pas, ye nat them. uous ne les cogneustes pas. How knew ye nat us, how ye nat you, Come ne nous cogneustes uous pas, come ne uous cogneustes uous pas, how ye nat them. come ne les cogneustes uous pas. THE THYRDE PERSONE. They knew us, they you, they them. Ilz nous cogneurent, ilz uous cogneurent, ilz les cogneurent. How knew they us, how they you, Come nous cogneurent ilz, come uous cogneurent ilz, how they them. come les cogneurent ilz. They knewe nat us, they nat you, Ilz ne nous congneurent pas, ilz ne uous congneurent pas, they nat them. ilz ne les cogneurent pas. Page 980 Howe knewe they nat us, how they nat you, Come ne nous cogneurent ilz pas, come ne uous cogneurent ilz pas, how they nat them. come ne les cogneurent ilz pas. THE PRETERIT INDIFFINITIF. I have knowen me, I have the, I have him. Je may cogneu, je tay cogneu, je lay cogneu. How have I knowen me, how have I the, howe have I him. Come may je cogneu, come tay je congneu, come lay je cogneu. How have nat I knowen me, how have nat I the, Come ne may je pas congneu, come ne tay je pas cogneu, how have nat I him. come ne lay je pas cogneu. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Thou hast knowen me, thou hast the, thou hast him. Tu mas cogneu, tu te as cogneu, tu las cogneu. How hast thou knowen me, how hast thou the, how hast thou him. Come mas tu congneu, come tas tu congneu, come las tu cogneu. Thou hast nat knowen me, thou hast nat the, thou hast nat him. Tu ne mas pas cogneu, tu ne tas pas cogneu, tu ne las pas cogneu. How hast nat thou knowen me, how hast nat thou the, Come ne mas tu pas cogneu, come ne las tu pas cogneu, how hast nat thou him. come ne las tu pas cogneu. THE THYRDE PERSONE. He hath knowen me, he hath the, he hath him, Il ma congneu, il ta congneu, il la congneu. How hath he knowen me, how hath he the, how hath he him. Come ma il cogneu, come ta il cogneu, come la il cogneu. He hath nat knowen me, he hath nat the, he hath nat him. Il ne ma pas congneu, il ne ta pas congneu, il ne la pas congneu. How hath nat he knowen me, how hath nat he the, Come ne ma il pas cogneu, come ne ta il pas cogneu, how hath nat he him. come ne la il pas cogneu. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We have knowen us, we have you, we have them. Nous nous auons cogneu, nous uous auons cogneu, nous les auons cogneu. Howe have we knowen us, how have we you, Come nous auons nous cogneu, come uous auons nous cogneu, how have we them. come les auons nous cogneu. Page 981 We have nat knowen us, we have nat you, Nous ne nous auons pas cogneu, nous ne nous auons pas cogneu, we have nat them. nous ne les auons pas cogneu. How have we nat knowen us, how have we nat you, Come ne nous auons nous pas cogneu, come ne uous auons nous pas cogneu, how have we nat them. come ne les auons nous pas cogneu. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye have knowen us, ye have you, ye have knowen them. Uous nous aues cogneu, uous uous aues cogneu, uous les aues cogneu. Howe have ye knowen us, have ye you, Come nous aues uous cogneu, come uous aues uous cogneu, have ye them. come les aues uous cogneu. Ye have nat knowen us, ye have nat you, Uous ne nous aues pas cogneu, uous ne uous aues pas cogneu, ye have nat them. uous ne les aues pas cogneu. How have nat you knowen us, how have nat ye you, Come ne nous aues uous pas congneu, come ne uous aues uous pas congneu, how have nat ye them. come ne les aues uous pas cogneu. THE THYRDE PERSONE. They have knowen me, they have you, they have them. Ilz me ont cogneu, ilz te ont cogneu, ilz les ont cogneu. How have they knowen me, how have they the, Come mont ilz cogneu, come te ont ilz cogneu, how have they them. come les ont ilz cogneu. They have nat knowen me, they have nat you, Ilz ne mont pas cogneu, ilz ne tont pas cogneu, they have nat them. ilz ne les ont pas cogneu. How have they nat knowen me, how have they nat you, Come ne mont ilz pas cogneu, come ne tont ilz pas cogneu, how have they nat them. come ne les ont ilz pas cogneu. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. I had knowen me, I had the, I had him. Je mauoy cogneu, je tauoy cogneu, je lauoy cogneu. Page 982 How had I knowen me, how had I the, how had I him. Come mauoy je cogneu, come tauoy je cogneu, come lauoy je cogneu. I had nat knowen me, I had nat the, Je ne mauoy pas congneu, je ne tauoy pas cogneu, I had nat him. je ne lauoy pas cogneu. How had nat I knowen me, how had nat I the, Come ne mauoy je pas cogneu, come ne tauoy je pas cogneu, how had nat I him. come ne lauoy je pas cogneu. THE SECONCE PERSONE. Thou hadest knowen me, thou hadest the, thou hadest him. Tu mauoys cogneu, tu tauoys cogneu, tu lauoys congneu. How hadest thou knowen me, how hadest thou the, Come mauoys tu cogneu, come tauoys tu cogneu, how hadest thou him. come lauoys tu cogneu. Thou hadest nat knowen me, thou hadest nat the, Tu ne mauoys pas cogneu, tu ne tauoys pas cogneu, thou hadest nat him. tu ne lauoys pas cogneu. How hadest thou nat knowen me, how hadest thou nat the, Come ne mauois tu pas cogneu, come ne tauoys tu pas cogneu, how hadest thou nat him. come ne lauoys tu pas cogneu. THE THYRDE PERSONE. He had knowen me, he had the, he had him. Il mauoit cogneu, il tauoit cogneu, il lavoit cogneu. How had he knowen me, how had he the, how had he him. Come mauoit il cogneu, come tauoyt il cogneu, come lauoyt il cogneu. He had nat knowen me, he had nat the, Il ne mauoit pas cogneu, il ne tauoyt pas cogneu, he had nat him. il ne lauoyt pas cogneu. How had nat he knowen me, how had nat he the, Come ne mauoyt il pas cogneu, come ne tauoit il pas cogneu, how had nat he him. come ne lavoit il pas cogneu. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We had knowen us, we had you, Nous nous auions cogneu, nous uous auions cogneu, we had him. nous les auious cogneu. How had we knowen us, how had we you, Come nous auions nous cogneu, come uous auions nous cogneu, how had we them. come les auions nous cogneu. Page 983 We had nat knowen us, we had nat you, Nous ne nous auions pas cogneu, nous ne uous auions pas cogneu, we had nat them. nous ne les auions pas cogneu. Howe had nat we knowen us, Come ne nous auions nous pas cogneu, how had nat we you, come ne uous auions nous pas cogneu, how had nat we them. come ne les auions nous pas cogneu. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye had knowen us, ye had you, ye had them. Uous nous auies cogneu, uous uous auies cogneu, uous les auies cogneu. How had ye knowen us, how had ye you, Come nous auies uous cogneu, come uous auiez nous cogneu, how had ye them. come les auies uous cogneu. Ye had nat knowen us, ye had nat you, Uous ne nous auies pas cogneu, uous ne uous auies pas cogneu, ye had nat them. uous ne les auies pas cogneu. How had nat ye knowen me, how had nat ye you, Come ne nous auies uous pas cogneu, come ne les auies uous pas cogneu, how had nat ye them. come ne les auies uous pas cogneu. THE THYRDE PERSONE. They had knowen us, they had you, Ilz nous auoient cogneu, ilz uous auoient cogneu, they had them. ilz les auoient cogneu. How had they knowen us, how had they you, Come nous auoient ilz cogneu, come uous auoient ilz cogneu, how had they them. come les auoient ilz cogneu. They had nat knowen us, they had nat you, Ilz ne nous auoient pas cogneu, ilz ne uous auoient pas cogneu, they had nat them. ilz ne les auoient pas cogneu. How had they nat knowen us, Come ne nous auoient ilz pas congneu, how had they nat you, come ne uous auoient ilz pas congneu, how had they nat them. come ne les auoient ilz pas cogneu. Page 984 THE FUTURE. I shall know me, I shall the, I shall him. Je me cognoistray, je te cognoistray, je le cognoistray. How shall I know me, how shall I the, how shall I him. Come me cognoistray je, come te cognoistray je, come le cognoistray je. I shall nat know me, I shall nat the, Je ne me congnoistray pas, je ne te congnoistray pas, I shall nat him. je ne le congnoistray pas. How shall nat I know me, how shall nat I the, Come ne me cognoistray je pas, come ne te cognoistray je pas, how shall nat I him. come ne le cognoistray je pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Thou shalt know me, thou shall the, thou shalt him. Tu me cognoistras, tu te cognoistras, tu le cognoistras. How shalt thou knowe me, how shalt thou the, Come me cognoistras tu, come te cognoistras tu, how shalt thou him. come le cognoistras tu. Thou shalt nat knowe me, thou shalt nat the, Tu ne me cognoistras pas, tu ne te cognoistras pas, thou shalt nat him. tu ne le cognoistras pas. How shalt thou nat knowe me, how shalt thou nat the, Come ne me cognoistras tu pas, come ne te cognoistras tu pas, how shall thou nat him. come ne le cognoistras tu pas. THE THIRDE PERSONE. He shall know me, he shall the, he shall him. Il me cognoistras, il te cognoistras, il le cognoistras. How shall he knowe me, how shall he the, how shall he him. Come me cognoistra il, come te cognoistra il, come le cognoistra il. He shall nat knowe me, he shall nat the, Il ne me cognoistras pas, il ne te cognoistras pas, he shall nat him. il ne le cognoistras pas. How shall nat he knowe me, how shall nat he the, Come ne me cognoistra il pas, come ne te cognoistra il pas, how shall nat he him. come ne le cognoistra il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We shall know us, we shall you, we shall them. Nous nous cognoistrons, nous uous cognoistrons, nous les cognoistrons. Page 985 How shall we know us, how shall we you, Come nous cognoistrons nous, come uous cognoistrons nous, how shall we them. come les cognoistrons nous. We shall nat knowe us, we shall nat you, Nous ne nous cognoistrons pas, nous ne uous cognoistrons pas, we shall nat them. nous ne les cognoistrons pas. How shall nat we knowe us, how shall nat we you, Come ne nous cognoistrons nous pas, come ne uous congnoistrons nous pas, how shall nat we them. come ne les congnoistrons nous pas. THE SECONDE PERSONE. Ye shall know us, ye shall you, ye shall them. Uous nous cognoistres, uous uous cognoistres, uous les cognoistres. How shall ye know us, how shall ye you, Come nous cognoistres uous, come uous cognoistres uous, how shall ye them. come les cognoistres nous. Ye shall nat knowe us, ye shall nat you, Uous ne nous cognoistres pas, uous ne uous cognoistres pas, ye shall nat them. uous ne les cognoistres pas. How shall ye nat know us, how shall ye nat you, Come ne nous cognoistres uous pas, come ne uous cognoistres nous pas, how shall ye nat them. come ne les congnoistres uous pas. THE THIRDE PARSONE. They shall know us, they shall you, they shall them. Ilz nous cognoistront, ilz uous cognoistront, ilz les cognoistront. How shall they know us, how shall they you, Come nous cognoistront ilz, come uous congnoistront ilz, how shall they them. come les congnoistront ilz. They shall nat know us, they shall nat you, Ilz ne nous cognoistront pas, ilz ne uous cognoistront pas, they shall nat them. ilz ne les cognoistront pas. How shall they nat know us, how shall they nat you, Come ne nous cognoistront ilz pas, come ne uous cognoistront ilz pas, how shall they nat them. come ne les cognoistront ilz pas. Page 986 THE IMPERATYVE. Know thou, know he or him, know we, know ye, Cognoys toi, cognoisse soy, cognoissons nous, cognoisses uous, know they. cognoissent eulz ou elles. THE FUTURE. Loke that thou know the, that he himselfe, Garde que tu te cognoisse, quil se cognoisse, that we know us, que nous nous cognoissons, that ye you, that they themselfe. que uous uous cognoissez, quilz se cognoissent. THE FUTUR NEGATYVE. Do that thou knoweth nat, that he knoweth nat, that we knoweth nat, Faitz que tu ne cognoisse, quil ne cognoisse, que nous ne cognoissons, that ye nat, that they nat. que uous ne cognoissez, quilz ne cognoissent. THE OPTATIVE FUTUR. I pray you that I may knowe, that thou know. Je uous prie que je congnoisse, que tu congnoisse, etc. lyke the imperatyve. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. O yf I knew, yf thou, yf he, O se je cogneusse, se tu congneusse, se il cogneusse, yf we knew, yf you, yf they knew. se nous cogneussions, se uous cogneussies, se ilz cogneussent. THE PRETERIT PARFET. With my wyll that I have knowen, that thou hast, that he hath, A ma uoullente que jaye cogneu, que tu aye cogneu, quil ayt cogneu, that we have, that ye have, that they have knowen. que nous ayons cogneu, que uous ayez cogneu, quilz ayent cogneu. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. Wold to God that I had knowen, that thou hadest, that he had, Pleust a Dieu que jeusse cogneu, que tu eusse cogneu, quil eust cogueu, that we had, that ye had, that they had knowen. que nous eussions cogneu, que uous eussiez cogneu, quilz eussent cogneu. Page 987 The subjunctive present and thre preterites is lyke the optative, puttyng before the verbe, _ueu_, or _come_, etc. THE FYRST FUTURE OF THE CONJUNCTYVE. Whan I shall knowe, thou shall, he shall know: Mais que je cognoisse, que tu, quil cognoisse; we shall, ye shall, they shall know. que nous cognoissons, que uous cognoisses, quilz cognoissent. THE SECONDE FUTURE. Whan I shulde knowe, thou shulde, he shulde: Quant je cognoistroye, que tu cognoistrois, quil cognoistroit: we shulde, ye shulde, they shuld know. que nous cognoistrions, que uous cognoistriez, quilz cognoistroient. to know. to have knowen. THE INFINITIVE, cognoistre. THE PRETERIT, auoir cogneu. to know, THE GERUNDIF, a cognoistre, for to knowe, in knowyng. pour cognoistre, en cognoissant. I the wyshe THE SUPIN or OVERTHROWEN, je te souhaite knowen. cogneu. And so ende this conjugation. Here doth folowe the conjugation of this verbe _am_, the which is as an instrument wherby we do expresse by our wordes all verbes passives, fewe except, and all that we do suffre, the whiche may be turned lyke the verbe precedent, as _je me, je te, je le suis_. But for to eschewe prolixite, we shal tourne him but VI maner ways in every persone. I am, why am I. Je suis, pourquoy suis je. I am nat, why am nat I. Je ne suis pas, come ne suis je pas. Thou arte, why art thou. Tu es, come es tu. Thou art nat, why art nat thou. Tu nes pas, pourquoy nes tu pas. Page 988 He is, why is he. Il est, pourquoy est il. He is nat, why is he nat. Il nest pas, come nest il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We be, why be we. Nous somes, pourquoy somes nous. We be nat, why be nat we. Nous ne somes pas, pourquoy ne somes nous pas. Ye be, why be ye. Uous estes, pourquoy estes uous. Ye be nat, why be ye nat. Uous nestes pas, pourquoy nestes uous pas. They be, why be they. Ilz sont, pourquoy sont ilz. They be nat, why be nat they. Ilz ne sont pas, pourquoy ne sont ilz pas. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. Note that the preterit imperfet and perfet have but one exposicion in this verbe. I was beyng, why was I. Jestoie, pourquoy estoye je. I was nat, why was nat I. Je nestoy pas, pourquoy nestoy je pas. Thou was, why was thou. Tu estois, pourquoy estois tu. Thou was nat, why was nat thou. Tu nestois pas, pourquoy nestois tu pas. He was, why was he, Il estoit, pourquoy estoit il. He was nat, why was nat he. Il nestoit pas, pourquoy nestoit il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We were, why were we. Nous estions, pourquoy estions nous. We were nat, why were we nat. Nous nestions pas, pourquoy nestions nous pas. Page 989 Ye were, why were ye. Uous estiez, pourquoy estiez uous. Ye were nat, why were ye nat. Uous nestiez pas, pourquoy nestiez uous pas. They were, why were they. Ilz estoient, pourquoi estoient ilz. They were nat, why were they nat. Ilz nestoient pas, pourquoy nestoient ilz pas. THE PRETERIT PARFET. I was, why was I. Je fus, pourquoy fus je. I was nat, why was nat I. Je ne fus point, pourquoy ne fus je point. Thou was, why was thou. Tu fus, pourquoy fus tu. Thou was nat, why was nat thou. Tu ne fus pas, pourquoy ne fus tu pas. He was, why was he. Il fust, pourquoy fust il. He was nat, why was nat he. Il ne fust pas, pourquoy ne fust il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We were, why were we. Nous fusmes, pourquoy fusmes nous. We were nat, why were nat we. Nous ne fusmes pas, pourquoy ne fusmes nous pas. Ye were, why were ye. Uous fustes, pourquoy fustes uous. Ye were nat, why were nat ye. Uous ne fustes pas, pourquoy ne fustes uous pas. They were nat, why were they nat. Ilz ne furent pas, pourquoy ne furent ilz pas. THE PRETERIT INDIFINITYF. I have ben, why have I ben. Jay esté, pourquoy ay je esté. 990 I have nat ben, why have nat I ben. Je nay pas esté, pourquoy nay je pas esté. Thou hast ben, why hast thou ben. Tu as esté, pourquoy as tu esté. Thou hast nat ben, why hast nat thou ben. Tu nas pas esté, pourquoy nas tu pas esté. He hath ben, why hath he ben. Il a esté, pourquoy a il esté. He hath nat ben, why hath nat he ben. Il na pas esté, pourquoy na il pas esté. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We have ben, why have we ben. Nous auons esté, pourquoy auons nous esté. We have nat ben, why have we nat ben. Nous nauons pas esté, pourquoy nauons nous pas esté. Ye have ben, why have ye ben. Uous auez esté, pourquoy aués-uous esté. Ye have nat ben, why have nat ye ben. Uous naués pas esté, pourquoy naués uous pas esté. They have ben, why have they ben. Ilz ont esté, pourquoy ont ilz esté. They have nat ben, why have nat they ben. Ilz nont pas esté, pourquoy nont ilz pas esté. THE PRETERIT MOST PARFET. I had ben, why had I ben. Jauoy esté, come auoy je esté. I had nat ben, why had nat I ben. Je nauoys pas esté, come nauoy je pas esté. Thou hadest ben, why hadest thou ben. Tu auoys esté, come auois tu esté. Thou hadest nat ben, why hadest nat thou ben. Tu nauois pas esté, come nauois tu pas esté. He had nat ben, why had nat he ben. Il nauoit pas esté, come nauoit il pas esté. Page 991 THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We had ben, why had we ben. Nous auions esté, pourquoy auions nous esté. We had nat ben, why had nat we ben. Nous nauions pas esté, pourquoy nauions nous pas esté. Ye had ben, why had ye ben. Uous auiez esté, pourquoy auiez uous esté. Ye had nat ben, why had nat ye ben. Uous nauiez pas esté, pourquoy nauiez uous pas esté. They had ben, why had they ben. Ils auoient esté, come auoient ilz esté. They had nat ben, why had they nat ben. Ilz nauoient pas esté, come nauoient ilz pas esté. THE FUTURE. I shall be, why shal I be. Je seray, come seray je. I shall nat be, why shall nat I be. Je ne seray pas, come ne seray je pas. Thou shalt be, why shalt thou be. Tu seras, pourquoy seras tu. Thou shalt nat be, why shalt thou nat be. Tu ne seras pas, pourquoy ne seras tu pas. He shalbe, why shall he be. Il sera, pourquoy sera il. He shall nat be, why shall nat he be. Il ne sera pas, pourquoy ne sera il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We shalbe, why shall we be. Nous serons, pourquoy serons nous. We shall nat be, why shall we nat be. Nous ne serons pas, pourquoy ne serons nous pas. Ye shalbe, why shall ye be. Uous seres, pourquoy seres uous. Ye shall nat be, why shall nat ye be. Uous ne serés pas, pourquoy ne serés uous pas. Page 992 They shall nat be, why shall nat they be. Ilz ne seront pas, pourquoy ne seront ilz pas. THE IMPERATYVE. Be thou, be he, be we, be ye, be they. Sois toy, soit il, soions nous, soiéz uous, soient ilz. BOTH THE FUTURES. Do that thou be, that he be, that we be, that ye be, Fais que tu sois, quil soyt, que nous soions, que uous soyez, that they be. quilz soient. Do that thou be nat, that he be nat, that we be nat, Fais que tu ne sois pas, quil ne soit pas, que nous ne soyons pas, that ye be nat, that they be nat. que uous ne soiez pas, quilz ne soient pas. THE OPTATYVE. I pray you that I be, that thou be, that he be, Je uous prie que je soie, que tu sois, quil soit, that we be, that ye be, that they be. que nous soions, que uous soyez, quils soyent. THE PRETERIT IMPARFIT. Wold to God that I were, that thou, that he, Pleust a Dieu que je fusse, que tu fusse, quil fusse. That we, that ye, that they were. Que nous fussions, que uous fussés, quilz fussent. THE PRETERIT PARFET. With my wyll that I have ben, that thou, that he, A ma uoullenté que jaye esté, que tu aye esté, quil ayt esté, that we that ye, that they have ben. que nous ayons esté, que uous ayez esté, quilz ayent esté. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFYTE. Oh if I had ben, if thou haddest ben, if he, O sy jeusse esté, se tu eusse esté, sil eust esté, if we had ben, if ye, if they. se nous eussons esté, se uous eusses esté, silz eussent esté. The conjunctive is both in the present and preterites, lyke the optatyve. Page 993 Whan I shalbe, thou, he, THE FYRST FUTURE. Mais que soie, que tu sois, quil soit, we, ye, they shalbe. mais que nous soyons, que uous soyéz, quilz soient. THE FUTURE BOROWED OF THE POTENCIALL MODE. I shulde be, thou shulde be, he shuld be, we shulde be, ye shulde be, they shulde be. Je seroye, tu serois, il seroit, nous serions, uous seriés, ilz seroient. to be. haue ben. for to be, THE INFINITYVE, estre. THE PRETERIT, avoir esté, GERUNDIF, pour estre, in beyng. en estant, etc. And thus finishe this conjugation. Also it is to be noted that there ben certayne answeres bothe in the affyrmatyon, and negation of a thyng: as whan one doth say, _I am_: and they may say, _ye be nat_: where he may answere agayne, _I am_: and the other grauntyng the same shall say, _so are ye_. And lykewise whan one doth affirme a thyng by way of negation: as whan he doth say, _I am nat_, if any wyll deny the same, he shall saye, _ye be_, and if he wyll graunt unto it, he shall saye, _no more are ye_. For example of the whiche I wyll make therof a conjugation full requisyte and necessary to the frenche tonge. But ye shall understande that thre verbes onely shall serve you to this purpose: that is to say, _have_, _do_, and _am_: for if one say _I am_, ye may say, _ye be nat_: _I have_, _ye have nat_: and _I do_, _ye do nat_: the whiche thre ben principall in this rule. THE INDICATIVE OF AFFIRMATION. I am, thou art, he is. Je suis, tu es, il est. I am nat, thou art nat, he is nat. Non suis, non es, non est. But I am, But thou arte, but he is. Sy suis, Sy es, sy est. So am I, So arte thou, so is he. Ce suis mon, ce es mon, ce est mon. We be, ye be, they be. Nous sommes, uous estes, Ilz sont. We be nat, ye be nat, they be nat. Non sommes, non estes, non sont. Page 994 But we be, but ye be, but they be. Sy sommes, sy estes, sy sont. So we be, so be ye, so be they. Ce sommes mon, ce estes mon, ce sont mon. And so forth thorow al the tenses and modes of all the tother twayne, as: I was, I was nat, but I was: so was I. I sayde, Jestoye, non estoye, sy estoie: cestoie mon. Je dysoie, I dyd nat, but I dyd, non faisoie, sy faisoie, so dyd I. I had, I had nat, but I had, so had I: ce faisoie mon. Jauoie, non auoie, sy auoie, ce auoie mon: je eus, non eus: I shall have, I shall nat, but I shall, so shall I. jaray, non aray, sy aray, ce aray mon. Which thre wordes shall serve you to any verbes signifieng either _doing_ or _suffryng_. EXAMPLE FOR NEGATION. I am nat: but I am. I am nat: no more I am. Je ne suis pas: sy suis. non suis: ce ne suis mon. I do nat: but I do. I do nat: no more do I. Je ne fay pas: sy fay. non fay: ce ne fay mon. I have nat: but I have. I have nat: no more have I. Je nay pas: sy ay. non ay: ce nay mon. Thou hast nat: but thou hast. thou hast nat: no more hast thou. Tu nas pas: sy as. non as: ce nas mon, etc. Touchyng the conjugation interrogative, as, Am I: do I: have I: or no, Suis je: fays je: ay je: ou non, ye shall answere, _ouy_, _nenny_, _non_: and to the interrogation negatyve, as, Am nat I, do nat I, have nat I, Ne suis je pas, ne fay je pas, nai je pas, ye shal answer as is said before in thexample of the negation, wherfore this is sufficient for this present rule. Another conjugation of these two verbes in latyn _uado_ and _eo_, whiche both verbes of one signifycation signifyeth in englyssh, _I go_, the which _go_ is defectyve in the frenche tonge, wherfore the tone must helpe the other. Page 995 THE PRESENT OF THE SHEWYNG MOODE. I go, why go I. Je uoy, pourquoy uoy je. I go nat, why go nat I. Je ne uoy poynt, pourquoy ne uoy je point. Thou goest, why goest thou. Tu uas, pourquoy uas tu. Thou goest nat, why goest thou nat. Tu ne uas pas, pourquoy ne uas tu pas. He goeth, why goeth he. Il ua, pourquoy ua il. He goeth nat, why goeth nat he. Il ne ua pas, pourquoy ne ua il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We go, why go we. Nous allons, pourquoy allons nous. We go nat, why go nat we. Nous nallons pas, pourquoy nallons nous pas. Ye go, why go ye. Uous alles, pourquoy alles uous. Ye go nat, why go nat ye. Uous nalles point, pourquoy nalles uous point. They go, why go they. Ilz uont, pourquoy uont ilz. They go nat, why go nat they. Ilz ne uont mie, pourquoy ne uont ilz mie. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. I dyd go, why dyd I go. Jallois, pourquoy allois je. I dyd nat go, why dyd nat I go. Je nallois pas, pourquoy nallois je pas. Thou dydest go, why dydest thou go. Tu allois, pourquoy allois tu. Thou dydest nat go, why dydest thou nat go. Tu nallois point, pourquoy nallois tu point. Page 996 He dyd go, why dyd he go. Il alloit; pourquoy alloit il. He dyd nat go, why dyd nat he go. Il nalloit pas, pourquoy nalloit il pas. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We dyd go, why dyd we go. Nous allions, pourquoy allions nous. We dyd nat go, why dyd nat we go. Nous nallions mie, pourquoy nallions nous mie. Ye dyd go, how dyd ye go. Uous alliéz, coment alliéz uous. Ye dyd nat go, how dyd nat ye go. Uous nalliés point, coment nalliéz uous point. They dyd go, how dyd they go. Ilz alloient, come alloient ilz. They dyd nat go, how dyd they nat go. Ilz nalloient pas, come nalloient ilz pas. THE PRETERIT PARFET. I went, how went I. Jalay, coment alay je. I went nat, how went nat I. Je nallay pas, coment nallay je pas. Thou wenst, how wenst thou. Tu alas, come alas tu. Thou wenst nat, how wenst nat thou. Tu nalas mie, come nalas tu mye. He went, how went he. Il ala, coment ala il. He went nat, how went nat he. Il nala point, coment nala il point. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We went, how went we. Nous alasmes, come alasmes nous. We went nat, howe went we nat. Nous nalasmes point, come nalasmes nous point. Page 997 Ye went, why went ye. Uous alastes, pourquoy alastes uous. Ye went nat, why went ye nat. Uous nalastes pas, pourquoy nalastes uous pas. They went, why went they. Ilz allérent, pourquoy allérent ilz. They went nat, why went nat they. Ilz nallérent mie, pourquoy nallérent ilz mye. THE PRETERIT INDIFINITIF. I have gone, how have I gone. Jay allé, coment ay je allé. I have nat gone, how have nat I gone. Je nay pas allé, coment nay je pas allé. Thou hast gone, why hast thou gone. Tu as allé, pourquoy as tu allé. Thou hast nat gone, why hast thou nat gone. Tu nas pas allé, pourquoy nas tu pas allé. He hath gone, why hath he gone. Il a allé, pourquoy a il allé. He hath nat gone, why hath nat he gone. Il na point allé, pourquoy na il point allé. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We have gone, why have we gone. Nous auons allé, pourquoy auons nous allé. We have nat gone, why have we nat gone. Nous nauons pas allé, pourquoy nauons nous pas allé. Ye have gone, why have ye gone. Uous aues allé, pourquoy aues uous allé. Ye have nat gone, why have nat ye gone. Uous naués pas allé, pourquoy naues uous pas allé. They have gone, how have they gone. Ilz ont allé, come ont ilz allé. They have nat gone, how have they nat gone. Ilz nont pas allé, come nont ilz pas allé. Page 998 THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. I had gone, how had I gone. Jauoy allé, coment auoy je allé. I had nat gone, how had nat I gone. Je nauoy point allé, coment nauoy je point allé. Thou hadest gone, why hadest thou gone. Tu auois allé, pourquoy auois tu allé. Thou hadest nat gone, why hadest thou nat gone. Tu nauois point allé, pourquoy nauois tu point allé. He had gone, how had he gone. Il auoit allé, come auoit il allé. He had nat gone, how had nat he gone. Il nauoit pas allé, come nauoit il pas allé. THE PLURELL NOMBRE. We had gone, how had we gone. Nous auions allé, coment auions nous allé. We had nat gone, how had we nat gone. Nous nauions point allé, coment nauions nous point allé. Ye had gone, why had ye gone. Uous auiez allé, pourquoy auiez uous allé. Ye had nat gone, why had nat ye gone. Uous nauiez mie allé, pourquoy nauiez uous mie allé. They had gone, why had they gone. Ils auoient allé, pourquoy auoyent ilz allé. They had nat gone, why had they nat gone. Ilz nauoient point allé, pourquoy nauoient ilz point allé. THE FUTURE I shall go, why shall I go. Je yray, pourquoy yray je. I shall nat go, why shall nat I go. Je nyray pas, pourquoy niray je pas. Thou shalt go, howe shalt thou go. Tu yras, coment yras tu. Thou shalt nat go, howe shalt nat thou go. Tu niras pas, coment niras tu pas. Page 999 He shall go, howe shall he go. Il yra, coment yra il. He shall nat go, howe shall nat he go. Il nira point, comment nyra il point. THE PLURELL. We shall go, why shall we go. Nous yrons, pourquoy yrons nous. We shall nat go, why shall nat we go. Nous nirons pas, pourquoy nirons nous pas. Ye shall go, why shall ye go. Uous yrés, pourquoy yrés uous. Ye shall nat go, why shall nat ye go. Uous nirés pas, pourquoy nirés uous pas. They shall go, howe shall they go. Ilz yront, coment yront ilz. They shall nat go, howe shall they nat go. Ilz niront mie, coment niront ilz mie. THE IMPERATYVE. Go thou, go he, all one, go we, go ye, Ua toy, aylle luy, uoise luy, alons nous, allés uous, go they. uoisent ou aillent eulx. THE FYRST FUTURE. Do that thou go, that he go, that we go, Fais que tu uoyse ou aylle, quil uoise ou aille, que nous allons, that ye go, that they go. que uous allés, quilz uoisent ou aillent. THE SECOND FUTURE NEGATIF. Kepe that thou go nat, all one, that he go nat, Garde que tu ne aylle point, que tu ne uoise point, quil naile poynt, all one, that we go nat, that ye go nat, quil ne uoise point, que nous nallons, que uous nallés, that they go nat, all one. quilz ne aillent point, quilz ne uoisent point. THE OPTATIF. Wold to God, or I pray you that I go, that thou go, Pleust a Dieu, ou je uous prie que jaille ou uoise, que tu aille, that he go, that we go, that ye go, that they go. que il aille, que nous allons, que uous allés, quilz aillent ou uoisent. Page 1000 THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. With my wyll that I went, that thou went, that he went: A ma uoullenté que jallasse, que tu allasse, que il allast: that we went, that ye went, that they went. que nous allissions, que uous allissiez, quilz allassent. THE PRETERIT PARFET. Wolde to God that I have gone, that thou have gone, A la mienne uoullenté que jay allé, que tu aie allé, that he have gone, quil ayt allé, that we have gone, that ye have gone, that they have gone. que nous ayons allé, que uous ayés allé, quilz ayent allé. PRETERIT PLUSPARFYTE. O if I had gone, if thou had gone, if he had gone, O sy jeusse allé, se tu eusse allé, se il eust allé, if we had gone, if ye had gone, if they had gone. se nous eussons allé, se uous sés allé, se ilz eussent allé. Ye may make a future of the present, sayenge: With my wyll that I may go anone, etc. all one. A ma uoullenté que je aylle tantost, etc. que je uoise tantost, etc. The conjunctif present and thre preterites is lyke the optatif, sayeng: as whan wolde to God _come_ or _quant_, before the verbe, leuyng _a ma uoullenté, _etc. The future boroweth of the potentiall moode whiche may be tourned six maner of wayes after the indicatif, or elles XVIII, after the seconde conjunction: I shuld go, thou, he, we shuld go, ye shuld go, Je yroie, tu yrois, il yroit, nous yrions, uous yriez, they shuld go. ilz yroient. THE SECONDE FUTURE. Whan I shall go, all one, whan thou shalt go, all one, Mais que je aille, que je uoise, que tu aille, que tu uoise, whan he shuld go, que il aille, all one, whan we shuld go, whan ye shall go, whan they shal go, quil uoise, que nous allons, que uous allés, quilz aillent, all one. quilz uoisent. to go. to be gone. goyng. THE INFINITYVE, aller. THE PRETERIT, estre allé. THE GERUNDIF, allant. Finis. Page 1001 Here foloweth another conjugation, whiche may be turned XXXVI maner wayes lyke the precedent, or els XII in every person, addyng _me, te, le:_ lyke the fyrst conjugation, but for to eschewe prolixite it shalbe syngle. I se, thou seest, he seeth, we se, ye se, they se. Je uoy, tu uois, il uoit nous ueons, uous uoiez, ilz uoient. PRETERIT IMPARF. I dyd se, thou dedest se, he dyd se: we dyd se, ye dyd se, Je uéoie, tu uéois, il uéoit: nous uéions, uous uéiez, they dyd se. ilz uéioient. PRETERIT PARF. I saw, thou saw, he saw: we saw, ye saw, they saw. Je ueis, tu ueis, il ueist: nous ueismes, uous ueistes, ilz ueirent. PRETERIT INDIFFINIT. I have sene, thou hast sene, he hath sene: we have sene, Jay ueu, tu as ueu, il a ueu: nous auons ueu, ye have sene, they have sene. uous aués ueu, ilz ont ueu. PRETERIT MOST PARFET. I had sene, thou hadest, he had, we had sene, Jauoie ueu, tu auois ueu, il auoit ueu, nous auions ueu, ye had, they had sene. uous auiez ueu, ilz auoient ueu. THE FUTURE. I shall se, thou shalt, he shall, we shall se, ye shall, Je uoiray, tu uoiras, il uoira, nous uoirons, uous uoirés, they shall se. ilz uoiront. THE IMPERATIF. Se thou or he, se we, se ye, se they. Uois toy ou luy, uoions nous, uoiés uous, uoient eulx, elles, celles. BOTH FUTURES, AFFIRMATIF AND NEGATIF. Do that thou seest, or that thou sest nat, that he seeth or that he seeth nat: Fais que tu uoie, ou que tu ne uoie point, quil uoie ou quil ne uoie point: that we se, or that we se nat, que nous uoions, ou que nous ne uoions point, that ye se or that ye se nat, que uous uoiéz ou que uous ne uoiez point, that they se, or that they seeth nat. quilz uoient, ou quelles ne uoient point. Page 1002 THE OPTATIF PRESENT. Wolde to God, or I pray you that I may se, that thou mayst se, A la mienne uoullenté, ou je uous prie que je uoie, que tu uoie, that he may se, that we may se, that ye may se, that they may se. quil uoie, que nous uoions, que uous uoiez, quilz uoient. PRETERIT IMPARFET. Wold to God that I coud se, that thou, that he, Pleust a Dieu que je ueisse, que tu ueisse, quil ueisse, that we coude se, that ye, that they. que nous ueissions, que uous ueissiez, quilz ueissent. PRETERIT PARFYTE. With my wyll that I have sene, that thou, that he, A ma uoullenté que jaie ueu, que tu aie ueu, quil aie ueu, that we have sene, that ye, that they. que nous aions ueu, que uous aiéz ueu, quilz aient ueu. PLUSPARF. O if I had sene, if thou hadest, if he had sene, O se jeusse ueu, se tu eusse ueu, sil eusse ueu, yf we had, yf ye had, if they had sene. se nous eussions, se uous eussiez, silz eussent ueu. The subjunctif is lyke the optatif. The fyrste future of the subjunctyve is: I shulde, Je uoiroie, uoirois, uoiroit, uoirions, uoiriéz, uoiroient. whan I shall se thou he we THE SECONDE FUTUR: mais que je uoie, que tu uoie, quil uoie: que nous uoions, you they. que uous uoiés, quilz uoient. to se. to have sene, seyng. THE INFINITIF: ueoir. PRETERIT: auoir ueu, uoiant. Another conjugation upon _howe do you_, and _how do ye fare_: and if ye do take the verbe after the fyrst conjugation, sayeng: _je porte, porte je, pourquoy porte je, etc._ and lykewise of _je fay, fay je, etc._ ye shal tourne it XXXVI wayes in one tense, and if ye turne it after the seconde conjugacion, ye Page 1003 shall have an hundred and VIII wayes in one tense, addyng to it _me, te, le, nous nous, uous uous, ilz se_. Howe do I fare, or beare me, how dost thou fare, or bere the, Coment me porte je, coment te porte tu, howe dothe he fare: howe do we fare, coment se porte il: coment nous portons nous, howe do ye fare, howe do they fare, coment uous portés uous, coment se portent ilz. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. Howe dyd I, howe dedest thou, howe dyd he, Coment me portoy je, coment te portois tu, coment se portoit il, howe dyd we bere us, how dyd ye, coment nous portions nous, coment uous portiez uous, howe dyd they. coment se portoient ilz. THE PRETERIT PARFET. Howe dyd I, howe dedest thou, Come me portay je, coment te portas tu, howe dyd he, howe dyd we beare us, coment se porta il, coment nous portasmes nous, how dyd ye beare you, how dyd they beare them. coment uous portaste uous, coment se portérent ilz. THE PRETERIT INDIFINITIF. Howe have I borne me, howe have I, Coment may je porté, coment tay je porté, howe hath he, howe have we borne us, coment sa il porté, coment nous auons nous porté, howe have ye borne you, howe have they borne them. coment uous aués uous porté, coment se sont ilz porté. THE PRETERIT MOST PARFYTE. Howe had I borne me, howe hadest thou, Coment mauoy je porté, coment tauois tu porté, howe had he borne him, howe had we borne us, coment se auoit il porté, coment nous auions nous porté, howe had ye borne you, howe had they borne them, coment uous auiéz uous porté, coment se auoient ilz porté. THE FUTURE. Howe shall I beare me, howe shalt thou bere the, Coment me porteray je, coment te porteras tu, howe shall he beare hym: howe shall we beare us, coment se portera il: coment nous porterons nous, howe shall you beare you, howe shall they beare them. coment uous porterés uous, coment se porteront ilz. The imperatyve, optatyve, and conjunctyve may nat serve with this Page 1004 worde, _coment_, save onely the future of the potentiall mode, whiche is: I shulde beare, thou shuldest, he shulde, Porteroie, porterois, porteroit, we shulde bere, ye shuld, they shulde bere. porterions, porteriez, porteroient. And if ye wyll go thorowe the sayd modes, ye shall folowe the termination of this verbe, _I go_, whiche is sette before. And touchyng, _howe do you_, ye shall ever put _le_ before the verbe, sayeng: Howe do I, howe dost thou, howe dothe he, Coment le fay je, coment le fais tu, coment le fait il, howe do we, do ye, do they. coment faisons nous, faictes uous, font ilz ou elles. And lykewise of all the preterites, sayeng: Howe dyd I, etc. howe dyd I, howe have I done, Coment le faisoi je, etc. coment le feiz je, coment lay je fait, howe had I done, howe shall I do, howe shulde I do, etc. coment lauoy je fait, coment le feray je, coment le feroy je, etc. Finis. Here foloweth the conjugation of a verbe defectyve in frenche, whiche is _I am wont_, because it is a verbe rare and syldome used. I am wont, thou art, he is wont, we be wonte, ye be wonte, Je seulz, tu seulz, il seult, nous seulmes, uous seultes, they be wonte. ilz seulent. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. I was, thou, he, we, ye, Je soulloie, tu soullois, il soulloit: nous soulions, uous souliez, they. ilz souloient. I was, Je seulz, tu seulz, il seult, nous seulmes, uous seultes, ilz seulrent. There is nomore of this verbe, for if we procede any further, _we do say_: I have, I had customed, I shall custome. _je ay de coustume, jauoy de coustume_, and _jaray de coustume,_ and so forth. Anoder verbe defectif which is, _it is lawful to me_; this verbe may be turned XXXVI wayes, accordyng to the fyrst conjugation. It is to me laufull, it is to the, it is to him, it is to us, Il me loise, il te loise, il luy loise, il nous, it is to you, it is to them laufull. il uous, il leur loise. Page 1005 PRETERIT IMPARFET. It was to me laufull, to the, to him laufull, Il me loisoit, il te, il luy loisoit, to us, to you, to them laufull or licite. il nous, il uous, ilz leur loisoit. PRETERIT PARFET. It was, Il me loisit, il te, il luy loisit: il nous, il uous, ilz leur loisit. THE INDIFFINITIF. It hath ben to me laufull, to the, to him, Il ma esté loisible, il ta esté, il luy a, to us, to you, to them laufull, or behovable. il nous a, il uous a, ilz leur a esté loisible. THE PLUS PARFET. It had ben to me, or els it had behoved me. Il mauoit esté loisible, il tauoit esté loisible, il luy auoit esté loisible, il nous, il uous, ilz leur auoit esté loisible. It shalbe to me, THE FUTURE is: Il me loysera, ou il me sera loisyble. THE FUTURE OF THE IMPERATIF, whiche is negatif is: Loke that it be nat laufull to the. Garde ou faitz quil ne te loise. That it were to me laufull. THE OPTATIF. Quil me fust loisible. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. Quil me loisisse. That it have ben to me, that it have ben to him. THE PARFET. Quil maie esté, quil luy ayt esté loysible, and so forth. That it had ben to me laufull. THE PLUS PARFET. Quil meust esté loysible. THE SUBJUNCTIF, is lyke the optatyve, taking the present for the seconde future. How it shulde be laufull to me, THE FYRST FUTURE. Come il me loiseroit, come il te loyseroit, come il luy loyseroit, come ilz nous loiseroit, come ilz uous loiseroit, come ilz leur loiseroit. Finis. A conjugation of this verbe _care_, which for the most parte is negatyve, as _I care nat_, and if ye wyll adde this worde _it_ unto the same, sayeng: _I care nat for it_: ye shall put an _n_ after every pronoun, as: _il ne men chault, il ne ten, il ne luy en, il ne nous en, il ne uous en, il ne leur en chault_. I care nat, thou carest nat, he Il ne me chault, il ne te chault, il ne luy: we ye they. il ne nous, il ne uous, ilz ne leur chault. Page 1006 PRETERIT IMPARFYTE. I dyd nat care, Il ne me, il ne te, il ne luy chaloit, ye they ilz ne nous, ilz ne uous, ilz ne leur chaloit. PRETERIT PERFECT. I cared nat, Il ne me, il ne te, il ne luy chalut, ilz ne nous, ilz ne vous, ilz ne leur chalut. THE PRETERIT INDIFFINITIF. I have nat cared. Il ne ma chalu, etc. PRETERIT PLUS PERFET. I had nat cared. Il ne mauoit, il ne tauoit, il ne luy auoit, ilz ne nous, ye they ilz ne uous, ilz ne leur avoit chalu. THE FUTURE. I shall nat care. Il ne me chauldra, il ne te, il ne luy, ilz ne nous, ilz ne uous, ilz ne leur chauldra. IMPERATIFE. Care thou nat, him, care we nat, care ye, care they nat. Ne te, ne luy chaille, ne nous, ne uous, ne leur chaille. BOTH FUTURES. Se that thou care, that thou care nat. Se we that we care, Garde quil te chaille, quil ne te chaille. Gardons quil nous chaille, that we nat care. Se ye that ye care, that ye nat care. quil ne nous chaille. Gardés quil uous chaille, quil ne vous chaille. Let them se that they care, that they nat care. Gardent quil leur chaille, quil ne leur chaille. OPTATIF. With my wyll that I care, that thou care, that he care, A ma uoullenté quil me chaille, quil te chaille, quil luy chaille, that we care, that ye care, that they care. quil nous chaille, quil uous chaille, quil leur chaille. THE IMPARFET. Wold to God that I care, that thou, that he, Pleust a Dieu quil me chalusse, quil te chalusse, quil luy chalusse, that we, that ye, that they care. quil nous chalusse, quil uous chalusse, quil leur chalusse. Page 1007 PRETERIT PARFET. With my wyll that I have, that thou hast, that he hath care: A ma uoullenté quil maie chalu, quil taie chalu, quil luy ayt chalu: that we, that ye, that they have care. quil nous, quil uous, quil leur ayt chalu. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. O if I had care, if thou hadest, if he had care, O sil me eust, sil teust, sil luy eust chalu. if we, if ye, if they had care. sil nous, sil uous, sil leur eust chalu. The futur is lyke the present as: I praye to God that I care nat, or that I care. Je prie a Dieu quil ne me chaille, ou quil me chaille. The subjunctif is lyke the optatif. Whan I shall care. THE FUTURE: Mais quil me chaille, and so forth. I shulde nat care, thou shuld nat care, THE SECONDE FUTURE: Il ne me chauldroit, il ne te chauldroit, he shuld nat care. il ne luy chauldroit, etc. It maketh no matter, or it skylleth nat. THE INFINITIVE: Il ne peult chaloir. Note that if ye leve this worde, _ne_, whiche is before every pronowne, it is affirmative, and if ye do put it unto the sayd pronowne it is negative. Another conjugation of two verbes together, that is to say, _I serche_ in englishe, and because I wyll eschewe prolixite, I wyll touche but the synguler nombre of every tense. I seke, all one, thou, he, Je cerche, je quiers, tu cerche, tu quiers, il cerche, il quiers, we serche, ye nous cerchons, nous quierons, uous cerchés, uous quieres, they ilz cerchent, ilz quierent. PRETERIT IMPARFET. I dyd seke, or serche. Je cerchoie, ou querois. I sauht. THE PRETERIT PARFET. Je cerchay, ou quis. Page 1008 I have sought. THE PRETERIT INDIFFINITIF. Jay cerché, ou quis. I had sought. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. Jauoie cerché, ou quis. I shall serche. THE FUTURE. Je cercheray, ou quereray. Seke thou, or seke the, seke we, THE IMPERATIVE. Cerche toy, ou quiers toy, querons nous, cerchons nous, seke ye, seke they. querés uous, cerches, quierent eulz, cerchent eulz. Se that thou seke, that thou serche. THE FUTURE. Garde que tu cerche, que tu quiere. Loke that thou serche nat. THE SECOND FUTUR. Garde que ne cerche, ou quiere. With my wyll, that I serche or seke. THE OPTATIF. A ma uoullenté, que je cerche ou quiere. Wold to God that I dyd serche. PRETERIT IMPARFET. Pleust a Dieu que je cerchasse, pleust a Dieu que je quisse. With my wyll that I have sought. THE PRETERIT PARFET. A ma uoullenté que jaie cerché ou quis. O if I had sought, if thou had, THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. O se jeusse cerché ou quis, se tu eusse, if he had, etc. sil eust, etc. The subjunctif is lyke the optatif, with his thre preterites. Whan I shall serche, THE FYRST FUTURE. Mais que je cerche, ou quiere. I shulde serche THE SECONDE FUTURE. Je cercheroie, ou quereroie, quererois, roit, rions, riéz, roient. To seke and to serche. THE INFINITIF. Cercher et querir. Note that this conjugation may be turned six and thirty maner wayes I seke, seke I: why seke I, after the fyrst sayenge: je cerche, cerche je: pourquoy cerche je, I seke nat, seke nat I, why seke nat I. je ne cerche pas, ne cerche je pas, pourquoy ne cerche je pas,_ etc. or elles an hondred and I seke me, VIII wayes in one tense, sayeng after the II conjugation: _je me quiers, I seke the, I seke him je te quiers, je le quiers , and so forth, turninge it with the questions. (Loke upon the seconde conjugation.) Finis. Page 1009 A conjugation of a verbe that must be pronounced with double ll, accordyng to the seventh rule that is immediatly after the prologue whiche shalbe a patron and example for all suche verbes, the which conjugation may be turned syx and thirty wayes after the fyrste, or an hundred and VIII after the seconde. I knele, I blotte, I wyte, The verbes ben je mengenoulle, je broulle, je toulle, je moulle, make foule, I stare je soulle, je roulle, je catoulle, je fatroulle, je barboulle, I cut, I gyve, I gape, I rayle. je talle, je balle, je baslle, je ralle, and suche lyke. I knele, thou knele, he knele: Je mengenoulle, tu tengenoulle, il sengenoulle: we knele, you knele, they knele. nous nous engenoullons, uous uous engenoullés, ilz sengenoullent. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. I dyd knele, thou, he, Je mengenoulloie, tu tengenoullois, il sengenoulloit, we, you, they. nous nous engenoullions, uous uous engenoulliez, ilz sengenoulloient. THE PRETERIT PARFET. I dyd knele, thou, he, Je mengenoullay, tu tengenoullas, il sengenoulla, we, you, they. nous nous engenoullames, uous uous engenoullates, ilz sengenoullerent. PRETERIT INDIFFINITIF. I have kneled, thou hast kneled, he hath, Je may engenoullé, tu tas engenoullé, il sa engenoullé, we have, you, nous nous auons engenoullé, uous uous aues engenoullé, they. ilz se sont engenoullé. THE PRETERIT PLUS PARFET. I had kneled, thou, he, Je mauoie engenoullé, tu te auois engenoullé, il se auoit engenoullé, we, you, nous nous auions engenoullés, uous uous auiez engenoullé, they. ilz se auoient engenoullés. Page 1010 THE FUTURE. I shall knele, thou, he, Je mengenoulleray, tu tengenoulleras, il sengenoullera, we, you, they. nous nous engenoullerons, uous uous engenoullerés, ilz sengenoulleront. THIMPERATIF. Knele thou or he, knele we, knele ye, Engenoulle toy ou soy, engenoullons nous, engenoullés uous, let them knele. quilz sengenoullent. BOTH FUTURS NEGATIF AND AFFIRMATIF. Se that thou knele, that thou knele nat, that he knele, Garde que tu tengenoulle, que tu ne tengenoulle pas, quil sengenoulle, that he knele nat. That we knele, quil ne sengenoulle pas. Que nous nous engenoullons, that we knele nat, that ye do knele, que nous ne nous engenoullons pas, que uous uous engenoullés, ye do nat knele. Do that they knele, que uous ne uous engenoullés pas. Faictes quilz sengenoullent, do that they knele nat. faictes quilz ne sengenoullent pas. THE OPTATIF. With my wyll, or I pray you that I may knele, A la mienne uoullenté, ou je uous prie que je mengenoulle, that thou, he or she, que tu tengenoulle, quil ou quelle sengenoulle, that we, you, que nous nous engenoullons, que uous uous engenoulléz, they. quilz ou quelles sengenoullent. THE PRETERIT IMPARFET. Wold to God that I dyd knele, that, Pleust a Dieu que mengenoullasse, que tu tengenoullasse, that, that we, quil ou quelle sengenoullast, que nous engenoullissions, that ye, that they. que uous uous engenoullissiéz, quilz ou quelles sengenoullassent. THE PRETERIT PARFET. That I have kneled, that thou, A ma uoullenté que maie engenoullé, que taie engenoullé, that he, that we, que laie engenoullé, que nous aions engenoullés, that ye, that they. que uous aiés engenoullés, quilz se aient engenoullés. Page 1011 THE PRETERIT PLUSPARFET. O and I had kneled, if thou hadest, O se je meusse engenoullé, se tu te eusse engenoullé, if he had: if we, se il se eust engenoullé, se nous nous eussions engenoullés, if you, if they. se uous uous eussés engenoullés, silz se eussent engenoullés. The subjunctif is lyke the optatif, saieng _come_ or _quant_ before the verbe. THE FYRST FUTURE. Whan I shall knele, thou, he, Mais que je mengenoulle, que tu tengenoulle, quil sengenoulle: whan we, whan ye, mais que nous nous engenoullons, que uous uous engenoullés, whan they. quilz sengenoullent. THE SECONDE FUTURE. I shuld knele, thou, he, Je mengenoulleroie, tu tengenoullerois, il sengenoulleroit, we, ye, nous nous engenoullerions, uous uous engenoulleriéz, they. ilz sengenoulleroient. To knele. To have kneled. THE INFINITIF. Engenouller. THE PRETERIT. Auoir engenoullé. For THE GERUNDIF. Pour to knele, in knelyng. mengenoullér, de mengenoullér, en mengenoullant. I wysshe the kneled. THE OVERTHROWEN OF SUPIN. Je te souhaite engenoullé. And lyke wyse of all the other verbes above rehersed. Finis. A conjugacion combinyng or joynyng two verbes togyder, that is to say _I am_ and _I do_, takynge the present onely, in eschewyng prolyxite. Whan I am at scole, I do my deuer to lerne my lesson. Quant je suis a lescole, je fais mon debuoir daprendre ma lesson, ou lecon. Whan thou art at scole, thou doest thy deuer to lerne thy lesson. Quant tu es a lescole, tu fais ton debuoir daprendre ta lesson, ou lecon. Whan he is at scole, he doeth his dever to lerne his lesson. Quant il est a lescole, il fait son debuoir daprendre sa lesson. Page 1012 Whan we be at scole, we do our dever to lerne our. Quant nous sommes a lescolle, nous faisons nostre deuoir daprendre nostre lecon. Whan ye be at scole, ye do your dever to lerne your. Quant uous estes a lescole, uous festes uostre deuoir dapprendre uostre lesson. Whan they be at scole, they do theyr dever to lerne theyr. Quant ilz sont a lescolle, ilz font leur deuoir dapprendre leur lecon. And so forth thorow al the conjugation of _I am_, above written, and of this verbe _I do_, whiche is in the preterit imparfet _je faisoie_. I dyd. PARFET. Je feis. I have done. THE PRETERIT INDIFINITIF. Jay fait. I had done. PLUS PARFET. Jauoie fait. I shall do. THE FUTURE. Je feray. Do thou. THE IMPERATIF. Faitz. Loke that thou do. THE FUTURE. Garde que tu face. Let me do. THE OPTATIF. Que je face. Thad I dyd. IMPARFET. Que je feisse. That I have done. THE PRETERIT PARFET. Que jaye faict. That I had done. PLUS PARFET. Que jeusse fait. THE SUBJUNCTYF. Whan I shall do lyke the optatyf. THE FIRST FUTURE. Mais que je face. I shuld do, THE SECONDE. Je feroye, rois, roit: ferions, riéz, roient. To do. THE INFINITIF. Faire. To have done. PRETERIT. Auoir fait. Page 1013 In doyng, to do, for to do. GERUNDIF. En faisant, a faire, pour faire. THE OVERTHROWEN. To be done. LE RENUERSE. Estre fait. Note that for to lerne frenche quickely, ye must turne the sayd conjugation iiii maners of wayes, tat is to say affirmatyve, and interrogatyve, and negatyve, and interrogatyve, as it hath ben plainly shewed here before. Finis. Another conjugation by way of combination lyke the tother before rehersed. And fyrst of the present. Whan I repute me vile and unclene, by humilite, I am clene Quant je me repute uil et ord, uile et orde, par humilité, je suis and pure by goodnes. nect et pur, necte etpure, par bonté. Whan thou repute the, by goodnes, thou art, Quant tu te repute uil et ord, uile et orde, par bonté, tu es nect et pur, necte et pure, par humilité. Whan he him repute, he is, Quant il se repute uil et ord, uile et orde, par bonté, il est pur et nect, pure et necte, par humilité. Whan we us repute, Quant nous nous reputons uilz et ordz, uiles et ordes, par humilité, we be nous sommes purs et nectz par bonté. Whan ye you repute, Quant uous uous reputez uilz et ordz, uiles et ordes, par humilité, ye be uous estes purs et nectz, etc. par bonté. Whan they them repute, by Quant ilz ou elles se reputent uilz et ordz, uiles et ordes, par mekenes, they humilité, ilz ou elles sont purs et nectz, pures et nectes, par bonté. And so forth unto the imperatif, makyng other verbes by patron of the same. Also another conjugation with two verbes togeder every of them twyse rehersed, and the verbe repeted ever in the preterit parfet, and the fyrst and last goyng through all the modes and tenses: the whiche ben thus. _Whan I se that I never saw, I thinke that I never thought._ Whan I se that whiche I never saw, I thinke that I never thought. Quant je uoy ce que ne ueis jamais, je pense ce que ne pensay oncques. Page 1014 Whan thou seest that that thou, thou. Quant tu uois ce que tu ne ueis jamais, tu pense ce que ne pensas oncques. Whan he seth, he thinke that. Quant il uoit ce quil ne ueist jamais, il pense ce quil ne pensa oncques. Whan we se that that we, we. Quant nous uoions ce que nous ne ueismes jamais, nous pensons ce que ne pensames oncques. Whan ye se that that ye never sawe, ye. Quant uous uoyez ce que ne ueistes jamais, uous penses ce que ne pensastes oncques. Whan they se, they. Quant ilz uoient ce quilz ne ueisent jamais, ilz pensent ce que ne penserent oncques. And so through till the imperatif, than ye may turne the verbes if ye lyste, sayeng: «Whan I thinke that I never thought, I se that I never sawe; _Quant je pense ce que ne pensay jamais, je uoy ce que ne ueis oncques_,» and so forth. Another conjugation joynynge two verbes together. Whan I am ydell, I worke nat, whan I worke, I am nat ydell. Quant je chomme, je ne besongne pas, quant je besongne, je ne chomme pas. Whan thou art ydell, thou workest nat: whan thou workest, thou art nat ydell. Quant tu chomme, tu ne besongne pas: quant tu besongne, tu ne chomme pas. Whan he or she is ydell, he or she worketh nat: whan he or she Quant il ou elle chome, il ou elle ne besongne pas: quand il ou elle doeth worke, he or she is nat ydell. besongne, il ou elle ne chomme pas. Whan we be ydel, we do nat worke: whan we worke, Quant nous chommons, nous ne besongnons pas: quant nous besongnons, we be nat ydel. nous ne chomons pas. Whan ye be ydel, ye worke nat: whan ye worked, ye Quant uous chommés, uous ne besongnés pas: quant uous besongnés, uous be nat ydel. ne chomés pas. Whan they ben ydel, they worke nat: whan they Quant ilz ou elles chomment, ilz ou elles ne besongnent pas: quant ilz worke, they be nat ydel. ou elles besongnent, ilz ou elles ne chomment pas. And so forth till the imperatif, saieng in the preterit imparfet: I was ydel, _chomoie_, Page 1015 I dyd worke. I was ydel besongnoie, etc.; in the parfet: chommay, besongnay; the whan I had ben ydel, I had nat worked. indifinitif: quant jay_ chommé, je nay pas besongné, the plus parfet: whan I had ben ydel, I had nat worked. quant jauoie chomé, je nauoie pas besongné; the future: whan I shalbe ydel, I shall nat worke. quant je chommeray, je ne besongneray pas. Another conjugation accordynge to the precedent. Whan I am possessed, I have good earnes: whan I have non Quant je suis nantis ou nantie, jay bonnes arres: quant je nay nulles earnes, I am nat possessed. arres, je ne suis point nantie. Whan thou art possessed, thou hast good earnes: whan thou hast non Quant tu es nantis, tu as bonnes arres: quant tu nas nulles earnes, thou art nat possessed. arres, tu nes point nantis. Whan he hath good earnes, he is: whan he is nat possessed, he Quant il a bonnes arres, il est nantis: quant il nest point nantis, il hath none earnes. na nulles arres. Whan we be possessed, we have good earnes: whan we have Quant nous sommes nantis, nous auons bonnes arres: quant nous auons good earnes, we be possessed. bonnes arres, nous sommes nantis. Whan ye be, ye have good: whan ye have, Quant uous estes nantis, uous aues bonnes arres: quant uous aues ye be. bonnes arres, uous estes nantis. Whan they be, they have, whan they have, Quant ilz sont nantis, ilz ont bonnes arres: quant ilz ont they be. bonnes arres, ilz sont nantis. I am And so forth after the verbe,_ je suis,_ sayeng in the preterit imparfet, whan I was quant jestois, etc. (Loke above.) I understande, thou understande, he or she understandeth, Jentens, je mentens: tu entens, tu tentens: il ou elle sentend, we us understande, ye understande you, they understande. nous nous entendons, uous uous entendes, ilz ou elles sentendent. THE INTERROGATYVE. Understand I me, understande thou, understande he or she: understande Mentens je, tentens tu, sentend il ou elle: nous entendons we us, understande ye you, understande they them. nous, uous entendes uous, sentendent ilz ou elles. Page 1016 THE NEGATYVE. I understande nat me, thou understande nat the, Je ne mentens pas, tu ne tentens pas, he or she understande nat him; we do nat understande us, il ou elle ne sentend pas: nous ne nous entendons pas, ye do nat understande you, they do nat understande them. uous ne uous entendés pas, ilz ou elles ne sentendent pas. THE INTERROGATYVE. Do nat I understande me, do nat thou understande the, Ne mentens je pas, ne tentens tu pas, do nat he understande him or she: do we nat understande us, ne sentend il ou elle pas: ne nous entendons nous pas, do ye nat understande ye, do nat they understande them. ne uous entendes uous pas, ne sentendent ilz ou elles pas. Dyd I understande, understande I, I have understande, entendoie, entendis, jay entendu, I had understande, I shall understande. jauoie entendu, entenderay. Thus endeth the fyrst boke. Page 1017 An answere to the correcters and of all workes reprouers. APOLOGIE AUX CORRECTEURS ET DE TOUTTES OUURES REPREUEURS. GILES DU WES ALIAS DE VADIS. Grose folke of rude affection G rosses gens de rudes affections dronkerdes, banysshed of trewe felyng I urongnes, bannis de uray sentement lubbers, knaves, private of understandyng L ourdaultz, cocardz, priues dentendement in their mouthfull takyng refection E n leur gueulée prenant refections fulfylled of oprobre and of detraction S aoule doprobes et de detractions Shall say of me as they do of other folkes D iront de moy comme ilz font daultre gent beholde here, what a maker fayre and gentyl U oies icy, quel facteur bel et gent, trewe it is for certayne, that I am ignorant U ray est pour certain, que suis ignorant wyllyng I ought nat to leave therfore U oulloir je ne doy pas laisser pour tant to undertake thyng that ought to be prayse E mprendre chose qui fait a priser without takyng hede to their disprayse. S ans garde prendre a leur despriser. Some shall say this is yvell writte A ulcun diront cecy est mal escript the others aftervarde, bendyng the browes L es aultres appres, bandant lez sourcilz shall there fynde right great faute of spirite I trouueront tresgrant faulte desprit other shall wey all, as folkes subtyles A ultres peseront tout, comme gens subtilz. upon this gyveng their sentence and advyse. S ur ce donnant leur sentence et aduis. Say every one what so ever he wyll D ie ung chescun ce que dire uouldra in the spite of the dyvell, and of yvel wyll. E n despit du diable, et de mal uoulloir. Se they may, that I have put me in dever U eoir ilz pouront, que ma mis en debuoir to do well, do better that can A bien faire, face mieulz qui scara of me certes nat reproved he shalbe. D e moy certes ja reprins nen sera. Jesus than us graunt well to do I hesus doncques nous ottroy bien faire without willyng, neither him nor other displease. S ans uoulloir, na lui na aultre desplaire. ENDE OF THE FYRST BOKE. Page 1018 HERE FOLOWETH THE SECONDE BOOKE of this lytell worke, in the whiche shalbe treated of communycations, and other thynges necessary to the lernyn of the sayd French tonge. Page 1019 A LAUDE AND PRAYSE TO THE KYNGE, THE QUENE, AND TO THE PRINCESSE NOBLE GRACE, FOR A PREAMBLE OR PROLOGUE TO THE SAYD BOKE. To the right hye, right chrìsten, and most redouted imperiall myght, and A la treshaulte, trescrestien, et tresredoutée imperialle puissance, et soverayne majesty of you, Henry by the grace of God, lyveng kyng victorious, souueraine maiste de uous, Henry par la grace de Dieu, uiuant roy uictorieux, and monarcion of all Englande, the VIII of that name: be et monarque de toute Engleterre, huitiesme de ce nom: soit laude everlastyng, honour without ende: alwayes lastynge lyfe louenge perpetuélle, honneur sans fin: tousjours durant uie prosperous and good felicite. prospére et bien heurée. And to you most illustre, right excellente, and right magnanime lady and Et a uous tresillustre, tresexcellente, et tresmagnanime dame et princesse, my lady Anne by the grace of God quene of Englande and of princesse, ma dame Anne par la grace de Dieu royne dEngleterre et de France: with right noble and most vertuouse yours right dere and well beloved Fraunce: auec tres noble et tres uertueuse uostre tres chiére et bien aimée doughter Elizabeth, princesse of Englande and of Wales: be lyfe everlastynge fille Elizabeth, princesse dEngleterre et de Galles: soit uie pardurable and joye without ende. Amen amen. et joye sans fin. Amen amen. Ee dicat omnis populus amen. Page 1020 Wolde to God A ma uoullenté that the Godheed que la deité, full of goodnesse plaine de bonté had graunted to me sy meust ottroié whiche am counterfait qui suis contrefait of ignorancy, and undone dignorance, et desfait koning and knowledge science et scauoir with the power auecques pouoir can declare scavoir declarér and to manyfeste et manifestér after my power selon mon possible the grace that can nat be saide la grace indicible of the right christen kyng du trescrestien roy whiche in noble aray qui en noble aroy is this day lyvyng est aujourdhuy uiuant prosperous and reignyng prospereus et regnant whiche all the men qui tous les hommes howe great that we ben come grans que sommes as well clerkes and lays et clercz et laiz by his faire dedes par ses beaulz faitz hath over comen a surmontés and excelled et excellés wherfore the most pourquoy le plus parfait here beneth parfait ca jus having power ayant pouoir and the knowyng et le scauoir shulde fayle right well il fauldroit bien that his mainteynyng que son maintien that his sperit que son esprit of wyt kyndled de sens esprit might ones begyne peult entamér for to declare pour declarér as it hapened comme il aduient whan a man doth come quant homme uient to the great see a la graunt mér for to lade it pour lespuisér incontinently incontinent that he doth se quil uoit comment Page 1021 his entreprise son entreprise whiche to that him tychyt que ce latise hath made him do amysse la fait mesprendre willyng to take in hande uoulloir emprendre a thinge unpossible chose impossible he that right feble luy qui debile is, and fraile est, et fragille and lytell able et peu abille as a man dronke comme ung homme yvre whiche lytell to lyve quy guere uiura naturally naturellement may nat goodly ne peult bonnement he him withdraweth il se retire pluckyng him selfe et se detire him complainynge soy doulousant that nat knowyng que non scauaunt he hath undertake il a empris to wyn the prise gagner le pris wyllyng for to do pour uoulloir faire the whiche to parforme ce que parfaire no man might nul ne poulroit where he nover tant ne seroit man so myghty home puissant alwaies livyng tousjours uiuaunt neither more nor lesse ne plus ne moins to put his handes mectre ses mains or besy him selfe ou sempeschér wyllyng to prayse uoulloir prisér prince without pere prince sans pér and nat to erre sans point errér shuld be to lade seroit puisser the water out of the se leaue hors la mér wherfore in now pourquoy a tant me withdrawyng me retirant of myn enterpryse de mon emprise I say without fiction dis sans faintise during my lyfe. durant ma uye. Be it sadde or mery Soit triste ou lye Page 1022 I shall never cease ne cesseray nor shall leave ne laysseray in every place en chascun lieu to laude God de louér Dieu and also to crie et de criér and to supply et supliér his magestie sa magesté and godheed et deité to be wyllyng to kepe uoulloir gardér and to preserve et preseruér the noble lorde le noble seigneur from all unhap de tout malheur also the lady aussi la dame whiche lyved without blame que uist sans blame I understande the quene jentens la royne whiche never doth ende qui point ne fine to do honour de faire honneur to the maker au createur with she auecque celle that hath no pere qui non pareille in this worlde est en ce monde right pure and clene trespure et monde it is the princesse cest la princesse halfe a goddesse demie deesse leavyng them to us les nous laissans here lyvyng icy uiuans right longe space tres longue espace with his grace avec sa grace than whan shall come puis quand uiendra that it shall nede quil conuiendra at the later ende a la parfin that they take an ende quilz prengnent fin without bytternesse sans amertune or payne any ne paine aulcune they be sette ilz soient posés and bestowed et colocqués in Heven en Paradis where as ever la ou toudis Page 1023 they may laude puissent louér and exalte et exaltér with the saintes auec les sainctz wherof there is many dont y a maintz the blessed Trinite la benoite Trinité thre persones in unite trois personnes en unité the whiche for ever without decline laquelle a jamais sans declin reigne alwayes without ende. regne a tousjours sans prendre fin. Finis. A MESSAGER COMMING FROM THE KYNGES GRACE, TO HIS WEL BELOVED DOUGHTER LADY MARY. Mary. From wens come you, my frende. Dou uenes uous, mon amy. The messanger. I come from the court. Certes, madame, je uiens de la court. Mary. How doth fare the Kyng my father and the good lady my mother. Coment se porte le Roy mon pere et la bonne dame ma mere. The messanger. In truthe, madame, they dyd right well at my partyng, or En uerité, madame, ilz se portoient tresbien a mon departement, ou whan I came thens. quant je men partis. Ma. I am right glad of their good prosperite, and pray Our Lorde always so Je suis tresjoieuse de leur bonne prosperité, et prie Nostre Seigneur tousjours to maintene them: do nat you bryng me some remembraunce or token ainsy les maintenir: ne maportés uous quelque souuenance ou enseigne from them. de par eulz. Le mes. I do presente unto you, in the name of the good grace of the Kyng your father, this Je uous presente, ou nom de la bonne grace du roy uostre pere, ce herte of golde, amelde of trewe hope, whiche is russet couller, and from ceur dor, esmaillé de uray esperance, qui est coulleur grise, et de par Page 1024 the good lady your mother, a flour of forget me nat, with the la bonne dame uostre mére, une fleur de ne moubliez mye, auec la blessyng of God, gyven to Jacob. benediction de Dieu donnée a Jacob. Mary. What blessyng do ye speke to me of. Quelle benediction me mectés uous en termes. Le mes. The same that Abraham gave to Isaak, and Isaak to Jacob, and Jacob to Judas, Celle que Abraham donna a Isaak, et Isaak a Jacob, et Jacob a Judas, the whiche is suche that all they that shall blesse you, shalbe blessed. laquelle est telle que tous ceulx qui uous benyront seront benyes. Ma. Blessed be God and blessed be the Kyng and the Quine and all creatures Benoit soit Dieu et benoitz soient le Roy et la Royne et touttes creatures of good wyll: now tell me what newes bringe ye to me. de bonne uoullenté: orsus die moy quelles nouuelles maportés uous. Le mes. Trewly ma dame, I do know none other thyng that I may say Ueritablement, ma dame, je ne scay aultre chose que puisse dire openly, but that the Kyng is a knyght. en appert, sinon que le Roy est cheuallier. Ma. For soth, or in my God: ther be fayre tidynges, ye may go En mon Dieu, vas les belles nouuelles, uous uous poués en whan shall please you. allér quant uous playra. Le mes. Wherfore madame. Pourquoy, madame. Ma. Because that ye have done your arande. Pource que fait aués uostre message. I pray you how do myne uncle, myne ante, my lorde, Je uous prie comment se porte, se portent mon oncle, ma tante, monsieur, my lady, my my madame, maistre, maistresse; mon cousin, mes cousins, ma cousine, neigh bour, my mes cousines, mon uoisin, mes uoisins, ma uoisine, mes uoisines, mon God father, my God mother, gospy, parin, ma marine, mon compére, ma commére, maistre, maistresse, Page 1025 women, the men: and all my les damoiselles, les gentilz femmes, les gentilz hommes: et tous mes good fryndes. bons amis. Le mes. He or she they an hondred times, Il ou elle se recommande, ilz ou elles se recommandent cent fois, a thousand times, to your good grace, to your highnesse, to your mille fois, a uostre bonne grace, a uostre haultesse, a uostr excellency, to your lordshyppe. e excellence, a uostre seigneurie. Ma. I am glad, that he do well, that she Je suis joieus, je suis joieuse, quil se porte bien, quelle le fait that they do. bien, quilz le font bien, quelles se portent bien. Whan shall ye retourne, whan pretende you or purpose ye to Quant retournerés uous, quant pretendés uous, quant proposés uous de returne toward the court, toward the Kyng, the Quene, retourner deuers la court, deuers le Roy, deuers la Royne, my lorde, my lady. devers monsieur, devers madame, etc. Le mes. Certainly to morow, after to morow, within this two dayes, within Certainement, madame, demain, appres demain, dicy a deux jours, dicy a viii daies, within this moneth: will it please you to commande me any huit jours, dicy a ung mois: uous plaist il me commander aulcun servyce. seruyce. Ma. I you pray to do my most humble recommendations to the good grace Je uous prie de fayre mes tres humbles recommandations à la bonne grace of the Kyng my father, and the good lady my mother, and to saye to them du Roy mon pere, a la bonne dame ma mere, et leur dire that I them pray alwayes of their blessynges. que je les prie tousjours de leurs benedictions. Page 1026 MONICION TO THE LADY MARY, BY THE LADY OF MAL TRAUERS, HUMBLE SERVANT TO HER NOBLE GRACE, UPON A PROVERBE WHICHE IS HERYNG SAY GOTH BY THE TOWNE. I you have herde say Madame, je uous ay ouy dire that by the towne gothe here say que par uille ua ouyr dire wherfore I you say, and for trouth pourquoy je uous dis, et pour uray that if ye ne do other dever que sy ne faictes aultre debvoir ye shall fynd that one hath missaide uous trouuerés quon a mesdict in that which of you one hath saide en ce que de uous on a dit that you dyd speke ryght good frenche que uous parliéz tresbon francois passed allredy more than six monethes passes desja plus de six mois wherfore, for the love that I you owe pourquoy pour lamour que uous doy and that to you have gyve my fayth et que uous ay donné ma foy I you requyre and monishe je uous requier et admoneste as she whiche is redy comme celle qui est preste to serve you and worshyppe de uous seruir et honorer that it please you to remember quil uous plaise rememorer Page 1027 that whiche more touche your honour ce qui plus touche uostre honeur for if it dyd please our lorde car sil plaisoit nostre seigneur that you might ones come to que uous peussiéz ja paruenir where your hert hath his desire ou uostre coeur a son desir without knowyng the frenche speche sans sauoir parler francois ye shulde be forced to take by election il uous faudroie prendre par chois a faire lady and mynyon une belle dame et mignonne for to assiste your persone pour assistér uostre personne and also for to interprete et aussy pour interpreter that whiche it shulde please you to declare ce quil uous plairoit declarér to your husbande and lorde, a uostre mary et seigneur, were he either kyng or emperour, fust il ou roy ou empereur, whiche might be occasyon qui poulroit estre occasyon to gyve you suspicion de uous donner suspicion puttyng you in jalousye uous mectant en jalousie wherfore howe be it that I am nat pourquoy combien que ne soie mye wise ynough nor discrete asses sage ne discréte Page 1028 for of you to be secrete pour de uous estre secréte faithfulnes nevertheles bynde me loiaulté neantmoins me lie the whiche humbly supplye le quel humblement suplie to your hygh excellency a uostre haulte exellence to do dever and delygence de faire debuoir et diligence to lern of all your power daprendre de tout uostre pouoir to the ende that ye may can affin que uous puisses scauoir at the commyng of your father a la uenue de uostre pére speke frenche in suche wyse parler francois de telle maniére that Jesu be therof worshypped que Jesu en soit honoré and the noble Kyng contented et le noble Roy contenté and that it tourne you to honour et quil uous tourne a honeur and in proffit to the servant et a prouffit au seruiteur whiche for to serve your grace qui pour seruir uostre grace nothyng is possyble that he ne do nest rien possible quil ne face the whiche God be wyllyng to kepe laquelle Dieu ueulle gardér and in suche wyse to enlumine et tellement enluminér Page 1029 that you may have at the later ende que uous puisses auoir en fin the joy that last without ende. la joie qui dure sans fin. Amen. A MESSANGER COMMYNG FROM THEMPEROUR, THE FRENCH KYNG, OR ANY OTHER PRYNCE. The mes. God save you good life and honour gyve you God. Dieu uous sauue, madame, bonne uie et honneur uous doint Dieu, madame. Mary. Ye be welcome my frende, my lorde. Bien soiez uenu, mon amy, mamie, monsieur. The mes. The empereur your cosin recommende to your good grace, to your Lempereur uostre cousin se recommande a uostre bonne grace, a uostre or the Kyng my maistre or your father grete you well. celsitude, ou majesté, le Roy mon maistre ou uostre pére uous salue. Ma. How doth his good grace, his lordshyp. Comment le fait sa bonne grace, sa seigneurie. Le mes. he doth as the prince of this worlde, that most desyre Certes, madame, il se porte come le prince de ce monde qui plus desire your welth, your honour, and for the maintenyng of the whiche he uostre bien, uostre honeur, et pour le maintenement du quel il wolde bestow body and richesse, or richesse. uouldroit emploiér corps et auoir, ou cheuance. Ma. I thanke him hertely, for I do holde him for suche, and Certes je le mercie de tresbon coeur, car je le tiens pour tél, et I do certifye you that of my parte I wolde do lykewyse uous certifye que de ma parte je uouldroie fayre le pareil, le semblable for him. Now rise up I shall beholde your letters, than I pour luy. Or sus levés uous, je regarderay uos lettres, puis je shall gyve you an answere. uous donerai responsse. Page 1030 Le mes. At your good pleasure. Wyll it please your grace, your highnesse, A uostre bon playsir, madame. Plaist il a uostre grace, a uostre haultesse, to comande me any servyce to the of your cosin the Emperour, me comandér aulcun seruice a la majesté de uostre cousin lempereur, or of the Kyng my maistre. ou du Roy mon maistre. Ma. I praye you to recomende me to his majestie, as she that is glad Je uous prie de me recomandér a sa majesté, come celle qui seroit joieuse of his welth, honour and prosperite. And for the which or to encrease de son bien, honneur et prosperité. Et pour laquelle ou lequel encoistre I wolde do my power. je uouldroie faire mon pouoir. Le mes. I shall fulfyll your commandement with the helpe of God, madame. Jacomplyray uostre commandement a laide de Dieu, madame. Ma. I pray you therof my frende: and fare well. Je uous en prie, mon amy, et a Dieu soiez, etc. A PRESENT SENDE TO THE LADY MARY. Le mes. God save you or preserve you from evyl and mishap Dieu uous garde ou preserue de mal et dencombrier, ma dame. Mary. Ye be right well come, my gentylman. Vous soiéz le tresbien uenu, mom gentilhomme. Le mes. My lorde of Worcestre and my lady his wyfe recomende them Monsieur de Worcestre et ma dame sa femme se recomandent humbly, mekely, to your good grace, and doth send you this lytell present humblement a uostre bonne grace, et uous enuoient ce petit present of suche comodities that it hath pleased Our Lorde to send them. de telles comodités quil a pleu Nostre Seigneur leur envoiér. Ma. Forsoth I thanke them hertely: it is nat the fyrst En bonne uerité je les mercye de bonne amour: ce nest pas la premiére goodnesse and courtesy that they have done to me: how doth he, bonté et courtoisie quilz mont faicte: comment se porte il, I pray you, and how doth the good lady his wyfe. je uous prie, et comment le fait la bonne dame sa femme. Page 1031 Le mes. Certaynly, madame, they do, or they fare, as they that ben Certainement, madam, ilz se portent, or ilz le font come ceulz qui sont all yours. tous uostres. Ma. Forsoth I am glad therof, for he is a noble lorde, En mon Dieu, jen suis bien joieuse, car il est noble personne, seigneur, man: and she is a good, and vertuouse lady, trewe, homme: et elle est bonne et uertueuse dame, honeste, preude, gentille lady, woman, I pray you dame, damoisel, femme de bien, je uous prie ou requier de to thanke her, to thanke them, and to them say that I me la remercier, de me les regraciér, et leur ou luy dictes que je shalbe glade, to remembre the honour that he they seray joieuz, joieuse de recognoistre lhoneur quil ou quelle, quilz ou do to me when oportunite or tyme shalbe. quelles me fait ou font quant temps oportun ou oportunité en sera. Le mes. I shall endever me with all my power to fulfyll your comandement, madame. Je menploiray de tout mon pouer a accomplir uostre commandemant, madame. Ma. Tresourer. Tresoriér. Le tres. Madame. Madame. Mar. Gyve him fifty crownes. Dones luy cinquante escus. Le tres. It shalbe done, madame. Il sera fait, madame. Mar. Hussher. Hussher. Lhus. What please your grace. Que plait il a uostre grace. Ma. Go and brynge this gentilman to the seller and make him good chere, and Allés et menés ce gentil homme au celiér et luy faictes bonne chière, et loke that he lake no thinge. regardés que riens ne luy faille. Page 1032 Lhus. I shall fulfyll your pleasure, madame. Jaccompliray uostre plaisir, madame. AN EPITAPHE MADE UPON THE DETH OF FRENCHE, WHICHE WAS FAYNED FOR TO TECHE HER GRACE, HER MAISTRE BEYNGE SYKE OF THE GOWTE. Here lyeth the frenche ouerthrowen Cy gist le francois renuersé as ye se and cast downe come uous uoiéz et abatu the whiche is more than a yere a gone lequel plus dung an a passé that he came among us; quauec nous sest embatu; wold to God that he had lyved pleust ore a Dieu quil eust uescu reignyng alwayes as he was wont regnant tousjours come il soulloit sith that no man he wolde none yvell ueu qua nulluy mal ne uoulloit Alas, at his begynnyng Helas, a son commencement he was so right well accepted il fust sy tresbien accepté of his lady and of her people, de sa dame et de sa gent, but at the ende dere it hath coste mais en la fin chiere a cousté for he hath ben slayne car il a esté assomme and cast downe by stronge warre et rues jus par forte guerre and now lyeth deed in the grounde et maintenant gist mort en terre Page 1033 In dyeng made his complainte En se mourant fist sa complainte against thre man of this house contre trois hommes de ceans wherof one of them hath deceived many dont lung diceulz a diceu maintes as ben customed all phisiciens come seulent tous phisiciens for I have herde say to the ancientes car jay ouy dire aux anciens that with our peril they lerne, qua nos perilz font discipline, that which may be proved by Plyny. ce qui se peult prouuer par Pline. The other whiche was his enemy Laultre qui fust son ennemy is called maistre amener, sapelle monsieur laumosnier, whiche at the fyrst to him was lovyng qui au premier luy fust amy cherisshyng him as a frynde dere, le festoiant come amy chiér, but at the ende of a hert of stele mais en la fin dung coeur daciér him renouncynge put him in oblivion, le renoncant mist en oubly, wherof he died for great thought. dont il mourust par grant soucy. The thirde that best him dyd mainten Le tiers qui mieulz le maintenoit had it nat ben for his absence se neust este pour son absence Page 1034 one him dyd name Jehan ap Morgan on le nonmoit the whiche hath him put in forgetyng, lequel la mis en non chalance, for howbeit that great knowyng car combien que grant science to him mainteyn he had nat, a le soubstenir point nauoit, by him nevertheles over al he dyde lyve. par luy neantmoins sur tous uiuoit. But sith that it is so hapned, Mais puis quainsy est aduenu, it must be take paciently prendre le fault paciamment prayeng for him and his salvation priant pour luy et son salu sens that it may nat be otherwyse. ueu questre ne peult aultrement. that it please to God almyghty quil plaise a Dieu omnipotent of him and us to have mercy de luy et nous auoir mercy whan by the deth we shalbe passed. quant par la mort serons transy. Amen. A LETTER SENDE TO THE LADY MARY FOR TO LERNE THE SAME, IN THE ABSENCE OF HER SERVANTE WHICHE DYD TECHE HER GRACE. To my lady, my lady Mary of Englande, doughter of the most cristen Kyng, Madame, madame Marye dEngleterre, fille du roy trescrestiien, Page 1035 my most redoubted lady and mastresse, gretyng with renowne immortall. ma tresredoubtée dame et maistresse, salut auec renommée immortelle. Consideryng that here before I have advertysed you, most Considerant que deuant ores, ou par ca deuant uous ay aduerty, tres illustre and right excellent lady, how we have the deth before us, illustre et tres excellente dame, coment nous auons la mort deuant nous, to the whiche by the wyll of God we haste us of all our strength a la quelle par le uouiloir diuin nous nous hastons de touttes nos forces to come. The whiche in my memory revolving about my partyng, parvenir. Ce quen ma memoire reuoluant enuiron mon partement, nat knowyng if I shall have grace to retourne in your servyce or no: ignorant se jaray grace de retourner en uostre seruyce ou non: have advised me of herte trewe and contrit in all mekenesse to requyre me suis aduisé de coeur loyall et contrit en toutte humilité uous requerir you forgyvenes and pardon of the rudenesse that I yvel manerd have used toward mercy et pardon de la rudesse que (je mal morigére) ay usé enuers your hyghnesse, administryng you my pore and unworthy servyce, uostre haultesse, uous administrant mon poure et indigne seruyce, supplyeng you humbly that specially for the love of him uous supliant humblement quespeciallement pour lamour de celluy please you to pardone me, for the whiche willyng to serve, I have right often passed me ueulles pardoner, pour lequel uoulloir seruir jay souuent transgressé the markes and lymytes of reason, having confidence assuredly that the syngular les limites et bournes de raison, me confiant asseuréement que la singuliere mekenes of your excellency, joined with the fulfullyng of all other benignité de uostre excellence conjoincte auec le comble de toutes aultres graces shall nat rejecte nor refuse this my lyttell request, and for a token graces ne rejectera ne refusera ceste ma petitte requeste, et pour signe of the graunt of the same, shal please you benignely to rede and understande this de lotroy dicelle uous plaira benignement lire et entendre ceste rude and unworthy letters, the whiche as I hope) shall nat do you lytell rude et indigne lettres, la quelle (come jespoir) ne uous sera point petit proffit with that that by this meane ye shall restore and excuse myn de prouffit auec ce que par ce moien uous suplérés et excuserés mon Page 1036 absence, prayeng our Lorde thus most hye, most illustre, and most absence, priant nostre Seigneur a tant tres haulte, tres illustre, et tres excellente lady, to gyve you rest pleasant and slepe delicat. excellente dame, uous donner repos plaisant et sompne delicieuz. Amen. Written by your unworthy servant the nyght that he toke leve of Escript par uostre indigne seruiteur la nuyt que prins congie de your grace. uostre grace. ANOTHER LETTER SENDE TO THE LADY MARY BY JOHN AP MORGAN SQUIER, CARVER OF THE SAME, HER GRACE BEYNG SOMWHAT CRASED. To the right hygh, right excellente and right magnanyme my right redouted A tres haulte, tres excellente et tres magnanime ma tres redoubtée lady my lady Mary of Englande, my lady and mastresse, grettyng with dame ma dame Marye dEngleterre, madame et maistresse, salut auec joye everlastyng. joye sans fin. The tribulations of this worlde most grevous and most intollerable to Les tribulations de ce monde plus angoisseuses et plus intollerables a bere and suffre, right illustre and prosperous lady, ben whan a comporter et souffrir, tres illustre et bien heurée dame, sont quant une body desiryng to satisfie and to obtemperate to his pleasur and affection is persone desirant de satisfaire et obtemperér a son plaisir et affection est contrained by strength and inforced to the contrary, wherof I may of my contrainte par uiue force et efforcée au contraire, de quoy je puis de ma part bere trew witnesse, for of the one side I am holde and bounde after part portér uray tiesmoygnage, car dung coste je suis tenu et obligé selon the lawe divyne to entertaine my wyfe and espouse, nat onely of the lytell la loy diuine dentretenir ma femme et espouse, non seullement des petis goodes temporals that it hath pleased to God to sende me, but also of my biens temporélz quil a pleu a Dieu menuoyér, mais aussy de mon Page 1037 owne body in all her necessities and busenes, to ayde and lene unto: with corps mesme en toutes ses negoces et affaires, suffultér et assistér: auec that that of the other part your excellency, to the whiche I am bounde by nature ce que daultre part uostre excellence, a laquelle je suis obligé par nature and by othe, doth styre and move me continually to desyre the of et par serment me instique et esmeult incessament desirer la fruicion de your presence for the more and more to consider and beholde the indicible uostre presence pour de plus en plus ruminér et speculér les inconprehensibles vertues, of the whiche our Lorde of his grace infinit hath uertus, desquelles nostre Seigneur de sa grace inmense uous you above all other ladyes of this worlde, as the sone above a pardessus touttes aultres dames de ce monde, come le soleill par dessus all the sterres of Heven made to shine and glistre: but sens that none touttes les estoilles du ciel fait luire et resplendir: mais ueu que nul may to the Creatour satisfy without kepyng the faith promised, I have suche ne peult au Createur satisfayre sans garder la foy promise, jay tél hope and trust in your hygh that this mekely espoir et confidence en uostre haulte circonspeccion, que ce bénignement considred, shall holde me in myne absence for excused: certifyeng you consydéré, me tiendra en mon absence pour excusé: uous certifiant trewly that it were nat for to pray and requyre our lady of Matheley ueritablement que se ne fust pour prier et requerir nostre dame de Matheley that it please her to sende you or to gyve to fare well again and helth qui luy plaise uous donér conualescence et santé to recover, with longe youth and age of Nestor, I had lefte my recouvrér, auec longue jeunesse et uiellesse Nestorienne, jeusse laissé mon hert all togyder with you, as in the place of this worlde, where lieth all coeur totallement auec uous, come ou lieu de ce monde ou gisent touttes his thoughtes and affections most desired, praieng the swete Jesu thus, moste ses pensées et affections plus desiréez, priant le doulz Jhesus a tant, tres hygh, most illustre and most excellente lady Mary, to gyve you haulte, tres illustre et tres excellente dame Mary, uous donér the hole fulfillyng of your nobles desirs. lentiér de uos nobles desirs. Amen. Page 1038 CONFABULACION BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND HER SERVANT GYLES TOUCHYNG THE PEACE. Mary. How ye shew well that ye have great cure and care to Comment, Giles, uous montrés bien quaués grant cure et soing de teche me when ye do you absente se from me. maprendre quant uous uous absentés ainsy de moy. Gyles. Trewly me thinke that I am continually here. Certes, madame, il me semble que suis continuellement icy. Ma. Ye, and where were ye yester day at soupper, I praye you. Uoire, et ou estiés uous hier a soupper, je uous prie. Gyles. Trewly ye have reason, for I forgate myselfe yester night, Ueritablement, madame, uous aues raison, car je men troubliay ersoir bycause of company and of a cause de compagnie et de communication. Mar. I pray you, faire sir, make us partener of your Je uous prie, beau sire, faictes nous parconniere de vostre communication, for I suppose that it was of some good purpos. car jestime quelle estoit de quelque bon purpos. Gyl. Trewly it was of the peas, the whiche (as they sayde) is Certes, madame, elle estoit de la paix, laquelle (come on disoit) est proclamed by all this realme. proclamée par tout ce royaume. Mar. Of what maner, I praye you, and of what lastyng. De quelle maniere, je uous prie, et de quelle durée. Gyl. Of the lastyng shall God answere you, but of the forme and maner De la durée uous respondera Dieu, madame: mais de la forme et maniere can I shew and report, the whiche is cried as wel in this realme of England uous scay je bien rapporter, laquelle est criée tant en ce royaume dEngleterre as of France, so longe as the noble Kyng your father come de France, et tant que le noble roy Henry uostre pere (whiche God preserve) shall lyve and the frenche Kynge lykewyse (que Dieu ueulle garder) uiura et le roy Francois pareillement with the addicion of a day. auec laddicion dung jour. Page 1039 Ma. Must that day be anexed to it and comprehended. Fault il que ce jour y soit anexé et compris. Gil. Ye verily Ouy certes, madame. Ma. Wherfore me thynke that it is but Pourquoy il me semble que ce nest que superfluité. Gil. Nat so, save your for the addicion of a day yelde the tyme Non est, sauue vostre grace, car laddiction dung jour rent le terme infinit, for the lastyng of the worlde is but a day. infiny, car la durée du monde nest qung jour. Ma. I wolde fayne understande how that may be, how be it I love better Jentenderoie uoullentiér coment cela peult estre, toutesuoies jayme mieulx that for this tyme you do declare unto me what is of peas. que pour le present uous me declarés que cest que paix. Gil. Well I shall kepe to you the exposicion of that day for whan I shall Bien, madame, je uous garderay lexposicion de ce jour pour quant uous teche you the spere the whiche parteine and serve to that purpos, and touchyng apprendray lespére laquélle duit et sert a ce propos, et touchant the peas, howbeit that, after the holy lectres, it excede and surmonte la paix, combien que, selon la saincte lectre, elle excéde et sourmonte all the wyttes, I shall recite you neverthelesse that that of it saint tous les sens, je uous reciteray nonobstant ce que dict monsieur saint Austin sayth, spekyng of the worde of God, in his nynty and seven omelye, Augustin parlant de la parolle de Dieu, en sa nonante septiesme homelie, howbeit that it shulde be necessary to make you understande first combien quil seroie necessaire uous donnér a entendre premiérement how many kyndes or maner of warres ben. quantes espéces ou maniére de guerres sont. Ma. How is there more than one maner. Coment, en est il plus dune maniére. Gil. there is warre betwene reame and reame, betwene town and Certes, madame, il y a guerre entre royaume et royaume, entre uille et towne, betwene parishe and parishe, betwene linages, betwene neygbours, betwene uille, entre paroisse et paroisse, entre lignages, entre uoisins, entre Page 1040 the man and the wyfe, and betweene the body and the soule, the whiche is the lhome et la femme, et entre le corps et lame, laquelle est la worste, and more dangerous of the others, but touchyng the peas, saint pire, et plus dangereuse des aultres, mais quant est de la paix, saint Austin, in the place above alleged, sayth that it is clennesse of thought, Augustin, ou lieu dessus allegué, dict que cest serenité de pensée, peas of corage, simplenesse of hert, bonde of love, feliship of tranquilité de courage, simplesse de coeur, lien damour, compagne de charite, breker of strife, pacifier of molifiyng of charyté, destruiseresse destrif, apaiseresse de batailles, mollifieresse de angre, vainquisshyng proude men, love of humilite, asswagyng couroux, uainqueresse des orguilleus, amour dhumilité, en mitigant discorde, and agreyng ennemys, nat sekyng but his, that can nat les discordz, et concordant ennemis, non cerchant laultruy, non scachant hate, callyng nothyng his, that can nat exalte him nor be proude, hair, rien ne reputant sien, non scauant soy exaultér ne enorgueillir, techyng to love, pleasante to every body, he that had it let him kepe it, ensegnant aimér, plaisante a chescun, quil la tient sy la garde, he that lese it let him seke it, for he that in it shall nat be founde, God the father qui la pert sy la cerche, car qui en elle trouué ne sera, Dieu le pére him shal pluck out of his roote, and the Sonne him shal disenherite, and of the Holy le disracinera, et le Filz le deshéritera, et du Saint Goost shalbe unknowen, wherof the same be willyng us to Esprit sera descongneu, dont icelle Trinité nous ueulle defende and kepe. deffendre et gardér. Ma. In my God it is a great thyng of peas; I requyre the swete En mon Dieu, cest grand chose que de paix; je requiér le doulz Jhesus to mainteyne it to us. Jhesus la nostre uoulloir maintenir. Amen. 1041 HERE FOLOWETH CERTAYNE VERSES, SENDE TO THE NOBLE LADY MARY, FOR TO LERNE THEM HER SCOLE MAISTER BEYNG SICKE. To you, most soverayn, A uous, tressouueraine maistresse, I sende these vers, wyllyng to signifie jenvoy ces uerse, uoullant sinifiér my great dolour and that more me oppresse ma grand doulleur et que plus mopresse that I may nat you serve and teche ne uous pouoir seruir et enseygnér than for to suffre sekenesse and danger que de souffrir maladie et dangiér wherfore, if it please so moche do to your grace pourquoy, sil plaist tant faire a uostre grace them for to rede some lyttell space les uoulloir lire quelque petitte espace my hope is that better therof ye shalbe mon espoir est que mieulz uous en vauldrés and by that point also shall excuse me. et par ce point aussi mescuserés. Me thinketh that other than you ought nat Il me semble quaultre que uous ne doibt to be judge of my greuous payne estre juge de ma griéfue payne bycause also that other myght nat pource aussy quaultre ne pouroit nat knowyng the whiche lede me non congnoisant la cause qui me maine but as for you, I know that ye be mais quant a uous, say questes certaine of the good wyll and great du bon uoulloir et grande affection Page 1042 that I have to serve, and the quay de seruir, et la déuocion to fulfyll of hert and of power pour accomplir de coeur et de pouoir all that whiche please to the noble kynge to wyll. tout ce quil plaist au noble roy uoulloir. Amonge the monethes which fulfyll the yere Entre les mois qui accomplissent lan two there ben specially deux en y a espéciallement whiche have done me yvell, great sorowe and harme qui mont fait deul, grant ennuy et ahan it may nat be that I say otherwyse estre ne peult que je die aultrement often I have sene theyr maner and how souvent ay ueu leur maniere et comment they me have entreated, without any deservyng ilz mont traicte, sans lauoir deseruy bycause they ben of courage bounded pour ce quilz sont de courage asseruy never lovyng the workes of the springe of the yere naimant jamais les oeuures de printemps rather without cesse than doth yvell at all tymes. ains sans cessér leur font mal en tous temps. The principall of the whiche more I me complayne Le principal duquel plus je me plains in his blason him doth name en son blason se fait nommér Décembre by him I have made weppyng and syghes many par luy ay fait pleurs et soupirs mains never shall it be but I shall ja ne sera que ne men remembre Page 1043 he and me have ravyshed a luy et Januiér mont tollu ung membre whiche me shall make that so longe as I shall lyve qui me fera que tant que je uiuray in great sorow fromhensforth shall go en grant doulleur doresnauant iray wherfore I drede that in great melancoly pourquoy je crains quen grant merencolie at the latter ende shall behove that therof I lose my lyfe. en fin fauldra que jen perde la uie. If it hap nat that the springe Sansy naduient, que printempz gracieuz to his commyng the whiche is nygh a sa uenue laquelle est prouchaine beholdyng me and seyng so pitious me regardant et uoiant sy piteuz to heale me, put him nat in paine de me guerir ne se mecte en paine for trewly, I know well that he love me car pour certain, bien je scay quil mayme by him first in this worlde was I put par luy primiér en ce monde fus mys with that always he hath him indever auec ce tousjours sest entermys duryng his tyme, to do me somme good son temps durant, de me faire du bien wherof from ever I shall yelde me for his. dont a jamais je me tiendray pour sien. Whiche I requyre that it may hap Ce que requiér ainsy puist aduenir to the ende that to God I may crie mercy affin qua Dieu puisse criér mercy Page 1044 of my synnes, and to go and come de mes pechéz, et allér et uenir in servyng you, for to satisfie also en uous seruant, pour satisfaire aussy to your good dedes, that do entreate me so a uos biens faitz, qui me traictéz ainsy wherfore next Good, I am more bounde dont appres Dieu, je suis plus obligéz to your grace, than to any under heven a uostre grace, qua nul dessoubz les cielz wherfore in the meane tyme that I shalbe in this worlde pourquoy tandis que seray en ce monde I shall him requyre to kepe you pure and clene. luy requerray uous garder pure et monde. Amen. A COMMUNICATION BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND HER AMENER, HER GRACE BEYNGE WITH A PRIUY FAMILY IN THE PARKE OF THEUKESBERY. Mary. Ah, maister Amener, I had nat wened that ye had so Ha, monsieur lAumosnier, je neusse pas cuidé que meussés ainsy forgotten me. mise en oubly. Laum. Howe, madame. Coment, madame. Ma. Bicause that ye well knowe that I solytarie and of all company Pource que bien scaués que moy solitaire et de toutte compagnie destytute, ye have me forsaken and lefte. destituée, uous maués relenquie et laissée. Lau. God forbede, madame, that it be as ye say, for it is nat to you Ja Dieu ne ueulle, madame, que soit come uous dictes, car il ne uous est point unknowen that I must nede be with your counsayle, leavyng to them incongneu quil ne me faulte estre auec uostre conseil, les assistant of my power. de mon pouoir. Page 1045 Ma. I had wened neverthelesse that for the regarde of me and of your Jeusse cuide toutesfois que pour le regard de moy et de uostre profyte, ye had made you dispensed. prouffit, uous uous eussés fait dispensér. Lau. Trewly, madame, there is nothyng in my power that I ne dyd for the honour Certes, madame, il nest chose en mon pouoir que je ne feisse pour lhonneur of you, how be it that I do nat understande well what thyng ye do de uous, combien que je nentens pas bien quelle chose uous thynke, spekynge of dispence and of profyte. pensés parlant de dispense et de prouffit. Mar. I understande by the dispence, that ye myght excuse you from the counsayle for Jentens par la dispense, que uous uous pouiéz escusér du conseil pour a tyme, and touchyng the profyte, ye knowe that whan I dyd prayse ung temps, et touchant le prouffit, uous scaués que quand je prisoie your frenche, ye dyd warant me that whithin a yere I shulde speke as uostre francois, uous masseuriez que dedans ung an je parleroye aussy good or better than you, wherfore by suche condycion that so bon ou meilleur que uous, pourquoy par telle condicion quainsy myght be, trusting more of the power of the Kyng my father, and of the good peult estre, me confiant plus du pouoir du Roy mon pére, et la bonne lady my mother than of myn owne, dyd promis you a good benefyce, for dame ma mére que du mien, uous promis ung bon bénéfice, pour the impetration of the whiche me thynketh that ye ought to do some dylygence. lympetracion duquel il me semble que deueriez faire quelque diligence. Lau. Trewly, madame, that whiche me moved so to assure you was especially Certes, madame, ce que me meult a uous ainsy asseurér fut especiallement by cause of your synguler undentandyng, for the whiche ye ought well a cause de uostre singuliér entendement, pour lequel uous debuéz bien to thanke God, and for that also that after the phylosopher, the soule of the Dieu remerciér, et pour ce aussy que selon le philosophe, lame de la person is as the table planed, or as the perspectif or glasse persone est come la table rasée, ou come le perspectif ou mirouer in the whiche the kindnes and symilitudes of thynges ben shewed, ouquel les especes et similitudes des choses sont representées, Page 1046 spiritually duryng the tyme that the sayd glasse or table is nat signanment durant le temps que le dict mirouer ou table nest point infected, deturpat, nor made foule by synne, wherfore contemplyng contaminée, deturpée, ne maculée par peché, pourquoy contemplant the same similitude to have confirmite and agreyng, to your grace, icelle similitude auoir conformité et conuenience a uostre grace, might nat say that that I sayd. ne peuz non dire ce que je diz. Ma. In good fay I thanke our Lorde and shall thanke duryng my lyfe En bonne foy je mercye nostre Seigneur et merciray tant que uiuray of all the that it hath pleased to him to gyve me, howbeit that de touttes les graces qui luy a pleu me donnér, combien que of suche wherof ye me praise I have no knowlege, but de telles dont uous me louéz nay je point de congnoissance, mais all suche wordes set asyde, I shall nat be nevertheless of toutes telles parabolles arriere mises, je ne seray touttes uoiez ja de you content without mende. uous contente sans amende. Lau. Without faute, ma dame, the mende shalbe made at your jugement, for Infailliblement, ma dame, lamende sera faicte a uostre arbitrement, car I have me exyled and banyshed from all lybertie for the love of je me suis exillé et banny de toutte liberté pour lamour de your service, wherfore nothynge to me shalbe possible, that hayyng uostre service, pourquoy rien ne me sera possible, que aiant your I do nat fulfyll to my power. uostre comandement, je nacomplisse a mon pouoir. Mar. Trewly, I thanke you, mayster Amener, certifyeng you surely Certes, je uous mercye, monsieur lAumosnier, uous asseurant tresacertes that suche is my trust in you. que telle est ma fiance en uous. Lau. Trewly, madame, ye may therof well be assured, Pour certayn, madame, uous en pouéz bien estre asseurée. Mar. Now than I comande you that ye visite me as often as Or bien doncques je uous comande que me uisités le plus souuent que Page 1047 goodly and conveniently may do, and specially at dinner, bonnement et licitement faire poulrés, et especiallement a disnér, to the ende to talke and to speke with me. affin de confabulér et comunicquér auec moy. Lau. It shalbe done, madame, if it please God. Il sera fait, madame, se Dieu plaist. Ma. Se than that there have no faute. Uoiéz doncques quil ny ait point de faulte. Lau. Nomore shall have. Non ara il, madame. Finis. CONFABULACION BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND THE TRESORER OF HER CHAMBRE, HER HUSBAND ADOPTIF, HER NOBLE GRACE BEYNG WITHDRAWEN WITH PRIVY COMPANY IN A PLACE SOLITARY, BY CAUSE OF THE DETH, FOR INTRODUCTION IN THE FRENCHE TONGE. Amour. Of love. Marye. In good faith, my husband, I can nat me mervaile ynough, how I have En bonne foy, mon mary, je ne me puis asses esbahir coment je nay no more comfort of you, for in that that I may se, ye take great plus de confort de vous, car en ce que je puis veoir, vous vous souciez care of your goute the whiche one hath tolde me that ye have, than ye plus de vostre goute (la quelle on ma dit que vous avés) que ne do of your wyfe. faictes de vostre femme. Le tre. Certainly, ma dame, your grace hath sayd truthe, howbeit that it is Certes, ma dame, vostre grace a dit uerité, combien que ce soit agaynst my wyll and by force. contre ma voullenté et par force. Page 1048 Ma. In my God with great payne may I beleve that the goute myght withholde En mon Dieu, a grant paine puis je croire que la goute peult retenir a good husbande havyng some love to his wyfe, specially ung bon mary aiant quelque amour a sa femme, especiallement beyng so nygh of her, but he shulde more oftener to visyte her. estant sy pres delle, qui ne la uinst plus souuent uisyter. Le tre. Without faulte it is an harde thyng and dyffuce to go to hym that hath neither Infailliblement cest chose ardue et difficile dallér a qui na ne fote nor legges, nevertheles as your grace hath sayd, love piedz ne jambes, nonobstant que comme uostre grace a dit, amour dothe moche. fait moult. Ma. I pray you, good syr, to declare me what it is of love. For ye Je uous prie, beau sire, declarés moy que cest que damour. Car uous be a doctour and well lettred, with that that a good husbande ought to teche estes docteur et bien lettres, avec ce que ung bon mary doibt endoctriner his wyfe, wherfore I pray you to do your devour to teche sa femme, pourquoy je uous prie de faire uostre debuoir dendoctriner yours. la uostre. Le tre. Infallibly, madame, the mater is to hyghe for my symplenesse, but Sans faulte, madame, la matiere est trop haulte pour ma simplesse, mais, for nat be wyllyng to disobey you, with my power I shall shewe you pour non uous uoulloir desobair a mon pouoir je uous en of it willyngly that I therof can. diray uolentier ce que jen scay. Ma. I requyre you therof, my good husbande, for I knowe you suche that Je vous en requier, mon bon mary, car je vous congnis tel que ne ye cannat say ywell. scariez mal dire. Le tre. Now than sith that it please you so, trew it is that I fynde thre Or sus doncques, puis quainsy vous agrée, il est vray que je treuue trois maners of love, that is to say and the manieres damour, cest a scavoir filialle, matrimonialle, et animalle: a Page 1049 is that same which the father and the mother have to their chylde, the whiche filialle est celle que le pére et la mére ont a leur enfant, laquelle is nat nor easy to your grace to understande, unto nest pas facile ne aysée a uostre grace dentendre, jusques a that that he please God that ye understande it by experiens, for the childe ce quil plaise a Dieu que lentendes par experience, car lenfant ne know never the love that the father and mother have toward him, unto cognoist jamais lamour que le pére et mére ont vers luy, jusques à the tyme that he be made father or mother, bycause that suche love is nat reciprocque ce quil soit fait pére ou mére, pour ce que telle amour nest pas reciproque, or retorning, but rather comyng from God to the firste father or prothoplauste ains uenant de Dieu au premiér pére ou prothoplauste it goeth and retourne to God from father to the sonne. The seconde sen va et retourne à Dieu de pére en filz. La seconde love is called matrimoniall the whiche is of mervellouse strength and amour est dicte matrimonialle, la quelle est de merveilleuse energie et vertu, specially whan the mariages ben made after the ordynance of vertu, especiallement quant les mariages sont faitz selon lordonance de God, that is to say, by true love and, if it were nat to eschewe prolixite, Dieu, cest a dire par uray amour, et, si ce nestoit pour non estre prolix, I myght recite you of many women whiche ben deed je vous poulroie recitér de pluisieurs femmes qui sont mortes and perished for the love of their husbandes, and many men lykewyse et perie pour lamour de leur maris, et pluisieurs hommes semblablement for the love of their wyves. And touchyng to the thirde, that is sayde pour lamour de leur femmes. Et quant a la tierce qui est dicte animalle, she is without conparacion stronger than the others, bycause animalle, elle est sans comparacion plus forte que les aultres, pour ce it is the love that the soule hath to his body the whiche is so great that que cest lamour que lame a a son corps, laquelle est sy grande que nothyng is so moche loved in this worlde, that the man ne renounce and refuse, riens nest tant aymé en ce monde que lhomme ne renounce et refuse, first that he suffre his soule to departe from his body, nor nothing premier quil souffre son ame departir de son corps, ne riens Page 1050 is so terrible painful nor dangerous, that the man ne shulde suffre, nest sy terryble, penible ne dangereus, que lhomme ne tollerast, before or rather than to suffre devorce or departyng betwene his soule and his auant souffrir diuorce ou separation entre son ame et son body, bycause that nothyng is so more to be drede than the deth: nevertheles corps, pour ce que rien nest plus a craindre que la mort: neantmoins all these premisses set aside, God the creatour hath loved us toutes ces premisses, madame, Dieu le createur nous a aimé above all the above sayd loves. For touchyng the filiall, he par dessus toutes les dessus dictes amours. Car touchant la filialle, il hath sende his dere sonne here beneth, for to redeme us and from the paines a envoie son chier filz ca bas pour nous redimér et des paines of hell to deliver, makyng him of a lorde a servant and of immortall mortall, denfer deliurer, le faisant de seigneur serf et de immortel mortel, suffring him rather to dye for us than in havyng pyte of him le souffrant plus tost mourir pour nous que en aiant pité de luy to leve us in periclitation. And touchyng the howbeit nous laisser en periclitation. Et touchant la matrimonialle, combien that he had love inestimable to his swete mother the virgyn Mary, that quil eubt amour inestimable a sa doulce mére la vierge Marie, ce natwithstandyng he hath chosen rather to dye for us, leavyng her nonobstant il a préesleu plus tost mourir pour nous, la laissant desolat and desconforted than in her comfortyng to leave us in perdicion. desolée et desconfortée que en la consolant nous laisser en perdicion. And as touching to the animalle, what so ever great feare that he have had to Et quant a lanimalle, quelque grant pour quil ayt eubt de dye and what so ever love that he hath had to his soule, yet hath he nevertheles mourir et quelque amour quil ayt eu a son ame, sy sest il touttes fois made himselfe for us obedient unto the deth of the crosse: ther is, faict pour nous obedient jusques a la mort de la croix: vesla, madame, that that I can of love: howbeit nevertheles that the worlde madame, ce que je scay damour: combien touttes fois que le monde doth use of dyverse other maner of love, as of richesses and use de dyuerses aultres manieres damours, come de richesses et biens Page 1051 temporall goodes and other folishe love whiche do merite bettre to be called temporelz et aultres folles amours qui meritent mieulz destre appellées folyes than love, wherfore I love them, so prayeng your noble grace foliez quamour: pourquoy je men passe, a tant priant uostre noble grace to pardone me in that that I have sayd. me pardonner en ce que jen ay dict. Ma. In good soth my husbande, I thanke you of good hert, En bonne uerité, mon mary, je uous mercie de bon coeur, for ye have you ryght truly acquited toward your wife. car uousuous estes tres-loiallement acquité enuers uostre femme. Le tre. I requere to God, madame, that it may to you in suche wyse proffite that Je requier a Dieu, madame, quil uous puisse tellement prouffitér que in lovyng God above all thynges, and the good grace of the Kyng en aymant Dieu par dessus touttes choses et la bonne grace du Roy your father, and the good lady your mother of trewe love filiall uostre pére, et la bonne dame uostre mére de uraie amour filialle, ye may love your husband whan God shall gyve you one, of uous puissés aimer uostre mary, quant Dieu uous en donra ung, de good and trew love in suche wyse that it may bonne et loialle amour matrimonialle, de sorte que ce soit be to the helth of your soule. au the salut de uostre ame. Ma. So pleased our Lord by his goodnes to graunt me. Ainsy le me ueulle nostre Seigneur par sa bonté ottroiér. Page 1052 WHAT IT IS OF THE SOULE IN GENERALL AND SPECIALL, AFTER PHILOSOPHY AND SAINT ISYDORE, BY WAY OF DYALOGUE BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND HER SERVANT GYLES. Anima quid. Mary. After that well I me remembre, I have herde here above speke of the soule, Selon que bien me recorde, je uous ay ouy cy dessus parlér de lame, but neverthelesse ye have nat declared what it is, wherfore I mais toutes fois uous naues point declaré que cest, pourquoy jen wolde of it faine here somwhat. uouldroie bien ouir quelque chose. Gil. Trewly, madame, it shuld be necessary to be better lerned in good Certes, madame, il seroit necessaire destre mieulz qualifiéz ez bonnes lettres than I am for to satisfy to your question. lettres que ne suis pour satisfaire a uostre question. Ma. It is nat to me unknowen that ye be nat of the best lettred of the worlde, Il ne mest point incongneu que nestes pas des mieulz lectrés du monde, howbeit that I doubt nat but of it ye can somwhat, wherfore combien que point ne doubte que nen scaues quelque chose, pourquoy take hede that the lytell that ye therof can, be nat hydde to me. gardés que le petit que uous en scaués ne me soit point celé. Gyl. Trewe it is that the philosophers have spoken therof, albeit that it hath nat ben Il est bien uray que les philosophes en ont parlé, ja soit que pas na esté sufficiently specially touchyng the soule resonable, for some souffisanment, especiallement touchant lame rationnelle, car aulcuns of them have it esteme mortall, as Pliny among other that sayth that suche deulz lont estimé mortelle, come Pline entre aultres qui dit que tel shalbe the soule after the dethe of the body, as she was before the lyfe sera lame appres la mort du corps, quelle elle estoit deuaunt la uie of the same, and it is nat yet come to my knowlege that dicelluy, et il nest point encore uenu a ma congnoissance que the holy scripture doth make of it any mention; but syth that your lescripture saincte en face mention aulcune; mais puisque uostre Page 1053 pleasure is suche I shall recyte you (submyttyng me to the correction of plaisir est tel, je uous réciteray (me soubmetant a la correction de your grace, and of all persons connyng) that whiche I have therof gathered uostre grace, et de toute persone scauante) ce que jen ay peu ceulliér from the philosophers, and of the holy s. Isodore, wherfore it shall please you to knowe des philosophes, et de saint Isidore; pourquoy il uous plaira scauoir that all thynges created of God under the moone ben or elemented que touttes choses créez de Dieu soubz le globe lunaire sont ou ellementées onely, as precious stones and other with all mettalles, or seullement, come pierres precieuses et aultres auec tous metaulz, ou be elemented and vegetables, as herbes, trees, and all maner sont ellementées et uegetables, come herbes, arbres, et touttes manieres of plantes, or ben elemented vegetables and sensytyves, as ben de plantes, ou sont elementées uegetables et sensitiues, come sont all beestes, byrdes, fyshes, reptyll them movyng from place to other, touttes bestes, oiseaulz, poissons, reptiles se mouuant de lieu a aultre, or ben elemented vegetables sensytyves and reasonable, as ben the ou sont elementées uegetables sensitiues et racionelles, come sont les men whiche have in them all the fours proprietees above sayd; hommes lesquelz ont en eulz touttes les quatre proprietes dessus dictes; for as touchyng the body (which is a masse elemented) it is but a car quant au corps (qui est une masse elementée) ce nest que une conglutination and combination of the foure elementes in the whiche our conglutination, et combination des quatre elementes ezquelz nostre Lorde hath planted the soule vegetable by the whiche it groweth in length, Seigneur a planté lame uegetable par laquelle il croist en longeur, largenes, and depnes (whiche one calle thre dimensions) by cause that the largeur et profundité (quon dit trois dimensions) a cause que la sayd vegetable hath in her foure vertues, by the whiche she subsiste and dicte uegetable a en soy quatre uertus, par lesquelles elle subsiste et groweth, that is to saye, the atractyve or appetityve, the retentyve, the digestyve, croist, cest a scauoir, latractiue ou appetitiue, la retentyue, la degestiue, and expulsive; a body may nat ete without appetit, nor may nat et expulsiue; une personne ne peult menger sans appétit, ne ne peult Page 1054 degeste without holdyng that mete, or keping in his stomake that which is eten, degérér sans retenir ce qui est menge, nor may nat grow by the vertue of such degestion without expulsion or ne ne peult croistre par la uertu de telle degestion sans expulsion ou evacuation, for it is nede or to destroy the meate receyved in euaccuacion, car il est de necessité ou de destruire la uiande receue en the stomake, or to be destroied by the same; but to be wyllyng to warne your lestomac, ou estre destruit par icelle; mais uouloir aduertir uostre grace of all that which doth depend to this purpos, shulde be to be wyllyng to declare grace de tout ce qui depend a ce pourpos, seroit uoulloir declarér all the philosophy naturall withe all phisyque and astrologie toutte la philosophie naturelle auec toutte phisycque et astrologie in shewyng with all all the movyng of nature, wherof procede en comprenant tous les mouuemens de nature, dont procedent and sprynge all corruption and generation expoundyng what it is of the XII et pulullent toutte corruption et generation declarant que cest des douse signes of the Zodiacque with the seven planettes and all the starres signes du Zodiacque auec les sept planettes et touttes les estoielles fixe, and to shew how the sayd XII signes havyng relacion, and similitude fixe, et monstrér comment lesdictz douse signes aiantz relacion, et similitude to the foure ben devided by foure triplicites the whiche aux quatre elementz sont distinguez par quatre triplicités lesquelz up holde and kepe up the fore sayd foure might and suffultent et maintiennent les deuant dittes quatre puissances et to the whiche one ought to have recourse for to put them agayn in ordre by medecyne auxquelz on doibt auoir recours pour les remectre en ordre par medecine whan by some accident they ben alterat. But for to eschew so quant par alcun accident ilz sont altérés. Mais pour euitér sy wondrefull prolixite and that I have hope here and there therof to talke enorme prolixité et que jay espoir cy et la den communiquer somtyme with your grace, with that that of it ye have somwhat tasted alcune fois auec uostre grace, auec ce quen aues quelque petit gousté in lernyng the Ephemerides I shall passe it so. en apprenant lEphémérides je men passeray a tant. Page 1055 Now turnyng agayn to our porpos the soule vegetable, as I have tolde you, is Or retournant a nostre pourpos lame uegetable, come je uous ay dit, est setted within the myght elemented, the whiche doth upholde her as the plantée dedans la puissance ellementée, la quelle la soubstient come le vessell doth the lyker, and the sensytyve nother more no lesse is setted within uaisseau fait la liqueur, et la sensitiue ne plus ne moins est plantée dedens the vegetable, as the ratyonell is within the sensytyve, the whiche ye may la uegetable, come la racionelle est dedens la sensitiue, ce que pouéz clerely parceyve by that that whan the body begynneth to fayle clerement apercepuoir par ce que quant le corpz commence a deffaillir by age or otherwyse, the vegetable lyfe herselfe by and by, bycause par uiellesse ou aultrement, la uegetable se pert incontinent, pour ce that thappetite begyn to fayle whith retayning and voyding, which make to perish que lappetit se pert auec retencion et euacuacion, qui fait perir the sensytyve, for as the persone lese the luste, and the dygestion, also soone la sensitiue, car come la persone pert lappetit et le degérér, tout aussy tost begynne he to juge the switte bytter, and the bytter swete, and say that he seeth commence il a jugér le doulz amér, et lamér doulz, et dit quil uoit that whiche other may nat se, and also of all his fyve wyttes, and ce que les aultres ne peuuent ueoir, et ainsy de tous ses cincq sens, et lykewyse thintellectyve lese the reason and the jugement of thynges, par consequent lintellectiue pert la reason et le discernement des choses, for she beynge in the body humayne can nat attayne to any knolege car elle estant ou cors humain ne peult paruenir a aulcune cognoissance (nat beyng inspyred ghostly) without it be by the meane of the fyve (selle nest inspirée diuinement) ce se nest par le moien des cincq wyttes aparteyning to the sensytyve, for before that ye do understande any sens apartenant a la sensitiue, car deuant que uous entendez aulcune thyng, it behoved fyrst that it be to you shewed by the syght, by chose, il faut premiérement quil uous soit monstré par la ueue, par meane of colours, or by the hering by the meane of sound or voise, or by moien de coulleur, ou par louye moiennant son ou uoix, ou par smelyng, goustyng and tastyng, the whiche thyng so perceved by the fyve flairér, goustér et tastér, laquelle chose ainsy aperceue par les cincq Page 1056 wyttes, is sende to the comon witt which lieth in the formest parte of the sens, est enuoiée au commun sens qui gist en la partie anteriore du braine, the whiche goeth incontinently to the memory in the whiche he cerueau, lequel sen ua incontinent a la remembrance en laquelle il fynde what thynge it is after that one have him somtyme sayd and thought, treuue quelle chose cest selon quon luy a autfrefois dit et appris, wherfore it appere clerly that these thre myghtes beyng in man pourquoy il appert clérement que ces trois puissances estant en lhome and named onely by the name of soule resonable, in takynge denomination et nommée sullement par le nom de ame raisonable, en prenant denomination of the most noble, that is to understande of her which doth discesse, de la plus noble, qui est a entendre de celle qui discerne, ben hankyng the one of the others, and we juge clerely that the sont dependantes les unes des aultres, et dijudicons clérement que la sayd intellectyve or resonable is without comparation more excellent than dicte intellectiue ou racionelle est sans comparation plus excellente que the others, wherfore we juge her a thought or understandynge incarnate, les aultres, pourquoy nous la jugeons une pensée ou intelligence incarnée, the whiche is perpetuell and immortall, by cause that she is created to laquelle est perpétuelle et inmortélle, pource quelle est crée a thymage of God almighty, and if you aske me of what substaunce limage de Dieu tout puissant, et sy uous me demandés de quel matiére she is, I may say that it is fyre spirituell as ben the angels of God, elle est, je puis dire que cest feu espirituél come sont les angeles de Dieu, the whiche shalbe in her hyghe strength and prosperitie, whan she shalbe separate laquelle sera en sa haulte uigueur et prosperite, alors quelle sera separée from her body, by the meane of the whiche she is infatuate, for by de son corps, par le moien duquel elle est infatuée, car par the vegetable myght, with the whiche she is bounde, she thynketh day la uegetable puissance, auec laquelle elle est liée, elle pense jour and nyght to serve her body of drinke and meat, and by cause of the sensityve, et nuyt a seruir son corps de boire et menger, et a cause de la sensitiue, with the whiche she is lykewyse alyed, she hath her syght to auec laquelle elle est semblablement aliée, elle a son respect a Page 1057 generation, to pride of lyfe, and to all lyfe sensyble, the whiche yelde her generacion, a orgeul de uie, et a toutte uie sensuelle, qui la rend blunt, rude and forgetefull, and by the whiche she becomed spotted and cancred, obtuse, rude et ygnorante, et pourquoy elle deuient tachée et enroullé, as a harneys or clere glasse doth cancre by humydite of come ung harnois ou clér mirouer senroullist par humidité de rayne or other moystnesse, in suche wyse that by this meane she is all togeder pluie ou aultre moisteur, tellement que par ce moien elle est du tout blynded, and hath no knowlege of her pasture wherby she becometh aueuglée, et na nulle cognoissance de sa pasture par quoy elle deuient lene and folyshe; for as the wyse man saith, truth is the fote of the mesgre et ignorante; car come dit le sage, uerité est le past de soule. Aristotel saith that the soule is as a table made euyn and clere, lame. Aristotle dit que lame est come une table rase et clére, polished, in the whiche all maner shape and effigiation doth shyne clerely so polie, en laquelle toutes formes et effigie reluysent clérement sy well corporates as incorporates, by cause therof we understande with bien corporéez come incorporéez, a cause de quoy nous entendons auec the angels, that is to saye, in the meane tyme that she is nat cancred by les angeles, cest a dire tandis quelle nest pas enrouyllée par synne, as I have sayd before. Here myght I open unto you, what it is peché, come jay dit deuant. Icy uous poulroy je ouurir que cest of understandyng actyve and passyble, but in this doyng I shulde be to tedyous. dentendement agent et passyble, mais en ce faisant je seroie trop tedieus. Ma. Trewly, Gyles, I laude your persuacion, for by that that ye have sayde of it Certes, Giles, je los uostre parsuasion, car par ce quen aués dit I parceyve clerelye that it is nat possyble to declare it, the whiche one may japarcoy clérement quil nest possible a la declarér, ce quon peult conjecte by that that she doth resemble unto God and to be wyllynge conjecturér parce quelle resemble a Dieu et uoulloir to declare his ymage shalde be wyllyng to do a thyng impossyble, declarér son image seroit uoulloir faire impossible, bycause that he is uncomprehensyble. pource quil est incomprehensyble. Page 1058 Gil. Trewly, madame, ye saye the truthe, neverthelesse that the scriplure wytnessed, Certes, madame, uous dicte la uerité, nonobstant que lescripture tiesmoigne that Moyses by the graunt of God dyd merit to se his posterioritie, the whiche is que Moyse par lotroy de Dieu merita de ueoir sa posteriorité, qui est to understande his workes, of the whiche knowlege, the cabalystes doth make a entendre ses oeuures, de la quelle cognoissance les cabalistres font fyftie gates that they name of intelligence, sayeng that the sayd cinquante portes quilz sournomment dintellygence, disant que le dit Moyse had nat but fourty and nyne, by cause that the first is to knowe Moyse nen eust que quarante neuf, parce que la premiere est congnoistre God from the begynnyng, which is impossyble: but he may be knowen Dieu par prius, ce qui est impossible: mais il est bien cognoissible by posterius, whiche is to understande by his operacions, as knowlege par posterius, qui est a entendre par ses operacions, come cognissance comunely cometh unto us for bycause that we do serche the causes by comunement nous uient pour ce que nous perscrutons les causes par the dedes of them, and nat to the contrary. From hensforth I shall tell you les effectz dicelles, et non point au contraire. Desormais je uous diray of the philosophers of the whiche some have sayd that it is nombre movyng him des philosophes desquelz les ungz ont dit que cest nombre soy mesme selfe others that it is made of atmos which ben parties nat possible to divide mouuant les aultres quelle est faicte de atmos qui sont partiez indiuiduez or indivisible: others that it is fyre, the others that it is ayr, the ou indiuisyble: aultres que cest feu, les aultres que cest air, les others have sayd that it is a maner of armonie with others infinites aultres ont dit que cest une maniere darmonie auec daultres infiniez opinions: but levyng them there, the prophete spekyng in our Lorde opinions: mais les laissant la, Isaie le prophete parlant en nostre Seigneur sayd: All brethyng have I made, whiche is to understande of the soules that our dit: _Omne flatum ego feci,_ qui est a entendre des ames que nostre Lorde have all created, and the spekyng of those soules sayth: Seigneur a touttes créez, et le psalmistre parlant dicelles dit: He that created all hertes: whiche is to understande the soules, for the hert is Qui finxit singulatim corda: cest a dire les ames, car le coeur est Page 1059 the principall membre of the man, the whiche is the candelstyke of the soule le principall membre de lhomme, lequél est le chandeliér de lame susteynyng her by maner of spekyng, as the candelstyke doth the candell, la soustenant par maniere de parlér, come le chandeliér fait la chandelle, the whiche beyng racionelle and quycke dothe quicken invisible and la quelle estant racionelle et sensible uiuifie inuisiblement, spiritually and mervellously all the membres and inward of the spirituellement et merueilleusement tous les membres et entrailles du body by the comandement of the, as well by within as by without, corpz par le comandement du canter, tant par dedens come par dehors, in ministring of onespecable maner to the fyve wyttes their power, for she en administrant de maniere indicible aux cincq sens leur pouoir, car elle seeth by the eyen and heer by the eeres, she mel (smele) and by the nosse trilles, uoit par les yeulz et oyt par les oreilles, odore et flaire par les narilles, and discerne the savours by the, by the feelyng she reule and governe et discerne les scaueurs par le goust, par le tacte elle regle et gouuerne all the membres of the body in generall, she and stande by tous les membres du corps en generall, elle subsiste et demeure par foure maner of reasons, by wit, sapience, and wyll, quatre manieres de raisons, par sens, sapience, cogitacion et uoullenté, the wit doth parteyne to the lyfe, the sapience to the understandyng, the cogitation le sens appartient a la uie, la sapience a lentendement, la cogitacion to the counsel, the wyll to the defence. And howbeit that the sayd soule au conseil, la uoullenté a la deffence. Et combien que la dicte ame be one, she hath nevertheles many kyndes and rayment in her, soit unicque, elle a touttes fois plusieurs especes et aornament en soy, for wher she doth brethe she is called sperit, whan she fele one car la ou elle espire elle est appelée esperit, quant elle sent on la do call her wit, and whan she take strength one call her corrage, whan she nomme sens, et quant elle prent uigueur on la dit courrage, quant elle understande, she is named understandyng, whan she discusse, one call her entend, elle est nommée entendement, quant elle discerne, on lapelle reason, whan she consente, one call her wyll, and whan she raison, quant elle consent, on la nomme uoullenté, et quant elle Page 1060 remembre she is sayde memory, and whan she doth grow and encrease remembre elle est dicte memoire, et quant elle uegéte et croist en multipliant the vertue, she is called the soule, the whiche lyveng justely is la vertu, elle est appellée lame, laquelle uiuant loiallement est the ymage of God, so pleasant that he of her make is chare and his temple, limage de Dieu, tant pleasant quil en fait sa chare et son temple, as wytnesseth my lorde saynt Poule sayeng. come le tiesmoigne monsieur saint Paul disant: Templum Dei quod estis The beautie or raymentes of her ben, that by heryng she beleveth, she sercheth vos. Les aornementz dicelle sont que par louye elle croist, elle cerche by desyre, and fynde by sapyence, she aske by prayers, and receyve par desir, et treuue par sapience, elle demande par oraison, et recoit by grace, she kepe by mekenes, and helpe by mercy, by par grace, elle garde par humilité, et sequeure par misericorde, par benignite forgyve, and aquiere by teachyng, she worke by penaunce, benignité pardonne, et acquiert par doctrine, elle compose par penitence, by examples, the faire thynges, and by connyng the clere and fayre, she par exemples, les belles choses, et par sciences les cléres et nectes, elle is fre by onely goodnes, and by softnes, mansuetude, and swetenes est franche par seulle bonté, et par leintz mansuetude et doulceur plaine, she is by prudence discrete, and by symplenes hoole, by playne, elle est par prudence circonspecte, et par simplicité entiére, par subtiltie sobre, and by justice ryghtfull, she is nat hasty by impacience, subtilité sobre, et par justice droituriére, elle est longanime par pacience, and by obedience redy, by good doyng pure and clene, and by hope et par obedience preste, par bien faire pure et monde, et par esperance abydyng, by abstinence temperat, and by chastyte holy, by rejoissyng attendable, par abstinence attrempée, et par chasteté saincte, par resjouissement spirituall and mery, and by confession open, by martirdom spirituelle et joieuse, et par confession ouuerte, par martire aornat, and by unite catholicque, by concorde peasyble: and by love aournée, et par unité catolicque, par concorde pacificque, et par amour and deleccion of her neyghbour large and lyberalle: by charite parfect et deleccion de son prouchain large et lyberalle, par charité parfaite. Page 1061 Ma. Trewly I am ryght glade to here you, and you have gyve me En bonne uerité, Giles, je suis tresjoieuse de uous auoir ouy, et maués donnés in your wordes solas and recreation: but I praye you, good syr, tell en uos parolles soulas et recréation: mais je uous prie, beau sire, dites us somwhat of the body and of his worckes. nous quelque chose du corps et de ses operations. Gil. Certainly the body, as I have tolde you here before, is the Certainement, madame, le corps, come je vous ay dit cy deuant, est le vessell of the soule, and doth serve of none other thynge but to beare the soule, uaisseau de lame et ne sert daultre chose que de porter lame, howbeit that some sayen that the soule doth beare him, by cause that without combien que alcun dient que lame le porte, pour ce que sans her, he his deth and may nat styre ne move. But settyng asyde icelle il est mort et ne se peult bouger ne mouuoir. Mais postposant suche reasons, trew it is that in his necessite he must be holpen by him telles raisons, il est ueray quen ses necessités le fault secourir that wyll kepe the soule hole in a hole body, in his hungre one must qui ueult garder lame saineen ung corps sain, en sa fain lui fault gyve him meate, and in his thurst drinke, in labour rest, slepe in donnér uiande, et en sa soif a boire, en labeure repos, sompne en werinesse, in tristes and hevynesse myrth, in sorow confort and fatigacion, en tristesse et ennuy armonie, en doulloir comfort et helth, in sekenesse strength and vertue, in drede socour and in darkenes salut, en foiblesse force et uertue, en crainte refuge et entenebres lyght, and in bataill peas, and lykewyse as the body may nat lumiére et en bataille paix, etc. et tout ainsy que le corps ne peult lyve without that whiche to him is necessary, nother more nor lesse may uiure sans ce qui luy est necessaire, ne plus ne moins ne nat the soule by proces of tyme contynewe without her propre norsinge, peult lame par diuturnité de temps subsistér sans sa propre nourriture, for her meate his the dyvyn commandement, her drinke is car sa uiande est le diuin comandement, son beuurage est pure praier, her bath is fastyng trew and ryghtwyse, her oraison pure, son baing est june legitime et droituriére, sea Page 1062 clothyng almesses of her propre goodes, her songe and melody is the uestementz sont aulmosne de son propre, son chant et melodie est la contynuall laude of God, her rest is parfait poverte, her helth continuelle louenge de Dieu, son repos est parfaitte poureté, sa santé is the sekenes of the body, her socour is pure penaunce, her peace is est la maladye du corps, son refuge est pure penitence, sa paix est charite plentyfull, wherfore we ought well to folow our creatour charité habondante, pourquoy nous debuons bien ensuiuir nostre creatour Jesu Christ, and the saintes fathers whiche have ben before us in Jhesu Crist, et les saintz peres qui nous ont précédés en lernyng mekeness of Jesu Christ, devotyon of saynt Peter, charitie apprenant humilité de Jhesuh Crist, deuotion de saint Pierre, charité of saynt Johan, obedyence of Abraham, hospitalytie of Loth, longe abidyng de saint Jehan, obedience dAbraham, hospitalité de Loth, longanimité of Isaac, sufferaunce of Jacob, pacience of Job, chastitie of Joseph, de Isaac, tolerance de Jacob, pacience de Job, chasteté de Joseph, softnesse of Moyses, stedfastnesse of Josue, benignytie of Samuell, mansuetude de Moyse, constance de Josue, benignité de Samuel, mercy of Davyd, almysdede of Tobye, abstynence of Danyell, misericorde de Dauid, aulmosne de Tobie, abstinence de Daniel, speculation of Hely, experience of saynt Paule, penaunce soroufull of theoricque de Helié, practicque de saint Pol, penitence lacrimeuse de Mary Magdaleyne, pure confessiyon of the thefe, martiyrdome of saynt Marie Magdalaine, pure confessyon du laron, martire de saint Stephane, and lyberalytie of saynt Laurence. Ye may se, right noble lady, all Estienne et liberalité de saint Laurens. Vesla, tres noble dame, tout that I have founde so well of the soule resonable, as of the vegetable ce que jay peu trouuer tant de lame raisonable come de la uégétable and sensytyve, howbeit that I have here touched no thyng but the outside, et sensitiue, combien que nay icy rien touché sinon la superficie, for I to you dare well say, that every worde here doth comprehende car je uous ose bien dire que chescune parolle icy comprent a great boke in his declaration, trustyng that whiche rudely I have ung grant liure en sa declaracion, esperant que ce que rudement jay Page 1063 here putte in termes shalbe occasyon that in tyme to come ye shalbe icy mis en termes sera occasion que ou temps aduenir uous seres moved for to serche the remenaunt, prayeng the swete Jesus, that it instiguée de perscrutér le demourant, priant le doulx Jhesuh que ce be to the honour of God and to the helth of your soule. soit a lhonneur de Dieu et au salut de uostre ame. Ma. God graunt that so may it happen. Dieu ueulle que ainsy puist aduenir. Amen. OTHER COMMUNYCATION BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND HER AMNER, OF THE EXPOSYTION OF THE MASSE, FOR INTRODUCTION IN THE FRENCH TONGE. Mary. I have good memory, maistre Amnere, how ye sayd one day that Jay bonne memoire, monsieur lAumosnier, coment uous disiéz ung jour que we ought nat to pray at masse, but rather onely to here and ne debuons point orér ne priér a la messe, ains seullement ouir et harken, and dyd prove it by that one say comunely: I go here accoutér, et le prouuez par ce quon dit comunement: je men uoy ouir masse, whiche my lorde the President fortifyng sayd that we be nat messe, ce que monsieur le President corroboroit disant que ne sommes point bounde by the lawe to say, but onely to here, is it nat trewe? obligés par la loy de dire, mais seullement douir, nest il pas uray? Lau. Ye, verely, madame. Ouy, certes, madame. Ma. Wherfore than sayth the preest after the offytorie, in hym tournyng to the Pourquoy doncques dit le prestre apres loffertoire, en soi tournant au people, pray for me, etc. and our Lorde at his passyon sayd to peuple, priez pour moy, etc. et Nostre Seigneur a sa passion disoit a his discyples, watch and pray, that ye entre nat in temptation, with that ses disciples, ueillés et orés, affin que nentrés en temptation, auec ce that if our Lorde wolde nat our prayers, why had he made que sy Nostre Seigneur ne uoulloit nos priérez, pourquoy eust il fait the le _Pater noster_. Page 1064 Lau. Certaynely that whiche I shewed you was nat onely but for Certainement, madame, ce que uous disoie nestoit seullement que pour to shew you how you ought to maintene you at the masse, specyally uous monstrer coment uous uous debués contenir a la messe, especiallement unto that that one monysshe you for to pray. jusques a ce quon uous admoneste de priér. Ma. In my God, I can nat se what we shall do at the masse, if we pray nat. En mon Dieu, je ne puis uéoir que nous ferons a la messe se nous ne prions. Lau. No. Non, madame. Ma. No, trewly. Non, certes. Lau. Ye shall thynke to the mystery of the masse and shall herken the wordes Uous penserés au mistére de la messe et accouterés les parolles that the preest say. que le prestre dit. Ma. Yee, and what shall do they whiche understande it nat. Uoir, et que feront ceulz qui point ne lentendent. Lau. They shall beholde, and shall here, and thynke, and by that they shall understande. Ilz regarderont, et accoutteront, et penseront, et par ce lentenderont. Ma. I pray you, good syr, tell me what they shall thynke, so Je uous prie, beau sire, dictes moy a quoy ilz penseront, affin that I may se where lyeth that that ye tell me. que puisse ueoir ou gist ce que me dictes. Lau. I shall shewe it you of good herte but if it please you it Je le uous diray de bon coeur, madame, mais sil uous uient a plaisir shalbe at soupper, for your diner is ended. ce sera a souppér, car uostre disnér est acheué. Ma. Well at soupper be it. Bien a souppér soit. COMMUNICATION AT SOUPER TO THIS PURPOS. Mary. Now, maistre Amener, I have herd say that promysse is dette. Or sus, monsieur lAmosniér, jay ouy dire que promesse est debte. Page 1065 Lau. Trewly it his trew, specially of the mouth of a faithfull man. Certes, madame, il est certain, especiallement de bouche de fidél. Ma. Do ye nat holde you for suche? Ne uous tenes pas itél? Lau. Ye verely. Sy fay certes, madame. Mar. Now acquite you than and kepe promis, for to kepe promys cometh of Or uous acquités doncques et tenés promesse, car tenir promesse vient de noblenesse. noblesse. Lau. Well, sith it is so that ye do comande it, it shall please you to know that the Bien puisquainsy est que le comandés, il uous plaira scauoir que la masse is the testament, the which our Lorde made before messe est le testament, le quel Nostre Seigneur Jhesu Christ fist deuant his deth and passyon, whiche is none other thynge (as ye well know) but the sa mort et passyon, que nest aultre chose (come bien scaués) que la laste wyll of a parson, touchyng the disposicion of is goodnes darniére uoullenté dune parson, quant a la disposition de ses biens after his deth, wherfore our Lorde wyllyng to dye for the humaine appres sa mort, pourquoy Nostre Seigneur uoullant mourir pour lhumain kyndred, dyd ordayne that his precious body shuld be put to deth for legnage, ordonna que son precieuz corps seroit mis a mort pour our synnes, in memory and wytnesse therof he lefte us and ordayned nos péchés, en mémoire et tiesmoing de quoy il nous laissa et ordonna us the sacrament of theaulter in remembraunce of his sayd passyon, to the ende le sacrement de lautél en commemoracion de sa dicte passion, affin that every one whyche shal beleve in the sayd mistery, that is to know in his que chescun que croira ou deuant dit mistére, cest a scauoir en son incarnation, passyon and resurrection represented in the foresayde sacrament incarnation, passion et resurection representez ou deuant dit sacrement shuld be made partener of the merite of the same, which is our redemption. seroit fait participant du merite dicelle, qui est nostre redemcion. Now it is so that we may make no greatter honour to God Or est il ainsy que ne pouons faire plus grand honneur a Dieu Page 1066 than to estymat him trew, vhere as he is trew lyfe, nor greatter dishonour que lestimér uéritable (la ou il est uray uerité) ne plus grand deshonneur than to mystrust hym. He hath left us the sayd sacrament by way of que de le mescroire. Il nous a laisse le dit sacrement par maniére de testament, to the ende that every one of us may be proved by his fayth: testament, affin que ung chescun de nous soit prouué par sa foy: for so moche as the parsone beleved, so moch she shall receyve: the masse car autant que la personne croyt, tant elle rechoit: la messe than is rehersyng of his glorious passyon, in the whiche lyeth the doncque est recapitulation de sa glorieuse passyon, en laquelle gist la remyssyon of synnes, and where one ought to seke it, and nat elswhere, for remission des pechez, et la ou on la doibt cerchér, et non ailleurs, car the gyveng remyssyon doth ratify and approve the repentaunce and contrityon le donnant remission ratisfie et approuue la compunccion et contricion of the synner, askyng pardone by the meryte of the said passion, the whiche du pecheur, demandant pardon par le merite dicelle passion, la quelle is nat goten in angre agaynst Anna, Caiphas, Pylate, Herode ne saquiert pas en ce courouceant encontre Anne, Caiphe, Pilate, Herode and the turmentours whiche dyd put our Lorde to dethe, and to be et satellites qui meirent Nostre Seigneur a mort, et destre soroufull that our Lorde hath so moche suffred for us, rather is all desplaisant que Nostre Seigneur a tant souffert pour nous, ains est tout the contrary, for he it defended, where he said: doughter of Jerusalem le contraire, car il le defendist, ou il dist: fille de Jhrusalem wepe nat upon me, but rather upon you and your chyldren, as ne plourés point sur moy, mais sur uous et sur uos enfans, come he wolde have sayd: ye and they ben cause of my deth, for I dye in sil uoulsist dire: uous et eulz sont cause de ma mort, car je meurs en satisfaccion of your synnes. In approbation of the whiche our mother holy satisfaction de uos pechéz. En approbacion de quoy nostre mére saint Churche make myrth and her rejoyse in suche wyse, that she is nat aferde to say: Eglise exulte et se resjouist tellement quelle ne craind point a dire: O happy synne, which hath deserved suche a redemer! Ye, and that more O heureulz pechez, qui a merité tél redempteur! Voire, et qui plus Page 1067 is, she doth call the crosse swete, and the nayles the whiche were ryght swete est, elle appelle la croix doulce, et les clouz lesquelz furent bien doulz for us, but nat for hym, for they hym peerced his glorious fete pour nous, mais non mie pour luy, car ilz luy percérent ses glorieus piédz and handes, in shedyng his sacred and blessed blode, with inestymable et mains, en respandant son tressacre et benoit sang, auec inestimable payne and sorowe. We shall leave here tyll to morowe or another tyme, paine et doulleur. Nous laisserons icy jusques a demain ou une aultresfois, if it so please to your good grace. sy ainsy plaist a uostre bonne grace. Ma. The pleasure of God be done, maister amner, the whiche wyll rewarde you Le plaisir de Dieu soit, monsieur laumosnier, lequel uous ueulle remunerer of your good wordes. de uos beaulz diz, etc. THE REMENAUNT OF THE SAYD COMMUNYCATION, WICHE IS OF THE CEREMONYES OF THE MASSE, FOR INTRODUCTION IN THE SAYD TONGE. The amener. Your hignes was wont here before to begynne altercation betwene Uostre celsitude souloit par cy deuant commencer laltercation entre us twayne, but bycause that I se you sadde and hevy more than nous deux, mais pource que uous uoy pensive et remyse plus que ye have of custome, I shall inhardysshe and put me in prease at this tyme naués de coustome, je menhardiray et ingereray a ceste fois to move you and provoke to wyllyng to here thexposition of the de uous instiguér et prouocquér a uoulloir ouir lexposition des cerimoniez de la messe. Ma. Without falte ye shall do to me servyce agreable, wherfore begynne Infalliblement uous me ferés seruice agreable, pourquoy comencés whan ye shall thinke best. quant bon uous semblera. Page 1068 Lau. I suppose that your hath nat forgotten that which here before Je suppose que uostre grace na point oublié ce que par cy deuant I have shewed you of the masse, wherefore in procedyng further, it is uous ay dit de la messe, pour quoy en procedant plus oultre, il est trew that the cloth or the first lynyne that the preest put upon bien uray que le uoille ou la primiér linge que le prestre mect sur his heed in makyng him redy at the masse, doth signifie the cloth wherof our sa teste en se preparant a la messe, signifie le drap dont Nostre Lorde had his eyen bynded, whan the tormentours gyvyng him Seigneur eubt les yeulx bendés, quant les satellites luy donnant blowes dyd say: prophecy who hath stroke the. Than he put on des buffes et souffletz disoient: prophetise qui ta frappé. Puis il veste the aube white that signifye the gowne whiche gave him reputyng him laube blance qui signifie la robbe que Herode lui donna lestimant a fole, bycause that he beyng in his presence wold nat do some fol, pour ce que luy estant en sa presence ne uoullut faire aulcun miracle. She do sygnifye also that so well the herer of the masse as miracle. Elle signifie aussy que sy bien lauditeur de la messe come the saier, ought to be chaste, or they be nat worthy to be to le diseur, doibuent estre chaiste, ou ilz ne sont point dignes destre a suche misteris. The gyrdell lykewyse sygnifye chastité, for our tel mistére. La chainture pareillement signifie chasteté, car Nostre Lorde in apperyng to his prophetes was wont to say: gyrte thy Seigneur en apparoissant a ses prophétes seult dire: chains tes raynes as a man, for the vertu of the man lyeth in his rains; rains come ung homme, car la vertu de lhome gist ez rains; than the stole that he put about his necke and of his body, signifieth puis lestolle que mect entour de son col et de son corps, signifie the corde wherof his precious body was tyed to the pylar by Pylate. The la corde dont son precieus corps fut lie au piliér par Pilate. Le manypule doth sygnifye the same wherof his preciouse handes were bounde, manipule signifie celle dont ses precieuses mains furent léez, and the cheasuble doth represente the pylard and the crosse that Pylate dyd et le chasuble represente le pilier et la croix que Pilate luy Page 1069 charge upon his precious sholdres after that he had juged him to be chergea sur ses espaules precieuses appres lauoir jugés destre for us crucified; than after in lyke maner as in beryng pour nous crucifiéz; puis appres ne plus ne moins come en portant the same crosse, he went to his deth and passyon, in lyke wyse come icelle crois, il alloit a sa mort et passion, tout ainsy uient the preest for to begynne the memory of the same, in himselfe le prestre pour comencér la remembrance dicelle, en se fyrst shrivyng to us, where as prayeng to God to be wyllyng him premierement confessant a nous, la ou priant Dieu luy uoulloir to forgyve, we confesse us to him lykewyse, the whiche praieng pardonnér, nous nous confessons a luy pareillement, le quel priant for us, doth gyve us absolucion, than goth he to the auter. I pour nous, nous donne absolucion, puis sen ua a lautél, etc. Je have declared to you the signification of the raymentes belongyng to the servyce uous ay declarés les signifiances des abillementz appartenant au seruice of the masse, unto the introite of the same, the whiche with the de la messe, jusques a lintroite dicelle, le quel auec le overplus shalbe to you declared an other tyme at your good pleasure and sourplus uous sera epilogué ung aultre fois a uostre bon plaisir et commandement. commandement. Ma. I agre therto, maistre amener, thankyng you with all my herte Je my acorde, monsieur laulmosniér, uous remerciant de tout mon coeur of your good techyng. de uostre bonne doctrine. Lau. To good and honour may it tourne to you, madame. A bien et honneur uous puist il tournér, madame. Finis. Page 1070 ANOTHER COMMUNICATION, WHERE DYVERSE MANER METES BEN NAMED, WHICHE IS A RIGHT NECESSARY WAYE FOR SHORTELY TO COME TO THE FRENCHE SPECHE, BETWENE THE LADY MARY AND HER AMENER. Lau. Moche good do it you, madame. Bon prew uous face, madame. Ma. Ye be well come, maistre Amener. Bien soiéz uenu, monsieur lAumosniér. Lau. What? is it so late. Trewly I thought nat that the borde was Comment? est il sy tard. Certes je ne cuidoie point que la table fust covered nor the clothe layde, and ye have alredy eaten your porage. couuerte ne la nappe mise, et uous aués desja mengé uostre potage. Ma. How knowe ye the same, paraventure that I have nat. Coment le scaues uous, peult estre que non ay. Lau. It is well possyble, how be it that I wolde parswade you Il est bien possible, combien que uous uouldroie persuadér to eate of it somwhat. den mengér quelque petit. Ma. Why, I pray you. Pourquoy, je uous prie. Lau. Bycause that physicions ben of opynyon that one ought to begyn the meate Parce que les medecins sont dopinion quon doibt comencér le mengér of vitayle to thende that by that meane to gyve direction de uiandes liquides affin de par ce moien donnér direccion to the remenant. au sourplous. Ma. How are you a physicion, I thought that ye had been a lawyer. Coment estes uous medecin, je cuidoye que vous fusses legiste. Lau. Trewly men ben wont to say every man to be a phisycion, but he Certes, madame, on seult dire ung chescun estre medecin, synon le that is sycke. malade. Page 1071 Ma. And ye be nat sicke, wherfore ye have concluded you a phisycion, Et uous nestes point malade, pourquoy uous uous estes conclud medecin, declare me therfore the qualyties and properties of these meates declarés moy doncques les qualités et propriétés de ces uiandes that I may knowe the whiche ben most holsome for me, and que puisse congnoistre lesquelles sont les plus saines pour moy, et I shall alowe your phisycke. japprouueray uostre medecine. Lau. Certaynly, madame, I shall shewe you gladlye all that I can. I have Certes, madame, je uous en diray uoullentiér ce que jen scay. Je vous tolde you alredy myne advyse of the porage, and touchyng the befe: I ay desja dit mon aduis du potage, et touchant le beuf: je do estymate him of nature melancolyke and engendre and produce grose lestime de nature melancolyque et engendre et produit gros blode well norisshyng folkes and of stronge complexion, whiche sang bien nourissant gens robustes et de forte complexion, qui occupy them in great busynesse and payne; the moton boyled is of se exercent en grand trauaill et labeurs; le mouton bouilly est de nature and complexion sanguyne, the whiche, to my jugement, is holsome nature et complexion sanguine, lequel a mon jugement est sain for your grace; capons boyled and chekyns ben lykewyse pour uostre grace; chappons boullis et poucins sont semblablement of good nourysshyng and doth engender good blode, but whan they ben de bonne nourriture et engendrent bon sang, mais quant ilz sont rosted, they ben somwhat more colloryke, and all maner of meates rostiz, ilz sont ung tantet plus colericques, et toutte maniéres de uiandes rosted the tone more the tother lesse. And all foules and byrdes rostiez lune plus laultre mains. Et toutz uollatilles et oyseaulz of water as ben swannes, gese, malardes, teales, herons, bytters, de riuiéres come sont cignes, oiez, malartz, cercelles, hairons, butors, and all suche byrdes ben of nature melancolyke, lesse neverthelesse et tous telz oyseaulz sont de nature melancolicques, moins touttesfois rosted than boyled. And conys, hares, rabettes, buckes, does, hartes, rostis que boullis. Et conins, lieures, laperaus, dains, daines, cerfs, Page 1072 hyndes, robuckes or lepers holde also all of melancoly, but biches, cheureus ou saillantz tiennent aussy tous de melencolie, mais of all meates the best and most utille to the body of man is of de touttz uiandz la meillure et plus utille a corps homain est de capons, chyckyns, faisantes, partriches, yonge partriches, chappons, poucins, faisans, perdris, perdreaus, plouuiers, pigeons, quailles, suites, wodcockes, turtell doves, knyghtes, stares, calles, becasses, uidecocz, tourterelles, cheualiers, estourneauz, sparows, or, finches, gold finches, moinons, ou passeriauz, pinchons, uerdieres, frions, cardinotes, linotes, thrushe felde fare, and all kyndes of small byrdes, (wherof the maluis griues, et touttes espéces de petis oiseletz, (desquelz les names ben without nombre) ben metes norisshyng and of litell degestion, noms sont infinitz) sont uiandes nourrissantes et de facille digestion, and that engendre good blode, howbeit that in Spaine and in et qui engendrent bon sang, combien quen Espagne et en Fraunce the use of suche metes is more to be commended than ours. France lusage de télz uiandes est plus comendable que le nostre. Ma. Why, I pray you, have ye nat haboundance of suche game in this Pourquoy, je uous prie, nauons nous pas plenté de tél gibiér en ce realme as they have there. roialme come ilz ont la. Lau. Ye forsoth, madame, but we do nat use it so well, for they begynne Sy auons certes, madame, mais nous nen usons point sy bien, car ilz commencent alwayes with the best and ende with the most grosse whiche they tousjours la meillure et finissent a la plus grosse quilz leave for the servantes, where as we do al the contrary. laissent pour les seruiteurs, la ou nous faisons tout le contraire, et cetera. If it please to your grace, we shall make ende of our comunication, Sil plaist a uostre grace, nous ferons fin de nostre comunicacion, unto soupper, at the whiche, if ye thynke best, we shall make an ende. jusques a souppér, auquél, se bon uous semble, nous paracheurons. Ma. Se be it as ye wyll. Ainsy soit come le uoullés. Page 1073 THE COMMUNICATION AT SOUPER. Mary. Do ye remembre, maistre amener, that ye have nat yet satisfied of the Uous souuient il, monsieur laumosnier, que naues pas encore satisfait des complexions and propertes of meates that whiche have begonne, and nat complexions et nature de uiandes que uous aues entaméez, et non finished. acheuéez. Lau. Trewly, madame, ye have reason, wherfore in fulfyllyng that whiche I have Certes, madame, uous auéz rayson, pourquoy en accomplissant ce que jay begon, I do warne you that all maner meates sodden what encomencé, je uous aduertis que touttes uiandes bouilliez quelles so ever it be, holde more of the ayre and of the water (whiche ben two quelles soient, tiennent plus de lair et de leau (qui sont deulx elementes wherof doth come and springe blode and fleame: understande elementz dont procedent et pullulent sang et fleugme: nentendes nat neverthelesse but all maner of meate holde of the foure complexions, pas touttes fois que touttes uiandes ne tiennent des quatre complexions, the one more and the other lesse, for if I be well enformed, the complexion les unes plus et aultres moins, car se je suis bien aduerty, la complexion of thynges take denomynation of the qualytes principall domynant in des choses prent denomination de la qualyté principalle dominant en the same) than they do of the other twayne. But of all maner of meate, icelle) quelles ne font des aultres deux. Mais de touttes uiandes, the moost daungerous it that whiche is of fruites, as cheres, small cheryse, la plus dangereuse est celle de fruitz crudz, come cherises, guingues, great cherise, strauberis, fryberis, mulberis, preunes, chestaynes nuttes, gascongnes, freses, framboises, moures, cornelles, prunes, chastaignes, fylberdes, walnuttes, cervyse, medlers, aples, nois franches, grosses nois, cerues, mesles, pommes, peres, peches, melons, and all other kyndes of poires, pesches, melons, concombres, et touttes aultres espéces de Page 1074 fruites, howbeit that youth, bycause of heate and moystnesse, doth fruitz, ja soit que jeunesse, a cause de challeur et moisteur, les dygest them better than age dothe. digére mieulz que uiellesse ne fait. Ma. Howe, mayster amener, this meate that we do eate do they engendre Coment, monsieur laumosnier, ces uiandes que nous mengeons engendrent-elles the blode; I thought that we had our blode from our le sang; je cuydoie que nous eussions nostre sang des nostre byrthe. naissance. Lau. Trewly, madame, so have we, but we do norysshe hym and encrease Ueritablement, madame, sy auons nous, mais nous le nourissons et encroissons of meate, for as a phylosopher sayth: suche as the des uiahdes, car come dit ung philosophe: quelles sont les mete is, suche is the blode, and suche as the blode is, suche is the sprit, uiandes, tél est le sang, et quél est le sang, quel est lespérit, and suche as the sprit is suche is the wyt, and suche as the wyt is suche is the quel est lespérit, tél est le sens, et quél est le sens, telle est la reason. Wherfore ye se clerely that the good mete cause rayson. Par quoy uous uoiez manifestement que la bonne uiande faict the good understandyng and good reason; holde you than to the le bon entendement et bonne rayson; tenés uous doncques a la beste and take nat to moche therof. meilleure et nen prenés pas trop. Ma. In my God, I wene that my physicion whan I shall have one En mon Dieu, je cuide que mon medecin quant jen auray ung shall scante mende your reasons, wherfore I pray you to procede pouldra a paine amender uos raysons, pourquoy je uous prie de procéder that I may knowe my complexion, que puisse congnoistre ma complexion. Lau. If it please you, madame, we shall abyde tyll another tyme, Sil uous uient a plaisir, madame, nous differerons jusques a une aultre fois, bycause that your supper is almost ended. pource que uostre souppér est quasy acheué. Page 1075 Ma. Well, to morowe be it. Bien, a demain soit. THENDE OF THIS COMMUNICATION. Mary. Trewly, mayster amener, I thinke it longe to here the ende of our Certes, monsieur laulmosnier, il me tarde douir la fin de nostre begonne communycation. encomencée comunicacion. Lau. In good soth, madame, I am redy to acquyte me, howbeit that I make protestation En uerité, madame, je suis prect de me acquictér, combien que je proteste before your grace that I shall speke therof as a clerke of armes, deuant uostre grace que jen parleray come ung clerc darmes, for I knowe nothyng of it but by here say. car je nen scay rien que par ouir dire. Ma. Well, well, care ye nat. Bien, bien, ne uous chaille. Lau. It is trouth, madame, that there is foure elementes, that is to say: the Il est bien uray, madame, que sont quatre elementz, cest a scauoir: la erthe, the water, thayre, and the fyre, the whiche have eche one a qualytie proper terre, leau, lair, et le feu, lesquelz ont chescun une qualité propre and one folowyng. The erthe is drie of her proper qualytie, and colde et une cocomitante. La terre est seiche de sa propre qualité, et froide by nature folowynge, the whiche cometh of the water that to her is nyghe: par nature cocomitante, laquelle uient de leaue qui luy est prouchayne: the water is colde of his ppopertie, but for the neighbourhode that she hath of leau est froide de sa propriété, mais par la contiguité quelle a de the ayre, she is moyst: the ayre of his proper qualytie is moyst, but by the lair, elle est moiste: lair de sa propre qualité est moist, mais par la concordence that he hath to the fyre, he is hote: the fyre is hote of his simbolisacion quil a au feu, il est chault: le feu est chault de sa proper nature and drie by the erthe, to the whiche he is very nyghe; of the whiche propre nature et sec par la terre, a laquelle il est concomitant; desquelles foure qualyties naturall and folowyng dothe springe to us quatre qualités naturelles et concomitantes nous resultent Page 1076 foure complexions, for of heate doth springe the colerike whiche is hote quatre complexions, car de challeur pululle collericque qui est chault and drie, of moystnesse is sayde the sanguyne hoote and moyst, of colde, et sec, de humidité est dit sanguine chault et moiste, de froydure, and flumatyke colde and moyst, of drinesse, the melancolyke colde and drie. le flegmaticque froit et moiste, de seicheur, le melancolicque froit et sec. Ma. Trewly, if I have well remembred, ye have sayde here above that all Certes, se jay bien retenu, uous aués dict cy dessus que touttes thynges elemented have all the foure complexions. choses elementéez ont toutte les quatre complexions. Lau. There is nothyng more trewe, madame. Il nest riens plus uray, madame. Ma. Than have I foure complexions. Doncques ay je quatre complexions. Lau. It is so, but as I have sayde to you here before, they take ever the Il est ainsy, mais come je uous ay dit cy deuant, on prent tousjours la denomination of the qualytie principall and havyng domynion. denomination de la qualité principalle et dominante. Ma. Of what complexion do ye take me by your fayth. De quelle complexion me dictes uous par uostre foy. Lau. In good fayth, madame, of the best. En bonne foy, madame, de la meilleure. Ma. Ha, beware of flatery, for howbeit that I am yonge of yeres, yet have Ha, gardes uous dadulation, car combien que soye jeune de ans, sy ay I herde say neverthelesse that every body hath a frende that dare him shewe his je ouy dire toutesfois que chescun a ung amy qui luy ose dire ses fautes, save princes and princesses, for the most parte dothe synge of placebo, faultes, synon princes et princesses, car la plus part jouent de placebo, and few of dilexi. et bien peu de dilexi. Lau. Trewly, madame, your reason is good and trewe: natwithstandyng all Certes, madame, uostre rayson est bonne et uraye: nonobstant toutte flatery and adulation sette a syde, I have sayd the truthe, for to the reporte of adulacion et flaterie ariere mise, jay dit la uerité, car au report de Page 1077 any connynge man ye have complexion sanguyne, whiche is the best tout homme scauant uous aués complexion sanguine, qui est la meilleure of the four, bycause that the others holden more of extermites, for in des quatre, a cause que les aultres tiennent plus dextermités, car en hete and moisture lyeth the lyfe of the man, and the more that he declyne to challeur et moisteur gist la uie de lhome, et quant plus quil decline a coldenes and drinesse, whiche ben diametrally opposite and contrary to froideur et seicheur, qui sont diamétrallement opposite et contraire a hete and moisture, the more he goeth to corrupcion, whiche is the deth: I chaleur et moisture, tant plus il ua a corrupcion, qui est la mort: je myght prove to you by reason unpossible to withstande that this your uous poulroie prouuér par irrefragable et solides oppinions que ceste uostre complexion is the beste, but for nat to be tedious nor malpleasant, I complexion est la meilleur, mais pour non estre tedieus ne facheus, je remitte it to an other tyme. le remectz a une aultre fois. Ma. Forsoth it displease me that my dyner is ended, for I have taken great Certes il me desplaist que mon disner est acheué, car jay priens grand pleasure to your communication, and howbeit that my body is sufficiently plaisir a uostre communicacion, et combien que mon corps est suffisamment saciate and fedde, yet remayne my soule nevertheles hongry refocillé et repus, sy demeure mon ame touttes fois familleuse and full of appetit of suche metes as ye have here administred. et esuriente de telles uiandes que luy aués administré. Lau. In good trewth I do rejoise me to se your grace so inclined En bonne uerité, madame, je me resjouis de ueoir uostre grace tant propense and disposed to be wyllyng to knowe and can, wherfore I shall be glad et procliue a uoulloir scauoir et cognoistre, pourquoy je seray joieulz to fulfyll your good wyll where it shall please you to commande me. daccomplir uostre uoulloir la ou vous plaira me comander. Ma. I praie to God to rewarde you of your labour and good instruction, Je prie a Dieu uous remunerér de uostre paine et bonne doctrine, maistre amener. monsieur laumosnier. Page 1078 Lau. God preserve you in all good prosperite. Dieu uous maintiegne en toutte bonne prosperité, madame. Amen. THE DEVISION OF TYME. Of atmos ben made the momentes, of momentes ben made the mynutes, Des atomos se font les momentz, des momentz se font les minutes, of mynutes ben made the degrees, of degrees the quarters of houres, of quarters des minutes se font les degrés, des degrés les quartz dheures, des quartz of houres the half houres, of half houres the houres, of the houres the dheures les demye heures, des demy heures les heures, des heures les dayes and the nyghtes of the whiche ben made wekes, of wekes the monthes, jours et les nuitz desquelles se font les sepmaines, des sepmaines les mois, of the monthes the foure tymes of the yere whiche ben the springe, somer, harvest, des mois les quatre temps de lan qui sont printemps, este, autumne and wynter. Of the foure tymes ben made the yeres, of yeres ben made the whiche et iuer. Des quatre temps se font les ans, des ans se font les last four yeres and lustres fyve, of lustres ben made the fyfteene yeres, of olimpiades et lustres, des lustres se font les indicions, des indicions ben made the c. yeres, of ben made the tyme, whiche is sayd a m. yeres. Of se font les siecles, des siecles se fait le temps, qui est dict evum. De is made the tyme wiche is sayd xv thousande yeres. evum se fait le temps qui est dict parigeneses. The tyme is none other thyng but nombre of movyng, movyng Le temps nest aultre chose que nombre de mouuement, mouuement is cause of lyfe worldly, and lyfe everlastynge is our Lorde Jesu Christ; for est cause de uie, et uie pardurable est Nostre Seigneur Jesu Crist; car who so ever shall worshyppe hym and drede perpetually, in the lande quiconques lhonorera et craindra a perpetuite, en la terre of lyvers shall lyve. des uiuantz uiura. Page 1079 This letter _A_, in latyn, is as moche to saye as without, and tomos is divysyon, than Atomos is without divisyon. Ye shall note, that atmos is a thyng so lytell that can nat be devyded, as a letter whiche is atmos, in grammer, out, is atmos in arismetry, a pricke is atmos in geometry, and the duste that flyeth in the sonne beame ben atmos, and a twynclyng of an ey whiche may be taken here for atmos. The Greeks were wont to reken by Olympiades, whiche ben four yere; the Romayns by lustres, whiche ben fyve yeres: and by indicions that ben made of thre lustres, which ben fyftene yeres: a secle is an hundred yere, and somtyme taken for a mannes lyfe. Evum is take lykewyse for a mannes age, and for a thousande yeres, and Parigeneses for fyftene thousande yeres, and tyme is taken for the lastyng of all the worlde. Thus endeth the seconde and laste boke of this introduction. Printed at London by Thomas Godfray. CUM PRIUILEGIO A REGE INDULTO. Page 1081 TABLE DES RÈGLES ET DES MOTS POUR LA GRAMMAIRE DE PALSGRAVE[1]. A A; sa prononciation, 2. --Suppression de l'_a_, dans certains cas, à la fin des mots, 42. --Devant un _M_ ou un _N_. --Sa prononciation, p. XVII. --_a_ long, 53. --Ne termine jamais un nom substantif singulier, p. XXVI; ni un nom adjectif singulier masculin, p. XXVII. A abandon, 831. Aage, 3. Aager, 3. Aaige (je), 418. Aayder, 3. Abandon, 832. Abandonnement, 222. Abaye (je), 586. Abeisse, 414. Abeisse (je), 625. Abestis (je), 623. Abhominable, 305. Abhominableté, 193. Abhomination, 188. Abhomine (je), 419. Abillement, 206. Abilleté, 266. Abire (je), 431. Abisme, 172. Ablatif, 327. A bon chief, 843. Abreuoyr, 222. A brief dire, 831. Abriefue (je), 629. Abscons (je), 584. Absconsse, 216. Absente (je), 415. Absolut, 305. Absorbs (je), 744. Abstiens (je), 544. Abstrahys (je), 526. Abstrais (je), 669. Abuse (je), 639. Abusion, 245. A cause que, 865. Accable (je), 473, 586. Accent; signification de ce mot _accent_ en français, 46. --Véritable accentuation en français, p. XX, 48, 49, 51. Accointée, 290. Accointement, 218. Accoler, 23. Accollee, 228. Accollette (je), 625, 643. Accomble (je), 549. Accompaigne (je), 597. Accomparaige (je), 491. Accompare (je), 491. Accompte (je), 416. Accondiscionne (je), 574. Acconduis (je), 468. Acconsuys (je), 648. Accords; règles des trois accords en français, pag. XXXVIII. --Accord de l'adjectif et du substantif, 70. Accors (je), 400. Accouardis (je), 621. Accouardys (je), 416. Accouplis (je), 499. Accourcys (je), 704. Accourtis (je), 704. Accoustre (je), 433. Accoynte (je), 416. Accreue (je), 472. Accroys (je), 606. Accustume (je), 417. A celle fin, 866. A celle foys, 805. A certes, 837. Achapt, 198. Achapte (je), 455. Acheison, 287. Achemine (je), 761. Achetiue (je), 620. Acheuis (je), 470. Acheuissance, 217. [Note 1: Cette table n'existe pas dans l'édition anglaise: elle comprend, outre les mots tombés en désuétude, tous ceux qui offrent, pour le sens ou l'orthographe, quelque différence avec l'usage actuel de notre langue.] Page 1082 A chief, 843. A chief de piece, 827. Achoison, 205. Achoysonne (je), 550. Aciere (je), 639. Acoincte, 251. A comble, 847 Acompte (je), 540. Acondiscionne (je), 493. Aconduis (je), 605. Aconsuys (je), 585. Aconuenance (je), 443. A costiere, 831, 841. Acouchement, 239. Acoulpe (je), 456. Acoulpe (je), 602. A coup, 804. Acource (je), 629. Acquest, 289. Acqueste (je), 563. Acquierge, 397. Acquiete (je me), 418. Acquisitif, 313. Acquoquine (je), 417. Acquoyse (je), 488. Acquoyse (je), 630. Acrauante (je), 472. Acru, 311. Actente, 240 Actif, verbe actif, p. XXX, 83. Actifie (je), 618. Actise (je), 532. Actraict, 215. Acueils (je me), 561. Acusement, 193. Acustumance, 242. A dens, 836. A despit, 837. Adestre (je), 715. Adextre (je), 715. Adhers (je), 434. A dire veoyr, 885. Adjectifs; ont trois genres: _masculin_, _féminin_, _commun_, pag. XXVII. --Ont deux nombres, le _singulier_ et le _pluriel_, pag. XXVIII. --Ont trois degrés de comparaison, mais formés autrement qu'en latin, pag. XXVIII. --Les adjectifs ont sept _accidents_, 69. --Accord des adjectifs, 297. Adjouge (je), 595. Adjouste (je), 417. Adjoyngs (je), 591 Adjuge (je), 493. Adjutoire, 230. Admainer, 469. Admonestement, 286. Adnichile (je), 469. Aduile (je), 631. Aduilene (je), 631. Aduoystre (je), 490. Adnulle (je), 469. Adole (je), 603. Adole (je me), 475. Adompte (je), 626. Adoncques, 794. Adorne (je), 417. Adosse (je), 630. Adoube (je), 417, 508. Adoulcer, 28. Adoulcis (je), 480. Adoulcyr, 108. Adoulcys (je), 630. Adoule (je), 426. Adresse (je), 436. Adresse sur mon seant (je me), 716. A droyture, 830. Adultere (je), 490. Adultre, 193. Adune (je), 467. Aduance (je), 417. Aduantage (je), 440. Aduenant, 307. Aduenanteté, 229. Aduentureux, 305. Aduenue, 207. Adverbes, 141. --De qualité, leur formation, p. XXXVIII. Advercité, 173. Aduers, 308, 252. Aduerse (je), 422. Aduertence, 193, 286. Aduerteure, 286. Aduertis (je), 440 Aduienant, 308. Aduiengne (quil), 131. Aduision, 285. Aduitaille (je), 766. Aduocatte, 290. Aduoue (je), 415. Aduoÿe, 329. Æ, 10. Aelle, 289. Aerin, 305. A eschays, 831. Affaicte (je), 464, 627. Affaire (un ou une), 160. Affectif, 305. Affere (je), 434. Afferendons, 208. Affermer, 349. Affetardis (je), 625. Affiche (je), 478, 551, 623. Affichet, 250. Affichez, 746. Afficquet, 201. Affiert (il), 134, 413. Affie (je), 667. Affile (je), 775. Affin, 236. Affine, 236. Affine (je), 420, 446, 469. Affinite (je), 627. Affinitif, 306. Afflatte (je), 551. Affolle (je), 23, 617. Affolle (je me), 678. Affonde (je me), 718. Affondre (je), 470. Affriolle (je), 470. Affronte (je), 460. Affule (je), 603. Affuste (je), 448. Affuye (je), 595. Affuys (je me), 552. Affye (je), 418. A force, 833. Agache, 254. Page 1083 Agambe(je), 735. Agardez, 146, 406. Agars, 829. Agasse, 306. Agasseté, 199. Agassure, 199, 216. Age (je), 617. Agence (je), 506. Aggreuer, 23. Aggresse (je), 647. Agitance, 287. Agouste (je), 581. Agout, 215. Agouttys, 233. A grant erre, 837. Agrappe (je), 485, 574. Agrauante (je), 472. Agrée (je me), 416. Agricole, 233. Agrieue (je me), 575. Agu, 302. Aguayt, 833. Aguayt appensée, 833. Aguaytance, 239. Aguayte (je), 605. Aguille, 247. Aguiser, 228. Aguiseté, 266. Aguyllier, 202. A gueulle bée, 845. Aguyllon, 16. A hazart, 832. Ahenne (je), 516. Aheurte (je), 599. Aheurte (je me), 696. Ahonte (je me), 776. Ahonter, 19. Ahontis (je), 619. Ahontye (je), 619. Ai, sa prononciation, XVIII, 12. Ai a nom (je), 424. Aielle, 227. Aigneau, 67. Ai grant peché (je), 427. Aigrure, 216. Aiguier, 217. Aillieurs, 818. Aincoys, 28. Ainschoys, 64. Aiscelle, 195. Aisceul, 195. Aisement, 216. Aisne, 311. Aixeul, 196. Aixseul, 196. Ajeunir, 11. Ajolys (je), 623. Ajourne (il), 412. A joynctes mayns, 845. Ajoyns (je), 591. Alabastre, 193. A la boulingue, 834. Alaicte (je), 547. Alaigre, 307. Alaine, 201. Alaisne, 194. A la mynuyct, 804. Alangore (je), 544. Alangoure (je), 530. Alangourys (je), 658. Alant, 227. A la pipe du jour, 804. A la première chandelle, 804. Alayne (je), 465. Aleche (je), 527. Alechie (je), 537. Alegant, 289. Alegement, 207. Alemant (en), 142. A lemblée, 734. A lenuiron, 794. A leslite, 628. Alesne, 216, A lespée traicte, 845. Alicte (je me), 610. Alien, 194. Aliette, 269. Allecte (je), 771. Allons men, 746. Almoires, 194. Aloigne (je me), 512. Alone (je), 435. Alose (je), 489. Aloue (je), 624. Alouuance, 194. Alquenemie, 210. Altere (je), 421. Altitonant, 281. Alum, 194. Alume (je), 460. Alumpne, 223. Aluyne, 246. Alys, 324. Amailliotte (je), 744. Amatiste, 194. Amatte (je), 633. Amatye (je), 421. A mayn, 862. Amayne (je), 466. Ambicieux, 305, 310. Ambicion, 63. Ambigueux, 311. Ambles, 424. Ambroyse, 273. Ameisgrir, 108. Amence, 277. Amende, 211. Amendrir, 3. Amenée, 241. Amenement, 238. Amenuise (je), 426. Amer (une), 166. Amesure (je me), 597. Amenront, 401. Ameuris (je), 691. Ammonester, 23. Amodere (je me), 489. Amolie (je), 629. Amoneste (je), 635. Amonstre (je), 717. Amonte (je), 428, 485. Amoreux, 305. Amors, 196. Amors (je), 439, 574. Amors (je), 574. Amorse, 290. Amorse (je), 443. Amortis (je), 469. Amourée, 290. Amourescher, 762. Ampliez, 409. Page 1084 Amplitude, 237. Amuselle (je), 642. Amy, 819. Amyableté, 189. Amygnonne (je me), 776. Anathematize (je), 505. Ancelle, 241. Ancestes, 182, 257. Anet, 215. Angelin, 305. Anglesche, 217. Anglet, 240. Angoysse (je), 432. Angoisseuseté, 194. Angoisseux, 305. Anhele (je), 652. Anichile (je), 432. Anneantis (je), 495. Annel, 263. Annuicte (il), 412. Anomal. Verbe anomal, pages XXX, XXXV. Ante, 196. Anticipe (je), 562. Antiesme, 194, 279. Antonnoyr, 221. Anuyte (il), 528. Aoure (je), 587, 784. Aourner, 417. Aourse (je), 460. Apaillardis (je), 570. Apairie (je), 633. A par, 795. Aparance, 194. Aparant, 64. Aparcoys (je), 437. Apare (je), 628. A par moy, 508, 540, 833. Apastelle (je), 547. A paynes, 836. Apeisement, 276. Apellance, 202. Apers (je); irrégularités de ce verbe, 104. Apert, 322. Apertement, 642. Apertise, 641. A plaisance, 590. Aplane (je), 628. Aplanoie (je), 626. Aplanois (je), 659. A playn, 835. Aport, 277. Aposte (je), 459. Apostume (je), 548, 679. Apothecaire, 187. Apothecayre, 194. A pou que, 522, 771. Apouris (je), 532. Apouris (je me), 503. Appaillardis (je me), 563. Appalis (je), 432. Apparant, 64. Appareil, 206. Appareille (je), 433. Apparissoye (je), 787. Appars (je), 787. Appellance, 247. Appence (je me), 453. Appencement, 280. Appendence, 257. Appens (je), 448. Appensement, 198. Appent, p. XLVIII. Apperceuance, 253. Appertise, 242. Appete (je), 434. Appetisis (je), 773. Appette (je), 616. Applanie (je), 480. Applicque (je), 434, 577. Applicque (je), 577. Appligne (je), 740. Appoincte (je), 434. Appointement, 241. Apposte (je), 669. Appourrys (je), 548. Appoynt, 828. Apprent, p. XLVIII. Apprentis, 51. Apprentisse, 258. Appresse (je), 603, 665. Appreuue (je), 435. Apprime (je), 645. Apprise (je), 540. Approucher, 109. Appuial, 238. Apreste loreille (je), 565. Aprestz, 242. Apries, 64. Aprime (je), 466. Aprise (je), 664. Aprisonne (je), 746. Apriue (je), 630. A priué, 838. Aproprie (je), 435. Aprouche (je), 435. Apte (je), 435. Apuril, 194. Aputaine (je), 570. Apuye, 259. Aquaire, 194. Arable (je), 562. Araigne, 274. Araignie, 274. Arain, 200. Araisonne (je), 636. Arbitre (je), 435. Arbitrement, 195. Arcbalestre, 211. Arcbalestrier, 211. Arcenic, 195. Arche, 205. Arche (je), 435. Archediacre, 195. Archeduc, 195. Archeduché, 195, Archée, 200. Archelet, 240. Archeprestre, 195. Arcise, 307. Arcte (je), 738. Arctiller, 200. Arcure, 197. Ardans, 61. Ardant, 307. Ardille (je), 507, 660. Ardure, 202. Are (je), 539. A recelé, 841. Areneux, 314. Page 1085 Aresté, 324. Argue (je me), 545. Armature, 195. Armigere, 229. Armonicque, 318. Armonie, 229. Armoye (je), 436. Arne, 307. Arne (je), 465. Arogance, 258. Aronde, 278. Arondelle, 278. Arondis (je), 628. Arpilleux, 322. Arquemie, 193. Arrable (je), 679. Arraignée, 216. Arrange (je), 678. Arrase (je), 452. Arraye (je), 678. Arre, 175. Arrenge (je), 647. Arrengie (je), 686. Arreste, 308. Arriere de, 874. Arrigateur, 215. Arrouser, 23. Arrousouer, 287. Arroute (je), 438. Arroutte (je me), 618. Arroydys (je), 630. Ars (je), 460. Arsenicq, 195. Arson, 264. Arterique, 324. Article (je), 437. Articles; deux, _ung_ et _le_, xxiv, 65, 152. Articque, 248. Artifie (je), 619. Artillier, 221. Arudys (je), 629. A saoul, 836. A scauoyr mon si, 142, 886. Ascens (je), 438. Aschayrne (je), 416. Aschieue (je), 416. A semblance de, 839. Asne, 155. Asnesse, 155. Aspergoyr, 228. Aspicq, 195. Aspre, 54. Asprement, 733. Aspresse, 198. Assagys (je me), 778. Assaier, 416. Assaisonne (je), 673, 710. Assaulx (je), 395. Assauuagis (je), 631. Assauuagys (je me), 778. Assauoyr, 783. Assaygis (je), 773. Assaysonne (je), 707. Asseant, 270, 308. Asseiche (je), 528. Assene (je), 585. Assens (je), 782. Assens (je me), 438. Assentis (je), 782. Assendent, 270. Assers (je), 467. Assertayne (je), 438. Asseule (je), 608. Asseur, 418, 838. Asseurance, 270. Asseuré, 326. Assez plus que trop, 855. Assie (je), 658. Assiege (je me), 689. Assiete, 270. Assigne (je), 438. Assistence, 278. Assistent, 195. Assomme (je me), 643. Assopis (je), 568. Assorber, 30. Assorbis (je), 529. Assorbys (je), 744. Assorte (je), 673. Assotis (je), 623. Assotte (je), 467, 630. Assotte (je me), 553. Assouagist, 396. Assouldre, 35, 672. Assouls (je), 415. Assouuis (je), 496. Assouuys (je), 568. Assubjecte (je), 467. Assumpte (je), 751. Assurement, 195. Assys (je), 658. Astelle (je), 579. Asteure, 36, 142. Astillier, 286. Astraings (je), 495. Astre, 229. Astrologien, 195. Astronomien, 195. Astruse (je), 665. Astruser, 36. Astrusse (je), 755. Atache, 279. Ataiche, 201. A talent, 832. Atant, 808. A tard, 814. Atat, 149, 888. Atellée, 279. Ateyde (je), 625. Aticie (je), 669. Atise (je), 635. A tousjours mays, 645. Atrappe, 272. Atrempance, 279. Attaue, 227. Attayne, 217. Attayne (je), 765. Attayneux, 319. Attayngs (je), 439. Attediation, 235. Attemperance, 279. Attempte (je), 439. Attendance, 195. Attenue (je), 440. Atterre (je), 449. Attourne (je), 440. Attourne (je me), 434. Attrament, 199. Attrays (je), 528, 669. Attrempance, 360. Page 1086 Attrempe (je), 420, 630, 634. Attrempé, 327. Atyce (je), 537. Au; sa prononciation, p. xviii, 14. Aube creuant, 201. Aubespin, 216. Aubin, 288. Au bout damont, 817. Aucteur, p. xlviii. Auctorise (je), 440. Auctorité, auctorisation, etc. 195. Au departyr, 804. Au derrayn, 805. Au dessur, 822. Auditoir, 210. Au fin fons, 827. Au finissement, 805. Augorisme, 196. Au jour assis, 805. Aulcun peu, 851. Aulbergon, 229. Aulcun, p. xxix, 82. Aulcunefoys, 142. Aulfin, 194. Aulmaire, 196. Aulmoires, 182. Aulmosne, 94, 173. Aulmosnier, 194. Aulne, 216. Aulne (je), 635. Au long aller, 805. Aultre, p. xlviii. Aultres foys, 803. Aune (je), 627. Aüner, 11, 14. Aunon, 228. Au paraller, 837. Au plus parfond, 819. Au premier, 805. Au primes, 805. Au pris de, 837. Aure (je), 499. Auré, 226. Au regard de, 837. Au residu, 852. Aurien, 317. Auriflame, 172. Aurillon, 257. Ausé, 506. Au soleil absconsant, 806. Aussi bien comme, 874. Austruche, 233. Autant comme, 848. Autel, tel, 82, 365. Autentique, 305. Auton, 229. Autumpne, 229. Aual, 815. Auale (je), 440. Auale (je me), 531. Auant danceur, 238. Auant mure (je), 440. Auant quon scayt tourner la mayn, 804. Auec ce, 878. Auecques, 4. Aueleine, 227. Auenture (je), 440. Auere (je), 623. Aueuglerie, 199. Aueuglis (je), 620. Auilement, 214. Auilene (je), 12, 519. Auille (je), 765. Auine (je), 468. Avint, 64. Auironne (je), 694. Auise (je), 609. Auisement, 195. Auoistre, 193. Auortin, 205. Auortyne, 11. Auost, 10, 55. Auoue (je), 441. Auoyé, 580. Auoyr, conjugaison du verbe _auoyr_, 107. Ay cure (je), 475. Ay faulte (je), 543. Ay le vava (je), 731. Ayncoys que, 812. Aynesse, 249. Ayns, p. xlviii. Ayns que, 812. Ayre (je), 419. Ayse (je), 531, 715. Aysie (je), 716. Ayt (me), 393. Azart, 229. Azurin, 306. B B; sa prononciation, 26. --Ne termine jamais un nom adjectif singulier masculin, p. xxvii, xxviii. Babeure, 288. Babillant, 305. Bahoye (je), 456. Baboye (je), 545. Bacon, 196. Baggue, 188. Baguenaulde, 244. Bahus, 19. Baille a congnoistre (je), 524. Baille du pire (je), 676. Baille honte (je), 619. Baille paour (je), 547. Baing, 196. Bale, 196. Balé, 170. Balenchoeres, 282. Balengier, 196. Balerie, 212. Balle (je), 507, 720, 763. Ballonette (je), 760. Balloye (je), 745. Ballye (je), 745. Bambelottier, 201. Bancquet, 235. Bande (je me), 748. Bancquette (je), 443. Banerolle, 253. Baniere (je), 671. Baguaige, 196. Baptisme, 172. Baratier, 213. Barbedieu, 221. Page 1087 Barbele (je), 443. Barbeu, 15. Barboille (je), 549. Barboyllement, 272. Barat, 213. Barc, 219. Barde (je), 443. Barette, 202. Bargaygne (je), 617. Bargeret, 236. Bargeronnette, 266. Barnaige, 207. Barocquin, 226. Barratte (je), 446. Bas (je), 87. Basine, 283. Basle (je), 458. Basset, 317. Basseur, 241. Bastier, 223. Bastile, 277. Bastille (je), 532. Bastillon, 8. Baston, 275. Bastys (je), 442. Bataillereux, 310. Batelleur, 234. Batre, 26. Battouer, 197. Battouer, 287. Batz, 250. Baubeurre, 175. Bauboyant, 788. Baudis (je), 461, 532. Baudrier, 242. Baueresse, 215. Baufre, 247. Bauldray, 401. Baulieure, 239. Baulsme, 172, 197. Baulpré, 264. Beatifie (je), 620. Beaufroy, 197. Beaulté, 4. Beaultifie (je), 444. Becq, 301. Becq de faulcon, 69. Becqu, 301. Becquasse, 694. Bedon, 215. Bée (je), 560. Beer, 5. Beguyne, 198. Behourdis, 199. Behours, 19. Belances, 182. Belisteresse, 155. Belistre, 68. Belistre (je), 446. Belistresse, 68. Bellement, 835. Bellet, 303. Bellette, 288. Bellicq, 303. Bellin, 197. Bendayge, 188. Bende, 198. Bende (je), 560. Benet, 220. Benign, 306. Beniuolence, 197. Benoist, 306. Benoistier, 228. Bercelet, 872. Berguygne (je), 443. Beril, 197. Bernac, 197. Bernago, 283. Bers, 210. Bersault, 178, 189, 260. Berse (je), 692. Berseau, 210. Besache, 286. Besane, 274. Besasse, 286. Bescousse, 198. Besgu, 742. Besgue, 277. Besgue (je), 732. Besle (je), 458. Besoigne (je), 600. Besoigne (il), 147. Beste, 54. Besterie, 197. Bestourne (je), 421. Bestournement, 278. Betreche (je), 713. Betresche (je), 436. Beugle, 201. Beurrette, 204. Beuryau, 11. Bichet, 231. Bidault, 285. Bidaulx, 277. Bien a droyt, 843. Bienereux, 313. Bieneure, 306. Bieneuré, 306. Bien euré, 329. Bieneureté, 663. Bieneureux, 306. Bienheureté, 222. Bienuiegner, 109. Bienuiengne (je), 779. Bienuueillance, 226. Bigarre (je), 482. Biguarrure, 246. Bigne, 236. Bigorneau, 253. Biliart, 8. Biquoquet, 253. Bisexte, 238. Bissine, 259. Bistocque (je), 36, 589. Bieure, 198. Blanc esterlin, 275. Blanchet, 253. Blanchir, 431. Blanchisseure, 252. Blandice, 220. Blandis (je), 456. Blasme, 172. Blasonne (je), 664. Blasphemeur, 198. Blece (je), 513. Blesme, 306. Blisterie, 197. Blistreux, 305. Bloucque (je), 459. Blouque, 199, 201. Blouquier, 199. Page 1088 Bobancier, 193, 210. Bobant, 256. Bobin, 199. Bocquage, 9. Bocquillon, 289. Boe, 272. Boiselier, 284. Bombance, 284. Bon, 236, 245. Bondeau, 199, 202. Bondel, 202. Bondes, 438. Bonet, xl. Boneur, 166. Bonnaire, 160. Bonne erre, 829. Bonne piece, 144, 853. Bonnin, 317. Bont, 261. Bon vespre, 867. Borache, 199. Bort, 230. Boscaige, 280. Botteau, 200. Botelle (je), 620. Botellettes, 356. Boubans, 263. Boubette, 288. Boucclettes, 281. Boucle (je), 472. Boucque, 247. Boucquet, 248. Boucquette (je), 472. Boudayn, 259. Boue, 463. Boueau, 277. Bouffe (je), 459. Bouffée, 205. Boufflée, 259. Bougée, 270. Bougueram, 199. Bouille, 251. Bouils (je), 459. Boulengier, 186. Boulle (je), 446, 462, 670. Boulliau, 198. Boully, 238. Boundys (je), 680. Bourcée, 277. Bourcettes, 228. Bourcier, 259. Bourde, 266. Bourde (je), 460, 562. Bourde (je me), 462. Bourdeau, 199. Bourdican, 239. Bourdin, 216. Boure, 200. Bourgois, 30. Bourgoisie, 275. Bourgon, 30. Bourgonne (je), 472. Bourjon, 11. Bourne, 200, 217. Bourset, 222. Boursette, 206. Bous, 276. Bousseu, 15. Boutailier, 202. Boutaillis, 164. Boute (je), 732. Boute hors (je), 705. Bouteillis, 199. Boutellier, 200. Bouterolle, 204, 480. Bouticle, 171, 267. Boutiliere, 279. Boyée, 199. Boyllon, 244. Boys, 12. Boys dautant (je), 529. Boytelette, 187. Boytte, 283. Boyx, 14, 200. Brace, 200. Brachet, 200. Bracquemart, 229. Braggarde, 155. Braggart, 155, 234. Braggue (je), 589. Brague, 306. Braierie, 210. Braiette, 206. Branche (je), 611. Brand de Judas, 223. Brandureau, 199. Bransle, 275. Bransle (je), 693. Brase, 229. Brasier, 242. Brasselet, 200. Braye, 200. Braye (je), 501, 732. Brayes, 182. Brays (je), 462. Brebiette, 187. Brehaing, 297. Brehayng, 305. Breif, 307. Breneux, 306. Bretif, 51. Breze, 39, 205. Brezil, 243. Bribe (je), 465. Briberie, 201. Bribeur, 201. Bricoteau, 206. Bricque, 286. Briesveté, 267. Briffaut, 244. Briffe (je), 540, 616. Briffre, 227. Brigandines, 251. Brigue (je), 689. Brise ma jeune (je), 464. Briton, 242. Broche (je), 516, 752. Brocquart, 248. Broderesse, 154. Broillerie, 199. Bronce (je), 762. Broude (je), 463. Brouée, 262. Brouillas, 245. Brouille (je), 595. Brouticque, 246. Brouyllas, 412. Brunette, 319. Brusles (tu), xli. Bruste, 307. Bruyte (je), 403. Page 1089 Bryme, 265. Bubette, 202, 287. Bue (je), 472. Buffée, 201. Buffette (je), 472. Bugle (je), 615. Buissine (je), 459. Buissonnet, 796. Bule (je), 614. Bulte (je), 462. Burjon, 200. Burnys (je), 460. Busine, 270. Bussine, 286. Butarin, 212, 216. Butyne (je), 653. Bygne, 223. C C; sa prononciation, 27. Cabache, 222. Cabaiche (je), 596. Cabain, 202. Cabestain, 257. Cableau, 206. Cacque, 236. Cacqueteur, 198. Cacquette (je), 473. Caffignon, 254. Cailliou, 221. Caisier, 204 Calamente, 232. Calamint, 202. Calculation, 209. Calcule (je), 473. Calefaction, 204 Calendre, 288. Calenge (je), 473, 687. Calenge (je), 687. Calfetre (je), 473. Caliette, 228. Calieu, 286. Calion, 286. Caliou, 202. Camamille, 202. Cambrant, 326. Camfre, 176, 202. Canart, 215. Cannart, 155. Canneau, 247. Cannette, 214. Cannetton, 214. Cannonier, 226. Cannyuet, 253. Caqueteux, 307. Car, 216. Carcas, 260. Carelleur, 262. Carme, 202, 307. Carniau, 263. Carolle, 203. Carpendu, 154. Car pourquoy, 865. Carquant, 197. Carquas, 211. Carrele (je), 488. Cartal, 220. Cas dans les pronoms, p. xxix, xxx, 77. Casse (je), 675. Casure, 218. Casy, 311. Catarre (la), 581. Caterre, 257. Catoille (il), 349. Catouille (je), 758. Catuilleux, 327. Caulme, 307. Cauque (je), 761. Cautelle, 203. Cautelle (je), 446. Cautelleux, 305. Cauesne, 835. Cauesot, 256. Cauillation, 248. Caygnon, 231. Cayndre, 28. Ce et cest, 81. Cedre, 269. Ce fait mon, 866. Ceinct, 225. Ceincture, 225. Ceincturette, 240. Ceingns (je), 566. Ceingturier, 225. Celée, 231. Celéement, 799. Celerier, 203. Celestialeté, 231. Celestiel, 307. Celestre, 315. Celle part, 823. Celique, 315. Cemitiere, 174. Cenciere, 262. Cen dessus dessoubz, 764. Cengle, 171, 224. Cengle (je), 566. Ce non obstant, 879. Ceps, 280. Ceptre, 203. Cerance (je), 582. Cercelle (je), 587. Cercler, 778. Cerclier, 287. Cerfoil, 205. Cerfouis (je), 516. Cerimonie, 203. Cerne, 207, 231. Cerne (je), 707. Certaineté, 203. Certifie (je), 621. Certiore (je), 479. Cescy, 81. Cesla, 81. Cestela, 81. Cestecy, 81. Cest mon, 866. Cestuy, 82. Ceuuetier, 621. Ceyncture, 27. Ch. Comment _ch_ se prononce en français, 19. --Ne termine jamais un mot français, 20. Chable, 202. Chafrayn, 230. Chagrineux, 307, 325. Chaiere, 204. Chaillist, 413. Chaize, 34. Chalant, 322. Page 1090 Chaleme (je), 454. Chalemeau, 240, 266. Chalenge, 169, 202. Chalenge (je), 480, 687. Chalereux, 312. Chaline, 215. Challant, 204. Chamahieux, 202. Chamberette, 206. Champaigne, 796. Champestre, 312. Chamure, 176, 230. Chancon, 28. Chanconnette, 155. Chandeille, 20. Chaneu, 315. Chanfrain, 204. Chanse, 229. Chanteau, 225. Chantepelleuse, 274. Chantepleure, 279. Chanteresse, 290. Chanterie, 204. Chapele, 276. Chapellet, 204. Chapellys, 252. Chapiau, 229. Chappelain, 204. Chappelle, 206, 276. Chappelle (je), 484. Chappelis, 205. Chapplys, 205. Charboncle, 157. Charbonnée, 275. Chardonnereau, 226. Chareue, 256. Charge (je), 601. Chargeux, 307. Chariage, 219. Charie (je), 529. Chariottier, 286. Charlante, 156. Charoigne, 8. Charpente (je), 693. Charpis (je), 694. Charrecton, 203. Charriere, 203. Charriuaris, 268. Charruier, 256. Chartée, 203, 240. Charue, 256. Chascun, xxix. Chassie (je), 696. Chassieux, 306. Chassouer, 220. Chastelayn, 235. Chastereux, 224. Chastité, 204. Chastoiement, 204. Chateuoison, 203. Chathuan, 233. Chatonne (je), 599. Chattement, 236. Chatton pelleuse, 203. Chatton, 251. Chauce (je), 674. Chaulde colle, 201, 223. Chaulderon, 190. Chaulderon de mer, 203. Chaulderonnier, 281. Chaulme, 263. Chaulsist, 413. Chault, 130. Chaulue, 305. Chaulueté, 197. Chaulx, 166. Chause, 560. Chausée, 203. Chausettier, 232. Chayre, 34. Chayrnure, 20. Chefgros, 239. Chenee, 228. Chennu, 329. Chereté, 238. Cherue, 229. Chestaigne, 204. Chestaignier, 204. Chesuble, 170. Chettron, 281. Cheute, 218. Cheualereux, 302. Cheualet, 155. Cheualin, 294. Cheuance, 263. Cheuauche (je), 588. Cheuecel, 199. Cheuenne, 205. Cheuereau, 236. Cheuereul, 155. Cheueron, 260. Cheuerotin, 205. Cheuesance, 267. Cheuestre, 228. Cheuetain, 204. Cheueul, 230. Cheueulu, 301. Cheuis (je), 520, 618. Cheuisance, 205. Chicheté, 248. Chicquenode, 220. Chicqueteux, 316. Chicquette (je), 589. Chicqueture, 233. Chief, chiefue, 325. Chief deuure, 270. Chief gros, 268. Chienin, 310. Chiennaille, 207. Chier, chiere, 310, 317. Chiere, 55. Chierté, 213. Chiet, 62. Chieure, 155, 226. Chiminée, 205. Chion, 241. Chosette, 240. Choysys (je), 437. Choysys doeyl (je), 539. Christÿen, 6. Cie (je), 686. Ciellement, 489. Ciercle, 27, 203. Ciffle (je), 585, 781. Cifleure, 231. Cigoigne, 272. Cil, xlviii. Cile (je), 479. Cilement, 283. Cincelle, 225. Cinge, 194. Page 1091 Cinquantainier, 372. Circuition, 207. Circule (je), 485. Circumbages, 207. Circumference, 250. Circumsicion, 205. Circumspection, 33. Circumstance, 205. Circumuiens (je), 508. Circumuoisin, 280. Circuys (je), 485. Cirurgien, 278. Cisterne, 203, 269. Ciue, 205. Ciuol, 205. Clacquet, 205. Claime (je), 485. Clame quitte (je me), 567. Clappier, 205. Claret, 307. Clendre, 327. Cler, 307. Clere, 49. Cleré, 49, 205. Clergie, 170. Clergise, 206. Cleron, 205, 283. Clichette, 229. Clicque (je), 726. Clicquetiere, 289. Clicquette, 206, 237, 604. Clignette (je), 764. Cline (je me), 578. Cliquette (je), 481, 486. Cliue(je), 461. Cliuité, 276. Clochant, 314. Cloche (je), 577. Clochier, 276. Clocque (je), 487. Cloistrier, 206. Clorre, 109. Clos le pas (je), 550. Closture, 206. Clouons (nous), 488. Coarcte (je), 488. Cocatris, 206. Cochet (ung) au uent, xl. Cocq, 155, 181. Cocquart, 210. Cocquelourde, 207. Cocquet, 206, 237. Cocquyn, 188. Cocquynaille, 188. Coepelle (je), 484. Coessyn, 211. Coeste, 260. Cogitation, 280. Cogite (je), 453, 755. Cognoissance, 57. Cohertion, 208. Cohibe (je), 607. Coiche, 229. Coing, 209. Coint, 312. Cointerie, 248. Cointeux, 308. Cole, 207. Colée, 205. Colericq, 315. Coliege, 169, 207. Colier, 207. Colire, 174. Collegat, 219. Colomb, 27. Colombette, 254. Colompne, 254. Colubrin, 324. Columbier, 215. Columpne, 254. Colyn, 239. Combateur, 220. Combien que, 872. Combrance, 207. Comli, 308. Commande (je me), 489. Comme aynsi soyt, 884. Commedie, 207. Commendable, 308. Commentaire, 277. Comme poynt, 847. Commigne (je), 522. Commun; genre commun dans les noms substantifs, xxv; dans les noms adjectifs xxvii. Communalté, 207, 573. Communicque (je), 490. Communité, 207. Comodité, 207. Compaigne, 154. Compaignon, 154. Compaire (je), 529. Comparaison. Degrés de comparaison dans les adjectifs, xxviii, 71. Comparation, 207. Compare (je), 455. Comparison, 207. Comparoyr, 393. Compasse (je), 466. Compassible, 320. Compelle (je), 491. Compendieux, 308. Compete (il), 434. Complains (je me), 491. Complainz, 351. Composition, cinquième accident des noms, 68; --dans les pronoms, xxix. Compte, 279. Compte par ject (je), 477. Comyn, 207. Concele (je), 492. Concitation, 245. Conclave, 234. Concord, 207. Conculque (je), 761. Condamne (une), 279. Condampne (je), 506. Condempne (je), 493. Condescens (je me), 493. Condigne, 326. Conditionnel (mode), 85. Condutz, 299. Conduycte, 208. Conestable, 208. Conestablée, 208. Confere (je), 466. Conferme (je me), 419. Confesse (une), 267. Page 1092 Confite, 209, 278. Conflict, 220. Conforte (je), 483. Confrairie, 201. Confrication, 264. Confronte (je), 473. Confuge, 272. Confunde (je), 469. Confuse (je), 494. Congye, 170. Conin, 208. Conjoings (je), 494. Conjonctions: copulatives, disjonctives, continuatives, sub-continuatives, 148. Conjouys (je me), 683. Conjugaison: première, 88; seconde, 90; troisième, 93. --Trois conjugaisons du verbe actif, p. xxx. Conquesta (il), 161. Conqueste (je), 494. Conquesteur, 208. Consaulx, 182. Consequantement, 799. Consequens, 207. Consergerie, 221. Consierge, 235. Consonnes; leur prononciation, 21. --Prononciation des consonnes quand il y en a plusieurs entre deux voyelles, xix, 23, 24. Constraint, 308. Constraintif, 313. Contamine (je), 509. Contant, 822. Conte, 157. Conté, 157, 209. Contempne (je), 496. Contempte (je), 421. Contenement, 208, 212. Contens, 208, 212. Contens (je), 421. Contente (je), 496. Contenue, 208. Contere (je), 471. Contermine (je), 612. Conterquarre, 256. Conterquayre, 257. Contesse, 209. Conteuer, 209. Contourne (je me), 453. Contraincte, 208. Contraintif, 308. Contrarieuseté, 208. Contrarieux, 308. Contrecueur, 196. Contredaigne (je), 519. Contredaing, 228. Contrediction, 224. Contrefaict, 308. Contrefaicture, 209. Contregarde (je), 509, 597. Contremaistre, 259. Contremont, 628. Contrepasse (je), 496. Contrepense (je), 755. Contreplaide (je), 500. Contrepoys, 209. Contrepoyse (je), 496. Contreuue, 239, 507. Contreyman, 209. Contribue (je), 497. Contristation, 231. Controuersie, 284. Contumelie, 213. Contumelieux, 310. Conturbation, 284. Convenance (je), 497. Conuenant, 207, 653. Conuerse (je), 582. Conuertée, convertie, xxxvii. Conuertissement, 190, 787. Conuertisseur, 189. Conuiens (je), 438. Conuole (je), 490. Conuoye (je), 468. Conuoyement, 208. Copeav, 211. Coppeau, 267. Coppie (je me) 694. Coquarde, 240. Coquatris, 237. Coquemert, 203. Coquine (je), 446. Coral, 208. Coralin, 308. Corbeillon, 229. Corbineau, 291. Cordaige, 68. Cordialleté, 229. Cordouanerie, 267. Cordouanier, 209. Corduain, 208. Corduainer, 208. Corlaire, 208. Cormerande, 155. Cormerant, 155. Cornardie, 221. Cornemusier, 196. Cornettier, 232. Cornille, 230. Corone, 209. Coronement, 209. Coronet, 274. Corporeau, 209. Corpsage, 198, 273. Corpset, 187. Corpsu, 292, 308. Corret, 193. Corroucer, 27. Corrumpable, 308. Corsu, 301, 308. Coruscation, 239. Coste, 27, 49. Costée, 260. Costie (je), 499. Cotelle, 236. Cottie (je me), 674. Cotton, 209. Couardaylle, 188. Couche (je), 534. Coulde, 168. Couldeé, 211. Couleresse, 207. Couleurinier, 229. Coulomb, 215, 233. Couloure (je), 489. Coulpable, 306. Coulper, 495. Page 1093 Coultre, 211. Couoiteux, 308. Coupiau, 205. Couple (je), 499. Couppe, 211, 275. Couppe (je), 505. Couppeure, 211. Couraieur, 211. Couraige, xlviii. Couraigieux, 308. Courayeur, 208, 210. Courbe (je), 500. Couretier, 201. Courreur, 210. Courroye (je), 505. Courser, 217. Court (une), 164. Court. Faictez le court, 146. Courtault, 68. Courtaulx, 5. Courteur, 267. Courtil, 237. Courue (je), 502, 660. Courue (je me), 461. Cousevr, 273. Coustage, 209. Couste, 209, 262. Couste (je), 499. Cousteau, 236. Cousteillier, 210. Coustengeux, 308. Coustiere, 209. Coustomable, 309, Coustre, 281. Coustume, 211. Coustume (je), 500. Coustumier, 211. Coustumiere, 290. Coustumierement, 835. Cousturier, 68. Cousturiere, 68. Coustz, 209. Coutellier, 209. Couttepointier, 260. Couttepoynte, 260. Couueleque, 209, 239. Couuertoir, 209, 232. Couuoitise, 209. Couureure, 280. Couurier, 281. Couerleque, 236. Couert, 308. Couertevre, 221. Couient (il), 4. Coy, 308. Coychon, 254. Coyement, 839. Coyfue, 206. Coygnetz, 699. Coynctement, 841. Coypeav, 210. Coypelle (je), 757. Coyschon, 187. Coyschonet, 187. Crachart, 249. Cracquelin, 210. Craings (je), 526. Craintiuité, 219. Cramosyn, 309. Cranequin, 210. Cravasse, 210. Craye (je), 480. Creante (je), 667. Credable, 330. Credo (la), 163. Creinu, 318. Cremeu, 311. Cremeur, 219. Cremilliere, 257. Creroye, 394. Cresay, 236. Cresme, 210. Cresmeau, 210. Crespe, 174, 231, 309. Crespe (je), 500. Crespeleux, 309. Crespelle (je), 502. Crespelleux, 307. Crespine, 173. Crespure, 211. Cressant, 210. Creste, 210. Cresy, 203. Creurent, 61. Creuseté, 232. Cricquet, 210. Crierie, 210. Crieue (je), 472, 675. Crine, 242. Crinet, 229. Crisolite, 210. Cristien, 6, 309. Cristienneté, 211. Cristoire, 225. Crochette, 211. Crochue (je), 502. Crochuseté, 231. Crocq, 211. Crocque (je), 500, 573. Crocque la pie (je), 780. Croissement, 234. Cronicques, 60. Croq, 221. Croquailles, 202. Crosle (je), 501, 677, 700. Crouliere, 260. Croulle (je), 502. Crouste, 211. Croÿoÿe, 11. Croyse (je me), 718. Croysée, 273. Croyst, 13. Crualté, 54. Crudesse, 261. Crueur, 261. Crueux, 309. Cueils (je), 559. Cueilx (je), 560. Cueur, xlviii, 166. Cuidance, 280. Cuiderie, 280. Cuillier, 274. Cuisement, 235. Cuissettes, 266. Cuisseyn, 260. Cuisure, 271. Culpableté, 225. Cultiueure, 237. Cultre, 266. Culuerine, 211. Curace, 251. Page 1094 Cure (je), 504. Curial, 309. Curieusité, 211. Curlieu, 211. Curlis, 211. Curre, 175, 204. Custode, 202, 210. Cuydereau, 876. Cuyts (je), 716. Cy, 818. Cyens, 143, 818. Cyrcuite, 177. D D; sa prononciation, 28. Dabondant, 851. Daguet, 287. Dalle, 209. Damaige, 212. Damars, 212. Dammage, 9. Dammaige, 266. Dampnable, 525. Dampnation, 212, 348. Dance, 212. Dancerie, 212. Danceur, 212. Dandelion, 212. Dangereuseté, 212. Dangiers, 60. Darde (je), 657. Dardoye (je), 506. Dariolle, 211. Dart, 21. Dassez, 835. Dassiette, 817. Datté (un), 157. Datte (je), 507. Dautant, 848. Day, 402. De (beaucoup de peine, etc.), xliii. Dea, 149, 888. Deambulatoire, 286. Deannerie, 212. Debelle (je), 742. Debiffe (je), 552, 691. De bon acquest, 844. Debonaire, 309. Debonaireté, 226. De bon eur, 835. De bonne erre, 838. Debout, 206. Debranchis (je), 614. De brief, 809. Debrise (je), 471. Debrise (je me), 553. Debte, 213. Debteur, 213. Decede (je), 567. Deceptif, 310. Deceptif, 795. Decesse, 309. Decessé, 309. Deceuable, 309. Deceuableté, 213. Deceuance, 212. Deceueur, 212. Deceueux, 309. Dechasse (je), 481, 530. Dechiet, 62. Dechoys (je), 544. Declaire (je me), 465. Declarance, 212. Declareur, 212. Déclinaison, sixième accident des noms, 69. --Dans les pronoms, xxix. --De trois sortes, pag. xxix, xxx. --Déclinaison personnelle dans les temps des verbes, pag. xxxii. Décline, 212. Decline (je), 461. Decline (je me), 509. Declicque (je), 615. Decolle (je), 446. Decoutre, 691. Decourrable, 308. Decours (je), 606. Decouert, 319. Decoys (je), 508. Decrepitement, 234. Decrepte, 281. De demayn a demayn, 855. Dedens, 824. Deduis (je me), 724. Deduit, 346. Defaulte, 212. Defaultz, 25. Defecteux, 312. Défectif. Verbe défectif, xxx, xxxv. Defence, 212. Defensable, 309. Defface (je), 458. Deffaict, 213. Deffaicte, 285. Deffailance, 218. Deffays (je me), 477. Deffens (je), xli. Defferme (je), 766, Deffermure, 285. Deffiance, 185. Deffie (je), 509. Deffinement, 217. Defforme (je), 457. Deffraye (je), 651. Deffroye (je), 450. Deffroysse (je), 471. Defoule (je), 680, 761. Defraude (je), 457. Defunct, 212. Degloutis (je), 744. Degoyse (je), 482. Deguerpis (je), 671. Dehache (je), 484, 577. Dehonter, 19. Dehouser, 19. Deificque, 314. De jadis, 864. Dejecte (je), 415, 477. Dejoincture, 290. De la entour, 823. Delaisse (je), 448, Delation, 212. Delaye (je), 510. Delectableté, 212. De legier, 835. Deles, 817. De lesgier, 353. Delez, 818. Page 1095 Delibere (je me), 478. Delicatte, 212. Delicte, 282. Delievre, 267. Deliteux, 309. Deliure, 317. Deliverance, 212. Delot, 220. Delucide (je), 621. Delude (je), 511. Demaine, 240. Demange (je), 540, 558. Demangeure, 233. Demarche (je), 685. Demarie (je me), 512. Demayne, 173. Demene (je), 604. Demeur, 159. Demeurement, 841. Demieté, 228. Demion, 228. Demolie (je), 452. Demonstrable, 309. Demonstrance, 267. Demourance, 279. Demourant, 262. Demourroyt, 401. Demyceinct, 212. Demye douzaine, 859. Denaire, 174. Denieries, 478. Denomme (je), 643. Denoue (je), 739. Denteux, 327. Dentour, 815. Denue (je), 442. Denye (je), 511. Depainctz, 63. Depaings (je), 489. De par Dieu, 837. Deparle (je), 727. Depars (je), 512. De pieca, 802. De plante et de layct, 835. De playn poyng, 845. Deploration, 198, 273. Depraue (je), 513. Deprecation, 197. Deprede (je), 689. Deprie (je), 451. Deprime (je), 513, 665. De prime face, 805. De prinsault, 805. Depriue (je), 513. Depopule (je), 514. Deporte (je me), 554. Depourueoys (je), 646. Depuisnagayres, 142. Dérivation, quatrième accident des noms substantifs, 68. --Sixième accident des adjectifs, 73. Deriue (je), 513. Derogue (je), 415. Deromps (je), 554. Deronge (je), 456. Desacoustume (je me), 517. Desaduoue (je), 511. Desafolle (je), 469. Desahonte (je me), 776. Desaloue (je), 517. Desaltere (je), 468, 522. Desancre (je), 584. Des anten, 854. Desappoincte (je), 521. Desaprens (je), 556. Desareste (je), 750. Desaroy, 214. Desarroye (je), 465. Desassemble (je), 512. Desassembler, 494. Desatemperance, 214. Desatrempe (je), 468, 522. Desauctorise (je), 675. Desauance (je), 517. Desayse (je), 519. Desbauche (je me), 516. Desbaudis (je), 632. Desbaulx, 214. Desblasme (je), 541. Desbloucque (je), 615. Desboucle (je), 615. Desbource (je), 517, 602. Desbranchis (je), 759. Desceille (je), 766. Descendue, 226. Descengle (je), 768. Deschairne (je), 544. Deschampe (je), 465, 768. Descharne (je), 544. Deschausse (je me), 674. Deschicquette (je), 589. Deschire (je), 686. Desclos (je), 518, 766. Descoche (je), 615. Descognoissance, 245. Descombre (je), 766. Descomfiture, 190. Descomforte (je), 518. Desconfeture, 213. Desconfort, 213. Desconfys (je), 518. Descongnoys (je), 638. Desconseille (je), 567. Desconsolate (je), 518. Descord, 214. Descorde (je), 518. Descosche (je), 768. Descouche (je me), 692. Descouloure (je), 518. Descoupe (je), 589. Descourue (je), 502. Descouuers (je), 442. Descrips (je), 513. Descrist, 64. Descrouste (je), 484. Descroys (je), 509. Desdaigneux, 310. Desdaing, 51, 214 Desdeulx (je me), 609. Desempare (je), 469. Desemple (je), 532. Desennuie (je), 433. Desercion, 222. Desers (je), 513. Deserte (je), 670. Desesperance, 214, 286. Deseureté, 285. Desfortune, 245. Desgarnys (je), 519, 768. Desgayne (je), 527. Page 1096 Desgele (il), 130, 754. Desgorge (je), 478. Desgouste (je), 468. Desguyse (je), 519. Desharnesché, 328. Deshonest, 139. Deshoneste, 310. Deshoneste (je), 519. Deshonté, 504. Deshonter, 30. Deshormays, 143, 808. Deshouser, 30. Des incontinent que, 808. Desirance, 202. Desiste (je), 465. Desjoings (je), 512. Desjoyncts (je), 671. Desjune (je), 463. Deslasche (je), 608. Deslie (je), 615. Deslodge (je me), 685. Desloge (je me), 512. Deslogement, 285. Desloiaulté, 249. Deslorsenca, 28. Deslors en auant, 863. Desmarche (je me), 734. Desmarcher, 62. Desmaye (je), 519. Desmaye (je me), 444. Desmembre (je), 505. Desmesle (je), 512, 653. Desmesure (je), 372. Desmesuree, 63. Desmets (je), 519. Desmonte (je), 768. Desnature (je), 579. Desnaturel, 280. Desniche (je), 487. Desnoue (je), 615. Desole (je), 556. De son playn vivant, 807. Des or, 808. Desordonnance, 245. Desordre (je), 520, 638. Desoreille (je), 505. Des or mais, 808. Desorte (je), 607. Despans, 260, 269. Despecer, 27. Despendre, 139. Despendu, 350. Despens, 23, 214. Despensateur, 202. Despensation, 214. Despere (je), 514. Desperé, 425. Despieca, 810. Despitaire, 310. Despite (je), 520. Despiterie, 219. Despiteuseté, 274. Despiteux, 310. Desplays (je), 521. Desplaysir, 214. Desploye (je), 520, 767. Despoille, 274. Despouruoys (je), 521. Desprise (je), 521. Despuis, 802. Despuis Nouel en ca, 863. Desrigle (je), 468. Desrigle (je me), 572. Desrobe (je), 514. Desroute (je), 653. Desroy, 245. Desroye (je me), 734. Desrue (je me), 570. Dessaisie (je), 521. Dessaisine (je), 521. Desserre (je), 768. Desseruir, 383. Dessier, 213. Dessire (je), 686. Dessus, 794. Destaings (je), 522. Destains (je), 676. Destigne (je), 523. Destinable, 310. Destine (je), 434. Destitue (je), 556. Destoubz estraine, 277. Destouppe (je), 768. Destour, 250. Destourbe (je), 522. Destourbier, 284. Destourmier, 214. Destraygns (je), 522. Destrays (je), 669. Destre (au), 144. Destresse, 214. Destribuer, 383. Destroitz, 63. Destrousse, 279. Destruys (je), 470, 514. Destys (je), 647. Desueloppe (je), 767. Desuere, 243. Desuergonde (je), 627 Desuerie, 261. Desuoye (je), 467. Detaingz lhuile (je), 551. De tant, de tant, 852. De tant plus, tant plus, 852. Detecte (je), 454, 514. Detection, 198. Determinable, 310. Determine (je), 534. Determinement, 57. Determineur, 213, 220. De tout nifles, 850. De tout en tout, 883. Detracte (je), 443. Detractoire, 310, Detrayne (je), 760. Detrenche (je), 505. Detrier, 275. Deturpe (je), 509. Deuls (je me), 419. Deureur, 280. Deusiesme, 83. Deuxiesme, 73. Deuanthyer, 143. Deuantcier, 222. Deuide, 228. Deuideresse, 281. Deuidouer, 254. Deuie (je), 508. Deuination, 213. Deuinement, 224. Deuis, 385. Page 1097 Deuorce (je), 515. Deuoure (je), 515. De vray, 835. Dextre, 23. Deyl, 280. Diaculum, 729. Diademe (je), 432. Dictee, 214. Dictie, 214. Dictie (je), 534, 655. Dictier, 214. Dictz, 25. Dicy en auant, 855. Dicy et desja, 811. Die (que je), 96. Diette, 213. Diffame, 172, 213. Diffamement, 213. Differe (je me), 515. Differre (je), 529. Difficulté, 229. Diffine (je), 510, 515, 618. Diffinissement, 213. Diffinition, 213. Difforme (je), 515. Diffuse, 310. Digne (je), 632. Digresse (je), 516. Dilate (je), 516. Diligente (je), 524. Dimanche de blanches, 251. Dime (je), 511. Dimenche, 278. Dimention, 244. Diminue (je), 510, 550. Disauantaige, 231. Discention, 213, 214. Discipline (je), 499. Disconfiture, 214. Discort, 214. Discouleure (je), 734. Diseteux, 319. Diseur, 504. Dishoneur, 214. Dishonneur, 166. Disme, 213, 279. Disme (je), 758. Disner, 213. Dispare (je), 36, 726. Dispars (je), 517. Disparse (je), 36, 520. Dispence (je), 520. Dispens, 182. Dispertion, 273. Dispriser, 350. Disputation, 214. Disraige (je), 697. Dissention, 277. Dissolue (je), 464. Dissolutione, 328. Dissonne (je me), 726. Distille (je), 530. Distincte (je), 36, 671. Distributifs. Noms distributifs, p. XXIX, 359. Diuturne, 317. Diuerseté, 214, 272. Diuersite (je me), 428. Diuertis (je me), 523. Diuide (je), 523. Diuine (je), 668. Diuineur, 273. Diuorse, 175, 213. Diuulger, 411. Diziesme, 60. Docque, 214. Docque (je), 707. Doctrine (je), 523. Dole (je me), 640. Dolle, 228. Dolouere, 193, 201. Domageux, 310. Domagyable, 310. Domesche, 326. Domesticque, 242. Domicille, 216. Dominateresse, 290. Dommagieux, 314. Dommaigiable, 316. Donee, 214. Dongon, 30. Donne attendance (je), 564. Donne garde (je), 489. Donne le bont (je), 688. Donne lustre (je), 713. Donront, 401. Dorre (je), 499. Douaigière, 237. Double (je), 498. Double (je me), 525. Doubte, 26, 215. Doubte (je), 61, 528. Douen danten, 855. Douge (je), 762. Doulant, 60, 325. Doulcaines, 356. Doulcement, 16. Doulcereux, 310. Doulceté, 272. Doulcilocque, 218. Doulphin, 214, 223. Dousayne, 373. Doutance, 215, 275. Doy, 661. Doybs (je), XXXII, 650. --Conjugaison du verbe _debuoyr_, 106. Doynt, 393. Draconique, 311. Dracque, 215. Draggee, 203. Dragme, 215. Dramme, 215. Drappeur, 206. Dresseure, 215. Dressouer, 211. Drogges, 261. Droict, XLVIII, 311. Droicteur, 277. Dromedaire, 215. Druge, 215. Dubitation, 215. Dueil, 60, 272. Dueils (je me), 410, Duict, 312. Duise (je), 464. Duisible, 303. Duite (je), 464, 619. Duite (je), 619. Du long, 824. Dune (je), 659. Page 1098 Du possible, 831. Du surplus, 878. Du traict, 834. Duysant, 305. Dy, 97. E E; sa prononciation, 3, 54. --Devant un _m_ ou un _n_, XVII. --_E_ final; sa prononciation, XXI, 41, 42, 44, 45. --Dans _be_, _ce_, _de_ et dans _el_, _em_, _en_, XXIII. --Terminaison de tous les adjectifs féminins, XXVII. --Figurative du _thème_ de la premiere conjugaison des verbes actifs, XXXI. Easy, 311. Eaue, 11. Eaueux, 11, 329. Eauyer, 270. Eayge, 3, 63. Eayger, 3. Eburnin, 330. Ecche, 273. Echaufoison, 229. Effassable, 63. Effection, XLVIII. Effonce (je), 530. Effondre (je me), 705. Effons (je), 662. Efforcé, 424. Efforcement, 206, 207. Efforcer, 747. Effraieux, 305, Effrene (je), 771. Effronte (je), 559. Effroydis(je), 498. Effroye (je), 418. Egripe, 228. Ei, diphthongue; sa prononciation, 13. El, final dans les adjectifs, devant un nom substantif féminin, 43. Elapse (je me), 699. Elebere, 216. Eliphant, 216. Elucidation, 212. Emancipe (je), 443. Embages, 226. Embaillonne (je), 559. Embas 139, 143, 825. Embassade, 216. Embats (je), 415. Embats (je me), 666. Embattonné, 452. Embesoigne (une), 306. Embesoigné, 306, 423. Embesoingne (je), 451. Emble (je), 734. Embler, 3. Embosse (je), 533. Embouche (je), 507. Emtouche (je), 736. Emboucheur, 279. Emboue (je), 435. Emboys (je), 529. Embrabile, 307. Embrode (je), 472, 533. Embronche (je me), 584. Embrunche (je), 737. Embuche (un), 167. Emmarre (je), 477. Emmeroides, 216. Emmouffle (je), 489, 642. Emmurer, 108. Emmy, 819. Emparente (je), 624. Emparle, 312. Emparlé, 329. Emparque (je), 590. Empenne (je), 547. Empennon, 219. Emperiere, 216. Empesche, 305. Empescheur, 238. Empiece, 855. Emplaistre, 255. Emplastre (je), 697. Employement, 198, Emplume (je), 741. Empouldre (je), 436. Empouldrer, 108. Empraignant, 321. Empraincte, 431. Empreings (je), 492. Emprens, 395. Empres de, 821. Empresse, 216. Empresse (je), 532. Emprime (je), 536. Emprimeur, 258. Emprinse, 217. Empropere (je), 603. Empugne (je), 590. Empunaise (je), 591. Empunaysis (je), 741. En, devant les verbes, _il sen est enfuy_, XLI; --_il sen est en allé_, _il sen est enfouy_, 110. Enamoure (je me), 425. Enbaulsme (je), 432. Enboce (je), 459. En cambrant, 842. En ce droyt lieu, 820. Encendre (je), 436. En ce taudis, 809, Enceyngs (je), 127, 487. Enchancre (je), 474. Encharge (je), 481, 603. Enchartre (je), 536. Enchartrure, 234. Encherge (je), 553. Encherme (je), 533. Encheuestre (je), 577. Enchifre (je), 476. Encire (je), 709. Encise (je), 603. Encline (je me), 461. Enclos (je), 498. Enclouche (je), 667. Encolle (je), 676. Encombreux, 308. Encontre, 241. Encontrer, 570. Encorne (je), 758. Encoule (je), 721. Encoulpe (je), 603, 783. Page 1099 Encourtine (je), 479, 578. En court tour, 841. Encoyche (je), 644. Encre (je), 729. Encrocher, 478. Encroissement, 216. Encuse (je), 417. Endammaige (je), 506. Endebte (je), 467. Endementiers, 3, 382. Endentures, 183, 442. Endosse (je), 534. Endoue (je), 534. En droit moy, 362. Endroyt moy, 878. En estant, 842. En facon comme si, 838. Enfant de cueur, 260. Enfermerie, 219. Enfermier, 235. Enferre (je), 613, 739. Enfille (je), 516. Enfirme (je), 627. Enfirmité, 269. Enflaire (je), 722. Enflambe (je), 534. Enfleure (je), 666. Enfollys (je), 773. Enfondreure, 271. Enforcement, 217. Enforme (je), 534. Enfrayns (je), 464. Enfrene (je), 465. Engaigne, 271, 289. Engaigne (je), 676. Engarde (je), 607. En gast, 844. Engelé, 426. Engendreure, 68. Engendrure, 190. Engeronne (je), 506, 711. Engigneur, 242. Engloute (je), 786. Engloutis (je), 487. Engloutte (je), 568. Englue (je), 535. Engorge (je), 744. Engoulle (je), 576. Engrandy, 428. Engratie, 234. Engrayne (je), 574. Engrege (je), 533, 626, 776. Engresse (je), 546. Engressis (je me), 774. Engrosse (je), 575. Engrossye (je), 535. Enguygne (je), 457. Enguyne (je), 446. Enhabite (je), 19, 535. Enhanter, 19. Enharnesche (je), 532. Enhazarder, 19. Enhort, 193. Enhorte (je), 541. Enhorter, 19. Enhuylle (je), 431. En jars, 826. En jeu, 838. Enjoyngs (je), 536. Enlace (je), 600. Enlangaigé, 329. En la parfin, 804, 808. En la parfin, 808. Enlargis (je), 536. En louchet, 829. Enlumine (je), 611. En mal heure, 837. En malle sepmayne, 709. En mal poynt, 468. Enmarre (je), 756. Ennoue (je), 489. Ennoyrcys (je me), 773, 774. Ennuys, 828. Ennuys (je me), 593. Ennuyse (que je), 397. Enordonné, 316. En peu dheure, 809. Enplumé, 774. Enprennis (je), 746. Enpresse (je), 665. Enprisonne (je), 536. Enpugne (je), 536. Enquantelle (je), 657. Enquerquenne (je), 786. Enquisition, 234. En quoy, 838. Enrage (je me), 778. Enragerie, 241. Enraille (je), 457. En recoy, 841. Enresne (je), 678. Enreue, 291. Enriche (je), 537. En riens quiconques, 849, Enrimé, 582. Enrolle (je), 537, 693. Enrouche (je), 672. Enroueure, 232. Enrougis (je me), 55, 459, 776. Enrouille (je me), 696. Enrouilleure, 264. Enroullis (je), 560. Enrouse (je), 445. Ens, 819, 824. Ensacque (je), 696. En sauf, 838. Enscise (je), 505, 604. Enseigne, 306. Enseigné, 306. Enselle (je), 708. Ensemble, 797. Ensens, 203. Ensensier, 203. Enserche (je), 708. Enserre (je), 613. Enseuelir; conjugaison de ce verbe, 103. Ensigne, 203. Ensoigne (je), 468. Ensoulffre (je), 698. Ensuiuis (je), 524. Ensurys (je), 777. Ensuys (je), 537. Entache (je), 436. Entaille (je), 679. Entaings (je), 516. Entalente (je), 564. Entalenté, 430. Entandis, 809. Entendible, 318. Page 1100 Entens a (je), 564. Entent, XLVIII, 234. Entente, 800. Ententif, 299, 305. Entention, 234. Enterin, 315. Entese (je), 561. Enteyse (je), 526. Entiereté, 232. Entonne (je), 538. Entour, 802. Entoxique (je), 531, 592. Entoyse (je), 670. Entrechangement, 204. Entredent, 273. Entredys (je), 592. Entre en deuises (je), 550. Entrehabandonne (je), 556. Entre hantent (ils se), 425. Entrelaisse (je), 556. Entrelasse (je), 462. Entremescorde (je), 519. Entremetteux, 306, 676. Entremy, 816. Entreneu, 236. Entreneue, 250. Entreprenneurs, 61. Entreromps (je), 592. Entresayn, 239. Entresourcil, 273. Entrespaule, 273. Entretaille (je), 476, 700. Entretant que, 809. Entretencés, 483. Entretenement, 234. Entrhabitcr, 140. Entroeyl, 138. Entrosne (je), 732. Enuyce, 241. Enuyeuseté, 235. Enuyt (il me), 593. Enueillys (je me), 543. Enuieillys (je), 627. Enuolue (je), 537, 538. Enuoye, 269, 816. Enuoyrine (je), 535. Enacte (je), 532. Epesseur, 280. Epidimie, 253. Epistolier, 217. Epistre, 23. Equalité, 217. Equiperation, 217. Equipollance, 216. Equipolle (je), 425. Equiualence, 217. Erre, 287. Es, quelquefois terminaison de la première personne du pluriel dans les verbes, page XXXIII. Es, 60, 141, 819. Esbahys (je me), conjugaison de ce verbe, 117. Esbanoy, 267. Esbas (je me), 521. Esbatement, 252, 383. Esbaudis (je), 461. Esbaudis (je me), 773. Esberlue (je), 507. Esbeurre (je), 551. Escache, 276. Escade, 202. Escaille, 233. Escale, 265. Escalerie, 265. Escalie (je), 699. Escalure, 229. Escarceur, 265. Escarlatte, 265. Escarmouche (je), 699. Escarmuche, 271. Escarquylle (je me), 738. Escarte (je), 520. Escerueillons, 350. Esceruelle (je), 462. Eschafiture, 231. Eschallier, 276. Eschampignon, 281. Eschange, 169. Eschanson, 211. Eschantillon, 265. Eschappe (je), 441. Escharboncle, 198, 203. Escharcete, 266. Escharfault, 265. Escharme, 272. Eschars, 323. Eschaude, 288. Escbauffe (je), 479. Eschauffette, 203. Eschauffeture, 204. Eschauffoison, 204. Eschaulde (je), 699. Eschauldé, 50, 168. Eschecquier, 204, Eschelle (je), 699. Eschellon, 265. Escheue (je), 441. Escheueau, 271. Eschié, 425. Eschiecz, 255. Eschiel, 237. Eschieue (je), 438, Esclamme, 284. Esclande, 168. Esclandre (je), 720. Esclarcys (je me), 486. Esclat, 274. Esclendre, 323. Escler, 225. Esclercis (je), 621. Esclere (il), 130, 609. Esclerement, 225. Esclisse (je), 731. Esclipse (je), 531. Escloy, 254, 275. Esclou, 258. Escluse, 212, 221. Escole, 22, 268. Escolier, 268. Escolte (je), 531. Escomuniment, 211. Escondict, 213. Escondis (je), 511, 697. Escondisseur, 212. Escons (je), 584. Escorce, 233. Escorche, 263. Escorpion, 36, 165. Escosse, 233. Page 1101 Escot, 241. Escoue (je), 700. Escoufle, 171. Escouille (je), 505. Escoult, 221. Escoupelle (je), 759. Escourge (je), 707. Escourgez, 182. Escout, 229. Escoute, 229, 266. Escoux (je), 479. Escoyssoys, 268. Escrayn, 228. Escreuice, 201. Escrie (je me), 501. Escripre, 22. Escripteau, 268. Escriptoyres, 182. Escripuayn, 187. Escrobe (je), 704. Escrole (je), 700. Escruelles, 260. Escry, 264, 267. Escrye, 271. Escu, 22, 211. Escuelle, 214. Escuireau, 275. Escuisson, 200. Escume, 268. Escume de saulmon, 202. Escumette, 268. Escure (je), 486, 548, 706. Escureul, 275. Esgart, 240. Esgarys (je me), 562. Esgaudis (je), 483. Esguilletier, 256. Esguillette, 256. Esguillon, 223. Esguissouere, 275. Eshonter, 30. Esjouys (je me), 535, 683. Eslargis (je), 529. Esle, 172. Esleu, 249. Esleue, 57. Eslonguer, 218. Esloyngne (je), 108, 415. Esluys (je), 498. Eslys (je), 483. Esmael, 194. Esmaille (je), 425. Esmailleure, 194. Esmayé, 405. Esme, 172, 196. Esme (je), 419. Esmeraulde, 216. Esmerueillable, 884. Esmolu, 228. Esmolument, 224. Esmouuement, 286. Esmoue (je me), 427. Esmoy, 214. Esmye (je), 501. Espace (la), 349. Espaigne, 36. Espalleron, 251. Esparcis (je), 653. Espargoutte, 219. Espars (je), 726. Espaulle, 267. Espaultre (je), 757. Espaume, 273. Espaume (je me), 543. Espaumure, 278. Espaumyt (il se), 417. Especial, 36, 297, 311. Especialleté, 274. Espee, 22. Espergne, 282. Espergne (je), 726. Esperon, 274. Esperonnier, 274. Espes, 294, 327. Espessis (je), 741. Espices, 274. Espie (je), 524. Espier, 275. Espinars, 274. Espinces, 198. Espine, 154. Espinettes, 659. Espingue (je), 730. Espirit, 22, 226. Espirituel, 314. Espirituelleté, 226. Esplang, 271. Esplene, 274. Esplinguette, 254. Esplinguier, 203. Esplinguier, 203. Esplinguiere, 254. Esplouche (je), 699. Esploure (je), 453. Esplouré, 324. Espounge, 274. Espourge, 274. Espourgement, 257. Espouser, 44. Espouuenteusement, 836. Espouentable, 312. Espoventail, 265. Espreuue, 177, 257. Espreuier, 273. Espuisment, 215. Espurge (je), 729. Espy, 217. Espye, 274. Esquaille, 266. Esquarre (je), 731. Esquarquille (je me), 733. Esquarquillez, 457. Esquierre, 275. Esquippaige, 279. Esquippe (je), 558. Esrache (je), 670. Esseme (je me), 745. Essiant, 289. Essoine, 218. Estable, 22, 170, 275, 325. Estable (je), 673. Estableté, 275. Establissement, 275. Estache, 254. Estade, 168, 222. Estaige, 240. Estaings (je), 525. Estal, 253, 275, 732. Estalleure, 278. Estamine, 275. Estanche, 325. Page 1102 Estanchonne (je), 767. Estancon, 275. Estandart, 275. Estant, 322. Estaple, 275. Estardir, 853. Estat, 275. Estatut, 296. Estatute, 275. Estaye, 259. Estayngs (je), 674. Esté, 50. Estens (je), 542. Esterne (je), 644. Esternuement, 247. Esteuue (je), 735. Esteuues, 182, 232. Esticquette, 206. Estincelle, 273. Estocque (je), 735. Estoffe, 277. Estoille, 22, 275. Estolle, 276. Estomach, 20. Estomachier, 276. Estonnissement, 193. Estorte (je), 785. Estouble, 277. Estouffe (je), 741. Estouillon, 218. Estoupayl, 276. Estoupeau, 276. Eslouppe (je), 552. Estour, 282, 286. Estourdisseure, 277. Estourgion, 165. Estradiot, 36. Estraings (je), 575. Estranc, 268. Estrane, 271. Estrange, 380. Estrange (je me), 540. Estrangerie, 277. Estrangier, 277. Estrangis (je me), 777. Estrangle (je), 484. Estranguillon, 154, 205, Estrayndre, 22. Estrayne, 229. Estrene (je), 578. Estreisseur, 247. Estricquoires, 182. Estrier, 276. Estrif, 277. Estriquoires, 251. Estriue (je me), 508. Estriue a lestriuee, 277. Estriuee, 277. Estriuier, 276. Estriuieres, 376. Estron, 214. Estroysse (je), 738. Estroysseur, 277. Estude, 276. Estudiant, 277. Estudier, 22. Esturgion, 277. Estuuier, 232. Estuy, 235. Esueille (je me), 441. Esueiller, 287. Esuertue (je me), 434. Etains (je), 648. Et par aynsi, 873. Et par quoy, 873. Erige (je), 436. Eu, diphthongue; sa prononciation, 14; --à la fin des mots, 15. Eulx, 44. Enr, 342. Eure (je), 540. Eureuseté, 229. Eureux, 15, 61. Euangille (un ou une), 160; au pluriel toujours du féminin, 161. Euerse (je), 540. Euesché, 50. Euesque, 9. Euissant, 217. Exalce (je), 540. Exalse (je), 582. Examination, 217. Excede (je), 653. Excelse, 318. Exchange (je), 541. Exclos (je), 541. Escommenge, 218. Excusation, 218. Exemplifie (je), 541. Exercitation, 218. Exercite, 162. Exercite (je me), 541. Expecte (je), 542. Expences, 218. Experiment, 218, Exploicte (je), 434. Exposeur, 212, 218. Expositeur, 218. Expresse (je), 542. Expurge (je), 542. Extermine (je), 523. Extorce, 218. Extortionne (je), 542. Exultation, 225. Ez, terminaison de la seconde personne du pluriel dans les verbes, XXXIII. F F, sa prononciation, 29. Face (que je), 96. --Conjugaison du verbe _faire_, 97. Facer, 234. Fachieux, 310. Facil, 311. Facion, 665. Facteur, 243. Factise, 258. Facund, 311. Facundité, 216. Facyon, 242 Fade (je), 541. Faée, 219, 306. Faguenet, 722. Faiche (il me), 593 Faictez, 659. Faictez paix, 587. Faictisse, 258. Faicty, 312. Page 1103 Faictz, 25. Faille, 218. Fain, 185. Faincte, 219. Fainctif, 312. Faingdrent (ils), 397. Faings (je), 543. Faintif, 308. Faintise, 219. Faisante, 219. Faiselle, 270. Fais frisque (je), 623. Fais gré (je), 524. Fais lamende (je), 618. Fais la queue (je), 526. Fais le petit (je), 622. Fais les monstres (je), 643. Fais ma table (je), 537. Fait, feit, 677. Falace, 218. Falcement, 241. Fallis (je), 705. Fallot, 203, 210. Falsement, 199. Fame, 336. Fameilleusement, 836. Famileux, 314. Fant, 219. Fantasie (je), 545. Faonne (je), 546. Far, 198. Farce (je), 545. Farcement, 251. Farcye (je), 545. Fardage, 277. Farde (je), 753. Farfelue, 283. Fascherie, 235. Fasse, 277. Fastige, 230. Fatigation, 288. Fatiste, 243. Fatre (je), 461. Fatrouille (je), 461. Faucet, 219. Faucille (je), 686. Faulce, 270. Faulce (je), 435; Faulceté, 218. Faullourde, 197. Faulsit (qu'il), 413. Fault (il), XLVIII. Faulteux, 309. Faulx, 270, 312. Faulx a mon esme (je), 571. Faulx bourg, 277. Fauteux, 309. Fautuseté, 219. Faueau, 211. Fauourise (je), 546. Fay, 97. --Conjugaison du verbe _faire_, 97. Fayn, 232. Faÿndre, 23. Faysans, 420. Faysant, 155. Faysante, 155. Fays court (je le), 429. Fays de leaue (je), 524. Fays de tel pain souppes (je), 710. Fays du chiche (je), 657. Fays du grant (je), 450. Fays du mignot (je), 659. Fays du muet (je), 588. Fays propice (je), 540. Fays une frisque (je), 548. Feactise, 219. Feaul, 327. Feaulté, 218. Feble, 312. Fecundité, 255. Feiz, 287. Fel, 311. Felonneux, 309. Felonnie, 210. Femetoyre, 219. Feminal, 329. Feminin; raisons du genre féminin, p. XXV, 66. --Terminaison du féminin dans les adjectifs, 70. --Comment il se forme dans les adjectifs, 292-296. Femmette, 68, 187. Fendasse, 206, 263. Fendis (je me), 465. Fendure, 206, 263. Fener, 230. Feneur, 230. Fenoil, 219. Ferdin, 218, 219. Fermable, 302. Fermail, 205. Fermouer, 205. Ferron, 235. Ferruge, 235. Feste (un, une), 157. Festijer, 6. Festiual, 312. Festiuité, 245. Festoyer, 6. Festu, 211. Festye (je), 482. Fetart, 188, 241. Feterdise, 220. Fettart, 271. Feuaille, 220. Feuillart, 280. Feultre, 219. Feusiere, 219. Fiable, 327. Fian, 214. Fiance (je), 607. Fianceailles, 278. Fiant, 214. Fie (je me); conjugaison de ce verbe, 114. Fiens, 630. Fiente (je), 641. Fiere, 254. Fiers, fierse, 315. Fiers (je), 723. Filace, 277. Fil darcal, 288. Fileresse, 274. Filette, 220. Fillace, 221. Fillé, 49, 157. Filliolle, 226. Filosomie, 220. Page 1104 Filure, 280. Finablement, 808. Fine (je), 533. Fine (je me), 737. Finé, 383. Firmement, 57. Flaccon, 220. Flacquet, 255. Flaiau, 203. Flambe, 220. Flamesche, 220. Flamette, 271. Flamme (je), 457. Flanche, 220. Flanet, 221. Flaon, 221. Flaston, 220. Flateur, 220. Flauelle, 283. Flaytrys (je), 542. Fleal, 173. Flebesse, 219, 287. Flet, 281. Fleume, 221. Fleure (je), 698. Fleurement, 271. Fleurissant, 63. Fleuste dalemant, 278. Flexis (je me), 738. Floc, 221. Flocquon, 240. Flondre, 221. Floque, 221. Florissant, 57. Floron, 221. Flute (je), 658. Fluue, 221. Fluuiau, 202. Foeille, 238. Foeillet, 238. Foirre, 175, 277. Folage, 215. Folleur, 221. Fome, 262. Fonde, 271. Fondrier, 213. Fons, 221. Fourcelle, 205. Forbannis (je), 650. Force (je), 760. Forcene (je), 678. Forcennerie, 241. Forcepte (je), 650. Forcettes, 251, 266. Forciblement, 842. Forclorre, 109. Forcluse, 429. Forcrie (je), 650. Forest, 164. Forffis, 53. Formangeus (je), 650. Forment, 799. Formiliere, 254. Formosité, 218. Formys, 164. Forprens (je), 650. Forsenerie, 289. Forsque, 146. Fors que, 847. Fortier, 487. Fortresse (je), 557. Fortuné, 421. Foruoye (je), 468. Foruoye (je me), 557. Fosselu, 320. Fossetterie, 256. Fossetteux, 321. Fosseur, 214. Fossoir, 273. Fouble (je), 691. Fouete (je), 706. Fougiere, 219. Foullonne (je), 755. Foundriere, 260. Fourbyscher, 222. Fourche, 307. Fourcheu, 15. Fourme, 237. Fourme (je me), 556. Fournie (je), 442. Fourniture, 263. Fournoise, 271. Fourraige, 259. Foyeur, 214. Foylle, 285. Foyllet, 266. Foyng, 242. Foynnes, 221. Foysonne (je), 439. Fraelle, 316. Fraictz, 209. Fraille, 307. Frain, 456. Francbaisier, 236. Franc encens, 222, Frangible, 313. Fraygne (je), 559. Frect, 223. Freme (je), 703. Fremme (je), 541. Fremys (je), 676. Frenge, 223. Freppier, 186. Fresc, 296. Frescheur, 207. Fresleté, 222. Fresseure, 257. Fretillon, 232. Freze, 277. Friamment, 470. Friandement, 470. Friant, 309. Frille (je), 483. Frilleux, 307. Frillonne (je), 704. Frilonne (je), 575. Frinct, 188. Frinctaige, 188. Fringotte (je), 558. Fringue (je), 558. Fringuereau, 200, 225. Fringuerie, 225. Frisque, 36, 313. Fritier, 223. Friuolle, 236. Frocq, 223. Froissis, 201. Froissure, 223. Froit, 209, 308. Fromaige dengelon, 239. Froncle, 198. Page 1105 Frote (je), 342. Froysse (je), 464. Fructueuseté, 223. Fruictage, 223. Fruictifie (je), 449. Frument, 208. Frumentee, 223. Frustratif, 310. Fruyctier, 209, 223. Frys (je), 558. Fuaille, 444. Fueille, 8. Fueillée, 200, 240. Fueillu, 301. Fueillure, 320. Fuier, 229. Fuillart, 280. Fumeuseté, 271. Fumeux, 774. Fumiere, 271. Funde, 271. Fundement, 223. Funeralle, 269. Fureux, 313. Furolle, 228. Furon, 457. Fusiere, 200. Fust, 266. Fustailles, 248. Fuy, 149. Fuys (je m'en); conjugaison de ce verbe, 119. Fuytif, 10, 312. Fyeble, 312. G G; sa prononciation, 29. Gaigne, des deux genres, 174, 224. Gaignier, 266. Gallant, 681. Gaillart, 8. Gailliarde, 329. Gajer, 11. Galée, 63, 204. Galier, 233. Galiffre, 241. Galliarde, 321. Gallicq, 303. Gallon, 224. Gambaulde, 224. Gamboye, 283. Gamme, 224. Garante (je), 771. Garconet, 187. Garde, 274. Gardian, 235. Gardianne, 290. Garence (je), 616. Gargoille, 224. Garguillon, 288. Gariolle (je), 481. Garis (je me), 771. Garnache, 223. Garnement, 224. Garnier, 230. Garnissement, 224. Garroier, 351. Garrot, 259. Gars, 155. Garsche (je), 484. Garson, 237. Gart, 393. Gason, 227. Gasouille (je), 456. Gast, 54, 287. Gasteau, 235. Gattouille (je), 758. Gauche, 271, 290. Gaucheté, 238. Gaudine, 290. Gaudisseur, 268, 663. Gauge, 224. Gaugeur, 224. Gaule, 313. Gaulle, 240. Gaultiere, 260. Gaune, 108. Gaunir, 108. Gauerdine, 223, 243. Gauion, 232. Gayne (je), 559. Gays, gayse, 313. Ge pour _je_, 43. Gect, 281. Gehenne (je), 463. Gehynne (je), 463. Geleux, 313. Gemme, 258. Genetoire, 242. Geneure, 224. Genial, 319. Geniteur, 218. Génitif. On supprime quelquefoisle _de_ en français, XL, 141. Genitrice, 246. Genoul, 180. Genres; trois en français, _masculin_, _féminin_ et _commun,_ XXIV, 159. --Deux en français, _masculin_ et _féminin,_ 66. --Incertain, 160. --Genres dans les adjectifs, XXVII, 70. --Dans les pronoms, XXIX. --Dans les substantifs, 153, 163-180. Gent; des deux genres, 162. Gentian, 224. Gentilesse, 224. Genuflection, 236. Germain, 201. Germandre, 224. Geron, 271. Gersure, 205. Gesante, 290. Gesine, 610. Get, 234. Getz, 224. Gentyl femme, 178, 190. Geu, 394. Geulle, 280, 455. Giande, 290. Gibbesiere, 257. Gibbesierier, 257. Gibissiere, 196. Gietz, 183. Gingle (je), 566. Giroufflée, 225 Gis (je), 610. Giste, 177. Page 1106 Glanceur, 225. Glanders, 287. Glandres, 183. Glenne (je), 568. Glette, 223, 224. Gleu, 152. Gleue, 159. Gliceau, 200. Glince (je me), 721. Glorieuseté, 225. Glorifiance, 225. Giorifijer, 6. Glose (je), 568. Gloteron, 202. Gloutonie, 225. Gloutton, 225. Gna, gne, gno; leur prononciation, 8. Gobe, 319. Goblin, 231. Godin, 309. Godinet, 312. Gojon, 226. Gomys (je), 478, 652. Gont, 230. Gorgias, 247, 294, 307. Gorgiasement, 844. Gormant, 227. Gorre, 223. Gorrier, 314, 329. Gort, 244, 286. Goublin, 248. Goudale, 193. Gouernail, 276. Goujons, 220. Gouoystre, gouistre, 287. Gourdy, 429. Gourment, 225. Gournault, 228. Gourt, 277, 449. Goust, 261. Gouster, 279. Goute, 210. Gouttier, 228. Gouuernance, 226. Gouuernat, 226. Gradale, 237. Graffe (je), 574. Grageur, 227. Grajouer, 260. Gramarien, 227. Gramment, 60. Granadier, 256. Granche, 197, 203. Grandet, 73, 303. Grandgore, 256. Grans, XLVIII. Grant, 61. Grant piece, 853. Grant piece a, 802. Grassie (je), 612. Grat, gratte, 316. Grateux, 316. Gratigner, 338. Gregois, 289. Gregoyr, 253. Greigneur, 72. Greille (il), 577. Grenetier, 211. Grenoille, 223. Gresille (je), 745. Gresillon, 210. Gresle, 172. Grosse, 215. Gressieur, 239. Greuable, 314. Greuance, 227. Greuain, 314. Greuayn, 324. Greue, 267, 349. Greues, 229. Greuelure, 241. Greuer, 386. Greueux, 314. Griache, 246. Griasche, 329. Griefz, 165. Griesue, 227. Grieux, 280. Grimmeux, 314. Grimneuseté, 228. Grinche (je), 500. Gringotte (je), 482, 771. Grinse (je), 569. Gripe, 205. Grippe (je), 485. Grisellé, 314. Griseté, 227. Gronce (je), 27, 693. Grondelle (je), 573. Grondellement, 403. Grondis (je), 694. Grongne (je), 574. Grosset, 303. Grossier, 244. Grossye (je), 535. Groule (je), 693. Groye (je me), 461, 765. Groygne (je), 558. Groyng, 228. Gruge (je), 575. Grusle (je), 652. Guaitter, 10. Guarennier, 286. Guaris (je me), 771. Guarrant, 10. Guayct, 287. Guayres, 144. Güe, 177. Gué (la), 770. Guecteurs, 275. Guedde, 168. Guenchys (je me), 704. Guencis (je me), 705. Guerdon, 165. Guerdonne (je), 513. Guerissement, 230. Guermente (je me), 453. Guerpis (je), 477. Guespe, 10, 287. Guigueron, 226. Guille, 289. Guimple, 172. Guinche, 278. Guingne (je me), 706. Guiserne, 225. Gulosité, 225. Guyndas, 289. Guynde (je), 782. Guyngne (je me), 613. Page 1107 H H, aspiration, consonne, signe orthographiqne, XXIII, 17. --Tableau de tous les mots français commençant par une _h_ aspirée, 18. Haa, 149, 888. Habandonée, 380. Habilite (je), 532. Habilite (je me), 521. Habilité, 228. Habille du lyn (je), 582. Habitacion, 299. Habitacle, 216. Habite a femme (je), 491. Habitue (je), 694. Habundance, 228. Habyl, 305. Hachet, 18, 229. Hacque (je), 577. Hacquebutte, 266. Hacquenée, 18. Hadea, 888. Ha ha, 149. Haile (je), 577. Haillion, 266. Haitie, 318. Halberde, 229. Halcret, 251. Halebarde, 18. Haletter, 18. Halion, 206. Halle (je), 18, 577. Hallette (je), 611. Hamacon, 28. Hamasson, 18. Hameux, 18. Hanap, 18, 54, 211. Hanche (je), 568. Hanetton, 18. Hannys (je), 18, 643. Hanse, 281. Hantel, 275. Haras, 275. Haraude (je), 583. Harcelle (je), 588. Harceller, 18. Hardillon, 18. Harenc, 18, 230. Harengiere, 18, 290. Harengue, 18, 249. Harias, 18. Harie (je), 18, 545, 579. Haro, 888. Harol, 501. Harper, 30. Harpeur, 229, Harpoy, 18, 256. Hasart, 18. Hascerell, 229. Hasche, 229. Hasle, 272. Haste, 218, 229. Hastee, 274. Haster, 18. Hastereau, 18. Hastif, 312. Hastiuement, 836. Hastiuité, 229. Haterel, 18. Hatifue, 10. Hau, 149, 888. Hauberjon, 18. Hauboys, 286. Haue (je), 723. Hauet, 227, 228. Haulberjon, 11, 229. Haulbert, 229. Hault, 18. Haulte heure, 653. Haultesse, 61. Haulteur, 18. Hay, 149, 888. Haye (je), 582. Hayneuseté, 249. Haÿoÿe, 11. Haytie (je), 568. Haytyer, 18. Hazardeur, 663. Heaulme, 18. Heaulme, 18. Hebraicque, 311. Hebrieu, 216. Hecq, 229. Hee, 149, 888. Heer, 5. Helle, 289. Hemee, 18. Hemy, 888. Henny, 149. Herault, 18. Herbegerie, 255. Herberge, 169, 229. Herbergier, 18. Herce, 18, 229. Herce (je), 18, 579, 593. Hercelle (je), 579. Hercié, 18. Hercier, 18. Herdre, 18. Heremite, 231. Heretage, 8. Hericon, 18. Herigne, 274. Heritique, 231. Heronceau, 187. Herpe, 18. Hers (je), 486. Hestre, 18. Heurcque, 233. Heure, 46. Heure (je), 615, 624. Heuree, 273. Heuse, 18. Heuser, 18. Hideur, 232. Hideuseté, 231. Hierre, 228. Hobbyn, 18. Hober, 18. Hobreau, 18, 231. Hobyn, 231. Hoche, 224. Hochette, 18, 205. Hochqueteur, 196. Hocquet, 291. Hocqueton, 18. Hollette, 18, 271. Home, 7. Homonceau, 187. Page 1108 Homonymes qui ne se distinguent que par la place de l'accent, 49. --Qui changent de genre selon leur sens, 157. Honeste, 4. Hongner, 18. Honnesteté, 232. Honnieur, 271. Honnorér, 61. Honnys (je), 609. Honourable, 73. Honourant, 73. Honter, 18. Hontie (je), 619. Hontoye (je), 701. Hony, 324. Horiloge, 206. Horilogier, 206. Hombleté, 232. Hors dordre, 467. Hosche (je), 700, 745. Hostagier, 232. Hoste, 155, 279. Hoatelaige, 229. Hostelerie, 250. Hostesse, 155. Houe (je), 10, 516. Houet, 280. Houische, 888. Houller, 18. Hours, 18. Hourt, 18. Hous, 18, 232. Houseau, 18. Housette, 18. Houspailler, 18. Houspaillier, 232. Houspillie (je), 745. Housse (je), 700, 761. Housser, 18. Houssettes, 251. Housseure, 18. Houysche, 149. Hoyer, 519. Huan, 18. Hucher, 18. Huchier, 18. Hucque, 18. Huée, 228. Hueur, 231. Huiboust, 18. Huier, 18. Huille, 249. Huische (je), 473. Humaige, 278. Humain, 427. Humblesse, 244. Humee, 278. Huppe (je), 18, 566, 706. Hurte(je), 18, 599. Hurtebiller, 18. Hurtelle (je), 760. Husche, 179. Hutine (je), 566. Hutyn, 250. Hutyner, 18. Huy, 143. Huyct, 367. Huys, 196. Huysche (je), 486. Hydeusement, 836. Hyerre, 18. Hyf, 234. Hyre, 18. Hysse (je), 595. I I; sa prononciation, 6, 55. I et Y, figurative du thème de la deuxième conjugaison du verbe actif, XXXI. --Prononciation de l'_i_, même quand il n'est pas écrit dans le mot, 7. --Distinction de _i_ voyelle et de _i_ consonne, 10, 31. --Différence de prononciation entre _i_ et _y_, 16. Icy endroyt, 819. Icy entour, 819. Ignoramment, 798. Illec, 823. Il fait a noter, 412. _Ill_ et _ign_; leur prononciation devant _a_, _e_, _o_, XVII. _Illa_, _ille_, _illo_; leur prononciation, 8. Illec endroyt, 823. Illecques, 823. Il mest force de, 880. Il ne seu fault rien, 651. Il y a de loignon, 595. Imparfect, 328. Impartys (je), 522. Impersonnel. Verbe impersonnel, XXX, 83, 129. --Conjugaison du verbe _il aduient_, 131. Impetre (je), 538. Impiteable, 325. Impreparation, 234. Imprimeurs, 258. Impropere (je), 603. Impugny, 828. Impurité, 285. Inamoure, 307. Inamouré, 307. Incerteinté, 285. Incitatif, 321. Incitation, 276. Incite (je), 537. Inclinement, 234. Incogneu, 328. Increpe (je), 456, 680. Indentures, 234. Indeur, 286. Indifferant, 316. Indigne (je), 449, Indole, 62, 239. Infelicité, 234. Infatue (je me), 553. Inferme (je), 770. Infertil, 305. Infertile, 305. Infertyl, 300. Infeste (je), 765. Infinitif, 328. Inflation, 200. Influe (je me), 784. Infortune (un), 173. Page 1109 Infringe (je), 683. Ingeniosité, 261. Inhaÿr, 12. Inhibe (je), 591. Inprennable, 316. Inquiétte (je), 519. Insaciable, 63. Insence (je), 591. Instaure (je), 109, 687. Instigue (je), 701. Intellectif, 306. Intellecture, 285. Intencionel, 316. Interdict, 211. Interdissement, 234. Interjections, 149. Interpos, 252, 876. Interrupte (je), 592. Intime (je), 640. Intitulation, 234. Intitule (je), 538. Intrinsique, 316. Introduis (je), 467. Introite, 217. Inundation, 250. Inuader, 139. Inuahys (je), 592. Inuasible, 362. Inuestigue (je), 37, 762. Inuetere (je), 694. Inuisibleté, 234. Inuocque (je), 473. Ire (je), 431. Ireément, 838. Ireux, 15, 316. Irrision, 237. Irrite (je), 464. Irrue (je me), 705. Isnel, 294. Issis (je), 503. Itere (je), 594. J Ja, 146. Jacincte, 233. Jacq, Jacque, 283. Jaet, 224. Jaibant, 225. Jambet, 283. Jamboye (je), 572, 738. Jamboye (je me), 589. Jangle (je), 589. Janglerie, 233. Jangleur, 233. Japeaux, 790. Ja pieca, 809. Jaquecueur, 233. Jargonne (je), 481. Jarretier, 224. Ja soyt ce, 148. Ja soyt ce que, 872. Jaspre, 233. Jaunastre, 306. Jaunice, 233. Jaunis (je me), 775. Jaueleyne, 238. Jaye, 248. Je compere, 400. Ject, 203. Jecton, 209. Je mesmes, 376. Je me veulx prier, 642. Jenneure, 235. Jeuedy absolu, 266. Jeueur, 54. Jeusier, 225. Jeussouer, 264. Jocque (je), 733, 736. Joe de poisson, 225. Joieuseté, 219. Joinctys (je), 592. Joliveté, 235. Jonche (je), 450, 706. Joncherie, 200. Jornée, 235. Jorroise, 232. Joue de pas a pas (je), 592. Jouée, 199. Joueur de souplesse, 283. Jouge (je), 595. Jougle (je), 595. Joumarin, 220. Jour de ma vie, 510. Journée, 235. Journel, 309. Journoye (je), 593. Jousier, 244. Jouste, 318. Jouste, jousteur, 235. Jouxte, 38, 137, 794. Jovien, 316. Joynct, joyncture, 235. Joyr, 12. Judication, 235. Jueudy, 178. Juing, 235. Junonien, 306. Jus, 825. Jus et sus, 843. Jusques a tant, jusques a ce, 144. Jusques cy, 6. Juvenil, 330. K K, souvent employé dans le vieux _romant_, 32. --Rarement employé dans la langue françoise, XXIII. --Ne termine jamais un nom substantif singulier, XXVI; ni un adjectif masculin singulier, XXVI. --Sa prononciation, 31. Kalende, 31. Kalendrier, 31. L L; sa prononciation, 32. La, le, devant un mot qui commence par une voyelle, 45. Laboriosité, 237. Lacquet, 222. Lacteux, 318. Laderye, 274. La Dieu mercy, 754. Ladresse, 266. La endroyt, 823. La greignieure part, 860. Laidengeux, 322. Laideté, 222. Page 1110 Laideure, 222. Lais, 238. Laite, 274. La malle bosse, 867. Lame, 276. Lance (je), 739. Lancequenet, 237. Langeur, 269. Langore (je), 603. Langoure (je), 495. Languereuse, 169. Lanifice, 290. Laperiau, 291. Lappreau, 260. La rayson car, 865. Larde (je), 706. Largesse, 237. Laronceau, 187. Larrecyn, 165. Larronnesse, 155. Larroyt, 401. Las, 149. Lasche, 312. Lasdre, 237. Lasdriere, 237. Lasniere, 237, 280. Lasse, 149. Lasse (je), 599, 612. Lasseresse, 236. Latiesme, 172. Laton, 237. Latre (je), 443. Latz, 199, 237. Laureole, 213. Lauement, 502. Layn, 324. Layrra, 401. Layt, 70. Leans, 823. Lecherie, 238. Leciteté, 238. Le coeur luy abhomine, 692. Lectus, 238. Ledenge (je), 680. Legier, 317. Lembic, 163, 238. Len ou _on_, XXIX, 77. Leonceau, 68. Leonesse, 239. Leoparde, 155. Le pas menu, 830. Les aulcuns, 360. Les jours noz peres, 612. Les plusieurs, 366. Lesse (je), 605 Let, 330. Letanye, 238. Letice, 239. Letiere, 232. Lettres; il y en a vingt-trois en français, XXIII. Leueton, 291. Leuriere, 155. Leyrot, 214. Lez, 818. Liart, 288. Liberaleté, 239. Libidinosité, 284. Lice, 271. Licitité, 237. Lict, 197. Lie (je me), 683. Liesue (je me), 436. Lieue marque (je), 709. Lieuseté, 215. Lieux, 311. Ligne (je), 611. Limignon, 243, 272. Limitte (je), 434. Lineature, 259. Linette, 238. Lingiere, 266. Lingnée, 236. Liniere, 221. Lisarde, lizarde, 239. Lisse, 271. Lit de champ, 283. Liticonteste (je), 683. Liuerée, 240. Lobe (je), 446, 639. Lobes, 64. Loche (je), 700. Locquet, 237. Locution, 274. Loette, 220. Logitien, 240. Loingtain, 57. Loisibleté, 223. Loissebleté, 238. Longe temps, 413. Longeur, 238, 270. Longtemps a, 810. Longuet, 249. Loppine (je), 640. Loricarde (je), 613. Loricart, 241. Lormier, 242. Lors quant, 813. Los, 402. Louche (une), 157. Louchet, 249. Loudier, 260. Loudiere, 215. Louenge, 257. Louier, 223. Loule (je), 452. Loupin, 267. Loupue, 155. Lourdault, 216. Lourdesse, 277. Lourt, 306. Louue, 266. Loygnet, 303. Loyng, 109. Loyngtain, 312. Luberdine, 250. Lucque, 241, 659. Luicter, 23. Luisance, 201. Luissance, 267. Luminure, 174. Lunettier, 274. Lus, 241. Luycte (je), 785. Luyte, 290. Lyens, 143. Lyette, 281. Lymon, 271. Lyonnesse, 155. Page 1111 M M; sa prononciation, XIX, 22, 24, 32. Mace, 206, 241. Machecoulle (je), 616. Machouere, 204. Macier, 269. Macquereau, 155, 242. Macquerelle, 155, 289. Macule, 274. Magicque, 241. Magnificq, 73. Magnifie (je), 6, 616. Magnifijer, 6. Maige, 287. Maigreté, maigresse, 238. Maille (je), 632. Maillotte (je), 632, 744. Maine guerre (je), 772. Mainent, 185. Maintenement, 241. Maintiengne, 8. Mais (je ne puis mais), XLII. Maisgre, 263. Maisne, 291. Maisrien, 227. Maistre, XLVIII. Maistrise (je), 648. Mal (adjectif), mal engin, 76. Mal a droyt, 835. Maladuenant, 328. Maladuenture, 245. Maladuisé, 328. Malan, 287. Malandre, 242. Malapert, 315. Mal a poynt, 835. Maldire, 109. Maldisant, 217. Malendre, 176. Malengin, 210. Maletot, 270. Malette, 252, 268. Maleur, 166, 217. Maleurette, 285. Malfortune, 316. Maligne (je), 632. Maliuolence, 217. Malle, 311. Malle heure, 62. Mallement, 145, 798. Malliet, 238. Malotreu, 879. Mal sainct Jehan, 218. Malsiet (il), 637. Malsoigneux, 319. Maltalent, 217. Maluré, 328. Maluais, 309. Maluatie, 270. Maluays, 71. Mamellette, 240. Manchet, 315. Mancipe, 174, 269. Mandeglaire, 176, 242. Mandiance, 195, 197. Mangeut (il me), 722. Mangoyre, 243. Manifeste (je), 632. Manoyr, 393. Manquet, 315. Mantien, 257. Marchage, 282. Marchalcée, 243. Marche (je), 473. Marche coulys, 257. Marchepié, 222. Marchié, 49. Marchis (je), 473. Marchys (je), 632. Marcque, 274. Mardaille, 207. Margeline, 243. Marguy, 219. Marichal, 283. Maritain, 306. Marle, 172, 243. Marmixteux, 242. Marmoset, 243. Maronniere, 290. Marpault, 252. Marrastre, 246. Marre, 276. Marris, 164. Marrisson, 214, Marsage, 282. Martelas, 244. Martelle (je), 452. Martinet, 217. Martire (je), 633. Maruaillable, 329. Maruaillant, 290. Maruaille (je me), XXXV, 83. Maruailleux, 162. Mascq, 232. Masculin. Raisons du genre masculin, XXIV, 66. Masiere, 243. Masle, 241 242. Masrayne, 281. Masson, 243. Massonne (je), 507. Massonnerye, 243. Mast, 53. Mastic, 243. Mastin, 211. Mat, 320. Mathematicque, 20. Matineux, 322. Matire, 275. Matrimoyne, 497. Matteras, 198. Mattes, 211. Mauette, 260. Mauffe, 231. Maufle, 290. Mauldict, 309. Mauldis, 53. Mauldission, 165. Mauldisson, 211. Maulgraneux, 317. Maulgre, 274. Maulgré mes dens, 842. Maulplaisant, 310. Mauluaiseté, 239. Mauluis, 281. Mausade, 328. Mausoigneux, 322. Mauuaysement, 841. Mauue, 268. Page 1112 May (un), 193. Mayn a mayn, 836. Mayne (je), 466. Mayne chere enragiée (je), 750. Mayniau, 273. Maynie, 233. Mayntenant mayntenant, 882. Maynt homme, 860. Mays, 854. Mays que, 885. Mecredy, 280. Medicinable, 318. Medicine (je), 583. Medicyne, 244. Meffaict, 245. Meffais (je), 524. Mehaigne (je), 617. Mehaygneté, 237. Meisgre, 108. Melancholieux, 318. Melencolie, 244. Melle, 280. Mellé, 244. Memore, 298. Menasse (je), 755. Menasses, 280. Menchonges, 64. Menchongier, 64. Mencionne (je), 625. Mendicant, 244. Mene mal (je), 637. Meneu, 296. Mengeue (je), 540. Mengeus, mengeusse, 29. Mengeut (il me), 333. Menje (je), 102. Menu menu, 841. Menuement, 833, 841. Menuserie, 234. Menuyse (je), 476. Menye, 248. Mercerot, 253. Merche (je), 633. Mercie (je), 754. Mercredy de la cendre, 195. Merde fin, 253. Meregrant, 179. Meretrice, 229. Meritable, 318. Meritrice, 401. Merlus, 244. Merque (je), 633. Mersouyn, 256. Merueillable, 318. Merys (je), 513. Mes, 244. Mesaduient (il), 637. Mesagrée (je), 636. Mesaise (je), 637. Mescant, 296. Meschance, 245. Mesche, 272. Mescheoys (je), 637. Meschief, 245. Meschiet (il), 580. Meschine, 215. Mescompte (je), 500, 637. Mescougnoys (je), 638. Mesconseille (je), 637. Mescontente (je), 518. Mescorde (je), 519. Mescoute (je me), 638. Mescreance, 245. Mescroys (je), 637. Mesdire, 109. Mesdis (je), 638. Meseau, 244. Mesentens (je), 638. Mesfaire, 109. Mesgarde (je), 638. Mesgouuerne (je), 637. Meshuy, 16, 143. Mesmes, il mesmes, 79. Mesnagerie, 233. Mesnagier, 233. Mesnaige, 277. Mesoffre (je), 645. Mespars (je), 512. Mespartys (je), 523. Mespens (je), 638. Mesple, 244. Mesplier, 244. Mesprens (je me), 636. Mesprison, 165, 245. Meterie, 212, 219. Mets a chiefe (je), 469. Mets en effect (je), 541. Mets en sauf (je), 605. Mets en termes (je), 490. Mets hors (je), 541. Mets jus (je), 601. Mets longuement (je), 427. Mettier, 290. Metz, 39. Metz a raval (je), 470. Metz suz (je luy), 450. Meu, 318. Meue, 245. Meuf, 246. Meulle, 245. Meulonne (je), 621. Meurdre, 271, Meure, 11. Meureté, 244. Meurier, 11. Meuris (je), 691. Meurray (je), 401. Meurs (moeurs), 61. --Des deux genres, 161. Meurtressouere, 255. Meuue (je), 635. Meylieur, 364. Meynte, 224. Mez, 64. Michelle, 156. Mieulx, 145. Mieulz, 147. Mignonnerie, 257. Mignot, otte, 286. Mignotise, 245. Mignotte (je), 470. Mignotterie, 212. Miliaire, 245. Milion, 245. Miniere, 226. Ministration, 245. Minques, 245. Minue (je), 624. Mirabolan, 245. Mirouer, 225. Page 1113 Misté, 37. Mistion, 37. Mistionne (je), 634. Mitaigue, 225. Mitigue (je), 639. Mitiguer, 349. Mixt, 242. Mocquerie, 268. Mocqueur, 268. Modes. Il y en a six: l'_indicatif_, l'_impératif,_ l'_optatif_ ou _potentiel,_ le _subjonctif,_ le _conditionnel,_ l'_infinitif,_ XXXI. Moe, 246. Moeau, 291. Moette, 268. Moille (je), 639. Moillé, 329. Moilleure, 288. Moisture, 246. Mol, 202. Mol de loraylle, 239. Moleste, 227. Molet, 218. Molinet, 260. Mom, 149. Mommeur, 247. Mon: cest mon, ce fait mon, 146; --ascuauoir mon, 149. Monaye, 206. Monayeur, 206. Monition, 286. Monnier, 759. Monosyllabes; n'ont pas d'accent en français, 47. Monstier, 205. Monstrance, 267. Monstre (une), 157; --unes monstres, 183. Monstrer, XLVIII. Montaignette, 282. Montance, 273. Montjoy, 227. Montjoye, 218. Mordacité, 262. More, 247. Moreue, 265. Morier, 247. Moriginé, 329. Morseau, 246. Mortasie (je), 640. Mortgaige (je), 640. Mortpou, 252. Morueuseté, 272. Motif, motifue, 318. Motion, 245. Moton, 283. Mouceau, 283. Mouche (je), 505. Mouchet, 247. Mouchette, 240. Mouchouer, 229. Mouelle, 243, 265. Moufle, 230. Moulcture, 23. Moulle, 246. Mouls (je), 575. Moult, 145, 300. Moultitude, 246. Mountarde, 247. Mourine, 246, 264. Mourre, 247. Mouue (je me), 635. Moyen. Verbes moyens, XXX, XXXIII, 83, 111; --leur signification, leur circonlocution dans les temps prétérits, leur déclinaison personnelle, XXXIV. Moyeul, 247, 291. Moylle, 8. Moy mesmes, 345. Moyne, 282. Moyson, 198, 270. Muance, 204, 284. Muce, 272. Muce (je), 584. Muche, 221. Mue couleur (je), 457. Mues, 185. Muetté, 214. Multicolore, 242. Mumme (je), 642. Murmuratif, 319. Murmuration, 228. Musangere, 281. Musardie, 221, 243. Muse (je), 642. Musnier, 245. Musque, 177, 247. Musquet, 289. Musquin, 247. Musse (je me), 616. Mutilateur, 241. Mutille (je), 617. Mutine (je), 495. Muy, 231, 460. Mye, pour _pas_ ou _point,_ vieux mot romant, XLI. --N'est plus d'un bon français, 110. N N; sa prononciation, XIX, 22, 24, 33. Nacion, 247. Nacle, 243. Naguayres, 807. Naiscance, 198. Na pas gramment, 856. Naquair, 247. Nasillation, 275. Nasselle, 200. Nassellette, 240. Natier, 243. Nau, 267. Naufrage (je), 426. Naufraige, 63. Naure (je), 784. Nauiere, 267. Nauigaige, 264, 380. Navire, des deux genres, 161. Nays (je); conjugaison du verbe _naître,_ 127. Nayntre, 216. Ne après _que_; _plus que je_ ne _dis_, XLIII, 147. --Ne, devant une négation, _je_ ne _le verray jamais_, XLIII. Neant plus, 850. Ne bien ne mal, 839. Neement, 5. Page 1114 Ne feroye je point que saige? 659. Neffle, 249. Nefflier, 249. Ne fust cela, 880. Ne mieulx ne pis, 839. Nenny, 146, 866. Nenny non, 866. Nessung, nessune, 82. Ne tant ne quant, 510. Neu, 206. Neu, neue, 319. Neu damours, 283. Neudz, 25. Neufiesme, 372. Neueux, 317. Nicement, 839. Niceté, 248, 607. Nicquet, 233. Nieble, 245. Niée, 201, 203. Niepce, 247. Niet, 270. Nieux, 305. Nigromancien, 248. Nigromantie, 248. Nimphette, 240. Niuiau, 257. Noiret, 325. Noisif, 268. Nombres, on pourrait en compter trois en français, XXVI. --Deux nombres, le singulier et le pluriel, 67. --Dans les adjectifs, XXXIII. --Dans les pronoms, XXIX. Noms. Substantifs, adjectifs, 66. Six accidents du nom, 66. --Nom substantif, XXIV. --Noms substantifs qui s'écrivent de même, mais sont de genre différent, 157. --Formés d'adjectifs, 189. --De verbes, 189. Nonce (je), 708. Nonchaillance, 247. Non en da, 866. Non pourtant, 879. Notte, 248. Nt, terminaison de la troisième personne du pluriel dans les verbes, XXXIII. Nourice, 248. Nouueau, 212. Nouueaulté, 248. Nouuelleté, 248. Noueau, 313. Nouicerne, 248. Noyf, 163. Noynce, 236. Noyrastre, 306. Noyseux, 268, 306. Nuisance, 246. Nuissance, 227. Nullefoys, 144. Nulle riens, 850. Nulluy, 82, 362. Nupees, 201. Nyes, 319. O O; sa prononciation, 6, 55. --Devant _m_ ou _n_, sa prononciation, XVII. --Ne termine jamais un nom substantif singulier, XXVI. --Ni un adjectif singulier masculin, XXVII. Obedient, 319. Obfusque (je), 516. Obhumbration, 239. Oblittere (je), 458. Obliuieux, 313. Obmets (je), 608. Obnubule (je), 506. Obscurcer, 37. Obscure (je), 436. Obscuris (je), 513. Obscurté, 63. Obstant, 37. Obtempere (je), 645. Obumbration, 266. Obumbre (je), 699. Obuehys (je), 668. Occulte (je), 584. Occultation, 249. Occupie (je), 645. Oche, 248. Oche (je), 644. Odoratif, 306. OE, 10. OEufes, 663. OEuffre, 249. Oeuue, 264. Oeuure (je), 646, 784. Offence, 249. Offencion, 63, 249. Offends (je), 645. Offention, 214. Offers (je), 645. Offretoire, 174. Oi; sa prononciation, XVIII. Ole (je), 722. Oleur, 265. Oliphant, 249. Oncques jamays, 808. Onques (_ever_), 143. Ons; terminaison ordinaire de la première personne pluriel dans les verbes, XXXIII. Opaceté, 212. Oportun, 305. Oppose (je), 677. Oppresse, 249. Oppresse (je), 481, 647. Opprime (je), 647. Opprobrieuse, 348. Optatif (mode), 84, 85. Optatif, 329. Oraille, 460. Ordoye (je), 549. Ordre, septième accident des adjectifs, 73. --Sixième accident des pronoms, 78. Oreille (je), 579, 605. Oreilliere, 216. Orendroyt, 803. Orengier, 249. Ores, 62. Orfeuerie, 226. Orgre, 250. Orgres, 538. Orgueilleuseté, 259. Oriere, 290. Page 1115 Ortiegriache, 179. Ort, 594. Ort, orde, 313. Ortraict, 215. Oruier, 272. Os (je), 335, 583. Ossu, 306. Ostade, 269. Ostadine, 265. Oste (je), 449. Ostenter, 37. Ostruce, 37. Ostruche, 250. Ostyl, 281. Ot (eut), 64. Ou, diphthongue; sa prononciation, 15. Ou (dans le), 57, 63, 185, etc. Oubliance, 222. Ou chief, 820. Oudeur, 249. One, 800. Ou endroyt, 886. Ouert, 320. Oultraige, 63. Oultre, XLVIII. Oultrebort, 848. Oultrecheuauche (je), 650. Oultrecrier, 650. Oultrecuidance, 63. Oultrecuider, 139. Oultrecuyde, 319. Oultrepasse (je), 541. Oultre plus, 877. Oultrerysme (je), 650. Oultre sans, 874. Oultretyre (je), 650. Ou mesmes temps, 809. Ou monde, 820. Ourelet, 287. Oureleure, 230, 287. Ourllet, 230. Ourse, 155. Ourtie, 199. Ourtie (je), 644. Oustil, 250. Ou surplus, 878. Ouueraige, 290. Ouueriere, 290. Ouuers(je), 647. Ouuragerie, 288. Ouy en da, 866. Ouyez, 545. Ouÿoÿe, 11. Oy, diphthongue; sa prononciation, 13. Oya, 149, 888. Oyel, 45, 201. Oyllet, 224, 225. Oyncture, 249. Oyngs (je), 432. Oysiau, 230. Oystre, 249. Oysÿau, 11. P P; sa prononciation, 33. --Ne termine jamais un nom adjectif singulier masculin, XXVII, XXVIII. Paces, 183, 251. Pacience, 250. Pacient, 250. Pacque (je), 650. Pacquet, 250. Pagee, 270. Paillardif, 305. Paillardyr, 570. Paillardys (je), 659. Pailliardiau, 232. Pailliette, 273. Paillietterie, 273. Paillieur, 230. Paire a paire, 833. Pairrayn, 153. Pais, 208. Paisant, 233. Palet, 263. Palfrenier, 291. Palfronier, 232. Palis, 251. Palisseur, 251. Palle, 171, 202. Palleteau, 251. Pallette, 236. Palomme, 267. Palu, 163. Palustre, 202. Pan, 155. Pance, 251. Pance (je), 652. Panche, 468. Panesse, 253. Panne, 251. Pannesse, 155. Pannettiere, 236. Panniau, 266. Pantier, 186. Paonnet, 252. Paour, 145. Paoureux, 311. Papegault, 256. Papelarde (je), 655. Papephis, 241. Paracheuer, 423. Paraduenture, 146, 840. Paragon, 242. Parascheuer, 352. Parastre, 218. Parauant, 802. Parayde (je), 583. Par ce poynt, 834. Parcité, 220. Parconniner, 252. Parcroys (je), 504. Par cy amont, 825. Par cy aual, 825. Par cy deuant, 808. Pardicques, 630. Pardonatif, 313. Pardonnance, 251. Pardonnier, 251. Pardoynt, 646. Pardris, 164. Pardu, 360. Pardurablement, 854. Pare (je), 647, 652. Parecien, 252. Parement, 206. Paremptoire, 244. Par ens, 824. Page 1116 Par escot, 832. Par especial, 818. Par eur, 839. Parfait. Verbe parfait, XXX. Parfect, 320. Parfinis (je), 492. Parfont, 232, 309. Parforce (je), 534, 652. Parforme (je), 652. Parfournis (je), 492. Parfournys (je), 558, 652. Pariforme, 317. Paris. Prononciation de l'_r_ à Paris, 34. --Supériorité du dialecte de Paris sur tous les autres, 34-35. Parjurement, 380. Par la chair bieu, 866. Par la mort bieu, 866. Par le corps bieu, 866. Par le menu, 840. Parmanie (je), 538. Par meslée, 839. Par my, 817. Parochialle, 252. Parolle (je), 727. Paroquet, 256. Par poulcées, 833. Parquet, 257. Par rayson, 839. Pars (je me), 512. Parsil, 252. Parsin, 252. Parsomner, 200. Parsonnage, 255. Parsonnier, 252. Participes. Il y en a de deux sortes, le _participe présent_ actif, et le _participe prétérit_ passif; tous deux avec genres et nombres, XXXVII, 134. Partie, _elle s'en fut partie_, 41. Parties du discours. Trois fois trois, XXIV. --Variables et invariables, 65. Partitifs. Noms partitifs, XXIX, 359. Partue (je), 598. Parturbe (je), 653. Par ung tel si, 843. Paruerse (je), 539. Paruersement, 840. Par vostre congié, 834. Pascient, 320. Pasmoison, 273. Pasques, 156. Passeron, 273. Passif. Verbe passif, XXX, XXXIII, 124. --Conjugaison d'un verbe passif, 126. Paste, 49. Pasté, 49. Pasteux, 307. Pastisaige, 252. Pastisier, 252. Pasture (je), 654. Pasturiau, 252. Pasturon, 252. Pas ung nycquet, 851. Pat, 631. Patelle (je), 484, 681. Patenostre, 163. Paternostres, 251. Patessouer, 254. Paticier, 254. Patinier, 252. Patiue, 252. Patois, 261. Patoys, 257. Pattyn, 271. Patyse (je), 655. Paulme, 280. Paulpiere, 239. Paupier, 219. Pause (je), 655. Pautonnier, 226. Pauais, 252. Paueillon, 252. Pauiment, 251. Pauorette, 187. Paygns (je),651. Payncte, 169. Paÿndre, 23. Payne, 158, 227. Payngdrent (ils), 397. Payre (je), 484. Payrie (je), 633. Peaultrier, 253. Peautraylle, 188. Pechié, 270. Pecunial, 320. Pedisseque, 204. Pel, 164. Pèlicon, 224. Pelle (je), 457. Pellé, 254. Pellerin, 254. Pellice, 251. Pellier, 271. Pellu, 302. Pellure, 252. Pelote, 280. Peltier, 288. Penance, 253. Pence (je), 112. Pencif, 318. Pencifueté, 253. Pencion, 253. Pencionaire, 242. Pené, 401. Peneuse, 280. Penibleté, 253. Penitance, 591. Penitancier, 253. Pennet, 221. Pensement, 212. Pensifuesse, 280. Pentecoste, 156. Peramour, 251. Perboulx (je), 652. Perceuerance, 253. Perclos (je), 448. Perdurable, 308. Peré, 49. Peregrant, 227. Perfect, 320. Perfyn, 164. Perge (je), 779. Perjure, 174. Permanableté, 278. Permy, 137. Page 1117 Perpetulle (je), 758. Perplexe, 214. Perplexite (je), 467. Perreucque, 209. Pers, 306. Pers (je), 606. Persin, 253. Personnel. Verbe personnel, XXX, 83. Personnes. Les noms substantifs sont tous de la troisième personne, XXVII, 68. --Dans les pronoms, XXIX. Persoreille, 217. Persouer, 252. Perspectif, 320. Perspicasité, 270. Perturbe (je), 458. Peruertys (je), 656. Pesche a verge (je), 431. Peschement, 220. Pescheur, 220. Pesible, 320. Pesibleté, 252. Pesiere, 252, 275. Pesle et mesle, 836. Pestail, 253. Pestille (je), 650. Petie (je me), 733. Petille (je), 761. Petille (je me), 764. Petitoye, 224. Petrie (je), 602. Peult (il), XLVIII. Peyne (je me), 401. Ph. Comment _ph_ se prononce en français, 19. Phantasie, 20. Phantasticq, 320. Phantosme, 172. Phisonomie, 62, 254. Phrenaisie, 222. Phrenesie, 222. Picq, 244, 274. Picque, 246. Picque de lesieul (je), 657. Picqueteure, 256. Picquotin, 244. Picquotterie, 258. Picquotteure, 256. Pié, 49. Pieca, 28, 802. Piece (je), 655. Piedges (ungz), 482. Piegne (je), 488. Piegneresse, 481. Piengne, 207. Piengnier, 207. Pignolle, 254. Pigon, 254. Pille, 254. Pille des joncz (je), 657. Pilleur, 254. Pilleure, 254. Pilleuse, 254. Pilleuses, 471. Pilot, 254. Pinse (je), 657. Pinsure, 198. Pipe (je), 658. Pipeur, 197. Piteable, 318. Piteuseté, 254. Placque (je), 507. Placqueur, 212. Plaige, 169, 223. Plaigne, 255. Plain, 307. Plainct, 207. Plaine lune, 223. Plaingt, 246. Plainté, 255. Plait, 247. Planche (je), 460. Planché, 49. Planere, 223. Planeur, 255. Planier, 255. Planiere, 223. Planis (je), 659. Planisse (je), 659. Planteureux, 314. Planteyne, 255. Planye (je), 659. Plastras, 263. Plastre, 255. Plastreur, plastrier, 255. Plate, 245. Platin, 203. Platine, 252. Platteur, 255. Platteure, 220. Playngs (je), 453. Playt, 255. Plede (je), 580. Pledge (je), 461, 660. Pleige, 169, 200. Plentureuseté, 255. Plessie (je), 448. Pleuuis (je), 623. Plies, 473. Plignon, 279. Plinge (je), 523. Plinget, 279. Plionne (je), 695, 785. Ploianteur, 255. Plombée, 226. Plomme, 253. Plomme (je), 431. Plommée, 256. Plommeur, 256. Plotte, 196. Plotton, 200. Plourons (nous), 104. Plouuier, 256. Ploy, 63. Pluest, 385. Plumacier, 250. Plumart, 202. Plumette, 240. Plumeu, 312. Plumeuseté, 221. Plummart, 256. Plummee, 317. Plummeux, 317. Pluriel. Dans les noms substantifs, 67, 180. --Dans les noms adjectifs, 70, 296. --Noms substantifs qui n'ont que le pluriel, 182. Plurier, pluriere, 321. Page 1118 Plus chier que, 883. Plutonique, 306. Poetical, 321. Poictral, 251. Poictrel, 253. Poille, XL, 206. Poillon, 14, 271. Poiltron, 263. Poincte (je), 662. Poincture, 57. Poings (je), 666. Poissonnette, 240. Pois, 226. Pollayn, 207. Polu, 309, 401. Pomendier, 256. Pomeu, 321. Pommeau, 202. Pomme dorenge, 249. Pomys, 257. Pondere (je), 540. Pondereux, 329. Ponneu, 473. Pons (je), 601. Populosité, 255. Porc espin, 256. Porchier, 278. Porchierie, 278. Porcion, 256. Poree, 290. Porette, 256. Porrant, 202. Porret, 249. Porte a terre (je), 449. Porte ens (je), 476. Porte malice (je), 449. Portenseigne, 275. Portescuelle, 214. Porte soyng (je), 475. Porteuolant, 257. Portraicture, 215. Pose, 146. Possette, 257. Posté, 257. Posterne, 161, 218. Postille, 37. Postpose (je), 608. Pottin, 273. Pou, 312. Pouer, 347. Pouffe (je), 669. Pouille (je), 615. Poul, 180. Poulaine, 267. Poulce (un, une), 158. Poulcier, 220, 239. Poulciere, 259. Pouldre, 216. Poullaille, 257. Poullain, 209. Poullane, 259. Poullaylle, 470. Pouluereux, 311. Pour autant que, 865. Pourbondis (je), 561, 596. Pourbondys (je), 664. Pour ce que, 865. Pourchas, 259. Pourchasse (je), 421, 670. Pourcif, 321. Pour commencement, 885. Poure, 11. Poureté, 50. Pourgation, 259. Pourgez, 166. Pour huy mays, 855. Pourjecte (je), 476. Pour lamour que, 865. Pourmayne (je), 604. Pour nulle riens, 865. Pourparle (je), 508, 680. Pourpens, 259. Pourpense (je), 453. Pourpos, 259. Pourprise, 205, 231. Pour quoy, 866. Poursaulx (je), 606. Pourselayne, 259. Pourtant que, 864. Pourtente, 259. Pour tout fin vray, 866. Pourtraicte, 169. Pourtrais (je), 526. Pour ung beau neant, 865. Pourueance, 257. Pouruiance, 276. Pouruoyance, 259. Pousse (je), 458, 652. Poussein, 204. Pouste, 196. Poutee, 236. Pouuoir. Conjugaison du verbe _pouvoir_, 105. Pouuoire, 257. Poux, 259. Pouylle (je me), 525. Poyement, 147. Poylle (un), 158. Poylle (une), 158. Poyllu, 301. Poynson, 165, 199. Poynté, 256. Poyrette, 197. Poyse (je), 770. Poix (un), 158. Poix (une), 158. Practique, 218. Practique (je), 530. Praerie, 206. Praierie, 244. Praye, 257. Precelle (je), 664. Preche, 266. Precogite (je), 755. Prée, 159. Preferre (je), 664. Prefigure (je), 664. Prefixe (je), 434, 647. Preheminence, 213, 241. Preignent, 97. Premier, 794. Premier que, 802. Pren, 97. Prennes, 146. Prennez (vous), 94. Prennons (nous), 94. Prens a mary (je), 778. Prens castille (je), 544. Prens cueur en pance (je), 748. Prens de la (je me), 656. Prens la vue (je), 441. Page 1119 Prens mon esme (je), 442. Prens noyse (je), 421. Prens regard (je), 649. Prenunciateresse, 189. Preordonne (je), 664. Preparatiue, 258. Prépositions, 137. --Leurs accidents, 138-141. Presbitoire, 174. Presbitoyre, 252. Presseur, 258. Pressouer, 258. Prest, 62, 321. Preste (je), 606. Presteté, 261. Prestres, 221. Prestresse, 258. Presume (je me), 665. Presumptueux, 325. Pretende (je), 665. Preu, 284, 523. Preud, XLVIII. Preude femme, 226. Preudhomme, 226. Preudhommie, 232. Preuf, 258. Preuue (je), 401, 668. Preux, preuse, 330. Preueance, 222. Preuilege, 258. Preuilege (je), 666. Prieuré (une), 176. Prieuresse, 258. Primerolle, 258. Primier, 349. Primiere, 160. Primierement, 17. Prin, 274. Pringalle, 217. Prins. De prendre, XXXI, 87, 94. Prioré, 258. Pris, 224. Prisonne (je), 663. Priuat, 321. Priuaulté, 218. Priuaultez, 793. Priue (je), 464. Priueur, 279. Priuosté, 235. Proaieul, 227. Procede (je), 571. Procure (je), 667. Prodicieux, 327. Prodiguement, 361. Proesme, 172. Proesse, 259. Profundité, 213. Progrede (je), 654. Prolation, 286. Prolongue (je), 667. Promaine (il se), 344. Promayne (je), 770. Promaytz (je), 592. Promes (je), 660. Prommais (je), 565. Promouue (je), 667. Pronoms. Trois sortes principales: primitifs, dérivatifs, démonstratifs, XXIX. --Trois autres: relatifs, interrogatifs, numéraux, XXIX. --Ont six accidents: le genre, le nombre, la personne, les cas, la déclinaison et la composition, XXIX. --Leur division, 74. --Huit primitifs, 74, 331-346. --Douze dérivatifs, 74, 346-350. --Trois interrogatifs, 74, 350. --Deux relatifs, 75. --Un démonstratif simple et six composés, 75. --Partitifs et distributifs, 75. --Numéraux, 75, 367. --Accidents des pronoms, 76, 83. Pronunciation, 286. Prophecie, 259. Prophesie, 20. Propine (je), 529. Proporcion, 259. Propose (je), 434. Propriaitaire, 250. Prore, 222. Prose. Manière de lire la prose française à haute voix, 56, 62. Prospere (je), 555, 668. Proteruité, 223. Prothonotaire, 259. Prouffit, 195. Prouende, 259. Prouulgue (je), 668. Ps. Comment _ps_ se prononce en français, 21. Psalme, 21. Psaltere, 21. Psaltier, 265. Psealme, 172. Publique, 308. Publique (bien), 207. Puche, 221. Pugnition, 256. Pugniz, 229. Puisne, 291. Pulpitre, 259. Punaisie, 276. Punaysie, 432. Punctuer, 661. Purge (je), 670. Purifie (je), 484. Pus (je), 736. Putairie, 312. Putayner, 570. Putaynier, 232. Puteau, 203. Putelle, 287. Putte, 160. Puiz, 547. Q Q; comment il se prononce, 34. Quacquet, 196. Quacquette (je), 486. Quadrant, 213. Quaille, 259. Quaillebotte (je), 676. Quanque, 364. Quant de foys, 142. Quant Dieu plaira, 660. Quantesfoys, 800. Quantesfoys que, 858. Page 1120 Quantes gens, 352. Quant et quant, 142. Quant onc, 814. Quaresme, 9, 238. Quaresme pregnant, 267. Quarreau, 223. Quarriere, 259. Quarron, 288. Quarte, 257. Quasi, 873. Que (qui), 64. Que grandes que petites, 646. Quelconques au singulier, quelz conques au pluriel, 82, 298. Quelcun, 82. Quelleconques, quellesconques, 82. Quelqun, XXIX. Quenoille, 263. Quere, 346. Querelle ung action (je), 621. Queste (je), 446. Questueux, 37, 313. Queuue,218. Queuue, queuuette, 236. Queux (une), 166. Queuerchief, 209. Que uoulentiers que enuys, 840. Qui (que), 185, 390. Quict, 313. Quiers (je), 708. Quieté, 276. Quil (qui il), 882. Quit, 322. Quitance, 260. Quite (je), 435. Quitte (je me), 567. Quocquetier, 233. Quocqueu, 207. Quocquille, 8, 265. Quoquetiere, 290. Quoqz, 25. Quoye, 383. Quoyement, 842. Quoyn, 260. Quoynier, 260. R R; sa prononciation, XIX, 22, 24, 34. Raal, 262. Rabatu, 306. Rabbler, 26. Rabetture, 260. Rabille (je), 425, 682. Rabilleur, 215. Racaille (je), 654. Rachatte (je), 682. Raconvoye (je), 498. Racquassure, 260. Racquet, 260. Racroupis (je me), 705. Radote (je me), 525. Radresse (je), 528. Raffarde (je), 639, 678. Raffolle (je), 773. Ragrauante (je), 650. Raiges, 290. Raillieux, 306. Raince (je), 691. Raine, 21. Raise (que je), 397. Ralias, 262. Rallion, 201. Ralongie (je), 527. Ralongis (je), 527. Rame (je), 666, 735. Ramenteuoyr, 393. Ramentus (je), 396. Ramme, 262. Ramme (je), 678. Ramollie (je), 439. Ramon, 197. Ramponne (je), 678. Ramposne, 260. Ranc, 194, 260. Rancune (je), 679. Randon, 285. Ranu, 2. Ranuere, 289. Rap, 261. Rapeissure, 252. Rapineux, 314. Rapteur, 261. Rasibus, 669. Rasibus la terre, 836. Rasierse, 286. Rasisse (que je), 397. Rasouer, 261. Rassis (je me), 698. Rassiseté, 264. Rataings (je), 649. Rate, 266. Rateaux, 257. Ratecelle (je), 488. Ratelle (je), 442. Ratillier, 260. Ratisse (je), 678. Ratisseur, 215. Ratissouer, 207. Rattayns (je), 681. Ratte, 239. Rattelet, 290. Raude (je), 570, 689. Raume, 221. Raualle (je), 449. Raualue (je), 540. Rauance (je), 555. Rauaulde (je), 461, 655. Rauele (je), 546. Rauerdis (je), 474. Rauerdis (je me), 775. Rauissable, 322. Rauissaige, 261. Rauyn, 280. Ray, 272. Rayant, 323. Raye (je), 477. Rayere, 277. Rayne, 261. Rayns, 183. Rays (je), 662. Rebauldis (je me), 683. Rebecq, 211. Rebecquet, 220. Rebellerie, 261. Rebomdys (je), 680. Rebout, 259. Reboute (je), 671. Reboutement, 259. Page 1121 Rebras, 247. Rebrouce (je), 552. Rebroucé, 327. Recelée, 231. Recept, 261. Recepte, 261. Recepueur, 261. Recercelle (je), 504, 760. Rechief (de), 145. Rechigne, 225. Rechigne (je), 568. Rechigne (je me), 773. Rechignée, 241. Rechine (je), 643. Reciteur, 261. Reclame (je), 473. Reclayme (je), 681. Reclice, 239. Recognoissance, 236. Recomfort, 272. Recommendation, 219. Reconcile (je), 619. Recongnoys (je), 474. Recontinue (je), 496. Reconuoyer, 605. Recordation, 262. Recort, 261. Recouppe (je), 505. Recouuerance, 261. Recouuers (je), 562. Recoyse (je), 589. Recrastiner, 37. Recreance, 262. Recreant, 758. Recroys (je), 556. Recueil, 389. Recueilt, 394. Redargue (je), 415, 680. Redicte, 213, 224. Redige (je), 682. Redime (je), 682. Redis (je), 560. Redolent, 322. Redonde (je), 577, 682. Redonde (je me), 778. Redouble (je), 682. Redoubléement, 835. Redoubtable, 311. Refaytie (je), 682. Refectionne (je), 682. Refectoyr, 222. Refelle (je), 682. Reflagre (je), 722. Reflamboye (je), 551. Reflecte (je), 682. Reflection, 261. Reflotte (je), 531. Refouleure, 204. Refoulle (je), 560. Refraigne (je), 559. Refraygnaige, 261. Refraynt, 261. Refraytoir, 222. Refrenir, 682. Refreschys (je), 682. Refroidure, 209. Refroigneure, 241. Refulge (je), 703. Regalité, 273. Regarde par dessus (je), 648. Regibement, 289. Reginal, 321. Registre (je), 683. Regnardie, 210. Regnart, 210. Regnateresse, 290. Regnateur, 261. Regnette, 240. Regnie (je), 686. Regracie (je), 567. Regrete (je me), 626. Regreteur, 215. Reguerdonne (je), 690. Reigle, 264. Rejecte (je), 683. Relaisse (je), 628, 684. Relaueur, 287. Relieuement, 263. Relinquis (je), 556. Relucence, 267. Remanant, 262. Remanoyr, 393. Remayne (je), 684. Remembre (je), 474. Remembraunce, 262. Remercys, 280. Remire (je), 447. Remire (je me), 447. Remord, remorde, 314. Remorde (je), 442. Remors (je), 685. Remort, 228. Remotion, 262. Remouuement, 290. Remouuer, 551. Renchiere, 165. Renchiere (je me), 774. Reneuer, 685. Renfroigne, 241. Reng, 260. Rengoiserie, 204. Rengorge (je), 550. Renoiant, 312. Renomme (je), 730. Renoye (je), 556. Rentreture, 200. Renuerce (je), 650. Repaire (je), 582. Repais (je), 443. Repast, 244. Repaye (je), 686. Repayse (je), 589. Repel, 262. Repent (il me), 557. Repentence, 262. Repentin, 324. Repeue, 196. Reposte (je), 711. Repostaille, 280. Reprouchable, 322. Reprouche, 62, 261. Reprouche (je), 415. Reproué, 322. Repugne (je), 687. Repulce, 259. Repulse (je), 671. Repulsé, 321. Requereur, 213. Requeste, 54. Requireur, 262. Requoy, 268. Page 1122 Requoy (à), 429. Res a res, 835. Res a res le bort, 834. Reschigne (je), 614. Resconce (je), 584. Rescons (je), 584. Rescoue (je), 688. Rescous (je), 687. Rescousse, 262. Rescoux, 322. Resée, 259. Reseiche (je me), 774. Resemblable, 317. Resemble (je), 427. Resent, 319. Resistence, 224, 628. Resjoyr, 12. Resne, 260. Resolue (je), 688. Resonnableté, 262. Resort, 36, 262. Respandeur, 266. Respit, 23. Respite (je), 673. Resplens (je), 703. Responce, 194. Respondant, 278. Responde, 337. Responsif, 305. Ressigner, 285. Ressoigne (je), 475. Ressonne (je), 688. Ressors (je), 688. Restarderie, 268. Reste, 262. Restif, 311. Resume (je), 689. Resuscitation, 212. Resue (je), 678. Resueil, 287. Resuerie, 291. Retardis (je me), 777. Retenance, 231. Reteurs, 283. Retors (je), 764. Retortille (je), 760, 782. Retraict, 258. Retrais (je), 453. Retributeur, 262. Retz, 167, 202. Reuenche (je me), 440, 689. Reuenue (je), 528. Reuenues, 210. Reueration, 232. Reuerdoyer, 774. Reuerende (je), 690. Reuerendis (je), 690. Reuerse (je), 690. Reuestoir, 284. Reuigore (je), 417, 507. Reuilement, 260. Reuire (je), 759. Reuiue (je), 507. Reuocque (je), 474. Reuolue (je), 477. Rhiotte, 263. Riagal, 261. Ribaudaille, 8. Ribauldaille, 68. Ribauldeau, 271. Ribault, 68. Ricaldes, 209. Ridées, 692. Riens, 71, 144. Riens fors tant, 851. Riens qui soyt, 851. Rifflantes, 788. Riffle (je), 500. Riffleur, 227. Rigeur, 277. Righeur, 263. Rigle (je), 695. Riglet, 256. Rigolle (je me), 817. Rigoreux, 312. Rigoulaige, 277. Rigouraige, 277. Rime, 263, 272. Rioteux, 322. Riotte (je), 720. Risme, 263. Risme (je), 691. Riue en aigneaux (je), 632. Riuierette, 240. Robbe, XL. Roberie, 263. Rochiers, 63. Rocquet, 274. Rocquette, 263. Rodelle, 264. Roelle, 264. Roialme, 236. Roid, 323. Roigne, 265. Roigneure, 266. Roigneuseté, 265. Roigneux, 323. Roisine, 264. Rolle, 171, 263, 268. Rolle (je), 693. Romant, 213. Romfle (je), 694. Romfleure, 264. Rommarin, 264. Rommenye, 264. Rompera (il), XLI. Rondelle, 264. Rondesse, 264. Rondis (je), 777. Rongeur dor, 206. Rongeure, 198. Rongne, 463. Rongnieure, 267. Rongyr, 788. Ronnelle, 225. Rosaicque, 322. Rosette, 193. Rosne, 156. Rosticeur, 208. Roucyn, 232. Rouille (je), 662. Roulet, 263, 277. Roulliz, 282. Rouseau, 261. Rousee, 213. Rousette, 233. Roussine (je), 745. Routte, 264. Routte (je), 447. Routtement, 199. Rouuayson, 211. Page 1123 Royaulme, 172. Royere, 222. Royne, XXV. --Prononcez reyne, 14. Royngneux, 465. Roysin, 154. Ruant, 275. Rubant, 264. Rubifie (je), 695. Rubriche, 263. Rudeur, 264. Rue en bas (je), 649. Rue jus (je), 477. Ruellette, 240. Ruisselet, 240. Rus, 271. Ruse (je me), 500. Rusterie, 403. Rustrie (je), 403. Rutile (je), 703. Rymoye (je), 691. S S; sa prononciation, 24, 36. --Comme terminaison du pluriel, XXVI, XXVIII. --Comme figurative des verbes de la troisième conjugaison, XXXI. --Comme terminaison de la seconde personne singulier dans les verbes, XXXIII. Sables, 264. Sace (je), 706. Sache (je), 700. Sacieté, 223. Sacquement, 264. Sacz, 25. Sadement, 843. Saffre, 286, 308. Saffronneux, 323. Safre, 176. Sagittation, 267. Saichant, 135. Saiche, 268. Saiche (je), 462, 563. Saige, 76. Saige cocque, 357. Saigefol, 214. Saigement, 145. Saincteté, 232. Saincture a ecourser, 283. Saisis (je), 673. Saisonnez, 772. Sajette, 195. Salere (je), 584, 690. Salle (je), 663. Sallere (je), 690. Sallette, 252. Sally, 305. Salouer, 257. Saluable, 323. Saluation, 265. Salva (il se), 161. Saluegarde, 259. Sammedy, 265. Sancté, 232. Sanglout, 272, 291. Sangloutement, 272. Sanguineur, 265. Sang meslé, 829. Sans plus, 872. Sansue, 232. Sans sy, 594. Saoulle (je), 535. Sarazinesme, 231. Sarbatane, 283. Sasse, 307. Sassé, 307. Sathelite, 265. Satisfie (je), 698. Saucier, 784. Saulce, 265. Saulcier, 265. Saulge, 264. Saulmeure, 201, 265. Saulmon, 222. Sauls (je), 492, 606. Saulture, 291. Saultz, 25. Saulue (je), 698. Saulueconduyt, 179. Saulueur, 265. Sautelle (je), 587, 719. Sautreau, 227. Sauuaigeté, 289. Sauuance, 265. Sauagine, 255. Saueté, 265. Sauine, 265. Sayette, 202. Sayne, 156. Sc, comment il se prononce dans scavoir, 22. Scandeleux, 323. Scavance, 236. Scay (je), 474. Scilence, 168. Scopuleux, 322. Scoulpture, 23. Se, conjonction devant un mot qui commence par une voyelle, 45. Seanteté, 269. Sechesse, 215. Secheur, 269. Secource (je), 661. Secretie, 268. Secz, 39. Segret, 268. Segrette, 202, 268. Seiche (je), 528. Seicheur, 484. Seigne (je), 444. Seignée, 239. Seigneuriaige, 235. Seigneurieux, 317. Seignieurys (je), 695. Seignorieuseté, 240. Sejourneur, 272. Selle (je), 708. Selle a ribauldes, 211. Sellier, 265. Semblableté, 239. Semblance, 239. Seme, 265. Semitiere, 205. Semons, 433. Semons (je), 419, 454. Sendal, 203. Sene, 323. Senestre (au), 144. Page 1124 Senglante (je), 729. Sengle, 270. Sengloutte (je), 724. Senil, 305. Sente, 198. Sentement, 219. Sentencie (je), 595. Sentu, 670. Seoyr, 109. Sep, 275. Separaison, 165, 196. Septier, 260. Septre, 269. Sepulcral, 306. Sepulture (je), 451. Serain, 307. Serancq, 231. Serant, 231. Serayne, 244. Serche (je), 537. Sercheur, 269. Serieuseté, 269. Serment, 211. Sermente (je me), 745. Sermente (je), 746. Sermonne (je), 702. Serot, 242. Serpente (une), 155. Serpilon, 287. Serre, 265. Sers du tasteur (je), 716. Serurgien, 238. Serue (une), 155. Seruiableté, 269. Sery, 307. Seuls (je), I wont, XXXVI. --Conjugaison de ce verbe, 103. Seur, 270. Seurcot, 285. Seure (je), 620. Seurlimé, 261. Seurourge, 201. Seurs, 62. Seurté, 185, 269. Sexterie, 269. Sextier, 244. Seyn, 269. Si, si fait si, 146. Si a escient, 842. Si aynsi soit que, 879. Siceaux, 266. Si comme, 831, 873. Sidere, 175. Sie, 229. Sie (je), 698. Sieur, 262. Sieure dais, 265. Sieute, 278. Signacle, 281. Signeau, 224. Signifiance, 270. Sil ny soyt, 876. Si mayt Dieu, 866. Siminiau, 270. Simoniacq, 270. Simplesse, 270. Sinelle, 230. Sinestre, 159, 317. Singalle, 225. Single (je), 696. Singularise (je), 713. Singulier (nombre), 67. Sinue (je), 607. Sion, 165. Si petit que non, 850. Si que, 885. Siseau, 204. Siseletz, 182. Si tres, 453. Si trestant, 467. Si tres au vif, 842. Si tresfort, 483. Sobersault, 272. Sobresse, 272. Sobreté, 272. Socourans, 61. Soing, 203. Solace, 272. Solail, 246. Solas, 272. Solayl, 272. Solempnellement, 803. Solempnise (je), 724. Solempnité, 272. Solier, 272. Solle, 272. Sombresault, 179. Sombreuseté, 241. Sombreux, 317. Sommage, 248. Sommaige, 282. Somme (je), 725. Sommeilleux, 324. Sommel, 271. Sommier, 272. Somneil, 271. Songe (je), 723. Songeart, 216. Sonne a bransle (je), 691. Sonoreux, 317. Sophisterie, 272. Sorcerie, 272. Sorcerye, 289. Sorrel, 272. Sorte (un), 158. Sortis (je), 477. Sortisement, 291. Sortissans, 430. Sortys (je), 633. Sotoual, 269. Sottie, 221. Soublage (je), 531. Soubstrayre, 26. Soubtiens (je), 769. Soubtil, 312. Soubtillité, 271. Soubtiue (je), 597. Soubz, 25. Soubz brun, 307. Soubzdoyen, 278. Soubzris (je me), 722. Soubzterraine, 328. Soucye, 226. Soudeur, 273. Souef, 324. Souffers (je), 554. Souffretté, 247. Soufisant, 326. Soufraité, 247. Souilliart, 271. Page 1125 Souillon, 214. Soulace (je), 490. Souldain, 23. Soulde, 273. Souldoier, 273. Souldure, 208. Souldz, 266. Souls (je), 438. Souple (je), 353. Sourcille (je me), 599. Sourdesse, 212. Soure (je), 588. Souré, 261. Souris, 201. Sours (je), 692. Soursault, 273. Sousbasse, 222. Sousie, 243. Souspescionne (je), 638. Souspir, 270. Soustiens (je), 415. Soutif, 324. Souuentes fois, 144. Souuentes foys, 858. Souueraigne, 331. Souuerainté, 273. Souuiegne vous, 534. Souyllart, 424. Souerain, 307. Souerayn liege, 238. Spaciosité, 237, 273. Sparme, 172. Specieux, 312. Specifijer, 6. Speciosité, 63, 198. Specule (je), 589. Spiquenarde, 274. Spiritual, 314. Splendeur, 22. Sponde, 197. Stacion, 262. Stellifie (je), 714. Stolidité, 221. Stomachation, 204, 223. Strayne, 240. Strideur, 22, 273. Studiosité, 249. Suade (je), 537. Suasion, 234. Subdiacre, 278. Subject, 326. Subjecte (je), 442. Subjugation, 278. Sublim, 315. Substancieux, 313. Substentacle, 37, 280. Substrays (je), 531. Subtille (je me), 491. Subtillité, 215. Subuercion, 282. Subuertion, 214. Subuertis (je), 649. Succe (je), 742. Succint, 323. Suce (je), 723. Sueuf, 326. Suffert, 60. Sufflet, 199. Suffocquer, 465. Suffragan, 273. Suffrance, 278. Suffreteux, 319. Suis (je), conjugaison du verbe _être_, 125. Suis bien de (je), 426. Suis desalteré (je), 580. Suis mal de (je), 428. Suis suffisant (je), 421. Suis vayn (je), 543. Sujecte (je), 467. Sulphre, 176. Sumiterre, 278. Summation, 286. Summité, 230. Sumptueux, 23, 308. Sumtuosité, 278. Superaltare, 494. Superfice, 250. Superficialité, 278. Superhabundamment, 852. Suppedite (je), 757. Supportation, 285. Supporte (je), 650. Supprime (je), 598. Surachapte (je), 647. Surcouche (je), 648. Surcroys (je), 533. Surcuyde (je me), 654. Sur entre, 795. Surfays (je), 743. Surfons (je), 662. Surgerie, 278. Surglice (je), 649. Surhabunder, 19. Surlaboure (je me), 648. Surmonte (je), 541. Suroreille (je), 694. Surot, 274. Surpence (je me), 755. Surpense (je me), 453. Surquanie, 233, 285. Surquayne, 231. Surre, 325. Surrends (je), 567. Surrens (je), 452. Surreste (je), 655. Surreste (je me), 689. Sursault, 138. Surseme (je), 741. Sur toute riens, 836. Surunde (je), 577. Suruenue, 211, 273. Suruoys (je), 648. Sus, 216, 794, 797. Suspecon, 28, 245. Suspecion, 278. Suspeconeux, 326. Suspection, 245, 884. Suspense (je), 744. Suspicieux, 326. Suyerie, 273. Suyeux, 325. Suyez, 752. Sydere, 275. Sygoygne, 277. Syment, 270. Synnelle, 230. T T; sa prononciation, 37. Tableau aux eschecz, 204. Page 1126 Tabour, 279. Taboure (je), 659. Tabourin, 279. Tabourine (je), 746. Taiche (je), 569. Taillée, 279. Taincture, 213. Taincturier, 213, 238. Taings (je), 515. Taisniere, 208. Talpe, 246. Tandis que, 856. Tanne (je me), 778. Tanny, 2. Tanny garensé, 213. Tant que, 856. Tant seullement, 847. Tanure, 210. Tapis (je), 499. Tappis, 279. Tapynet, 276. Tardifueté, 271. Targe, 279. Targe (je), 612. Targue, 279. Tarrys (je), 529. Tart, 143. Tartaricque, 315. Tastement, 219. Tatin, 270, Tauldis, 251. Taulx, 279. Tauxe (je), 710. Tayche, 208. Taye, 200. Taye (un), 158. Taylles, 184. Tays (je me), 587. Tect, 231. Tecteur, 226. Teignon, 265. Temperise (je me), 639 Temperure, 279. Temple (une), 158. Templete, 279. Temprif, 306, 327. Temps. Dans les verbes il y en a six: le présent, le parfait, le futur, et les trois divisions du parfait, l'imparfait, l'indéfini, le plus que parfait, XXXII. --Formation des temps, XXXII. Temptation, 279. Temptatoire, 279. Tence (je), 463. Tenceresse, 68, 154. Tencerie, 200. Tenceur, 68, 154. Tenche, 279. Tencon, 28, 200. Tend, 280. Tende, 280. Tendron, 228. Tenement, 4. Tenne (il me), 414, 593. Tenneure, 280. Tenue, 280. Terciennes, 280. Teritoire, 208. Terme (je), 707. Terminance, 213, 220. Terrienne, 63. Terrification, 219. Terris (je me), 781. Terrouer, 272. Terslet, 279. Tesmoignage, 261. Tesmoigne (je), 451. Teste, 54. Teste (un), 158. Testiere, 230. Testifuement, 836. Testu, 307. Testyf, 777. Teurs (je), 785. Th; comment _th_ se prononce en français, 19. Theorique, 274. Thesme, 281. Thoreau, 20, 155. Throsne, 57. Thyeme, 173. Thyme, 281 Tiens en aguayt (je me), 441. Tiens fort (je me), 449. Tiens playt (je), 587. Tiercellet, 280. Tieule, 281. Tieulle, 281. Tieulx, 82. Tiffe (je), 758. Tigneux, 265. Tiliac, 229. Tiltre, 23. Tintyn, 281. Tirant, 281. Tire, 282. Tire auant (je), 654, Tirouer, 240. Tisanne, 281. Tissutier, 209. Toille, 8. Toles (je), 747. Tollere (je), 534. Tonliu, 281. Tonnelet, 187. Tonnement, 280. Tonnoyrre, 175. Tonse (que je), 397. Tonsé (j'ay), 645. Toppée, 203. Tor, 202. Torche (je), 662. Torconnier, 218. Toreau, 20. Tormente, 63. Tormentée, 5. Torneur, 284. Torterelle, 281. Torteu, 15. Tortemoue, 290. Tortfait, 291. Tost, 812. Toste (je), 760. Tostée, 282. Touaille, 282. Touaylle, 282. Touche, 282. Touche la (je), 739. Page 1127 Toult, 25. Toupin, 282. Touque, 202. Tourbiginaulx, 290. Tourmentine, 284. Tournay, 282. Tournement, 282. Tournettes, 184. Tournoire, 267. Tourquois, 282. Tout, 872. Tout a deliure, 829. Tout ades, 808. Tout adez, 814. Tout a force, 829. Tout a heurt, 829. Tout asteure, 877. Tout a tart, 803. Tout aynsi que, 877. Tout de hayt, 830. Tout dune tire, 830. Tout dung tenant, 872. Toute jour, 298. Tout en apert, 830. Toute riens, 298, 847. Toutes foys et quantes, 858. Toutesuoyes, 881. Tout fin mayntenant, 806. Tout fin, 808. Tout hony, 694. Tout hors, 529. Tout mort, 842. Tout oultre, 842. Tout playn dinjures, 878. Tout quanque, 859. Toye, 287. Trac, 276. Trace (je), 678, 708. Tractif, 326. Trafficque, 210. Traict, 215. Traict de temps, 278. Traicte, 234. Trainelle (je), 760. Traire, 64. Tranchafon, 200. Tranchayson, 165. Trancys (je), 656. Transis (je me), 745. Translate (je), 761. Transmontaigne, 280. Transnage (je), 745. Transnoue (je), 745. Transpasse (je), 654. Trappe (je), 761. Trappier, 666. Trasse, 265. Trasse (je), 770. Trasser, 389. Trauaille denfant (je), 600. Trays, 282. Trays (je), 526. Trehouchet, 254. Trebusche (je), 477. Trecherie, 282. Tref, 228. Trelis, 227. Tremaille (je), 586. Trempe (je me), 639. Trenchant, 216. Trenchaysonne (je), 569. Trenche (je), 502, 761. Trenche le chemyn (je), 572. Trenchée, 282. Trenchouer, 282. Trenteyne, 282. Trepude, 212. Treschange (je), 482. Tresluis (je), 476. Tresluys (je), 564. Tresourier, 282. Trespas, 213. Trespasse (je), 648. Trespece (je), 660. Tresperce (je), 655. Tressaulx (je), 463. Tressouere, 200. Tressue (je), 544. Tresteau, 259. Trestout, 82, 847. Treté, 282. Trette, 283. Treuue (je), 104. Treuues, 283. Treuaige, 283. Triacle, 283. Triboulle (je), 704. Trilis, 227. Tripe (je), 553. Tripette (je), 553. Trippes, 273. Trippette (je), 723. Triumphamment, 798. Triumphe, 174, 225. Trocque (je), 444. Troignette, 240. Troignon, 208. Trompeteur, 283. Tronchet, 199. Tronson, 209. Trop mieulx, etc. 390, 850. Tropelle (je), 552. Troppeau, 230. Trottier, 283. Trousse (je), 763. Troussure, 283. Truaige, 230. Truandaille, 277. Truandeu, 240. Truffant bourdant, 832. Truffe, 233, 281. Truffe (je), 589. Truffle (je), 460, 589. Trumeau, 282. Trumpette, 283. Tue la chandelle (je), 525. Tugurion, 278. Tuismes (nous), 396. Tumbe, 283. Tumbe (je), 544. Tumbeau, 382. Tumber, 37, 147. Tumbreau, 283. Turbateur, 283. Turbillon, 279. Turterelle, 155. Turtre, 155. Tuytion, 867. Tyltre, 281. Tymbre (je), 659. Tynte (je), 677. Page 1128 Typhayne, 283. Tyrannise (je), 541. Tyre (je), 571. Tyre des tallons (je), 656. Tyreur de layne, 289. Tys (je), 462. Tysceu, 330. U (VOYELLE.) U; sa prononciation, 7. --Distinction de _u_ voyelle et de _u_ consonne, 10. --Après _f_, _g_, _q_, XVII. --Prononciation de l'_u_, même quand il n'est pas écrit dans le mot, 9. --Ne se prononce pas dans quelques mots où il se trouve, 9. Ui, diphthongue; sa prononciation, XVIII, 16. Ule (je), 587, 785. Ululation, 210, 233. Ulule (je), 587. Umbrageux, 323. Umbraige, 266. Umbre, 176. Umbre (je), 699. Umbroye (je me), 610. Umbroye (je), 699. Undee, 215. Undette, 239. Une foys pour tout, 859. Unes: unes chauces, unes tenailles, unes lunettes, XXVI. --Unes nopces, unes lettres, XL. Unesfoys, 803. Ung petit, 875. Ung pour ung, 710. Ung tantinet, 774. Ung tour de passe pas, 833. Ungle, 247. Ungz: ungz sufllets, ungz ciseletz, XL. --Unes heures, 152. --Ung ame, 153. Uppie, 289. Usaige (je), 769. Use, 286. Usite (je), 645. Ustencille, 277. Usure (je), 769. Util, 281. U (CONSONNE.) U; sa prononciation, 38. Uacabond, 284. Uacillation, 275. Uacque (il me), 423. Uaguabonde (je), 613. Uague (je), 772. Uaincs (je), 648. Ual, des deux genres, 161. Ualee, 211. Ualereux, 310. Ualeton, 291. Ualiance, 284. Ualitude, 230. Ualleton, 291. Ualue, 284. Uantaige (je), 765. Uantance, 210, 284. Uante, 210. Uanteur, 210. Uariableté, 267. Uariance, 213. Uariant, 310. Uarie (je me), 428. Uariement, 204. Uarlet, 228. Uas (je men). Conjugaison de ce verbe, 123. Uas a jouc (je), 696. Uas a repos (je), 528. Uas en compas (je), 572. Uas eschays (je), 700. Uas mon bean bas trac (je men), 570. Uas par saultées (je), 699. Uaudoyse, 289. Uauldrée, 223. Uaulx (je), 431. Uaua, 275. Uaylable, 305. Uaynes, 349. Ueche, 219. Uecy, 146. Uefue, 287. Uegete (je), 705. Ueillart, 8, 249. Uela, 146. Uellu, 301. Ueloustier, 284. Uendaige, 269. Uendenge (je), 561. Uendible, 303. Uendredi auré, 811. Uenemeux, 327. Uenne (je), 443. Uent daumon, 273. Uentile (je me), 459. Uentille (je), 765. Uenturier, 242. Uenuste, 305. Uerart, 155. Uerbes. Deux sortes: personnel et impersonnel. Trois sortes de verbes personnels: parfait, anomal, défectif. Trois sortes de verbes parfaits: actif, passif, moyen. Trois sortes de conjugaisons du verbe actif, XXX. --Définition, 83. --Division, 83. --Accidents des verbes, 83, 137. Uerbie (je), 771. Uerdier, 222. Uerdoye (je me), 774. Ueredicque, 327. Ueresimilitude, 239. Uerges, 184. Uerglace (il), 558. Uergoigne, 8. Uergoigne (je), 619. Uergoigneux, 185. Uergondeement, 5. Uergongne (je me), 459. Page 1129 Uermillet, 303. Uermolu, 316. Uermoulys (je), 596. Uernal, 306. Uerrot, 278. Uers. Manière de lire des vers français à haute voix, 60, 64. Uesperée, 188. Uespilion, 165. Uespillon, 228. Uespre, 54. Uesquirent, 61. Uessaille, 270. Uessie (je), 780. Uests (je), 488. Uesture, 206. Ueu, de veoyr, XXXI. Uiaige, 284. Uibriquet, 253. Uiconte, 285. Uidance, 285. Uidecoq, 289. Uiel, 305. Uielle, 249. Uiellesse, 249. Uiens au dessus (je), 563. Uieul, uieulle, 319. Uieulx, 249. Uieuse, 320. Uigeur, 285. Uigille, 288. Uigille (je), 772. Uilanie (je), 490. Uilennye (je), 690. Uilipendence, 269. Uillaine, 63. Uillainie, 205. Uillayn, 307. Uillement, 285. Uillenastre, 224. Uillennye, 285. Uilote (je), 563, 613. Uilotiere, 215, 271. Uimpilon, 277. Uineau, 253. Uinettier, 285. Uingt et ungiesme, 372. Uiole, 285. Uirsoet, 218. Uis (un), 158. Uisaige (je), 765. Uise, 185. Uise (je), 453, 633. Uise (je me), 614. Uisitance, 285. Uitaille, 285. Uitaille (je), 766. Uitailler, 285. Uitupere, 175, 261. Uitupere (je), 456, 680. Uiuandier, 285. Uiuifie (je me), 677. Unismes (nous), 396. Uocifere (je), 501. Uoicture, 203. Uoicture (je), 476. Uoicturier, 203. Uoidure, 273. Uoierreux, 314. Uoille, 8. Uoille de sorbe, 225. Uoirier, 225. Uoiriere, 225. Uoirra, 401. Uoisineté, 247. Uol, 207. Uolenté, 289. Uolentif, 329. Uolet, 221. Uolette (je), 552. Uoluntaireté, 230. Uoluntarieux, 329. Uoue (je), 619. Uouge, 198. Uoulaige, 249. Uoulenté, 159. Uoulge, 169, 198. Uouloir. Conjugaison de ce verbe, 104. Uoulsist. Voulsist Dieu, XXXVI, 104. Uoult, 402. Uous est il bien? 546. Uoyagier, 199. Uoyelles. Toute voyelle se prononce, 17. --Uoyelles longues et brèves, 52. Uoyezcy, 146. Uoyezla, 146. Uoylable, 305. Uoyr vraymecques, 866. Uoyre, 146, 866. Uoyre vrayement, 866. Uoyroyseté, 225. Uoyrre, 175, 225. Uoyrryne (je), 535. Uoyst, 410. Uoystre (je me), 771. Uueil, 62, 255. Uueille. Vueille Dieu, XXXVI, 104. Uueille ou non, 844. Uulgarise (je), 669. Uulnere (je), 784. Uuyde, 310. Uyder ou uuyder, 12. W Wallon, 223. X X; sa prononciation, 22, 24, 38, 39. --Comme terminaison du pluriel, XXVI, XXVIII. --Comment il se prononce au commencement des mots, 22. Xenotrophe, 22. Xylobalsome, 22. Y Y supprimé par ellipse, 413. Ycelle, 82. Yceluy, 82. Ycestuy, 82. Ydropisie, 215. Yeman, 291. Page 1130 Yeulx, 62. Yndeux, 328. Ypocript, 605. Ypocrite, 177. Yre, 235. Yronde, 278. Ys (je),786. Ytel, 82 Yueresse, 215. Yuernaige, 289. Yure (je), 622. Yurer, 12. Yuresse, 155. Yuroigne, 155. Z Z comme terminaison du pluriel, XXVI, XXVIII. --Ne termine jamais un adjectif singulier, XXVII, XXVIII. Zelotipie, 233. Page 1131 SOMMAIRE DES MATIÈRES ET DES DIVISIONS DE LA GRAMMAIRE DE PALSGRAVE. Épître de l'auteur au roi I Privilége du roi X Lettre d'André Baynton XI Introduction pour l'intelligence des deux premiers livres XV Introduction au livre second XXIII Table des chapitres du premier livre XLV Livre Ier, sur la bonne prononciation du français 1 Livre II, où il est traité des neuf parties du discours 65 Livre III, qui contient des développements sur les deux premiers 151 Table des substantifs 193 ----des adjectifs 305 ----des pronoms 374 ----de certaines locutions 375 ----des verbes 414 ----des prépositions 794 ----des adverbes 800 et 802 ----des conjonctions 872 ----des interjections 888 Page 1133 TABLE ALPHABÉTIQUE DES MATIÈRES CONTENUES DANS LA GRAMMAIRE DE DU GUEZ. Acrostiches formant le nom de _Giles du Wes_, 893, 1017. Adverbes (liste d'), 529, col. 1. Adverbes de nombres, avec les substantifs et adjectifs qui en dérivent, 928. Aller (verbe) conjugué, 995. Avoir, conjugué, 960. Chercher et querir, conjugués, 1007. Chault (il ne m'en), conjugué, 1005. Conjonctions, 925. Conjugaisons, 959. Conjugaison (exemple d'une) conduite à travers un e phrase, 1011 à 1016. Connaître, conjugué avec le pronom réfléchi, 974. Consonnes qui s'effacent dans la prononciation, 899, 900, 901. Couleurs (génération et blason des), 920. Dialogues: entre la princesse Marie et un envoyé du roi, 1023. --Entre la même et un envoyé de l'empereur ou d'un souverain quelconque, 1029. --La même et G. Du Guez, sur la paix, 1038. --La même et son aumônier, dans le parc de Tewkesbury, 1044. --La même et le trésorier de sa chambre, son mari d'adoption, sur l'amour, 1047. --La même et G. Du Guez sur l'âme, 1052. --La même et son aumônier: exposition de la messe, 1063. --Les mêmes, sur les noms et propriétés des mets, 1070. Division du temps, 1078. Engenouiller (se), conjugué, 1009. Être, conjugué, 987. Faire, conjugué parallèlement avec _être_, 1011. Faire (le), conjugué, 1004. Futur de l'indicatif, 933. Impératif, 934. Indicatif présent (formation de l'), 930. Le faire, 1004. _Ll_; comment se prononce, 901. --Dans les verbes, 1009. Lettres --à la princesse Marie pour s'excuser d'une absence, 1034; --à la même au nom de Jean Ap. Morgan, son écuyer tranchant, 1036. Loist (il me), conjugue, 1004. Mots et locutions, 921. Nomenclatures, voy. _Substantifs_. Optatif, 934. Participes, adverbes, noms tirés des verbes, règle pour les former, 935. Plan de la Grammaire de Du Guez, 898. Porter (se), conjugué, 1003. Prépositions, 924. Prétérit imparfait, 932. Prétérit indéfini, 933. Prétérit parfait, 932. Prétérit plus que parfait, 933. Prologue du premier livre, 894; --autre, 898; --du second livre, 1019. Prononciation (règies de la), 899. Pronoms, 923. Querir, conjugué, 1007. Salutations (formules de), 918. Seulz (je), conjugué, 1004. _St_; comment se prononce, 900 (règle V). Subjonctif, 935. Substantifs (liste de), 901. --Parties du corps humain, 901. --Qualités métaphysiques, 904. --Toilette des femmes, 906. --Mobilier d'une chambre, 908. --Intérieur d'une cuisine, 909. --Noms des oiseaux, 910. --Fruits, 912. --Mets Page 1134 --friands, 91. --Venaison, 912. --Poissons, 913. --Noms des arbres, 914. --Officiers royaux, 916. --Cris des animaux, 916. Table of this present Treatyse, 898. _U_ élidé par les Picards dans _tu as_, _tu es_, 900. Verbes (liste alphabétique de), 936. Verbes (deux), par exemple, _être_ et _faire_, combinés dans une conjugaison parallèle, 1011. Vers de Du Guez; 893, 894, 1017, 1020; --au nom de lady Maltravers, sur un proverbe, 1026. --Épitaphe, 1032. --Vers d'excuse à propos d'une indisposition, 1041. Voir, conjugué, 1001. Voyelles; règles de leur prononciation, 899 et suiv. Z, ajouté au singulier pour former le pluriel, 901. Page 1135 NOTE DE L'ÉDITEUR. Afin de mettre le lecteur en garde contre les inadvertances de la typographie anglaise, inadvertances que nous étions obligé de reproduire dans l'intérêt même de l'intégrité et de l'autorité du texte, nous signalerons ici trois fautes d'impression grossières dans une seule page, et très-peu remplie. Dans les distiques latins de Léonard Coxe, imprimés au _verso_ du titre (voy. le fac-similé), vers premier: Gallica quisquis amas _axactè_ verba sonare, il faut lire _exactè_. Dans les Phaleuques à Geoffroy Tory, vers 8: Nec _Græcis_ melius putaro Gazam Instruxisse suos........... lisez _Græcos_. Et deux vers plus bas: Seu quotquot _prætio_ priùs fuere La quantité veut qu'on rétablisse _pretio_, par _e_ simple. On pourrait voir une quatrième faute d'impression dans le vers suivant: Hæc evolve mei _Palgravi_ scripta diserti. Aucune règle ne prescrivant la suppression de l'_s_ dans le nom latinisé de Palsgrave, cette altération de forme doit être le résultat d'une inexactitude typographique; le manuscrit donnait sans doute _Palsgravi_. Les imprimeurs de Du Guez ne méritent pas plus de confiance que ceux de Palsgrave. Par exemple, à la page 928, vous verrez l'adverbe de nombre _fyrst_ traduit en français _emprent_, comme s'il s'agissait de la 3e personne de l'indicatif du verbe _emprendre_, _il emprent_. Il est indubitable qu'il faut lire _en preu_, apocope de _en pre_ (_mier_), ou tout d'un mot, _empreu_. Le drapier, parlant des six aunes de drap que lui demande Pathelin, dit à ce brave chaland, en lui présentant son aune à tenir: Prenez-la: nous les aulneron; Si sont elles cy sans rabattre. (Il mesure le drap.) _Empreu_, et deux, et trois, et quatre, Et cinq, et six. Page 1136 Selon toute apparence, l'acteur prononçait _empreut_, avec un _t_ euphonique final, comme il est figuré dans le texte de Du Guez: ainsi la versification de _Pathelin_ ne contenait pas dans ce passage l'hiatus que l'oeil croirait y surprendre. On ne saurait trop répéter que l'écriture est un faux témoin, surtout par rapport à l'ancien langage, et que la comparaison des erreurs peut conduire à la vérité. Palsgrave, en vingt endroits, tombe avec une roideur impitoyable sur les pauvres imprimeurs français: «Telle ést l'ignorance de ces imprimeurs, qui ne connaissent pas leur propre langue.» (P. 293.) «Mais c'est plutôt par l'ignorance des imprimeurs, qui ne connaissent pas leur propre langue.» (P. 300.) En parlant de la perfection de la langue française: «Elle a été singulièrement corrompue par la négligence de ceux qui se mêlent de l'art d'imprimer.» (P. 163.) «...Et combien le français est défiguré par la négligence des imprimeurs.» (P. 162.) «J'en accuse la négligence, ou, pour mieux dire, l'ignorance des imprimeurs.» (P. 181.) Le patriotisme de Palsgrave lui multipliait les fétus dans l'oeil de nos imprimeurs, et lui dissimulait les poutres dans l'oeil des imprimeurs anglais. Nous ne voulons pas ici récriminer, autrement il serait permis de demander où Palsgrave prend le droit dé se montrer si rigoureux, et quels typographes illustres l'Angleterre du XVIe siècle peut mettre en concurrence de nos Vérard, Estienne, Simon de Colines, François et Sébastien Gryphe, Vascosan, et tant d'autres. Le moins inconnu qu'il fût possible de leur opposer est justement ce Pynson, qui a imprimé la première partie du livre de Palsgrave avec quatre fautes dès la première page. Réimprimer Palsgrave, c'est reconnaître la valeur de son témoignage en général; par conséquent, il devenait nécessaire de protester, lorsque, sur un point de fait aussi important, son témoignage passionné pouvait induire en erreur. F. G. 
38991	----	ROUMANIAN STORIES Translated from the original Roumanian By LUCY BYNG London John Lane, The Bodley Head New York: John Lane Company. MCMXXI William Clowes and Sons, Limited, London and Beccles, England. To ROUMANIA'S GRACIOUS QUEEN This book is dedicated with profound admiration and respect PREFACE By H.M. THE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA Very little is known in England about Roumanian literature, which although not as rich as in many other countries, presents, nevertheless, features of real interest. Like all people in touch with the East, even the peasants have a strain of poetry in their speech, their expression is picturesque and gentle, an almost fatalistic note of sadness rings through all the songs they sing. Our poets have adapted themselves to this particular strain, and mostly it is the popular form that has been developed by our literary men both in prose and poetry. Roumanian literature possesses eminent historians and critics. I am not, in these few lines, going to touch upon their activities; but strangely enough there are few writers of fiction amongst the Roumanians--great novel writers do not exist. The Roumanian, above all, excels as poet and as a short-story writer. In this last art he is past-master, and it is therefore a great pleasure to me to encourage this book which Mrs. Schomberg Byng is sending out into the world at a moment when I am so anxious that my country should be better known and understood in England. Each one of these short stories is a little work of art, and deeply characteristic of Roumanian popular life and thought; therefore I have no doubt that they will interest all those who care about literature. I feel personally indebted to Mrs. Schomberg Byng to have thought of making this interesting feature of Roumanian literature known to the British public. I therefore, with all my heart, wish this little volume Good Luck. MARIE. Jan., 1920. PREFACE By Professor S. MEHEDINTZI Of Bucharest University and the Roumanian Academy As regards poetry Roumanian literature had reached the European level by the nineteenth century. Eminescu may be placed by the side of Leopardi. The drama and the novel are still unrepresented by any works of the first rank; but the short story shows that Roumanian writing is constantly on the upward grade. The following stories have been selected from many writers. The reader must judge each author for himself. It is impossible to settle their respective merits; that would presuppose an acquaintance with the whole of Roumanian literature. We may, however, be allowed to say a word or two about each writer. Negruzzi is to Roumanian very much what Sir Walter Scott has been to English literature. After the lapse of nigh a century the historical novel is still identified with his name. Creanga is a production exclusively Roumanian; a peasant who knew no foreign tongue, but whose mind was steeped in the fairy tales, proverbs, and wit of the people. He wrote with a humour and an originality of imagery which make his work almost impossible to translate into other languages. Caragiale, our most noted dramatic author, is the antithesis of Creanga; a man of culture, literary and artistic in the highest sense of the word. The Easter Torch ranks him high among the great short-story writers. Popovici-Banatzeanu--dead very young--and Bratescu-Voineshti are writers who more than any others give us the atmosphere of the English novel in which the ethical note predominates. Some of their pages have the poignancy of Dickens. The same discreet note is struck by Slavici, born in Hungary, whose Popa Tanda is the personification of the Roumanian people subject for centuries to the injustice of an alien race, and driven to seek support in their own work only. Delavrancea, a famous orator, is a romantic; while Sadoveanu, the most fertile prose writer among the younger men, possesses as novelist and story-teller a touch which makes him akin to Turgenev and Sienkiewicz. Beza stands by himself. From the mountains of Macedonia he brings into the national literature the original note of the life of the shepherds in the Balkans. Constantly upon the road, among mountain tops and plains, always in fear of the foreigners among whom they pass, their life manifests a great spiritual concentration. Over Beza's work there hover a mystery and a restraint which completely fascinate the reader. Though young, he possesses the qualities of the classical writers. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE I wish to take this opportunity of thanking M. Beza for his most valuable assistance. Without his intimate knowledge of the two languages and his kindly and expert criticism these translations would never have seen the light. Some well-known names, that of Diuliu Zamfirescu for instance, are absent from my list of authors; lack of time and difficulty in obtaining their works made their inclusion impossible. LUCY BYNG. CONTENTS Page The Fairy of the Lake. M. Sadoveanu 1 The Easter Torch. I. L. Caragiale 11 At Manjoala's Inn. I. L. Caragiale 35 Alexandru Lapushneanu, 1564-1569. C. Negruzzi 51 Zidra. M. Beza 85 Gardana. M. Beza 93 The Dead Pool. M. Beza 109 Old Nichifor, the Impostor. I. Creanga 115 Cozma Racoare. M. Sadoveanu 141 The Wanderers. M. Sadoveanu 157 The Fledgeling. I. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti 167 Popa Tanda. I. Slavici 175 Out in the World. Ion Popovici-Banatzeanu 207 The Bird of Ill Omen. I. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti 261 Irinel. B. Delavrancea 267 ROUMANIAN STORIES THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE By M. SADOVEANU One evening old Costescu told us an adventure of his youth. The old mill of Zavu, he began, stands to this day close to the Popricani lake. A black building leaning towards the dark waters. The six wheels are driven by great streams of water which come rushing through the mill-race, and surround the house, washing through the cracks. Above the boiling foam which encircles it, the great building shakes with the unceasing roar of the water. So it is to-day; so it was at the period when I used to roam about those parts--it is long, long, since then. I remember a night like a night in a fairy tale, full of the silver light of the moon, a night when only youth could see, when only youth could feel. It was in July. I was descending the lake by myself with my gun over my shoulder. Flights of duck passing above the forest of reeds lured me on. I followed their rapid flight through the clear atmosphere, the black specks became gradually smaller until they were lost to sight in the rosy clouds of the setting sun. I passed above the weir, where the waterfall brawls, between the bushy willow-trees which guard the narrow path, and approached the mill. The green stream swept through the mill-race, the foaming water boiled round the black building, and in the yard, unyoked and ruminating, the oxen slept beside the waggon. The old man, the miller, the great-grandson of Zavu, descended from the mill bridge with his pipe in the corner of his mouth. In the deafening roar of the water and the creaking of the wheels men waited in silence amid the luminous spray that filled the old building. "Good health to you, my old friend Simione!" "Thank you, sir. How goes it with the land? Grinding good flour?" This was the old man's usual question: was the country grinding good flour? "Good, my old friend Simione!" "Praise be to God!" said the old fellow. "But how are you, sir? You never come to see us. The duck give you no peace!" "No, they give me no peace. I mean to lie in wait on the bank to-night. Perhaps luck will come my way." "Good; may it be as you wish. See, Zamfira will show you the way." Just at that moment appeared the miller's niece. She was a strange girl of sixteen years of age; of middle height and thin, but with well-developed muscles: her cheeks were sunburnt, and she had two grey eyes, eyes so restless and so strange, and of such beauty and such brilliance as I have never seen since. She had not regular features, but the grey eyes beneath the heavy, arched brows gave her an unusual and radiant beauty. At the old man's words she stopped suddenly, and said quickly with twinkling eyes: "I don't want to show him the way!" "Why not?" I asked with surprise, while the old man smiled. "Because I don't want to!" said Zamfira, looking at me askance. "Very well," said the old man quietly, "don't take him!" The girl looked at me searchingly, through half-closed eyelids, and then cried sharply: "I'll take him, after all!" Old Simione began to laugh softly, turned round, and pursued his way to the mill bridge, but Zamfira remained in front of me, erect, her hands by her sides. Her head was bent down, but the grey eyes flashed at me from beneath the eyebrows. Her head was bare, her chestnut hair was drawn smoothly back from the temples into a thick plait, tied at the nape of the neck; a white water-lily, beautiful, as though cut out of silver, was fastened among her rich tresses. Beneath a white chemise her bosom rose and fell, a blue skirt fell plainly to her ankles. Suddenly she raised her head and looked shyly at me as she smiled. Her teeth shone between her thin lips. Then, with her eyes, she gave me the signal: "Come!" I followed her. She moved swiftly; her well-developed form was clearly outlined beneath her thin garments. From time to time she turned her head, and her teeth flashed. She untied the boat, jumped in and said curtly: "Follow me!" After I was seated, she braced herself for the effort, thrust in the long pole, and set the boat in motion. For some time we glided through reeds and rushes, and above great beds of weed. When we reached open water she put down the pole, and took to the oars. The boat cleft the deep water which glowed with flames from the fire of the setting sun. The oars splashed softly with a musical sound. The girl's whole body moved with a rhythmic grace that was unspeakably fascinating. The silver lily quivered in the luxuriant chestnut hair. Silence reigned over the lake. Water-lilies shone in the golden sunset; the reeds rustled softly; the dragon-flies passed like blue flashes through the light. Suddenly the girl turned her strange grey eyes upon me. "So to-night you will lie in wait for the duck?" she asked. "Yes, I shall wait." "Good." Her voice had a melodious, silvery ring. I questioned her: "That seems strange to you?" "No," she said, turning her head away; "but aren't you afraid?" "Of what should I be afraid?" "Of the fairy of the lake," she replied with conviction. "Of the water lady? Who is this fairy of the lake?" "What? Do you not know? The fairy of the lake." Her eyes scanned my face intently. The sun had nearly set; the water of the lake grew dark; a heron passed above us scarcely moving its wings; its cries sent a shudder of sadness through the silence of the forest of reeds. The girl looked at me, and her teeth shone with a smile of almost diabolical beauty: her clear-cut face seemed to reflect the colour of the green water. I cannot describe what I felt; only the charm of the speaker was astounding. In that framework of reeds and creepers--set as it were between two skies--she was the fairy of the lake. The boat struck the side of a cave and remained fast. "Here we are," said the girl. Slowly I stepped ashore. But the charm made my head reel. I turned abruptly, took her face between my hands, and would have kissed those eyes in whose depths the secret of the lake lay hid. She resisted gracefully with little movements, and trills of laughter, and instead of kissing her eyes I touched her lips which burnt like fire. I felt her draw herself away, I felt those strange eyes piercing through me, and the boat shot away into the reeds and creepers. The lake remained desolate, and in the silence only the gentle splash of distant oars could be heard. I prepared myself a little bed of reeds in the cave. I spread out my serge cloak, tried the triggers of my gun, and while I waited for the duck I fell into a brown study. How strange! I was perfectly conscious of my position; I knew quite well that the fairy was none other than Zamfira, the miller's niece, the sunburnt, and perhaps, the simple maiden; and in spite of this, the eyes, and the laughter, had something about them that intoxicated me like the strong perfume of some wild flower. In the gradually deepening shadows of the twilight she remained like some vision, floating on the bosom of the lake, among the blossoms of the water-lilies. I was roused by the rapid whirr of wings. I started up. A flight of duck passed over me. This event drove away my preoccupation. I steadied the gun in my hands and put it at full cock. In the reeds, torn and beaten by the wings of the duck, coot and moor-hens called to each other; a light breeze ruffled the forest of reeds. Small flocks of birds passed through the darkness of the night. I fired a few shots. The gun made a deep sound which echoed far across the water; one or two duck detached themselves from the group, and fell heavily to the surface of the lake, troubling the water. The darkness increased, it was impossible to distinguish the duck, one could only hear the rustle of their flight, like a brief wind. The evening breeze dropped, and a calm spread itself over the lake: only great black birds flew overhead, noisily crying: "Chaw! Chaw!" From time to time, in the silence of the night, could be heard the deep, lugubrious, indistinct note of the bittern. Stars glowed overhead, and in the depths of the water--the moon would not rise for nearly another hour. I wrapped myself in my cloak, and began to ponder over those grey eyes. In the silence, which grew ever deeper, the noise of the mill and of the weir could be heard afar off; somewhere a dog barked in its kennel; from some hill, lighting the darkness, one caught the twinkle of a bright flame. The supple body, the eyes, and the laughter, the lily blossom which harmonized so well with the lake and with the green lights in the eyes, tantalized me. Now she was no longer the simple maiden, kissed by the sun and caressed by the wind; every movement, every look, had something particular about it. And also something strange. I had never seen her when I visited the mill. I had heard of the old man's devilish niece, but I had never set eyes upon her. But now an incident recurred to my mind, to which, at the time, I had paid scant attention. On one occasion I had perceived a pair of restless eyes peeping at me through a chink in the mill bridge. Those eyes were surely hers; they sparkled so--and were so full of light and mirth. There, in the dark night, that ardent kiss seemed to burn me and I waited--I waited for something that I could not explain even to myself. I dozed, dreaming of those grey eyes. I cannot tell--perhaps I fell asleep. I awoke in the full light of the moon which was flooding atmosphere and lake with its silver beams. The water glittered, the night was still, the mill was silent; in the distance the weir was murmuring as in a dream. Here and there, the water rippled into circles the colour of agate; groups of duck were bathing in the moonlight. I put my hand to my gun. I raised my eyes, I was ready to pull--when I paused. A melodious song, scarcely intelligible, could be heard coming from the lake. It was a simple song, and monotonous, but its remoteness, the echo across the water, the clear light of the moon, lent it a profound charm. I immediately thought of the lady of the lake. I placed my gun beside me and listened. It was a simple and touching melody. It had ceased for some time, but I still strained my ears; I could only catch the soft murmur of the distant weir. Time passed, and yet I still expected something to happen. After a while I heard distinctly the soft splash of oars. I looked everywhere, I could not make out whence it came. Then, suddenly, amid the obscurity of the rushes, the gently floating boat came gliding into the sea of light with the girl reclining in the silvery beams. The lily shone in her dark hair. I cannot tell you what I felt, for the storm of emotion cannot be expressed in words, and besides that, I was young then, and half a century has passed since my youth. I know I stood with wondering eyes and gazed like one possessed: in very truth this was the fairy of the lake! All at once I saw a movement. The boat turned, and the oars struck the water, making great ripples of light. It was directed towards my cave. She came with wild speed, staring, her great eyes like phosphorescent stars. But when she got near, she once more let the boat glide, then turned abruptly, and laughing passed by the cave--a silvery laugh, which I have never forgotten, no, not to this day although it is so long ago. She passed by like a phantom, laughing, and her eyes shining like two stars in the night of those great eyebrows. To the right of me she rose, and threw something towards me; then, sinking down, she again took the oars, struck the water, and shot out into the open lake. She disappeared. One could only hear the soft stroke of the oars; then that, too, ceased, and perfect silence fell upon the silvery lake. By my side I found a bouquet of carnations and sweet basil, the flowers of love. At daybreak the old man came to take me off. When I turned towards the yard I once again bent my head in the direction of the old black building. Eyes watched me through the chink in the mill bridge. That very day I went away. Many a time have I wanted to return to the old Zavu mill, but fate has willed it otherwise. At last, when I could have done so, other loves have held me in other places. Years have passed, but the bunch of dried carnations and basil reminds me of it all. And from time to time, my thoughts wander to the fairy of the lake. THE EASTER TORCH By I. L. CARAGIALE Leiba Zibal, mine host of Podeni, was sitting lost in thought, by a table placed in the shadow in front of the inn; he was awaiting the arrival of the coach which should have come some time ago; it was already an hour behind time. The story of Zibal's life is a long and cheerless one: when he is taken with one of his feverish attacks it is a diversion for him to analyse one by one the most important events in that life. Huckster, seller of hardware, jobber, between whiles even rougher work perhaps, seller of old clothes, then tailor, and boot-black in a dingy alley in Jassy; all this had happened to him since the accident whereby he lost his situation as office boy in a big wine-shop. Two porters were carrying a barrel down to a cellar under the supervision of the lad Zibal. A difference arose between them as to the division of their earnings. One of them seized a piece of wood that lay at hand and struck his comrade on the forehead, who fell to the ground covered in blood. At the sight of the wild deed the boy gave a cry of alarm, but the wretch hurried through the yard, and in passing gave the lad a blow. Zibal fell to the ground fainting with fear. After several months in bed he returned to his master, only to find his place filled up. Then began a hard struggle for existence, which increased in difficulty after his marriage with Sura. Their hard lot was borne with patience. Sura's brother, the inn-keeper of Podeni, died; the inn passed into Zibal's hands, and he carried on the business on his own account. Here he had been for the last five years. He had saved a good bit of money and collected good wine--a commodity that will always be worth good money--Leiba had escaped from poverty, but they were all three sickly, himself, his wife, and his child, all victims of malaria, and men are rough and quarrelsome in Podeni--slanderous, scoffers, revilers, accused of vitriol throwing. And the threats! A threat is very terrible to a character that bends easily beneath every blow. The thought of a threat worked more upon Leiba's nerves than did his attacks of fever. "Oh, wretched Gentile!" he thought, sighing. This "wretched" referred to Gheorghe--wherever he might be!--a man between whom and himself a most unpleasant affair had arisen. Gheorghe came to the inn one autumn morning, tired with his walk; he was just out of hospital--so he said--and was looking for work. The innkeeper took him into his service. But Gheorghe showed himself to be a brutal and a sullen man. He swore continually, and muttered to himself alone in the yard. He was a bad servant, lazy and insolent, and he stole. He threatened his mistress one day when she was pregnant, cursing her, and striking her on the stomach. Another time he set a dog on little Strul. Leiba paid him his wages at once, and dismissed him. But Gheorghe would not go: he asserted with violence that he had been engaged for a year. Then the innkeeper sent to the town hall to get guards to remove him. Gheorghe put his hand swiftly to his breast, crying: "Jew!" and began to rail at his master. Unfortunately, a cart full of customers arrived at that moment. Gheorghe began to grin, saying: "What frightened you, Master Leiba? Look, I am going now." Then bending fiercely over the bar towards Leiba, who drew back as far as possible, he whispered: "Expect me on Easter Eve; we'll crack red eggs together, Jew! You will know then what I have done to you, and I will answer for it." Just then, customers entered the inn. "May we meet in good health at Easter, Master Leiba!" added Gheorghe as he left. Leiba went to the town hall, then to the sub-prefecture to denounce the threatener, begging that he might be watched. The sub-prefect was a lively young man; he first accepted Leiba's humble offering, then he began to laugh at the timid Jew, and make fun of him. Leiba tried hard to make him realize the gravity of the situation, and pointed out how isolated the house stood from the village, and even from the high road. But the sub-prefect, with a more serious air, advised him to be prudent; he must not mention such things, for, truly, it would arouse the desire to do them in a village where men were rough and poor, ready to break the law. A few days later, an official with two riders came to see him about Gheorghe; he was "wanted" for some crime. If only Leiba had been able to put up with him until the arrival of these men! In the meanwhile, no one knew the whereabouts of Gheorghe. Although this had happened some time ago, Gheorghe's appearance, the movement as though he would have drawn something from his breast, and the threatening words had all remained deeply impressed upon the mind of the terror-stricken man. How was it that that memory remained so clear? It was Easter Eve. From the top of the hill, from the village lying among the lakes about two miles away, came the sound of church bells. One hears in a strange way when one is feverish, now so loud, now so far away. The coming night was the night before Easter, the night of the fulfilment of Gheorghe's promise. "But perhaps they have caught him by now!" Moreover, Zibal only means to stay at Podeni till next quarter-day. With his capital he could open a good business in Jassy. In a town, Leiba would regain his health, he would go near the police station--he could treat the police, the commissionaires, the sergeants. Who pays well gets well guarded. In a large village, the night brings noise and light, not darkness and silence as in the isolated valley of Podeni. There is an inn in Jassy--there in the corner, just the place for a shop! An inn where girls sing all night long, a Café Chantant. What a gay and rousing life! There, at all hours of the day and night, officials and their girls, and other dirty Christians will need entertainment. What is the use of bothering oneself here where business keeps falling off, especially since the coming of the railway which only skirts the marshes at some distance? "Leiba," calls Sura from within, "the coach is coming, one can hear the bells." The Podeni valley is a ravine enclosed on all sides by wooded hills. In a hollow towards the south lie several deep pools caused by the springs which rise in the hills; above them lie some stretches of ground covered with bushes and rushes. Leiba's hotel stands in the centre of the valley, between the pools and the more elevated ground to the north; it is an old stone building, strong as a small fortress: although the ground is marshy, the walls and cellars are very dry. At Sura's voice Leiba raises himself painfully from his chair, stretching his tired limbs; he takes a long look towards the east, not a sign of the diligence. "It is not coming; you imagined it," he replied to his wife, and sat down again. Very tired the man crossed his arms on the table, and laid his head upon them, for it was burning. The warmth of the spring sun began to strike the surface of the marshes and a pleasant lassitude enveloped his nerves, and his thoughts began to run riot as a sick man's will, gradually taking on strange forms and colours. Gheorghe--Easter Eve--burglars--Jassy--the inn in the centre of the town--a gay restaurant doing well--restored health. And he dozed. Sura and the child went without a great deal up here. Leiba went to the door of the inn and looked out on to the road. On the main road there was a good deal of traffic, an unceasing noise of wheels accompanied by the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves trotting upon the smooth asphalt. But suddenly the traffic stopped, and from Copou a group of people could be seen approaching, gesticulating and shouting excitedly. The crowd appeared to be escorting somebody: soldiers, a guard and various members of the public. Curious onlookers appeared at every door of the inn. "Ah," thought Leiba, "they have laid hands on a thief." The procession drew nearer. Sura detached herself from the others, and joined Leiba on the steps of the inn. "What is it, Sura?" he asked. "A madman escaped from Golia." "Let us close the inn so that he cannot get at us." "He is bound now, but just now he escaped. He fought with all the soldiers. A rough Gentile in the crowd pushed a Jew against the madman and he bit him on the cheek." Leiba could see well from the steps; from the stair below Sura watched with the child in her arms. It was, in fact, a violent lunatic held on either side by two men: his wrists were tightly bound over each other by a thick cord. He was a man of gigantic stature with a head like a bull, thick black hair, and hard, grizzled beard and whiskers. Through his shirt, which had been torn in the struggle, his broad chest was visible, covered like his head, with a mass of hair. His feet were bare; his mouth was full of blood, and he continually spat out hair which he had bitten from the Jew's beard. Every one stood still. Why? The guards unbound the lunatic's hands. The crowd drew to one side, leaving a large space around him. The madman looked about him, and his fierce glance rested upon Zibal's doorway; he gnashed his teeth, made a dash for the three steps, and in a flash, seizing the child's head in his right hand and Sura's in his left, he knocked them together with such force that they cracked like so many fresh eggs. A sound was heard, a scrunching impossible to describe, as the two skulls cracked together. Leiba, with bursting heart, like a man who falls from an immense height, tried to cry out: "The whole world abandons me to the tender mercies of a madman!" But his voice refused to obey him. "Get up, Jew!" cried some one, beating loudly upon the table with a stick. "It's a bad joke," said Sura from the doorway of the inn, "thus to frighten the man out of his sleep, you stupid peasant!" "What has scared you, Jew?" asked the wag, laughing. "You sleep in the afternoon, eh? Get up, customers are coming, the mail coach is arriving." And, according to his silly habit which greatly irritated the Jew, he tried to take his arm and tickle him. "Let me alone!" cried the innkeeper, drawing back and pushing him away with all his might. "Can you not see that I am ill? Leave me in peace." The coach arrived at last, nearly three hours late. There were two passengers who seated themselves together with the driver, whom they had invited to share their table. The conversation of the travellers threw a light upon recent events. At the highest posting station, a robbery with murder had been committed during the night in the inn of a Jew. The murdered innkeeper should have provided change of horses. The thieves had taken them, and while other horses were being found in the village the curious travellers could examine the scene of the crime at their leisure. Five victims! But the details! From just seeing the ruined house one could believe it to have been some cruel vendetta or the work of some religious fanatic. In stories of sectarian fanaticism one heard occasionally of such extravagant crimes. Leiba shook with a violent access of fever and listened aghast. What followed must have undoubtedly filled the driver with respect. The young passengers were two students, one of philosophy, the other of medicine; they were returning to amuse themselves in their native town. They embarked upon a violent academic discussion upon crime and its causes, and, to give him his due, the medical student was better informed than the philosopher. Atavism; alcoholism and its pathological consequences; defective birth; deformity; Paludism; then nervous disorders! Such and such conquest of modern science--but the case of reversion to type! Darwin, Häckel, Lombroso. At the case of reversion to type, the driver opened wide his eyes in which shone a profound admiration for the conquests of modern science. "It is obvious," added the medical student. "The so-called criminal proper, taken as a type, has unusually long arms, and very short feet, a flat and narrow forehead, and a much developed occiput. To the experienced eye his face is characteristically coarse and bestial; he is rudimentary man: he is, as I say, a beast which has but lately got used to standing on its hind legs only, and to raising its head towards the sky, towards the light." At the age of twenty, after so much excitement, and after a good repast with wine so well vinted, and so well matured as Leiba's, a phrase with a lyrical touch came well even from a medical student. Between his studies of Darwin and Lombroso, the enthusiastic youth had found time to imbibe a little Schopenhauer--"towards the sky, towards the light!" Leiba was far from understanding these "illuminating" ideas. Perhaps for the first time did such grand words and fine subtleties of thought find expression in the damp atmosphere of Podeni. But that which he understood better than anything, much better even than the speaker, was the striking illustration of the theory: the case of reversion to type he knew in flesh and blood, it was the portrait of Gheorghe. This portrait, which had just been drawn in broad outline only, he could fill in perfectly in his own mind, down to the most minute details. The coach had gone. Leiba followed it with his eyes until, turning to the left, it was lost to sight round the hill. The sun was setting behind the ridge to the west, and the twilight began to weave soft shapes in the Podeni valley. The gloomy innkeeper began to turn over in his mind all that he had heard. In the dead of night, lost in the darkness, a man, two women and two young children, torn without warning from the gentle arms of sleep by the hands of beasts with human faces, and sacrificed one after the other, the agonized cries of the children cut short by the dagger ripping open their bodies, the neck slashed with a hatchet, the dull rattle in the throat with each gush of blood through the wound; and the last victim, half-distraught, in a corner, witness of the scene, and awaiting his turn. A condition far worse than execution was that of the Jew without protection in the hands of the Gentile--skulls too fragile for such fierce hands as those of the madman just now. Leiba's lips, parched with fever, trembled as they mechanically followed his thoughts. A violent shivering fit seized him; he entered the porch of the inn with tottering steps. "There is no doubt," thought Sura, "Leiba is not at all well, he is really ill; Leiba has got 'ideas' into his head. Is not that easy to understand after all he has been doing these last days, and especially after what he has done to-day?" He had had the inn closed before the lights were lit, to remain so until the Sabbath was ended. Three times had some customers knocked at the door, calling to him, in familiar voices, to undo it. He had trembled at each knock and had stood still, whispering softly and with terrified eyes: "Do not move--I want no Gentiles here." Then he had passed under the portico, and had listened at the top of the stone steps by the door which was secured with a bar of wood. He shook so that he could scarcely stand, but he would not rest. The most distressing thing of all was that, he had answered Sura's persistent questions sharply, and had sent her to bed, ordering her to put out the light at once. She had protested meanwhile, but the man had repeated the order curtly enough, and she had had unwillingly to submit, resigning herself to postponing to a later date any explanation of his conduct. Sura had put out the lamp, had gone to bed, and now slept by the side of Strul. The woman was right. Leiba was really ill. Night had fallen. For a long time Leiba had been sitting, listening by the doorway which gave on to the passage. What is that? Indistinct sounds came from the distance--horses trotting, the noise of heavy blows, mysterious and agitated conversations. The effort of listening intently in the solitude of the night sharpens the sense of hearing: when the eye is disarmed and powerless, the ear seems to struggle to assert its power. But it was not imagination. From the road leading hither from the main road came the sound of approaching horses. Leiba rose, and tried to get nearer to the big door in the passage. The door was firmly shut by a heavy bar of wood across it, the ends of which ran into holes in the wall. At his first step the sand scrunching under his slippers made an indiscreet noise. He drew his feet from his slippers, and waited in the corner. Then, without a sound that could be heard by an unexpectant ear, he went to the door in the corridor, just as the riders passed in front of it at walking pace. They were speaking very low to each other, but not so low but that Leiba could quite well catch these words: "He has gone to bed early." "Supposing he has gone away?" "His turn will come; but I should have liked----" No more was intelligible; the men were already some way away. To whom did these words refer? Who had gone to bed or gone away? Whose turn would come another time? Who would have liked something? And what was it he wanted? What did they want on that by-road--a road only used by anyone wishing to find the inn? An overwhelming sense of fatigue seemed to overcome Leiba. "Could it be Gheorghe?" Leiba felt as if his strength was giving way, and he sat down by the door. Eager thoughts chased each other through his head, he could not think clearly or come to any decision. Terrified, he re-entered the inn, struck a match, and lighted a small petroleum lamp. It was an apology for a light; the wick was turned so low as to conceal the flame in the brass receiver; only by means of the opening round the receiver could some of the vertical shafts of light penetrate into a gloom that was like the darkness of death--all the same it was sufficient to enable him to see well into the familiar corners of the inn. Ah! How much less is the difference between the sun and the tiniest spark of light than between the latter and the gloom of blindness. The clock on the wall ticked audibly. The monotonous sound irritated Leiba. He put his hand over the swinging pendulum, and stayed its movement. His throat was parched. He was thirsty. He washed a small glass in a three-legged tub by the side of the bar and tried to pour some good brandy out of a decanter; but the mouth of the decanter began to clink loudly on the edge of the glass. This noise was still more irritating. A second attempt, in spite of his effort to conquer his weakness, met with no greater success. Then, giving up the idea of the glass, he let it fall gently into the water, and drank several times out of the decanter. After that he pushed the decanter back into its place; as it touched the shelf it made an alarming clatter. For a moment he waited, appalled by such a catastrophe. Then he took the lamp, and placed it in the niche of the window which lighted the passage: the door, the pavement, and the wall which ran at right angles to the passage, were illuminated by almost imperceptible streaks of light. He seated himself near the doorway and listened intently. From the hill came the sound of bells ringing in the Resurrection morning. It meant that midnight was past, day was approaching. Ah! If only the rest of this long night might pass as had the first half! The sound of sand trodden underfoot! But he was sitting in the corner, and had not stirred; a second noise, followed by many such. There could be no doubt some one was outside, here, quite near. Leiba rose, pressing his hand to his heart, and trying to swallow a suspicious lump in his throat. There were several people outside--and Gheorghe! Yes, he was there; yes, the bells on the hill had rung the Resurrection. They spoke softly: "I tell you he is asleep. I saw when the lights went out." "Good, we will take the whole nest." "I will undo the door, I understand how it works. We must cut an opening--the beam runs along here." He seemed to feel the touch of the men outside as they measured the distance on the wood. A big gimlet could be heard boring its way through the dry bark of the old oak. Leiba felt the need of support; he steadied himself against the door with his left hand while he covered his eyes with the right. Then, through some inexplicable play of the senses, he heard, from within, quite loud and clear: "Leiba! Here comes the coach." It was surely Sura's voice. A warm ray of hope! A moment of joy! It was just another dream! But Leiba drew his left hand quickly back; the point of the tool, piercing the wood at that spot, had pricked the palm of his hand. Was there any chance of escape? Absurd! In his burning brain the image of the gimlet took inconceivable dimensions. The instrument, turning continually, grew indefinitely, and the opening became larger and larger, large enough at last to enable the monster to step through the round aperture without having to bend. All that surged through such a brain transcends the thoughts of man; life rose to such a pitch of exaltation that everything seen, heard, felt, appeared to be enormous, the sense of proportion became chaotic. The work outside was continued with method and perseverance. Four times in succession Leiba had seen the sharp steel tooth pierce through to his side and draw back again. "Now, give me the saw," said Gheorghe. The narrow end of a saw appeared through the first hole, and started to work with quick, regular movements. The plan was easy to understand; four holes in four corners of one panel; the saw made cuts between them; the gimlet was driven well home in the centre of the panel; when the piece became totally separated from the main body of the wood it was pulled out; through the opening thus made a strong hand inserted itself, seized the bar, pushed it to one side and--Gentiles are in Leiba's house. In a few moments, this same gimlet would cause the destruction of Leiba and his domestic hearth. The two executioners would hold the victim prostrate on the ground, and Gheorghe, with heel upon his body, would slowly bore the gimlet into the bone of the living breast as he had done into the dead wood, deeper and deeper, till it reached the heart, silencing its wild beatings and pinning it to the spot. Leiba broke into a cold sweat; the man was overcome by his own imagination, and sank softly to his knees as though life were ebbing from him under the weight of this last horror, overwhelmed by the thought that he must abandon now all hope of saving himself. "Yes! Pinned to the spot," he said, despairingly. "Yes! Pinned to the spot." He stayed a moment, staring at the light by the window. For some moments he stood aghast, as though in some other world, then he repeated with quivering eyelids: "Yes! Pinned to the spot." Suddenly a strange change took place in him, a complete revulsion of feeling; he ceased to tremble, his despair disappeared, and his face, so discomposed by the prolonged crisis, assumed an air of strange serenity. He straightened himself with the decision of a strong and healthy man who makes for an easy goal. The line between the two upper punctures of the panel was finished. Leiba went up, curious to see the working of the tool. His confidence became more pronounced. He nodded his head as though to say: "I still have time." The saw cut the last fibre near the hole towards which it was working, and began to saw between the lower holes. "There are still three," thought Leiba, and with the caution of the most experienced burglar he softly entered the inn. He searched under the bar, picked up something, and went out again as he entered, hiding the object he had in his hand as though he feared somehow the walls might betray him, and went back on tiptoe to the door. Something terrible had happened; the work outside had ceased--there was nothing to be heard. "What is the matter? Has he gone? What has happened?" flashed through the mind of the man inside. He bit his lower lip at such a thought, full of bitter disappointment. "Ha, ha!" It was an imaginary deception; the work began again, and he followed it with the keenest interest, his heart beating fast. His decision was taken, he was tormented by an incredible desire to see the thing finished. "Quicker!" he thought, with impatience. "Quicker!" Again the sound of bells ringing on the hill. "Hurry up, old fellow, the daylight will catch us!" said a voice outside, as though impelled by the will of the man within. The work was pushed on rapidly. Only a few more movements and all the punctures in the panel would be united. At last! Gently the drill carried out the four-sided piece of wood. A large and supple hand was thrust in; but before it reached the bars it sought two screams were heard, while, with great force, Leiba enclosed it with the free end of the noose, which was round a block fixed to the cellar door. The trap was ingeniously contrived: a long rope fastened round a block of wood; lengthwise, at the place where the sawn panel had disappeared, was a spring-ring which Leiba held open with his left hand, while at the same time his right hand held the other end taut. At the psychological moment he sprang the ring, and rapidly seizing the free end of the rope with both hands he pulled the whole arm inside by a supreme effort. In a second the operation was complete. It was accompanied by two cries, one of despair, the other of triumph: the hand is "pinned to the spot." Footsteps were heard retreating rapidly: Gheorghe's companions were abandoning to Leiba the prey so cleverly caught. The Jew hurried into the inn, took the lamp and with a decided movement turned up the wick as high as it would go: the light concealed by the metal receiver rose gay and victorious, restoring definite outlines to the nebulous forms around. Zibal went into the passage with the lamp. The burglar groaned terribly; it was obvious from the stiffening of his arm that he had given up the useless struggle. The hand was swollen, the fingers were curved as though they would seize something. The Jew placed the lamp near it--a shudder, the fever is returning. He moved the light quite close, until, trembling, he touched the burglar's hand with the burning chimney; a violent convulsion of the finger was followed by a dull groan. Leiba was startled at the sight of this phenomenon. Leiba trembled--his eyes betrayed a strange exaltation. He burst into a shout of laughter which shook the empty corridor and resounded in the inn. Day was breaking. Sura woke up suddenly--in her sleep she seemed to hear a terrible moaning. Leiba was not in the room. All that had happened previously returned to her mind. Something terrible had taken place. She jumped out of bed and lighted the candle. Leiba's bed had not been disturbed. He had not been to bed at all. Where was he? The woman glanced out of the window; on the hill in front shone a little group of small bright lights, they flared and jumped, now they died away, now, once more, soared upwards. They told of the Resurrection. Sura undid the window; then she could hear groans from down by the door. Terrified, she hurried down the stairs. The corridor was lighted up. As she emerged through the doorway, the woman was astonished by a horrible sight. Upon a wooden chair, his elbows on his knees, his beard in his hand, sat Leiba. Like a scientist, who, by mixing various elements, hopes to surprise one of nature's subtle secrets which has long escaped and worried him, Leiba kept his eyes fixed upon some hanging object, black and shapeless, under which, upon another chair of convenient height, there burnt a big torch. He watched, without turning a hair, the process of decomposition of the hand which most certainly would not have spared him. He did not hear the groans of the unhappy being outside: he was more interested, at present, in watching than in listening. He followed with eagerness each contortion, every strange convulsion of the fingers till one by one they became powerless. They were like the legs of a beetle which contract and stretch, waving in agitated movement, vigorously, then slower and slower until they lie paralysed by the play of some cruel child. It was over. The roasted hand swelled slowly and remained motionless. Sura gave a cry. "Leiba!" He made a sign to her not to disturb him. A greasy smell of burnt flesh pervaded the passage: a crackling and small explosions were heard. "Leiba! What is it?" repeated the woman. It was broad day. Sura stretched forward and withdrew the bar. The door opened outwards, dragging with it Gheorghe's body, suspended by the right arm. A crowd of villagers, all carrying lighted torches, invaded the premises. "What is it? What is it?" They soon understood what had happened. Leiba, who up to now had remained motionless, rose gravely to his feet. He made room for himself to pass, quietly pushing the crowd to one side. "How did it happen, Jew?" asked some one. "Leiba Zibal," said the innkeeper in a loud voice, and with a lofty gesture, "goes to Jassy to tell the Rabbi that Leiba Zibal is a Jew no longer. Leiba Zibal is a Christian--for Leiba Zibal has lighted a torch for Christ." And the man moved slowly up the hill, towards the sunrise, like the prudent traveller who knows that the long journey is not achieved with hasty steps. AT MANJOALA'S INN By I. L. CARAGIALE It took a quarter of an hour to reach Manjoala's Inn. From there to Upper Popeshti was about nine miles; at an easy pace, that meant one hour and a half. A good hack--if they gave it oats at the inn, and three-quarters' of an hour rest--could do it comfortably. That is to say, one quarter of an hour and three-quarters of an hour made one hour, on to Popeshti was one hour and a half, that made two and a half. It was past seven already; at ten o'clock at latest, I should be with Pocovnicu Iordache. I was rather late--I ought to have started earlier--but, after all, he expected me. I was turning this over in my mind when I saw in the distance, a good gun-shot length away, a great deal of light coming from Manjoala's Inn, for it still retained that name. It was now really Madame Manjoala's inn--the husband died some five years ago. What a capable woman! How she had worked, how she had improved the place! They were on the point of selling the inn while her husband was alive. Since then she had paid off the debts, and had repaired the house; moreover, she had built a flight of stone steps, and every one said she had a good sum of money too. Some surmised that she had found a hidden treasure, others that she had dealings with the supernatural. Once some robbers attempted an attack upon her. They tried to force the door. One of them, the strongest, a man like a bull, wielded the axe, but when he tried to strike he fell to the ground. They quickly raised him up--he was dead. His brother tried to speak, but could not--he was dumb. There were four of them. They hoisted the dead man on to his brother's back, the other two took his feet that they might carry him off to bury him somewhere away. As they left the courtyard of the inn, Madame Manjoala began to scream from the window, "Thieves!" and in front of her there suddenly appeared the sub-prefect with numerous men and four mounted soldiers. The official shouted: "Who is there?" Two of the robbers escaped. The dumb man remained behind with his dead brother on his back. Now what happened at the trial? Every one knew the mute had been able to speak. How could anyone doubt but that the dumb man was shamming? They beat him till he was crazy to try and make his speech come back, but in vain. Since then the lads had lost all desire to attack the place. While all this was passing through my mind I arrived at the inn. A number of carts were waiting in the yard of the inn. Some were carrying timber down the valley; others, maize up the hill. It was a raw autumn evening. The drivers were warming themselves round the fire. It was the light from the latter that had been visible so far away. An ostler took my horse in charge to give him some oats in the stable. I entered the tap-room where a good many men were drinking, while two sleepy gipsies, one with a lute and one with a zither, were playing monotonously in a corner. I was hungry and cold. The damp had pierced through me. "Where's your mistress?" I asked the boy behind the bar. "By the kitchen fire." "It ought to be warmer there," I said, and passed through the vestibule, out of the tap-room into the kitchen. It was very clean in the kitchen, and the smell was not like that in the tap-room, of fur and boots and damp shoes; there was a smell of new-made bread. Madame Manjoala was looking after the oven. "Well met, Mistress Marghioala." "Welcome, Mr. Fanica." "Is there a chance of getting anything to eat?" "Up to midnight even, for respectable people like yourself." Mistress Marghioala quickly gave orders to one of the servants to lay a table in the next room, and then, going up to the hearth, said: "Look, choose for yourself." Mistress Marghioala was beautiful, well-built and fascinating, that I knew; but never since I had known her--and I had known her for a long time, for I had passed Manjoala's Inn many a time when my dead father was alive, as the road to the town led by it--had she appeared to me more attractive. I was young, smart and daring, much more daring than smart. I came up on her left side as she was bending over the hearth, and took her by the waist! with my hand I took hold of her right arm, which was as hard as iron, and the devil tempted me to give it a pinch. "Have you got nothing to do?" said the woman, looking at me askance. But I, to cover my blunder, said: "What marvellous eyes you have, Mistress Marghioala!" "Don't try and flatter me; you had better tell me what to give you." "Give me--give me--give me yourself." "Really----" "Indeed, you have marvellous eyes, Mistress Marghioala!" sighing. "Supposing your father-in-law heard you?" "What father-in-law? What do you mean by that?" "You think because you hide yourself under your cap that nobody sees what you do. Aren't you going to Pocovnicu Iordache to engage yourself to his eldest daughter? Come, don't look at me like that, go into the next room to dinner." I had seen many clean and quiet rooms in the course of my life, but a room like that one! What a bed! What curtains! What walls! What a ceiling! All white as milk. And the lamp-shade, and all those crochet things of every kind and shape! And the warmth, like being under a hen's wing, and a smell of apples and quinces! I was about to seat myself at the table, when, according to a habit I had acquired in my childhood, I turned to bow towards the east. I looked carefully round all along the walls--not an Icon to be seen. "What are you looking for?" said Mistress Marghioala. "Your Icons. Where do you keep them?" "Dash the Icons! They only breed worms and wood-lice." What a cleanly woman! I seated myself at the table, and crossed myself as was my custom, when suddenly there was a yell. It appeared that with the heel of my boot I had trodden upon an old Tom cat which was under the table. Mistress Marghioala jumped up quickly and undid the outside door. The injured cat made a bound outside while the cold air rushed in and extinguished the lamp. She groped about for the matches. I searched here, she searched there. We met face to face in the dark. I, very bold, took her in my arms and began to kiss her. The lady now resisted, now yielded; her cheeks were burning, her mouth was cold, soft down fluttered about her ears. At last the servant arrived with a tray with viands on it, and a light. We must have hunted some time for the matches, for the chimney of the lamp was quite cold. I lit it again. What excellent food! Hot bread, roast duck with cabbage, boiled veal sausages, and wine! And Turkish coffee! And laughter and conversation! Good luck to Mistress Marghioala! After coffee she said to the old maidservant: "Tell them to bring out a half-bottle of muscadine." That wonderful old wine! A sort of languor seized my every limb. I sat on one side of the bed, draining the last amber drops from my glass, and smoking a cigarette, while through the cloud of tobacco smoke I watched Mistress Marghioala who sat on a chair opposite rolling cigarettes for me. I said: "Indeed, Mistress Marghioala, you have marvellous eyes! Do you know what?" "What?" "Would it trouble you to make me another cup of coffee, not quite so sweet as this?" How she laughed! When the maid brought the coffee-pot, she said: "Madam, you sit talking here--you don't know what it is like outside." "What is it?" "A high wind has got up, and there is a storm coming." I jumped to my feet and looked at the time; it was nearly a quarter to eleven. Instead of half an hour, I had been at the inn for two hours and a half! That's what comes when one begins to talk. "Let some one get my horse!" "Who? The ostlers have gone to bed." "I will go to the stables myself." "They have bewitched you at Pocovnicu!" said the lady with a ripple of laughter, as she barred my passage through the door. I put her gently on one side and went out on to the veranda. It was indeed a dreadful night. The drivers' fires had died down, men and animals were sleeping on the straw, lying one against the other on the ground, while above them the wind howled wildly. "There is a great storm," said Mistress Marghioala, shuddering as she seized me firmly by the hand. "You are mad to start in such weather. Stay the night here: start at daybreak to-morrow." "That's impossible." I forcibly withdrew my hand. I proceeded to the stables. With great difficulty I roused an ostler and found my horse. I tightened the girths, fastened the horse to the steps, and then went to the room to bid my hostess good night. The woman, immersed in thought, was sitting on the bed with my cap in her hand. She was turning and twisting it about. "How much have I to pay?" I asked. "You can pay me when you come back," replied my hostess, looking intently into the lining of my cap. And then she rose to her feet and held it out to me. I took the cap, and put it on my head, rather on one side. I said, looking straight into the woman's eyes, which seemed to shine most strangely: "I kiss your eyes, Mistress Marghioala!" "A safe journey to you." I threw myself into the saddle, the old servant opened the gate for me, and out I rode. Resting my left hand on my horse's flank, I turned my head round. Over the top of the fence could be seen the open door of the room, and in the opening was outlined the white figure of the woman with her hand above her arched eyebrows. I rode at a slow pace whistling a gay song to myself until I turned the corner of the fence to get to the road, when the picture was hidden from my sight. I said to myself, "Here we go!" and crossed myself. At that moment I plainly heard the banging of a door and the mew of a cat. My hostess, unable to see me any longer, went hastily back into the warmth and doubtless caught the cat in the door. That damned cat! It was always getting under people's feet. I had gone a good part of the way. The storm increased and shook me in the saddle. Overhead, cloud after cloud hurried across the valley and above the hill, as though in fear of chastisement from on high; now massed together, now dispersed, they revealed at long intervals the pale light of the waning moon. The damp cold pierced through me. I felt it paralysing legs and arms. As I rode with head bent to avoid the buffeting of the wind, I began to feel pains in my neck; my forehead and temples were burning, and there was a drumming in my ears. "I have drunk too much," I thought to myself, as I pushed my cap on to the nape of my neck, and raised my forehead towards the sky. But the whirling clouds made me dizzy. I felt a burning sensation below my left rib. I drew in a deep breath of cold air, and a knife seemed to drive right through my chest. I tucked my chin down again. My cap seemed to squeeze my head like a vice. I took it off and placed it on the point of my saddle. I felt ill. It was foolish of me to have started. Everybody would be asleep at Pocovnicu Iordache. They would not have expected me. They would not have imagined that I should be silly enough to start in such weather. I urged on my horse which staggered as though it, too, had been drinking. The wind had sunk, the rain had ceased. It was misty; it began to grow dark and to drizzle. I put my cap on again. Suddenly the blood began to beat against my temples. The horse was quite done, exhausted by the violence of the wind. I dug my heels into him, I gave him a cut with my whip; the animal took a few hasty paces, then snorted, and stood still on the spot as though he had seen some unexpected obstacle in front of him. I looked. I really saw, a few paces in front of the horse, a tiny creature jumping and skipping. An animal! What could it be? A wild beast? It was a very small one. I put my hand to my revolver; then I clearly heard the bleat of a kid. I urged on the horse as much as I could. It turned straight round and started to go back. A few paces forward, and again it stood snorting. The kid again! The horse stopped; it turned round. I gave it some cuts with the whip and tightened the curb. It moved forward--a few paces--the kid again! The clouds had dispersed. One could see now as clearly as possible. It was a little black kid. Now it trotted forward, now it turned back, it flung out its hooves, and finally reared itself on to its hind legs and ran about with its little beard in front, and its head ready to butt, making wonderful bounds and playing every kind of wild antic. I got off my horse, which would not advance for the world, and took the reins up short. I bent down to the ground. "Come, come!" I called the kid, with my hand as though I wanted to give it some bran. The kid approached, jumping continually. The horse snorted madly, it tried to break away. I went down on my knees, but I held the horse firmly. The kid came close up to my hand. It was a dear little black buck which allowed itself to be petted and lifted up. I put it in the bag on the right side among some clothes. At that moment the horse was convulsed and shook in every limb as though in its death throes. I remounted. The horse started off like a mad thing. For some time it went like the wind over ditches, over mole-hills, over bushes, without my being able to stop it, without my knowing where I was, or being able to guess where it was taking me. During this wild chase, when at any moment I might have broken my neck, with body frozen and head on fire, I thought of the comfortable haven I had so stupidly left. Why? Mistress Marghioala would have given me her room, otherwise she would not have invited me. The kid was moving in the bag, trying to make itself more comfortable. I looked towards it; with its intelligent little head stuck out of the bag it was peering wisely at me. The thought of another pair of eyes flashed through my mind. What a fool I'd been. The horse stumbled; I stopped him forcibly; he tried to move on again, but sank to his knees. Suddenly, through an opening in the clouds, appeared the waning moon, shining on the side of a slope. The sight of it struck me all of a heap. It was in front of me! There were then two moons in the sky! I was going uphill; the moon ought to be behind me! I turned my head quickly to see the real moon. I had missed my way--I was going downhill! Where was I? I looked ahead--a maize-field with uncut stalks; behind me lay open field. I crossed myself, and pressing my horse with my weary legs, I tried to help him rise. Just then I felt a violent blow on my right foot. A cry! I had kicked the kid! I put my hand quickly into the bag; the bag was empty. I had lost the kid on the road! The horse rose shaking its head as though it were giddy. It reared on to its hind legs, hurled itself on one side, and threw me to the other; finally he tore away like a thing possessed and disappeared into the darkness. By the time I got up, much shaken, I could hear a rustle among the maize, and close by came the sound of a man's voice saying clearly: "Hi! Hi! May Heaven remove you!" "Who is there?" I called. "An honest man." "Who?" "Gheorghe." "Which Gheorghe?" "Natrut--Gheorghe Natrut, who watches the maize-fields." "Aren't you coming this way?" "Yes, here I come." And the figure of a man became visible among the maize. "May I ask, brother Gheorghe, where we are at this moment? I have missed my way in the storm." "Where do you want to go to?" "To Upper Popeshti." "Eh! To Pocovnicu Iordache." "That's it." "In that case you have not missed your road. You'll have some trouble to get to Popeshti--you are only at Haculeshti here." "At Haculeshti?" I said joyfully. "Then I am close to Manjoala's Inn." "Look there; we are at the back of the stables." "Come and show me the way so that I don't just go and break my neck." I had been wandering about for four hours. A few steps brought us to the inn. Mistress Marghioala's room was lit up and shadows moved across the curtain. Who knew what other, wiser traveller had enjoyed that bed! I should have to rest content with some bench by the kitchen fire. But what luck! As I knocked some one heard me. The old maidservant hurried to open to me. As I entered I stumbled over something soft on the threshold. The kid! Did you ever! It was my hostess' kid! It, too, entered the room and went and lay down comfortably under the bed. What was I to say? Did the woman know I had returned, or had she got up very early? The bed was made. "Mistress Marghioala!" So much I was able to say. Wishing to thank God that I had escaped with my life, I started to raise my right hand to my head. The lady quickly seized my hand and pulling it down, drew me with all her strength into her arms. I can still see that room. What a bed! What curtains! What walls! What a ceiling! All white as milk. And the lamp-shade, and all those crochet things of every kind and shape! And the warmth, like being under a hen's wing, and a smell of apples and quinces! I should have stayed a long time at Manjoala's Inn if my father-in-law, Pocovnicu Iordache, God forgive him, had not fetched me away by force. Three times I fled from him before the marriage, and returned to the inn, until the old man, who at all cost wanted me for a son-in-law, set men to catch me and take me gagged to a little monastery in the mountains. Forty days of fasting, genuflexions and prayers. I left it quite repentant. I got engaged and I married. Only lately, one clear winter's night, while my father-in-law and I were sitting talking together, as is the custom of the country, in front of a flagon of wine, we heard from a prefect, who arrived from the town where he had been making some purchases, that during the day there had been a big fire at Haculeshti. Manjoala's Inn had been burnt to the ground, burying poor Mistress Marghioala, who thus met her end under a gigantic funeral pyre. "And so at the last the sorceress was thrown on the bonfire!" said my father-in-law, laughing. And I began to tell the above story for at least the hundredth time. Pocovnicu maintained, among other things, that the lady put a charm into the lining of my cap, and that the kid and the cat were one and the same. "May be," I said. "She was the devil, listen to me." "She may have been," I replied, "but if that is so, then the devil, it seems, leads to the good." "At first it seems to be good, to catch one, but later one sees where it leads one." "How do you know all this?" "That's not your business," replied the old man, "that's another story!" ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 1564-1569 By C. NEGRUZZI Jacob Eraclid, surnamed the "Despot," perished by the hand of Shtefan Tomsha, who then proceeded to govern the land, but Alexandru Lapushneanu, after two successive defeats at the hands of the tyrant's forces, fled to Constantinople, succeeded in securing aid from the Turkish army, and returned to drive out the rapacious Tomsha, and seize for himself the throne which he never would have lost had the boyars not betrayed him. He entered Moldavia accompanied by seven thousand spahees and three thousand mixed troops. He also brought with him imperial orders for Han Tatar Nogai to collect some troops with which to come to his aid. Lapushneanu rode with Vornic Bogdan by his side, both were mounted upon Turkish stallions, and were armed from head to foot. "What think you, Bogdan," he said after a short pause, "shall we succeed?" "How can your Highness doubt it," replied the courtier, "the country groans under the harshness of Tomsha. The whole army will surrender when you promise them higher pay. Those boyars who are still left alive are only held back by fear of death, but when they see that your Highness comes with force they will at once flock to you, and desert the other." "Please God we shall not be obliged to do what Voda Mircea did in Muntenia; but as I have told you, I know our boyars, for I have lived among them." "This matter must be left to your Highness's sagacity." Thus speaking they drew near to Tecuci where they halted by a wood. "Sire," said a messenger approaching, "some boyars have arrived, and crave an audience of your Highness." "Let them come," replied Alexandru. Four boyars soon entered the tent, where he was sitting surrounded by his boyars and officers; two of them were elderly men but the other two were young. They were Vornic Motzoc, Postelnic Veveritza, Spancioc, the noble, and Stroici. They approached Voda Alexandru, and bowed to the ground, but without kissing the hem of his garment as was the custom. "Welcome, boyars!" said Alexandru, forcing himself to smile. "Good health to your Highness," replied the boyars. "I have heard," pursued Alexandru, "of the affliction of the land, and I have come to deliver it; I know the country awaits me with joy." "Do not imagine that it is so, your Highness," said Motzoc. "The country is quiet; it may be your Highness has heard things that are not really facts, it being the habit of our people to make stallions out of mosquitoes. For this reason the community has sent us to tell you that the people do not want you, no one loves you, and your Highness has only to turn back----" "You may not want me, I want you," replied Lapushneanu, and his eyes flashed like lightning. "You may not love me, I will love you, and will come among you with your consent or without it. I turn back? Sooner may the Danube change its course! Ah! The country does not want me? Do I understand that you do not want me?" "One dare not behead ambassadors," said Spancioc. "We are bound to tell you the truth. The boyars have decided to take their way to Hungary, to Poland, and to Muntenia, where they all have relations and friends. They will come with foreign armies, and woe betide the poor country when we have war between us, and maybe your Highness will not do well because Shtefan Tomsha----" "Tomsha! Has he taught you to speak with such temerity? I know not what prevents me from smashing the teeth in your jaw with this club," he said, seizing the weapon from Bogdan's hand. "Has that wretched Tomsha taught you?" "He who is worthy to be named the Anointed of God cannot be wretched," said Veveritza. "Am not I, too, the Anointed of God? Did you not swear fealty to me when I was only Petre Stolnic? Did you not choose me? What was my reign like! What blood have I shed? Whom have I turned from my door without due reward and help? And yet you do not want me, do not love me? Ha, ha, ha!" He laughed; a laugh that distorted the muscles of his face, and his eyes blinked incessantly. "With your Highness's permission," said Stroici, "we see that our country will once more be under the heel of the heretics. When these hordes of Turks have robbed and devastated the land, over whom will your Highness reign?" "And with what will you satisfy the greed of these heretics, whom your Highness has brought with you?" added Spancioc. "With your possessions, not with the money of the peasants whom you fleece. You milk the country dry, but now the time has come when I will milk you dry. Enough, boyars! Return and tell him who sent you to be on his guard lest I catch him, if he would not have me make flutes out of his bones, and cases for my drums out of his skin." The boyars retired sadly; Motzoc remained. "Why do you stay?" asked Lapushneanu. "Sire! Sire!" said Motzoc, falling on his knees. "Reward us not after our iniquities! Remember this is your native land, remember the scriptural admonition to forgive your enemies! Have pity on the poor land. Sire! dismiss these pagan armies; come with only a few Moldavians with you, and we will guarantee that not a hair of your Highness's head shall be touched; and if you need armies we will arm our women and our children, we will raise the country, we will call up our retainers and our neighbours. Trust yourself to us!" "Trust myself to you?" said Lapushneanu, comprehending his plan. "Perchance you think I do not know the Moldavian proverb: 'The wolf may change his skin, but never his habits'? Perchance I do not know you, you especially? Do I not know that when my army was outnumbered, when you saw that I was defeated, you abandoned me? Veveritza is an old enemy of mine, but he has never concealed the fact; Spancioc is still young, his heart is full of love for his country; it pleases me to see his pride which he does not attempt to conceal. Stroici is a child, who does not understand men yet, and does not know the meaning of flattery, or a lie; to him it seems that all birds that fly are fit to eat. But you, Motzoc, seasoned veteran of hard times, accustomed to fawn on every ruler, you have sold the Despot; you have sold me too, and will now sell Tomsha; tell me, should I not be an arch fool to put my trust in you? Still, I pardon you for daring to think that you could cheat me, and I promise you my sword shall not stain itself with your blood; I will spare you, for you are useful to me and will help to bear my blame. The others are all drones, and the hive must be freed from them." Motzoc kissed his hand, like the dog which, instead of biting, licks the hand that beats him. He was grateful for the promise given him. He knew that Voda Alexandru would have need of an intriguer like himself. The deputies had been commanded by Tomsha, in the event of their being unable to turn Lapushneanu from his path, to take the road to Constantinople, where by means of petitions and bribes they were to try and compass his overthrow. But seeing that he came with the good will of the Porte itself, and, moreover, fearing to return without any success to Tomsha, he begged leave to remain in his company. This was Motzoc's plan that he might himself adhere to Lapushneanu. Leave was granted him. Tomsha, not finding himself in a position to offer resistance, fled into Valahia, and Lapushneanu found no obstacle in his path. The people round met him with joy and hope, reminding themselves of his first reign, during which he had not had time to develop his odious character. But the boyars trembled. They had two great reasons to be anxious: they knew that the people hated them, and the monarch did not love them. Immediately upon his arrival Lapushneanu gave orders that all the Moldavian towns, except Hotin, should be piled high with wood and burnt, wishing thus to destroy the refuge of the discontented, who many times, under the protection of their walls, hatched plots and attempted rebellion. In order to undermine the influence of the boyars, and to root out the feudal communities, he despoiled them of their estates under every kind of pretext; in this way he deprived them of their only means of reducing and corrupting the populace. But not deeming this plan sufficient he put persons to death from time to time. For the smallest official mistake, upon the utterance of the slightest complaint, the head of the culprit was spiked upon the gates of the churchyard, with a placard setting forth his fault, real or imaginary; the rotting head was only removed to make room for another. No one dared to speak against him, much less plot. A numerous guard of mercenaries, Albanians, Serbs, Hungarians, driven out on account of their misdeeds, found shelter with Alexandru, who bribed them with high pay; the Moldavian army, under captains who were his own creatures, he kept on the frontiers, he gave the soldiers leave to go to their own homes, retaining only a small number. One day he was walking alone in the saloon of the royal palace. He had had a long talk with Motzoc, who was in great favour, and who had departed after devising a scheme for some fresh tax. He seemed restless, he talked to himself, and was evidently meditating another death or some fresh persecution when a side door opened, and admitted the Princess Rucsanda. At the death of her parent, the good Petru Raresh, who--says the chronicle--was buried amidst much lamentation and mourning in the sacred Monastery of Probota, erected by himself, Rucsanda remained, at a tender age, under the guardianship of her two elder brothers, Iliash and Shtefan: Iliash, succeeding his father upon the throne, after a short and stormy reign, retired to Constantinople where he embraced Mohammedanism, and Shtefan took his place upon the throne. This man was more cruel than his brother; he began by compelling all strangers and Catholics to renounce their religion, and many rich families settled in the country went into exile on this account, giving as a pretext the poverty of the land and the decline in trade. The boyars, many of whom were related by marriage to the Poles and Hungarians, took offence, and entering into communication with the exiled boyars decided that Shtefan should perish. Perhaps they would have delayed to put this plan into execution if his excesses had not hastened it on. "No woman was safe from his lust if she were fair," says the chronicler in his naïve fashion. One day when he was at Tzutzora, instead of waiting for the arrival of the exiled boyars, the boyars who were with him cut the ropes of the tent under which he was seated, in order to prevent his escape, and rushing upon him murdered him. After this Rucsanda alone remained of the family of Petru Raresh, and the murderous boyars decided to give her as wife to one of their number called Jolde, whom they had chosen to be their ruler. But Lapushneanu, chosen by the exiled boyars, met Jolde, whom he defeated, and seizing him he cut off his nose, and turned him into a monk; in order to win the hearts of the people, who still kept a lively recollection of Raresh, he married, and took to himself Raresh's daughter. Thus the gentle Rucsanda found herself the partner of the conqueror. When she entered the hall she was clothed with all the magnificence due to the wife, daughter and sister of a king. Above a long garment of cloth of gold, open in front, she wore a tight coat of blue velvet trimmed with sable, and with long sleeves falling back; she wore a girdle of gold which fastened with big clasps of jasper surrounded by precious stones; round her neck hung a necklace of many rows of pearls. A cap of sable, placed rather on one side, was ornamented with a white aigrette studded with jewels and held in place by a big emerald flower. Her hair, according to the fashion of the day, was parted and hung in braids over her back and shoulders. Her face was of that beauty which once made famous the Roumanian women, but which is rarely found to-day, for it has degenerated through the mingling of foreign blood. She was also sad and languishing, like a flower exposed unshaded to the burning heat of the sun. She had seen her father die, had witnessed the abdication and withdrawal of one brother and the murder of another. She had first of all been destined by the community to be the wife of Jolde--whom she did not know--then she was forced by that same community, who disposed without question of her heart, to give her hand to Alexandru Voda whom she honoured and obeyed as her husband, and whom she would have been ready to love had she found in him the least trace of human feeling. Drawing near, she bent and kissed his hand. Lapushneanu took her by the waist, and lifting her as though she were a feather placed her upon his knee. "What tidings, my fair lady?" he said, kissing her on the brow. "For what reason have you to-day, which is not a feast day, deserted your spinning-wheel? What has roused you so early?" "The tears the widowed women shed at my door, and which cry to the Lord Christ and the Holy Virgin for vengeance for all the blood you shed." Lapushneanu's face grew dark, and he unclasped his hands; Rucsanda fell at his feet. "Oh, good my Lord! my brave husband!" she continued. "It is enough! You have spilt so much blood, made so many widows, so many orphans. Consider that your Highness is all powerful, and that a few poor boyars cannot harm you. What does your Highness lack? You are not at war with anyone; the land is quiet and submissive. I--God knows how much I love you! Your Highness's children are fair and young. Reflect that after life comes death, and that your Highness is mortal and must give account of his deeds, for blood is not redeemed by building monasteries; especially is it tempting and insulting God to deem that you can propitiate him by erecting churches and----" "Thoughtless woman!" cried Lapushneanu, jumping to his feet, and from force of habit he put his hand to the dagger at his belt; but instantly controlling himself, he bent forward, and raising Rucsanda from the floor he said: "My wife, do not let such foolish words escape your lips, for God only knows what might happen. Be thankful to the great saint and martyr, Dimitric Isvoritor, of blessed memory, to whose honour we dedicate the church which we have built at Pangaratzi, that he has hindered us from committing a great sin, and caused us to remember that you are the mother of our children." "Even though I know you will murder me I cannot keep silence. Yesterday when I wished to come in, a woman with five children threw herself in front of my carriage and stopped me to show me a head fastened to the courtyard gate. 'You will have to answer for it, Madam,' she said to me, 'if you allow your husband to behead our fathers, husbands and brothers. See, Madam, that is my husband, the father of these children who are left orphans! Look well.' And she showed me the gory head, and the head looked terribly at me! Ah, Sire, since then I see that head incessantly, and I am afraid! I cannot rest!" "What will you?" asked Lapushneanu, smiling. "I will that you spill no more blood, that you cease to kill, that I may see no more decapitated heads which make my heart break." "I promise you that after the day after to-morrow you will see no more," replied Alexandru Voda, "and to-morrow I will give you a remedy for fear." "What? What does that mean?" "To-morrow you will see. Now, sweet lady, go and see your children, and attend to your house like a good mistress, and see to the preparations for a feast, for to-morrow I give a great dinner to the boyars." The Princess Rucsanda departed after once more kissing his hand. Her husband accompanied her to the door. "Ah, have you arranged everything?" he asked, moving quickly towards his esquire who entered at that moment. "Everything is ready." "But will they come?" "They will come." At eventide came the news that on the next day, being Sunday, all the boyars were to assemble at the Metropolitan Church, where the Prince would be present to attend the Liturgy, and afterwards were to feast at the court. Upon the arrival of Alexandru Voda divine service began; the boyars were all assembled. Contrary to his usual custom, Lapushneanu was dressed with regal splendour that day. He wore the crown of the Paleologs; over his long Polish tunic of crimson velvet, he wore a Turkish royal cloak. He carried no weapon except a small dagger, inlaid with gold; but between the fastenings of the tunic could be seen a shirt of mail. After listening to divine service he descended from his stall, prostrated himself before the Icon, and approaching the shrine of St. John the New, bent forward with great humility and kissed the sacred relics. It is said that at that moment his face was very yellow, and that the saintly shrine shook. Then once more ascending his stall, he turned to the boyars and said: "Most noble boyars! From the time I assumed kingship until this day, I have shown myself harsh towards many: I have been cruel, severe, shedding much blood. Only God knows how hard this has been for me, and how I regret it, but you, boyars, know that I have only been constrained thereto by the desire to end the various quarrels and disputes which aimed at the disturbance of the country and my destruction. To-day the state of affairs is different. The boyars have come to their senses; they have realized that the flock cannot exist without a shepherd as the Saviour said: 'They were distressed and scattered as sheep not having a shepherd.' Most noble boyars! Let us henceforth live in peace, loving one another like brothers, for this is one of the ten commandments: 'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,' and let us pardon one another, seeing that we are mortal, beseeching our Lord Jesus Christ"--here he made the sign of the cross--"to forgive us our daily trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us." Having finished this disjointed speech, he passed to the centre of the church, and after prostrating himself once more turned towards the people in front, and to the right and to the left of him, saying: "Pardon me, good people, and you also, most noble boyars!" "May God forgive you, your Highness!" they all replied, except two young boyars who were standing lost in thought, hidden by a tomb near the door, where no one paid heed to them. Lapushneanu left the church, bidding the boyars come and dine together with him; he mounted his horse and returned to the palace. The people dispersed. "What do you think of it?" said one of the boyars, who, we have seen, did not extend his pardon to Alexandru Voda. "I advise you not to dine with him to-day," replied the other. And they mixed with the crowd. They were Spancioc and Stroici. At the court great preparations had been made for this feast. The news had spread that the Prince had made his peace with the boyars, and the boyars rejoiced at the change, in the hopes they would once more occupy positions whence they could amass fresh wealth at the expense of the sweating peasants. As to the people, they were indifferent; they neither expected good nor feared evil from this reconciliation. The people were reconciled to the rule of Alexandru Voda. They only grumbled about his Minister, Motzoc, who took advantage of his credit with the Prince to cheat the mass of the people. Thus, although the complaints of the community were continual about the thefts of Motzoc, Lapushneanu either would not answer them or would not listen to them. As the hour of the feast drew near, the boyars arrived on horseback, each accompanied by two or three retainers. They noticed that the courtyard was full of armed mercenaries and that four guns were trained upon the doors, but they concluded they were placed there to fire the usual ceremonial salute. Perhaps one or two suspected a trap, but once inside it was impossible to return, for the gates were guarded and the sentries had orders to let no one pass out. Lapushneanu joined the boyars, forty-seven in number, and placed himself at the head of the table, placing the Chancellor, Trotushan, upon his right, and Home Secretary, Motzoc, upon his left. The pipes began to play, and the viands were placed upon the table. In Moldavia at that period there was nothing remarkable in the fashion of the food. The banquet only comprised a few varieties of dishes. After the Polish soup came Greek dishes of boiled vegetables floating in butter, then Turkish rice and finally a roast. The table-cloth was of home-spun linen. The dishes containing the food, the plates and the goblets, were of silver. Along the wall stood a row of earthenware jars full of wine from Odobeshti and from Cotnari, and at the back of each boyar waited some servant who poured out the wine. In the courtyard by the side of two roast oxen and four roast sheep, three casks of wine had been broached; the retainers ate and drank, the boyars ate and drank. Soon brains began to get inflamed: the wine began to do its work. The boyars saluted, and congratulated the Prince with loud applause, to which the mercenaries responded with shouts and the guns with salvos. They were on the point of rising from the table when Veveritza raised his glass, and bowing, said: "May your Highness live for many years! May you rule the land in peace and may a merciful God strengthen the desire you have shown to no longer molest the boyars or afflict the people----" He did not finish for the dagger of an esquire struck him right on the forehead and felled him to the ground. "Ah, you would insult your Prince!" cried the esquire. "Upon them!" In a second, all the servants behind the boyars drew their daggers and struck them; other soldiers under the captain of mercenaries entered and slashed at them with their swords. In the meanwhile Lapushneanu took Motzoc by the hand and drew him to the open window whence to watch the butchery which began. He laughed; but Motzoc, forcing himself to laugh, felt the hair rising upon his head, and his teeth chattering. And, in truth, it was horrible to watch that bloody scene. The fancy must picture a hall 33 ft. long and 30 ft. wide, a hundred and more desperate men, determined to kill, executioners and victims, some fighting with the fury of despair, others with drunken rage. The boyars had had no suspicions, thus treacherously attacked from behind, and unarmed, they fell unable to defend themselves. The older men died making the sign of the cross; but many of the younger ones defended themselves with desperation; chairs, plates, the implements upon the table became weapons in their hands; some of the wounded gripped with fury the throats of the assassins, and in spite of the injuries they received they squeezed them till they suffocated. If one among them found a sword he sold his life dearly. Many a mercenary perished, but finally not a boyar remained alive. Forty-seven corpses lay upon the floor! In the struggle and turmoil the table was overturned; the jars were broken and the wine mixed with blood made a pool upon the boards of the hall. Simultaneously with the murder upstairs began the massacre in the courtyard. The boyars' servants, finding themselves set upon without warning by the soldiers, tried to flee. Only a few escaped with their lives; they succeeded in scaling the walls and gave the alarm in the boyars' homes: they called out others of the boyars' retainers and men, and roused the populace. The whole city flocked to the gates of the courtyard, which they began to destroy with axes. The soldiers, stupid with drink, made little resistance. The crowd grew stronger and stronger. Lapushneanu, when he recognized the strength of the crowd, sent an esquire to inquire what they wished. The esquire went out. "Well, Vornic Motzoc," he said, turning towards that person, "tell me, have I not done well to rid myself of this rabble, to free the land from this sore?" "Your Highness has acted with great wisdom," replied the obsequious courtier; "I have long had it in my mind to advise your Highness to do this, but I see your Highness's sagacity has anticipated me, and you have done well to destroy; because--why--it was----" "I see the esquire tarries," said Lapushneanu, cutting short Motzoc, who was becoming involved in his speech. "I think we will give orders to fire a round into the mob. Ha! what think you?" "Certainly, certainly, let us turn the guns on them; there is not much loss in a few hundred churls dying when so many boyars have perished. Yes, let us destroy them root and branch." "I expected just such an answer," said Lapushneanu with irritation, "but we will see first what it is they ask." At that moment the esquire stepped through the door into the courtyard, and making a sign, cried: "Good people! His Highness sends to inquire what it is you want and ask, and wherefore you are come with so much noise?" The crowd stood open-mouthed. They had not expected such a question. They had come without knowing why, or what they wanted. They collected quietly into little groups and asked one another what it was they did want. At last they began to shout: "Remit the taxes!" "Cease to harass us!" "Do not kill us!" "Do not rob us!" "We remain poor!" "We have no money!" "Motzoc has taken our all!" "Motzoc! Motzoc!" "He fleeces us and ruins us!" "He advises the Voda!" "Let him die!" "To death with Motzoc!" "We want the head of Motzoc!" The last words found an echo in every heart, and were like an electric spark. All the voices rang together as one voice, and this voice cried: "We ask for Motzoc's head!" "What do they ask for?" asked Lapushneanu, as the esquire entered. "The head of Vornic Motzoc," replied the esquire. "How? What?" cried Motzoc, jumping like a man who has trodden on a serpent. "You did not hear aright, fool! You try to jest, but this is no time for jesting. What words are these! What would they do with my head? I tell you, you are deaf, you did not hear well." "But very well," said Alexandru Voda, "just listen. Their cries are audible here." In fact, as the soldiers no longer resisted them, the people had begun to clamber up the walls whence they shouted at the top of their voices: "Give us Motzoc!" "We want Motzoc's head!" "Oh, miserable sinner that I am!" cried the wretched man, "most Holy Mother of God, do not let me be destroyed. What have I done to these men? Holy Virgin save me from this danger, and I swear to build a church to pray for the rest of my days, I will enshrine with silver the miracle-working Icon from the Neamtzu Monastery. But gracious Prince, do not listen to these common people, to these churls. Command that the guns decimate them. Let them all die! I am a great boyar, they are only churls!" "Churls, but many of them," replied Lapushneanu coldly: "would it not be a sin to murder many men for the sake of one? Only reflect. Go and sacrifice yourself for the good of the realm, as you yourself said when you told me that the country neither wanted me nor loved me. Rejoice that the people repay you for the service you rendered me, betraying to me the army of Anton Sechele, then destroying me, and taking Tomsha's side." "Oh, unfortunate man that I am!" cried Motzoc, tearing his beard, for he realized from the tyrant's words that there was no escape for him. "At least let me go and put my house in order! Have pity upon my wife and children! Give me time to confess!" And he cried and screamed and groaned. "Enough!" cried Lapushneanu. "Do not wail like a woman. Be a brave Roumanian. What can you confess? What can you say to the priest? That you are a thief and robber? All Moldavia knows that. Come! Take him and give him to the people and tell them that this is the way Alexandru Voda serves those who rob the country." The esquire and the captain of mercenaries immediately laid hands upon him. The wretched boyar yelled as loudly as possible, trying to protect himself, but how could his old hands shield him from the four strong arms that carried him? He tried to stand upon his feet, but they caught in the dead bodies of the victims and slipped upon the blood which had congealed upon the boards. As last his strength became exhausted, and the tyrant's satellites carried him more dead than alive to the door of the courtyard, and thrust him out among the crowd. The miserable boyar fell into the arms of the many-headed Hydra, which in a second tore him to pieces. "See how Alexandru Voda rewards those who rob the land!" said the tyrant's emissaries. "Long live His Highness the Voda!" replied the crowd. And they dispersed, rejoicing over their victim. While the unhappy Motzoc was being thus treated, Lapushneanu ordered that the table should be replaced, and the utensils collected; the heads of the murdered were then cut off, and the bodies thrown out of the window. After which, he took the heads and quietly and methodically set them in the middle of the table; he placed the less important boyars below, and the more important above, according to their family and rank, until he had made a pyramid of forty-seven heads, the top of which he crowned with the head of an important Logofat. Then after washing his hands, he went to a side door, withdrew the bolt and wooden bar which secured it, and entered the Princess's apartment. From the beginning of this tragedy, the Princess Rucsanda, ignorant of what was taking place, had been anxious. She did not understand the cause of the noise she heard, for, according to the custom of the time, women could not leave their apartment, and the servants could not risk going amongst soldiers of whose discipline they knew nothing. One among them, bolder than the others, had gone out, had heard it said that an attack had been made upon the Voda, and had carried these tidings to her mistress. The gentle Princess was terrified, fearing the fury of the mob, and when Alexandru entered he found her praying before the Icon, with her children by her side. "Ah," she cried, "our Lady be praised that I see you again! I have been greatly frightened." "Wherefore? Because I promised I would prepare you a remedy for fear? Come with me, Madam." "But those cries, those shouts we heard?" "Nothing. The servants began to wrangle, but they are quiet now." So saying he took Rucsanda by the hand, and led her to the dining-hall. She gave a cry of horror at the terrible sight and fainted. "A woman is always a woman," said Lapushneanu, smiling, "instead of rejoicing, she is horrified." He lifted her in his arms, and took her back to her apartment. Then he returned again to the hall where he found the captain of mercenaries and the esquire awaiting him. "You can throw these corpses over the wall to the dogs, but set their heads upon the wall," he said to the mercenary. "And you," he said, addressing the esquire, "are to lay hands upon Spancioc and Stroici." But Stroici and Spancioc were already close to the Dniester. Their pursuers only caught up with them when they had crossed the frontier. "Tell him who sent you," Spancioc shouted back, "that he will not see us till he is about to die!" Four years passed since this scene, during which time Alexandru Lapushneanu, faithful to the promise made to the Princess Rucsanda, did not execute a single boyar. But, because he was unable to stifle his overmastering desire to witness human suffering, he invented various forms of torture. He had eyes put out, noses cut off, he mutilated and maimed any person he suspected; even his suspicions were imaginary, for no one ventured to make the slightest complaint. All the same he was not at ease, for he could not lay hands on Spancioc and Stroici, who remained at Kamenitza, waiting, abiding their time. Although he had two highly-placed sons-in-law with great influence at the Polish court, he was anxious lest these two boyars should solicit the aid of the Poles, who were only seeking a pretext to invade Moldavia; but these two Roumanians were too good patriots not to reflect that war and the arrival of foreign soldiers would be the ruin of their native land. Lapushneanu wrote to them many times in succession that if they would only return he would pledge himself, by the most sacred oath, to do them no harm; but they knew the value of his oath. In order to observe them more closely, he moved to the town of Hotin which he fortified with care, but he became ill from spleen here. The disease made rapid strides, and the tyrant soon saw himself at the portal of the tomb. In the delirium of his fever he seemed to see all the victims of his cruelty, terrifying and admonitory, threatening him and calling to the most just God for justice. In vain he tossed upon his bed of sickness, he could not find relief. Summoning Teofan, the Metropolitan, the Bishops and boyars, he informed them that he felt the end of his life to be approaching; he humbled himself, and implored pardon for all the wrong he had done. Finally, he begged for consideration for his son, Bogdan, to whom he left the throne of the realm if they would assist him. Being of tender years, and surrounded by powerful enemies, he would be unable to protect either himself or his country unless the boyars preserved unity among themselves and affection and loyalty to the Ruler. "As for myself," he proceeded to say, "if I recover from this sickness, I am determined to become a monk in the Monastery of Slatina, where I may repent for the rest of the days that it pleases God to leave me. Therefore, I beseech you, Fathers, when you see me at the point of death to shave me like a monk----" He was not able to say much more. He was seized with convulsions, and a terrible coma like death itself stiffened his body, so that the Metropolitan and the Bishops, believing him to be expiring, canonized him, bestowing upon him the name of Paisie after that of Peter, which name he had borne previous to becoming Prince. After this they paid homage to the Princess Rucsanda as regent during the minority of her son, and proclaimed Bogdan king. Immediately after they sent envoys to all the boyars within the country and to the exiles, and to the captains of the army. The twilight was approaching when Stroici and Spancioc arrived. Dismounting at an inn, they approached the castle with haste. The town was silent and dreary like some gigantic tomb. Only the murmuring waters of the Dniester were audible as they continually washed the slopes of the grey bare banks, and the monotonous cry of the sentries who examined each other by the evening light along the length of their lances. Pursuing their way into the palace, they experienced no small surprise at meeting no one; at last a lacquey showed them the sick man's room. As they were about to enter they heard a loud noise, and paused to listen. Lapushneanu was rousing from his lethargy. Upon opening his eyes he saw two monks standing, the one at his head, and the other at his feet, motionless, like two statues of bronze; he glanced at himself, and found himself clothed in the habit of a monk; round his head was a cowl. He tried to raise his hand, but was prevented by the strings of a rosary. It seemed to him as though he dreamed, and he closed his eyes again; but opening them once more after a little while he saw the same things, the rosary, the cowl, the monks. "How are you feeling now, Brother Paisie?" one of the monks asked him, seeing that he was not sleeping. This name brought back to his mind all that had taken place. His blood began to boil and half raising himself he cried: "What are these? Ah, you are making fun of me! Avaunt, foul creatures! Go, or I will murder you all!" He sought a weapon with his hand, but finding nothing but the cowl he flung it with his hand at the head of one of the monks. At the sound of his shouting, the Princess, with her son, the Metropolitan, the boyars and servants, all entered the room. Meanwhile the other two boyars arrived and stood by the door listening. "Ah, you wanted to turn me into a monk," cried Lapushneanu in a raucous and terrible voice. "You thought to get rid of me? But you can dismiss that idea! God or the devil will make me well again, and----" "Unhappy man, do not blaspheme," said the Metropolitan, cutting him short. "Do not forget you are in the hour of death! Reflect, sinful man, that you are a monk, you are no longer Ruler! Reflect that such ravings and yells are frightening this innocent woman, and this child in whom rests the hope of Moldavia." "Infernal hypocrite!" added the sick man, endeavouring to rise from his bed. "Hold your tongue; it was I who made you Metropolitan, and I unfrock you. You tried to make me a priest but I will put that right. There are many I will make into priests. But as for that bitch, I will cut her into four pieces with her pup so that they may never again listen to the advice of hypocrites or to my enemies. He lies who says I am a monk. I am no monk--I am Ruler. I am Alexandru Voda! Help! Help! Where are my soldiers? Fetch them! Fetch them all! I will command them. Kill all these people. Let none escape. Ah! I am choking! Water! Water! Water!" And he fell back exhausted, gasping with excitement and fury. The Princess and the Metropolitan retired. At the door they came face to face with Stroici and Spancioc. "Madam," said Spancioc, seizing Rucsanda's hand, "that man must die at all costs. See this powder, pour it into his drink." "Poison," she cried with a shudder. "Poison!" pursued Spancioc. "Unless this man dies at once, the lives of your Highness and your son are in danger. The father has lived long enough and done enough. Let the father die that the son may live." A servant came out of the room. "What is it?" asked the Princess. "The sick man has roused and asks for water and his son. He bade me not to return without him." "Oh, they wish to kill him," groaned the wretched mother, pressing her son passionately to her breast. "There is not time for hesitation, Madam," added Spancioc. "Think of the wife of Voda Shtefanitza and choose between father and son." "What say you, Father?" said the poor woman, turning towards the Metropolitan, with her eyes full of tears. "This man is cruel and fierce, my daughter; may the Lord God give you counsel. As for me, I go to prepare for our departure with our new Ruler; for our late Prince, may God pardon him, and also forgive you." With these words the holy Teofan departed. Rucsanda took a silver cup full of water, which was handed to her by the servant, and then, amid the entreaties and arguments of the boyars, poured the poison into it. The boyars pushed her into the sick man's room. "What is he doing?" asked Spancioc of Stroici, who pushed open the door again and looked in. "He asks for his son--he says he wishes him to come to him--he asks for a drink--the Princess trembles--she gives him the cup--he will not take it!" Spancioc starts and draws his dagger from his belt. "But yes, he takes it, he drinks. May it do your Highness good!" Rucsanda emerged shaking and livid, and supporting herself against the wall. "You must render account before God," she said, sighing, "for you have caused me to commit this sin." The Metropolitan arrived. "Let us go," he said to the Princess. "But who will tend to this wretched man?" "We will," replied the boyars. "Oh, Father, what have you made me do!" said the Princess to the Metropolitan, and she went sobbing with him. The two boyars went into the sick man. The poison had not yet begun to do its work. Lapushneanu lay stretched out, his face uppermost, calm but very weak. When the two boyars entered, he looked at them for some time, but not recognizing them he asked who they were, and what they had to say. "I am Stroici," replied one. "And I am Spancioc," added the other, "and our wish is to see you before you die as we promised you." "Oh, my enemies!" sighed Alexandru. "I am Spancioc," continued that person, "Spancioc whom you would fain have beheaded when you murdered the forty-seven boyars, and who escaped from your clutches! Spancioc, whose property you have destroyed leaving his wife and children to beg for alms at the doors of Christian houses." "Ah, I feel as though a fire burnt me!" cried the sick man, grasping his stomach with both hands. "To-day we free ourselves, for you must die. The poison works." "Oh, you have poisoned me, infamous creatures! Oh, what a fire! Where is the Princess? Where is my son?" "They have gone away and left you to us." "They have gone away and left me! Have left me to you! Oh, kill me and let me escape from suffering. Oh, stab me, you are still young, have pity, free me from the agony that rends me, stab me!" he said, and turned towards Stroici. "I will not desecrate my noble dagger with the blood of such a worthless tyrant as you." The pains increased. The poisoned man writhed in convulsions. "Oh," he cried, "my very soul burns me! Oh, give me water--give me something to drink." "Look," said Spancioc, taking the silver cup from the table, "the dregs of the poison are left. Drink and quench your thirst!" "Nay, nay, I will not," said the sick man, setting his teeth. Then Stroici seized him and held him tight while Spancioc, drawing a knife from its sheath, unclenched his teeth with its point and poured down his throat the poison which had remained at the bottom of the cup. Lapushneanu, roaring like a bull which sees the hand and axe which is about to strike him, tried to turn his face towards the wall. "What, you do not want to see us?" said the boyars. "No, but it is meet that you should see in us your punishment; learn to die, you who have only known how to kill." And seizing him both together, they held him inflexibly, staring at him with devilish delight and reviling him. The unhappy Prince writhed in spasms of agony, he foamed at the mouth, he gnashed his teeth, and his bloodshot eyes protruded out of his head; an icy sweat, sad forerunner of death, broke out in drops upon his brow. After a torture of half an hour, he finally yielded up the ghost in the hands of his judges. Such was the end of Alexandru Lapushneanu, who leaves a bloody page in the history of Moldavia. A portrait of himself and his family may be seen to this day in the Monastery at Slatina, which he built, and where he is buried. ZIDRA By M. BEZA We were talking in the inn at Grabova and passing round the wine without troubling ourselves as to the lateness of the hour. In time we began to sing--as it is the custom to sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus: Your head lies in my pouch, Zidra, mighty Zidra! Only our friend, Mitu Dola, was silent; he was much moved and kept turning first to one side and then to the other. "Oh, that song!" he gasped when we stopped. Then suddenly to me: "Do you know who Zidra was? And do you know who killed Zidra?" He took up his mug, drank from it several times, and then, with a brain clouded by distant memories and the strong wine, he began to tell me the story: "It must be some thirty years ago. Zidra was then a haiduk in the Smolcu mountains. What a man! There was a heavy price upon his head. His very name, passed from mouth to mouth, brought a wave of fear. And we children would gather together in the evening under the eaves of the fountains, by the church doors, and talk of Zidra. This much we knew: at one time he had lived amongst us and then had unexpectedly disappeared from the village; on account of some murder everybody said. After a long time he appeared again, robbing a long way this side of Smolcu: 'Zidra is at Seven-Hills; Zidra is in the Vigla Forest.' "Whispering thus secretly, we would glance over our shoulders. We would shiver as though we could feel a cold breath from the dark thicket whence Zidra might appear. I pictured him just like my father, probably because my father, too, was a striking figure. In a coat with long flowing sleeves, his cap on one side, and his belt loaded with pistols, my father--like all tax-gatherers at that period--was on the road a great deal of his time, so that my mother and I remained alone for weeks on end. "We had a house just on the outskirts of the village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows of which hung darkly above our heads. How it would begin to moan at night! The rustling of the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed, clasped in my mother's arms, I listened to the fierce din. From time to time it ceased; then, through the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots, of the trampling of horses and of men. "I sighed with terror. 'Mother, supposing robbers should attack us.' 'Hush! It is unlucky to speak of such things.' 'You know, mother, Zidra is in Vigla Forest.' When I first mentioned this name my mother trembled and started back, but quickly coming forward she said hastily and with unusual anxiety: 'Who told you this?' 'Cousin Gushu, mother. Gushu's father, mother, saw a host of vultures over Vigla Forest circling round.' "My mother repeated in a puzzled way: 'Vultures circling round----' Then, after thinking a moment, she said to herself: 'That is it; that is where he halted and had his food--the vultures are attracted by the smell.' "My father, arriving a few days later, said the same thing, while he added that some shepherds had also seen Zidra. My mother was delicate, her features bore the melancholy expression of some hidden sorrow. She looked wan and remained staring into space. 'Eh? What?' said my father sternly. 'Why should I be afraid of Zidra?' "He closed the conversation. But into our house there crept an unexplained disquietude--something intangible, blowing like an icy breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I think of the spot where this dark mystery unfolded itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of our house with the door opening into the wood, the staircase leading into the bedroom; here is the hearth and along the walls are the great wooden cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire my mother spun at her wheel--often she would start to spin but seemed as though she could not. She would constantly stop, her thoughts were elsewhere. And if I asked her anything, she would nod her head without listening to me. Only when, amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open, and say with a shiver: 'Zidra?' 'Yes, mother.' "And when night fell she would try the doors one after the other. She would walk up and down, a pine-torch in her hand, passing through visions of horror, and with her went the smoking flame which rose and fell as it struggled with the shadows, moving upon the ceilings and floors and on the walls of the room where the sofa was, where it lit up for a second the hanging weapons: an old musket, two scimitars, some pistols. "Sometimes there was a pleasant silence over everything. The wood slept, the country, too, was asleep. Then, in the light of the little icon-lamp, could be heard the gentle hum of the spinning-wheel, murmuring like a golden beetle in a fairy-tale, lulling me till I slept. "During one of these nights--the wheel stopped and I heard my mother saying: 'Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday--Thursday----' She knew where my father usually stayed and was calculating. "Becoming confused she began again from the beginning: 'Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday--Thursday on the road.' And she rose. She went to the lamp to pour in oil that it might burn till the daylight. In the meantime a noise came from the yard and was repeated more loudly. 'Mother, some one is knocking!' 'Who could be knocking?' she murmured. "After a moment of indecision she went downstairs. Unintelligible words followed--a man's voice, the door was shaken. My mother began to speak gently, inaudibly. Soon everything was silent again. By my side I could hear my mother's breath, coming short and with difficulty, but her tongue remained tied. When she recovered herself she said suddenly: 'Can I? How can I open? I am married. I cannot.' 'To whom, mother--to whom must you open?' She took me tremblingly in her arms, squeezed me to her, and pressed her burning cheek against mine. 'You are too little. You do not understand, my treasure!' "And, after a while, talking more to herself, while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks: 'At the fountain in Plaiu--it is long ago. We pledged our word--at dusk--God saw us; and in the end he made off one day, and I waited for him--years and years I waited. Now what does he want? I am married. What does he expect? Why did he come?' "Thus much I remember. I fell asleep close to my mother. The next day she might just have got up after a long illness so white was she in the face, with fear shining in her eyes. When my father saw her he raised the thick bushy eyebrows which gave such a harsh appearance to his hairy face. 'There is something wrong, something has happened.' "Could she deny it? They went into the room where the sofa stood, and soon after my father broke out with: 'From henceforth either I or he!' And he stormed about, taking long heavy strides while the weapons clattered on the wall. He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter: 'Ha, ha! And the head and two hundred ducats!' "From now on he no longer took the road; he remained on guard. Spies began to move about. Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My father went out, exchanged some rapid words with them, among which could be continually heard the name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what were those cries, those sharp whistles through the night? Often, too, across the hillocks came the sound of stones--stones striking one against the other, and my father replied in the same way. And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing through the darkness as though some strange birds were rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep and shuddered. 'Have no fear,' whispered my mother, 'it is nothing, my dear one. Your father is talking--with some sentries.' "A few weeks passed thus, until one midnight there appeared in the further room four men in black cloaks, carrying guns; they seemed to have sprung out of the ground. They shook hands and without a moment's pause began moving about in the ruddy, uncertain light of the pine-torch. In the silence outside--a silence caused by the fog which deadened all sound--their words could be overheard. As my father slung his scimitar over his shoulder, one of them said in a loud clear voice: 'At Sticótur, in the monastery.' 'Since when?' 'Since dinner-time to-day--he is eating and drinking.' 'The man is caught,' said another. 'He can't escape this time.' "They went out quickly; they were lost in the black darkness which began to vibrate with the rising of the wind. The bushes rattled and bent beneath the rain--storms of rain beat and splashed against the window-panes, a sea of sound, storm after storm." Here, as far as I can remember, Mitu Dola brought the story to a close. I asked: "How did it end?" "Didn't you hear the song? My father took the head and put it in his pouch. As he said, 'and the head and two hundred ducats.'" GARDANA By M. BEZA Mitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him: "Well, has he not turned up yet?" "No, not to-day either." "This is what happens when you rely on an unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never comes. God forbid that he should go off with the whole herd!" Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of course such things did happen; he might have taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him find him who can! Where could one look for him? Whither could one follow him? And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustache lost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said: "I have heard--some people told me that you want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a shepherd." Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him: "Where do you come from?" "I come--well, from Blatza. Toli--Toli the shepherd--I have been with many other goat owners." Tega looked at him again, considered a little, and said: "Good, I'll take you; may you prove honest, for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a man has stolen from me up to now." And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with Tega, and no one could have conducted himself better. A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega--for fear of attack by brigands--went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by--one week, two--Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega's brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then woke again, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand. At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round, purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains, then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys; the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the fiery light; the birds began to fly; on the ground, among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time for such things. His eyes were searching the landscape. Something was moving yonder--a cloud of dust. "The herd, it is the herd!" murmured Tega. He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells, sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And see, see--the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shepherd with his cloak round his shoulder. "Welcome," cried Tega with all his heart. "But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was beginning to wonder----" "What would you, I did not come direct, I had to go round." The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot with silky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy. As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was Toli's business to get the bread, salt, and all that was needed, and once every two or three days, leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would take his way to his employer's house. Usually Tega's wife would be spinning at her wheel when he went in. "Good day!" "Welcome, Toli," the woman said pleasantly. "Tega is not at home at present, but sit down, Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes." The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say another word. The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road--processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said: "There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren't there?" The shepherd nodded his head. "I never asked you, Toli, how are the goats doing? Do you think my man chose well this year?" "Well, very well." That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour: "Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?" "Here, Lena, here," replied the woman upstairs. Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening. "Have you heard?" asked Lena. "What?" "Two more murders." Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had become a kind of vampire about whom many tales were told. Especially old men, if they could engage you in conversation, would try and impress you with the story. In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other--they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl's form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that they never kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other's eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana's lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him. And Gardana--would you believe it--after he realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth, beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later he was on the mountains, and a gang with him. Eh! love knows no bounds, love builds, but love also destroys many homes. The girl's father was seized and murdered; not long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana spread terror for many years in succession. For some time now, whatever he might have been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing had been heard of him. But as soon as something happened, his name once again passed round the village: "Gardana, it is Gardana!" Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the mountains, perhaps even he was dead; but the people who knew something---- "How many did you say there were?" asked Mia. "Two; both merchants. They came from abroad." "And who can have murdered them?" "No one but--Gardana." "How is it? But is Gardana still alive?" "Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves." "And why?" "They have to be on their guard, the bailiffs are after them, they might capture them." "Perhaps----" The spinning-wheel spun on. The spool wound the thread, the treadle hummed, filling the room with a soothing noise. Doda Sili said wonderingly: "Who knows what kind of man he is?" "Gardana?" "Gardana." "Not a very big man, but large enough to terrify one, with a black beard--oh, so black!--and, when you least expect it, there he is on your road, just as though he had sprung out of the ground. Didn't our Toli once meet him!" "How was that?" The spinning-wheel stopped suddenly. A swarm of gnats came in through the windows, and buzzed round in the warmth of the sun; and Lena said quietly: "It was on his way from the sheepfold; he came upon Gardana on the Padea-Murgu." "Oh, it might have been somebody else." "It was he, he himself, with that beard, those garments----" And so the conversation continued. Toli, the shepherd, took no part in the talk. He sat over on the floor, silent, impassive--like a moss-grown stone. Only occasionally he raised his bushy eyebrows, and a troubled, misty look shone in his eyes. Tega's wife wondered to herself, she could not understand him; really, what was the matter with him? He was brave, she knew he had not his equal for courage, when he had charge of the herd not an animal was ever lost; all the same, what a man he was, always frowning, and never a smile on his lips! There must be something with him, naturally it must be---- And breaking off her train of thought she suddenly spoke to him. "Toli, during all the months you have been with us I have never asked you whether you are married?" The question was unexpected. The shepherd seemed to be considering. Then he answered: "No." "What? You have never married? Have you no wife, no home?" "Home--ah!" he sighed. "You are right, even I once had a home, even I had hopes of a bride, but they came to nought--what would you, it was not written in the book of destiny--I was poor." He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered here and there. And after one motion of his hand, as though to say "I have much sorrow in my heart," he added: "That girl is dead--and I, too, shall die, everything will die." One afternoon in March, as the shepherd did not appear, Mitu Tega prepared to go alone to the fold. He brought out the horse, bought two bags of bread, and a lamb freshly killed, went to the mill where he procured some barley, and then on slowly, quietly--he on foot, the horse in front--till he reached his destination just as the sun was disappearing behind the Aitosh mountains. The shepherds rubbed their eyes when they saw him, but he called out: "I have brought a lamb for roasting." "You must eat it with us," said Toli, "and stay the night here." "No, for they expect me at home." "Will you start back at this hour?" put in Panu, Toli's comrade. "The night brings many perils." It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega--within was a bed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli's side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise----He glanced at Toli. "What a man!" thought Tega. "I have nothing to fear while I am with him." They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word. Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen for the future. "What's the matter?" Tega asked. "Nothing--only it seems to me--that there is blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and you, too, Panu." "There is," murmured Panu, "a little blood, one can see a spot, two red patches." The hours passed. The dogs started off towards the woods. From their bark there might be dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega: "Have you any weapon about you?" "I have--a pistol." "Take it out, and go in there, and do not move. But you, Panu, get more over there--not near the fire, move into the shadow." He had scarcely finished speaking before the brigands were upon them. They came stealthily through the bushes, avoiding the moonlight, but the shepherd saw them, and without waiting fired a chance shot. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" cried the robbers. A great noise arose--the flock scattered, the barking of the dogs became gradually more and more excited; there was another report, and yet another. Toli's gun gave a dull sound and was followed by several cries: "You will kill us all like this, all----" "Down with your arms, lay down your arms!" cried Toli. "Look, man, we are putting them down; only don't shoot." "Drop them!" Toli's voice thundered. His voice alone was enough to make one tremble. The brigands threw down their arms, and advanced. There were three of them. One was quite a young man, about thirty-five years of age, with a worn face, and very pale. Blood was flowing from one foot and clotting on to his white gaiters as it flowed. Toli went up to him and said: "I have wounded you--have I wounded you?" The brigand did not reply. Toli crossed his arms and shaking his head asked: "Was it me you meant to rob? Was it me you meant to attack? Do you know who I am?" They looked into each other's eyes, they stared at each other--deep into each other's eyes they gazed. Each one was thinking: "Where have I seen him before?" for they had surely known each other somewhere. Vague memories of their past life, of bygone years began to stir, and gradually, recollection dawned. "Gardana," said the brigand, "is it you?" Mitu Tega was startled. He shivered as though iced water were being poured down his back. Who had uttered that name? Where was Gardana? He was thunder-struck by what followed: Toli and the robbers shook hands, embraced each other and conversed with each other. "Gardana, Gardana, I thought you were dead--they told me you had died, Gardana!" "No, brother," said Toli. "It might have been better if I had died." Then after, a short pause: "But you are in pain, brother; I have hurt you--look, you were within an ace of being killed, brother Manole, and I should have had another man's soul, and another man's blood upon my head. There, you were nearly killed. What brought you, what drew you within range of my gun? Within an ace, brother Manole--another man's soul, another man's blood----" For the first time for many years he seemed moved with self-pity. He tore a strip from his shirt, bent over Manole, and dressed his wound. The others watched, amazed. The waters were sleeping, the forests were sleeping. From the trees, from the valleys, from the grass, came voices murmuring in the silence of the night, soft, remote, a sort of breath, more like a sigh from the sleeping earth. Manole spoke: "Do you remember, Gardana? We were on the Baitan mountains, you know--at Piatra-de-Furca--we were together when the bailiffs hemmed us in on all sides--a host of them. We held our own till nightfall. Eh! and then I saw what stuff Gardana was made of! You gave us one call and went straight ahead--we after you, and so we escaped, we cut our way through with our scimitars. Then, when the trumpets gave the alarm, and the guns began to go off, I lost sight of you, Gardana; we were all scattered, I remained alone in the valley under Piatra-de-Furca. Do you remember? It must be five years, more--six years ago. Where are all our comrades now?" "Our comrades--they have gone away, I let them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my head--enough to crush me, brother. I was not a bad man. You know how many times I went to Dina. I said: 'Don't drive me too far, bethink yourself.' And I went to the girl's father. But you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep. And her father gave her to him without asking whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails and say nothing? Could I?" Toli Gardana ceased speaking. After a moment of reflection he added softly: "But the girl faded away--she died of grief and disappointment. One day the earth will cover me too, our bodies may rot anywhere, and no one will weep--not a tear, they will all rejoice. I don't know, brother, but since that girl died it seems to me I am not the man I was. I wanted to kill myself, I roamed about here, and one day I went to Tega. I was strong--I gave out that I came from Blatza, and that I was a shepherd; who was he that he should know differently! But you, brother, how has the world treated you?" "Harshly, Gardana. I was shut up in Tricol for three years. Prison cut me off from life. For months I dug--with hands and nails I dug--until one night, during a storm, I broke through the wall and escaped with these two companions. And when I found myself back among these mountains my thoughts turned to you. I had heard you were dead, Gardana; but see what has happened, and how it has come to pass, how fate brings these things about, brother Gardana ... it is not a month since I escaped...." Before they were aware of it the shadows of the night began to melt away. The brigands ceased to speak as though they feared the signs of the coming day. They remained silent, their heads upon the ground in the face of the glory of the flaming dawn. Toli Gardana asked: "Where are you going now?" "How should we know? No matter where. There are many forests." THE DEAD POOL By M. BEZA We seemed to be between Mount Gramos and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to be so from the peaks, which showed like some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in the moonlight; the moon we could not see, we could only feel her floating over us. The pale light shone only in the ether above, and gradually diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of shadows; they fell like curtains, enveloping us, dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely; it was as though the world here had remained unchanged since its creation. Hardly a breath of wind reached us. It always carried with it at this spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with poisonous juices; everything told of the neighbourhood of water--not fresh water, but water asleep for centuries. "Can you see the pool?" questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: "It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention." I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of something shining and smooth. "The pool----" "Only the pool? Some lights too?" "That is so," I whispered with a shudder. There on the surface of the water were flickering points of fire. They could not come from above, they were not glow-worms, or sparks such as one sees passing over graves. Ghicu Sina spoke: "They are reflections, the lights are burning in the pool." With the fear that seizes us in the presence of the supernatural, I asked: "What induced us to stay here?" "Where else could we stop? There are no sheep-folds in these parts, formerly there were such, but since the death of the Spirit who guarded the mountains, none of them remain." After a pause he said slowly: "You have heard of dead pools?" He stood immersed in thought. "This is a dead pool. I will tell you about it. "Once upon a time, when the trees were bursting into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock after flock passed through, handled by sturdy shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood. Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face, beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered, 'Who may he be, and whence does he come?' Many tales passed round until the mystery began to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so runs the story, whither he had wandered with the sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea. Mad with love, when the family made the winter-move, he followed her to the mountains; he came with a comrade and wandered about till he settled his sheep-fold here, in these parts. "Ah! where had the fame of this Virghea of Gramuste not reached! All the beauties of nature seemed to have bestowed some gift upon her: the blue of heaven--the colour of her eyes; the shadow of the woods--the mystery of their liquid depths; the setting sun--the gold of her soft hair; the springs--the tone of her silvery laugh. Attracted by such charms every youth fell at the feet of Virghea. But she did not care; only when her eyes rested on the shepherd did her youthful being fill with a burning desire. "Now day after day from the high ground about the sheep-fold could be heard the sound of a flute; heard in the stillness of the dusk it roused strange longings in the girl's breast. Then she would steal out of the house, and the shepherd himself would come down towards Gramuste. "About this time, there broke loose such a storm as had never been seen before. The peaks began to rattle as though the mountains were changing places, striking each other with noise like thunder. Thus it continued for three days. Only on the fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd leave the fold: he had taken only a few steps when--what a sight met his eyes by the side of the pool! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form. And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand pointing to the spit which he held above the heap of burning coals: 'The heart of the Spirit of Deniscu.' "In a flash the shepherd realized the meaning of the hurricane of the last few days. The guardian Spirits of the mountains had striven together, and one had been overthrown. The shadow continued to speak: 'Turn this spit that I may rest a while. Taste not of the heart, for if you touch it you will immediately die.' "The shadow fell into a profound slumber. "By the side of the fire the shepherd looked fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky, a star broke away; it fell with a long tail of fire, and went out. 'Some one will die,' sighed the shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through his mind. 'H'm!' he said. 'If I taste, perhaps the contrary is true, who knows?' So thinking, he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably pleasant. He laughed; then quickly ate the whole heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruel passion towards the sleeping Spirit; upon the spot he killed it and took the heart. At once there came to him the strength of a giant, the ground began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial voices, and voices from the water, sounded round him. Creatures never seen before emerged from the pool; linked together by their white hands they danced round in whirling circles. Thus changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and his voice sounded as though from another world. He finished with broken words: 'The water calls me--tell no one what has happened to me--take my flute: if danger threatens come to the pool and sing to me.' "During the evenings that followed Virghea saw naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks seemed months, and they went by without any news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remembered the shepherd's words. He came at midnight to the side of the pool and sang--a long time he sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes answered back, as though other bells were ringing in other places, resounding from hill to hill until they reached the bottom of the pool, and after a time, to the voice of the bells were joined real words, sobbing to the rhythm: 'Virghea is dead--is dead!'" Ghicu Sina paused a while. Although he had only told me these things quite briefly, I felt their secret had entered my soul; with my eyes upon the pool where the strange reflections constantly played, I seemed to hear, as one sometimes hears the faint voice of memory from a remote past, the sound of the bells and their metallic words: "Virghea is dead--is dead!" And then, the story adds, he rose from the pool. Like the wind, he raised her in his arms and carried her deep down to his translucent palace where, to this day, little fiery points of light burn round the head of the dead woman. OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR By I. CREANGA Old Nichifor is not a character out of a story-book but a real man like other men; he was once, when he was alive, an inhabitant of the Tzutzuen quarter of the town of Neamtzu, towards the village of Neamtzu Vinatori. When old Nichifor lived in Tzutzuen my grandfather's grandfather was piper at the christening feast at the house of Mosh Dedui from Vinatori, the great Ciubar-Voda being godfather, to whom Mosh Dedui gave forty-nine brown lambs with only one eye each; and the priest, uncle of my mother's uncle, was Ciubuc the Bell-ringer from the Neamtzu Monastery, who put up a big bell at this same monastery at his own expense, and had a fancy to ring it all by himself on big feast days, on which account he was called the bell-ringer. About this time old Nichifor lived at Tzutzuen. Old Nichifor was a cab-driver. Although his carriage was only fastened together with thongs of lime and bark, it was still a good carriage, roomy and comfortable. A hood of matting prevented the sun and rain from beating down into old Nichifor's carriage. In the well of the carriage hung a grease box with a greasing stick and some screws which banged against each other ding! dong! ding! dong! whenever the carriage moved. On a hook below the boot--on the left--was suspended a little axe to be ready for any emergency. Two mares, white as snow and swift as flame, nearly always supported the pole of the carriage; nearly always but not quite always; old Nichifor was a horse-dealer, and when he got the chance he would either exchange or sell a mare in the middle of a journey, and in that case the pole would be bare on the one side. The old man liked to have young, well-bred mares; it was a weakness with him. Perhaps you will ask me why mares and always white ones, and I will tell you this: mares, because old Nichifor liked to breed from them, white, because the whiteness of the mares, he said, served him as a lantern on the road at nights. Old Nichifor was not among those who do not know that "It is not good to be coachman behind white horses or the slave of women;" he knew this, but the mares were his own, and when he took care of them they were taken care of and when he did not--well, there was no one to reproach him. Old Nichifor avoided carrier's work; he refused to do any lifting for fear of giving himself a rupture. "Cab driving," he said, "is much better; one has to deal with live goods who go up hill on foot, and down hill on foot, and only stay in the carriage when it halts." Old Nichifor had a whip of hemp twig, plaited by his own hand, with a silk lash, which he cracked loud enough to deafen you. And whether he had a full load or was empty, old Nichifor always walked up the hills and usually pulled together with the mares. Down the hills he walked to avoid laming the mares. The passengers, willing or unwilling, had to do the same, for they had enough of old Nichifor's tongue, who once rounded on one of them like this: "Can't you get out and walk; the horse is not like a blockhead that talks." If you only knew how to appreciate everything that fell from old Nichifor's mouth, he was very witty. If he met a rider on the road, he would ask: "Left the Prince far behind, warrior?" and then, all at once, he would whip up the mares, saying: "White for the leader, white for the wheeler, The pole lies bare on the one side. Heigh! It's not far to Galatz. Heigh!" But if he met women and young girls then he sang a knowing song, rather like this: "When I took my old wife Eight lovers did sigh: Three women already wed, And five girls, in one village." They say, moreover, that one could not take the road, especially in the month of May, with a pleasanter or gayer man. Only sometimes, when you pretended not to see you were passing the door of a public house, because you did not feel inclined to soften old Nichifor's throat, did you find him in a bad mood, but even on these occasions he would drive rapidly from one inn to the other. On one occasion, especially, old Nichifor coveted two mares which were marvels on the road, but at the inns, whether he wanted to or no, they used to halt, for he had bought them from a priest. My father said that some old men, who had heard it from old Nichifor's own lips, had told him that at that time it was a good business being a cab-driver in Neamtzu town. You drove from Varatic to Agapia, from Agapia to Varatic, then to Razboeni; there were many customers, too, at the church hostels. Sometimes you had to take them to Peatra, sometimes to Folticeni, sometimes to the fair, sometimes to Neamtzu Monastery, sometimes all about the place to the different festivals. My father also said he had heard from my grandfather's grandfather that the then prior of Neamtzu is reported to have said to some nuns who were wandering through the town during Holy Week: "Nuns!" "Your blessing, reverend Father!" "Why do you not stay in the convent and meditate during Passion Week?" "Because, reverend Father," they are said to have replied with humility, "this wool worries us, but for that we should not come. Your Reverence knows we keep ourselves by selling serge, and though we do not collect a great deal, still those who go about get something to live on...." Then, they say, the prior gave a sigh, and he laid all the blame on old Nichifor, saying: "I would the driver who brought you here might die, for then he could not bring you so often to the town." They say old Nichifor was greatly troubled in his mind when he heard this, and that he swore an oath that as long as he lived he would never again have dealings with the clergy, for, unfortunately, old Nichifor was pious and was much afraid of falling under the ban of the priests. He quickly went to the little monastery at Vovidenia to Chiviac, the anchorite of St. Agura, who dyed his hair and beard with black cherries, and on dry Friday he very devoutly baked an egg at a candle that he might be absolved from his sins. And after this he decided that from henceforth he would have more to do with the commercial side. "The merchant," said old Nichifor, "lives by his business and for himself." When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered jokingly: "Because he has not got God for his master." Old Nichifor was a wag among wags, there was no doubt of it, but owing to all he had to put up with he became a bit disagreeable. I don't know what was the matter with her, but for some time past, his old wife had begun to grumble; now this hurt her; now that hurt her; now she had the ear-ache; now some one had cast a spell over her; now she was in tears. She went from one old witch to the other to get spells and ointments. As for old Nichifor, this did not suit him and he was not at all at his ease; if he stayed two or three days at home there was such bickering and quarrelling and ill will that his poor old wife rejoiced to see him leave the house. It's plain old Nichifor was made for the road, and that when he was off it he was a different man; let him be able to crack his whip and he was ready to chaff all the travellers he met and tell anecdotes about all the chief places he passed through. Early one day--it was the Wednesday before Whit-Sunday--old Nichifor had taken a wheel off the carriage, and was greasing it when suddenly Master Shtrul of Neamtzu town came up behind him; he was a grocer; a dealer in ointments; he took in washing; he traded in cosmetics, hair-dyes, toilet accessories, blue stone, rouge or some good pomade for the face, palm branches, smelling salts and other poisons. At that time there was no apothecary in Neamtzu town and Master Shtrul to please the monks and nuns brought them all they wanted. Of course he did other business too. To conclude, I hardly know how to tell you, he was more important than the confessor, for without him the monasteries could not have existed. "Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!" "Good luck to you, Master Shtrul. What business brings you to us?" "My daughter-in-law wants to go to Peatra. How much will you charge to take her there?" "Probably she will have a great many packages like you do, sir," said old Nichifor, scratching his head. "That doesn't matter; she can have them. My carriage is large; it can hold a good deal. But without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I'll take her there quite easily; for you'll see, now I've attended to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the carriage will run like a spinning-wheel." "You must be satisfied with nine shillings, Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip when you get to Peatra." "All right, then; may God be with us, Master Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now; perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey. Now I would like to know when we have to start?" "Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready." "I am ready, Master Shtrul; I have only to water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law ready." Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door. Malca--that was the name of Master Shtrul's daughter-in-law--came out to take a look at the driver. This is Malca's story: it appeared that Peatra was her native place; she was very red in the face, because she had been crying at parting with her parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been in Neamtzu; it was her wedding visit as they say with us. It was not much more than two weeks since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul's son, or, it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his parents' house according to the custom, and in two weeks' time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu and placed her in his parents' hands and had returned quickly to Peatra to look after his business. "You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?" "Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don't trouble myself much. As for the journey, it's as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening." "Will you be able to reach Peatra by the evening, Mosh Nichifor." "Eh! Do you know what you're talking about, Master Shtrul? I expect, so help me God, to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this afternoon." "You are very experienced, Mosh Nichifor; you know better than I do. All I beg of you is that you will be very careful to let no harm befall my daughter-in-law." "I did not start driving the day before yesterday, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls, and, praise be to God, none have ever complained of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute. Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow to the back of the carriage, for economy's sake, that she might have milk on the journey; this caused me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow, pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man that I am, was bold enough to say, 'Little nun, isn't it being a penny wise and a pound foolish?' Then she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to me, 'Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is not guilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St. Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly; so what is to be done? I must listen to them, for these holy men know a great deal better than do we poor sinners.' "When I heard this, I said to myself, that perhaps the begging Sister had some reason on her side, and I left her to her fate, for I saw that she was funny and at all events was determined to drink only from one well. But, Master Shtrul, I do not think you are going to annoy me with cows too. And, then, Mistress Malca, where it is very steep, uphill or down, will always get out and walk a little way. It is so beautiful out in the country then. But there, we mustn't waste our time talking. Come, jump in, Mistress Malca, that I may take you home to your husband; I know how sad it is for these young wives when they have not got their husbands with them; they long for home as the horse longs for his nose-bag." "I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor." And she began at once to pick up the feather mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food, and other commodities. Then Malca took leave of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pace through the town, the mares seemed to be almost flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop. But the other side of Grumazeshti old Nichifor took a pull from the brandy flask which had come from Brashov, lit his pipe, and began to let the mares go their own pace. "Look, Mistress Malca, do you see that fine, large village? It is called Grumazeshti. Were I to have as many bulls and you as many sons as Cossacks, barbarians and other low people have dropped dead there from time to time, it would be well for us!" "God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor." "And may I have bulls, young lady--I have no hope of having sons; my wife is an unfruitful vine; she has not been busy enough to give me even one; may she die before long! When I am dead there'll be nothing left but this battered old carriage and these good-for-nothing mares!" "Don't distress yourself, Mosh Nichifor," said Malca, "maybe God has willed it so; because it is written in our books, concerning some people, that only in their old age did they beget sons." "Don't bother me, Mistress Malca, with your books. I know what I know; it's all in vain, we never can choose. I have heard it said in our church that 'a tree that bears no fruit should be hewn down and cast into the fire.' Can one have anything clearer than that? Really, I wonder how I can have had patience to keep house with my old woman so long. In this respect you are a thousand times better off. If he does not give you a child you'll get some one else. If that does not do--why then another; and in due time will come a little blessing from the Almighty. It's not like that with us who see ourselves condemned to live with one barren stock to the end of our life with no prospect of children. After all the great and powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person in this world. Isn't it so, young lady? If you have anything more to say, say it!" "It may be so, Mosh Nichifor." "Dear young lady, it is as I tell you. Houp là! We have gone a good part of the way. Lord, how a man forgets the road when he's talking, and when one wakes up who knows where one has got to. It's a good thing the Holy God has given one companionship! Hi! daughters of a dragon, get on! Here is the Grumazeshti Forest, the anxiety of merchants and the terror of the boyars. Hei, Mistress Malca, if this forest had a mouth to tell what it has seen, our ears could not hear more terrible adventures: I know we should hear some things!" "But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?" "Oh, young lady, oh! God grant that what has been may never be again! One used to have some trouble to pass through here without being robbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this happened more often by night than by day. As for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an unlucky hour, God preserve me! Wolves and other wild beasts have come out in front of me at different times, but I didn't hurt them; I left them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and they went about their own business." "Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don't talk about wolves any more, for they terrify me." I have told you how amusing old Nichifor was; sometimes he would say something that made you hold your sides with laughing, at other times he would bring your heart into your mouth with fear. "There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress Malca!" "Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, where can I hide?" "Hide where you are, for I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack." Then poor Malca, terrified, clung round old Nichifor's neck, and stuck to him like a leech, and as she sat there she said, trembling: "Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?" "Where is it? It crossed the road just in front of us, and went into the wood again. But if you had strangled me, young lady, and then the mares had bolted, it would have been a fine look out." He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly: "Never tell me again that a wolf is coming, Mosh Nichifor, I shall die from fright." "It is not that I say so; there is one just coming; there you have one!" "Alas! What are you saying?" And again she hid close to old Nichifor. "What is young is young. You want to play, young lady, isn't that it? It seems to me you're lucky, for I keep my self-control. I am not very afraid of the wolf, but if some one else had been in my place----" "No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor, will they?" "Oho! you are too funny, young lady, you want them to come too often. You mustn't expect to see a wolf at every tree. On St. Andrew's Day many of them prowl together in the same place and the huntsmen are on the watch. During the great hunt, do you think it's only a few wolves that are put to shame by having to leave their skins as hostages? Now we will let the mares get their wind. Look, this is 'Dragon Hill.' Once an enormous dragon alighted here, which spouted flames out of his mouth, and when it whistled the forest roared, the valleys groaned, the wild beasts trembled and beat their heads together with fear, and no one dared pass by here." "Alas! And where is the dragon, Mosh Nichifor?" "How should I know, young lady? The forest is large, it knows where it has hidden itself. Some say that after it had eaten a great many people and peeled the bark off all the oaks in the wood it expired at this spot. By others I have heard it said that it made a black cow give it milk, and this enabled it to rise again into the skies whence it had fallen. But how do I know whom to believe? People will say anything! Luckily I understand witchcraft, and I am not at all afraid of dragons. I can take serpents out of their nest as easily as you can take a flea out of your poultry-house." "Where did you learn these spells, Mosh Nichifor?" "Eh? My dear young lady, that I may not tell. My old woman--she was just on twenty-four when I fell in love with her--what hasn't she done! How she has worried me to tell her, and I wouldn't tell her. And that's why she'll die when she does die, but why hasn't she died long before, for then I could have got a younger woman. For three days I can live in peace with her, and then it's enough to kill one! I am sick to death of the old hag. Every minute she worries and reproaches me by her manner. When I think that when I return I have got to go back to her, I feel wild--just inclined to run away--nothing more nor less." "Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like that." "Eh! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top of the wood. Won't you walk a little while we go up the hill? I only say it because I am afraid you will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you to sit huddled up there." "I am afraid of the wolf, Mosh Nichifor," said Malca, shaking. "Let's have done with that wolf. Have you nothing else to talk about?" "Stand still that I may get down." "Wo! Step gently here on to the step of the carriage. Ah, now I see for myself that you are sturdy; that's how I like people to be, born not laid." While Malca gathered some balm to take to Itzic, old Nichifor stood still and tinkered a little at the carriage. Then he called quickly: "Are you ready, young lady? Come, get in and let us get on with the help of God; from here on it is mostly down hill." After Malca has mounted she asked: "Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?" "If we meet with no obstacles I shall soon have you in Peatra." And he whipped up the mares, saying: "White for the leader, white for the wheeler The pole lies bare on the one side. Heigh! It's not far to Galatz. Heigh!" He had scarcely gone twenty yards when--bang! An axle-pin broke. "Well, here's a to-do!" "Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, we shall be benighted in the wood." "Don't take it amiss, Mistress Malca. Come, it's only happened to me once in my life. While you eat a little something, and the mares put away a bit of fodder, I shall have replaced the axle-pin." When old Nichifor came to look at the hook, the little axe had disappeared! "Well, what has been had to be," said old Nichifor, knitting his eyebrows, and getting angry as he thought of it. "If God punishes the old woman, may he punish her! See how she takes care of me; there is no axe here." When poor Malca heard this she began to sigh and to say: "Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?" "Now, young lady, don't lose heart, for I have still a ray of hope." He drew his pocket-knife out of its sheath, he went to the side of the carriage, and began to cut away at a young oak of the previous year. He cut it as best he could, then he began to rummage about in a box in the carriage to find some rope; but how could he find it if it had not been put in? After looking and looking in vain, he cut the cord from the nose-bag, and a strap from the bridle of one of the mares to tie the sapling where it was wanted, put the wheel in position, slipped in the bit of wood which ran from the head of the axle to the staff-side of the carriage, twisted round the chain which connected the head of the axle with the shaft, and tied it to the step; then he lit his pipe and said: "Look, my dear young lady, how necessity teaches a man what to do. With old Nichifor of Tzutzuen no one comes to grief on the road. But from now on sit tight in the bottom of the carriage, and hold fast to the back of your seat, for I must take these mares in hand and make them gallop. Yes, I warrant you, my old woman won't have an easy time when I get home. I'll play the devil with her and teach her how to treat her husband another time, for 'a woman who has not been beaten is like a broken mill.' Hold tight, Mistress Malca! Houp-là!" And at once the mares began to gallop, the wheels to go round, and the dust to whirl up into the sky. But in a few yards the sapling began to get hot and brittle and--off came the wheel again! "Ah! Everything is contrary! It's evident I crossed a priest early this morning or the devil knows what." "Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?" "We shall do what we shall do, young lady. But now stay quiet here, and don't speak a word. It's lucky this didn't happen somewhere in the middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe." And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them. "Well met, good man!" "So your carriage has broken the road!" "Put chaff aside, man; it would be better if you came and helped me to mend this axle, for you can see my heart's breaking with my ill luck." "But I am in a hurry to get to Oshlobeni. You'll have to lament in the forest to-night; I don't think you'll die of boredom." "I am ashamed of you," said Nichifor sulkily. "You are older than I am and yet you have such ideas in your head." "Don't get excited, good man, I was only joking. Good luck! The Lord will show you what to do." And on he went. "Look, Mistress Malca, what people the devil has put in this world! He is only out to steal. If there had been a barrel of wine or brandy about, do you think he would have left the carriage stuck in the middle of the road all that time? But I see, anything there is to do must be done by old Nichifor. We must have another try." And again he began to cut another sapling. He tried and he tried till he got that, too, into place. Then he whipped up the mares and once more trotted a little way, but at the first slope, the axle-pin broke again. "Now, Mistress Malca, I must say the same as that man, we shall have to spend the night in the forest." "Oh! Woe is me! Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying?" "I am saying what is obvious to my eyes. Look yourself; can't you see the sun is going down behind the hill, and we are still in the same place? It is nothing at all, so don't worry. I know of a clearing in the wood quite near here. We will go there, and we shall be just as though we were at home. The place is sheltered and the mares can graze. You'll sleep in the carriage, and I shall mount guard all night. The night soon passes, we must spend it as best we can, but I will remind my old woman all the rest of her days of this misfortune, for it is her fault that things have gone so with me." "Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor; it's sure to be right." "Come, young lady, don't take it too much to heart, for we shall be quite all right." And at once old Nichifor unharnessed the mares and, turning the carriage, he drew it as well as he could, till he reached the clearing. "Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keep enough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world." Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began to walk about and collect sticks. "Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn't your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?" "For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti." "And I was wondering how you came to speak Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of our women. I cannot believe you were really afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think of this clearing? Would you like to die without knowing the beauty of the world? Do you hear the nightingales, how charming they are? Do you hear the turtle-doves calling to each other?" "Mosh Nichifor, won't something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?" "Itzic? Itzic will think himself a lucky man when he sees you at home again." "Do you think Itzic knows the world? Or what sort of accidents could happen on the road?" "He only knows how to walk about his hearth or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at home. Let me see whether you know how to make a fire." Malca arranged the sticks; old Nichifor drew out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old Nichifor said: "Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully the wood burns?" "I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear." "Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight soon comes." Malca, encouraged by old Nichifor, got into the carriage and lay down; old Nichifor lighted his pipe, spread out his sheepskin cloak and stretched himself by the side of the fire and puffed away at his pipe, and was just going off to sleep when a spark flew out on to his nose! "Damn! That must be a spark from the sticks Malca picked up; it has burnt me so. Are you asleep, Mistress?" "I think I was sleeping a little, Mosh Nichifor, but I had a nightmare and woke up." "I have been unlucky too; a spark jumped out on to my nose and frightened sleep away or I might have slept all night. But can anyone sleep through the mad row these nightingales are making? They seem to do it on purpose. But then, this is their time for making love to each other. Are you asleep, young lady?" "I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor." "Do you know, young lady, I think I will put out the fire now at once: I have just remembered that those wicked wolves prowl about and come after smoke." "Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that's the case." Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the fire to smother it. "From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep without anxiety till the day dawns. There! I've put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe. But I've got the tinder box. The devil take you nightingales: I know too well you make love to each other!" Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up to the carriage on the tips of his toes. Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor shook her gently and said: "Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!" "I hear, Mosh Nichifor," replied Malca, trembling and frightened. "Do you know what I've been thinking as I sat by the fire?" "What, Mosh Nichifor?" "After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe, and by daybreak I shall be back here again." "Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying? Do you want to find me dead from fright when you come back?" "May God preserve you from such a thing! Don't be frightened, I was only talking at random." "No, no, Mosh Nichifor, from now on I shall not want to sleep; I shall get down and sit by you all night." "You look after yourself, young lady; you sit quietly where you are, for you are comfortable." "I am coming all the same." And as she spoke down she came and sat on the grass by old Nichifor. And first one, and then the other was overcome by sleep, till both were slumbering profoundly. And when they woke it was broad daylight. "See, Mistress Malca, here's the blessed day! Get up and come and see what's to be done. There, no one has eaten you, have they? Only you have had a great fright!" Malca fell asleep again at these words. But old Nichifor, like a careful man, got up into the carriage, and began rummaging about all over the place, and under the forage bags, and what should there be but the axe and a measure and a gimlet beneath the seat. "Who would have believed it! Here's a pity! I was wondering why my old woman didn't take care of me. Now because I wronged her so terribly I must take her back a red fez and a bag of butter to remind her of our youth. Evidently I took them out yesterday with my pipe. But my poor, good old wife, difficult though she is, knew all I should want on the journey, only she did not put them in their right place. But the woman tried to understand all her husband wanted! Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!" "What is it, Mosh Nichifor?" "Do you know that I have found the axe, and the rope and the gimlet and everything I want." "Where, Mosh Nichifor?" "Why, under your bundles. Only they had no mouths with which to tell me. We have made a mistake: we have been like some one sitting on hidden treasure and asking for alms. But it's good that we have found them now. It shows my poor old woman did put them in." "Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in your heart." "Well, yes, young lady. I see I am at fault. I must sing a song of penitence: Poor old wife of mine! Be she kind or be she harsh, Still her home is mine." And so saying old Nichifor rolled up his sleeves, cut a beech stick, and made a wonderful axle-pin. Then he set it in position, put the wheel in place, harnessed the mares, quietly took the road and said: "In you get, young lady, and let's start." As the mares were refreshed and well rested they were at Peatra by middle day. "There you will see your home, Mistress Malca." "Thank God, Mosh Nichifor, that I came to no harm in the forest." "The fact is, young lady, there's no doubt about it, there's no place like home." And while they were talking they reached the door of Itzic's house. Itzic had only just come back from the school, and when he saw Malca he was beside himself with joy. But when he heard all about the adventures they had met with and how the Almighty had delivered them from danger he did not know how to thank old Nichifor enough. What did he not give him! He himself marvelled at all that was given him. The next day old Nichifor went back with other customers. And when he reached home he was so gay that his old woman wondered what he had been doing, for he was more drunk than he had been for a long time. From now on Malca came every two or three weeks to visit her parents-in-law in Neamtzu: she would only let old Nichifor take her back home, and she was never again afraid of wolves. A year, or perhaps several years, after, over a glass of wine, old Nichifor whispered to one of his friends the story of the adventure in the "Dragon" Wood, and the fright Mistress Malca got. Old Nichifor's friend whispered it again to some friends of his own, and then people, the way people will do, began to give old Nichifor a nickname and say: "Nichifor, the Impostor: Nichifor, the Impostor:" and even though he is dead the poor man has kept the name of Nichifor, the Impostor, to this very day. COZMA RACOARE By M. SADOVEANU He was a terrible man, Cozma Racoare! When I say Cozma, I seem to see, do you know, I seem to see before me, a sinister-looking man riding upon a bay horse; two eyes like steel pierce through me; I see a moustache like twin sparrows. Fierce Rouman! He rode with a gun across his back, and with a knife an ell long, here, in his belt, on the left side. It was thus I always saw him. I am old, you know, nigh on a hundred, I have travelled much about the world, I have met various characters, and many people, but I tell you, a man like Cozma Racoare I have never seen! Yet he was not physically so terrible; he was a man of middle height, lean, with a brown face, a man like many another--ha! but all the same! only to have seen the eyes was to remember him. Terrible Rouman! There was grief and bitterness in the land at that time. Turks and Greeks were overrunning the country on all sides, everywhere honest men were complaining--they were hard times! Cozma had no cares. To-day he was here, to-morrow one heard of him, who knows where! Every one fled before the storm, but he, good Lord, he never cared! They caught him and put him in chains. What need? He just shook himself, wrenched the bars with one hand, whistled to his horse, and there he was on the road again. Who did not know that Racoare had a charmed life? Ah, how many bullets were aimed at his breast! But in vain! It was said of him: only a silver bullet can slay him! Where do you see men like that nowadays? Those times are gone for ever. Have you heard of the Feciorul Romancei? He was a fire-eater too! He robbed the other side of Muntenia, Cozma robbed this, and one night--what a night!--they both met at Milcov, exchanged booty, and were back in their homes before dawn. Were the frontier guards on the watch? Did they catch them as they rode? Why! Racoare's horse flew like a phantom, no bullet could touch him! What a road that is from here, across the mountains of Bacau, to the frontier! Eh! to do it, there and back in one night, you mark my words, that's no joke! But that horse! That's the truth of the matter, that horse of Racoare's was not like any other horse. That's clear. Voda-Calimbach had an Arabian mare, which his servants watched as the apple of his eye; she was due to foal. One night--it was in the seventh month--Cozma got into the stall, ripped open the mare and stole the foal. But that was not all he did! You understand the foal was wrapped in a caul. Racoare cut the caul, but he cut it in such a way as to split the foal's nostrils. And look, the foal with the split nostrils grew up in the dark fed upon nut kernels; and when Cozma mounted it--well, that was a horse! Even the wind, therefore, could not out-distance Cozma. On one occasion--I was a volunteer then--Cozma woke to find himself within the walls of Probot, with volunteers inside and the Turks outside. The Turks were battering the walls with their guns. The volunteers decided to surrender the fortress. Cozma kept his own counsel. The next day Cozma was nowhere to be found. But from the walls, up to the forest of Probot, was a line of corpses! That had been Racoare's road! That is how it always was! His were the woods and fields! He recognized no authority, he did not know what fear was, nor love--except on one occasion. Terrible Rouman! It seems to me I can see him now, riding upon his bay horse. At that time a Greek was managing the Vulturesht estate, and on this side, on our estate, within those ruined walls, there ruled such a minx of a Roumanian as I had never seen before. The Greek was pining for the Roumanian. And no wonder! The widow had eyebrows that met, and the eyes of the devil--Lord! Lord! such eyes would have tempted a saint. She had been married, against her will, to a Greek, to Dimitru Covas; the Greek died, and now the lady ruled alone over our estate. As I tell you, Nicola Zamfiridi, the Greek, was dying for the lady. What did that man not do, where did he not go, what soothsayers did he not visit, all in vain! The lady would not hear of it! She hated the Greek. And yet Nicola was not ill-favoured. He was a proud Greek, bronzed, with pointed moustache and curly beard. But still he did not please the widow! One day, Nicola sat pondering in his room while he smoked. What was to be done? He most certainly wanted to marry, and to take her for his wife; why would she not hear of it? A few days before he had gone with Ciocirlie, the gipsy, and had sung desperately outside the walls. Alas, the courtyard remained still as stone! What the devil was to be done? Boyar Nicola thought to himself: "You are not ugly, you are not stupid--what's the reason of it? Is she, perhaps, in love with some one else?" No. He watched for one whole night. Nobody entered, and nobody left the courtyard. The boyar was angry. He rose, picked up a whip and went out. The grooms were grooming the horses in the yard. "Is that horse supposed to be groomed?" he shouted, and slash! down came the whip on one of the grooms. Farther on the gardener was resting from the heat. "Is this how you look after the garden? Hey!" and swish! crack! What next? Was it any use losing one's temper with the people? He went into the garden, and seated himself under a beautiful lime-tree. There, on the stone bench, he pondered again. His life was worthless if the woman he loved would not look at him! He watched the flight of the withered leaves in the still air; he heaved a sigh. "Vasile! Vasile!" called the boyar. His voice rang sadly in the melancholy garden. A sturdy old man came through the garden door, and went towards his master. "Vasile," said the boyar, "what is to be done?" The old man eyed his master, then he, too, sighed and scratched his head. "What is to be done, Vasile?" "How should I know, master?" "You must find something. Many people have advised me, now you suggest something. I got nothing out of that old witch, and Ciocirlie was no good; cannot you propose something?" "H'm----" "Do not desert me, Vasile!" "H'm, master, I'll tell you something if you will give me something." "Take a ducat of mine, Vasilica--speak!" Vasile did not let himself be put off by the mention of one ducat. He scratched his head again. "If I knew you would give me two ducats, master, or even three, or many--you understand--that's how it is! What will be, will be! I say go right off to Frasini, go into the courtyard, through the courtyard into the lady's boudoir and steal her! That's what I say!" "What are you talking about, good Vasile! Is it possible!" Vasile said no more. The boyar thought deeply, his hand on his forehead; then he said: "That's what I must do, Vasile! I know what I have to do! Bravo you, good Vasile!" "If only I knew I was to get two ducats reward!" sighed Vasile, scratching his head. And that evening Boyar Nicola kept his word. He mounted his horse, took with him five companions from among the grooms, and started out to Frasini. The forest shuddered with the whisper of the breeze of the autumn night. The men rode silently. From time to time could be heard the trumpeting of the cock, coming they knew not whence. Beyond lay silence. At last the widow's courtyard came into sight, black, like some heap of coal. Like ghosts Nicola and his companions approached the wall; in silence they dismounted; they threw rope-ladders over the top of the wall, climbed up and over to the other side. The horses remained tied to the trees. Suddenly they heard cries. Boyar Nicola was not afraid. He hurried to the door--the doors were not shut. He passed along the corridor. "Aha!" murmured the Greek. "Now I shall have the darling in my arms." But suddenly a door was opened, and a bright sea of light illuminated the passage. Boyar Nicola was not frightened. He advanced towards the room. But he had scarcely gone two paces when there, on the threshold, stood the Sultana, with her hair undone, in a thin white petticoat and a white dressing-jacket. With frowning brows she stood in the doorway looking at the boyar. Nicola was beside himself. He would willingly have gone on his knees, and kissed her feet, so beautiful was she. But he knew if he knelt before her she would only mock him. He approached to embrace her. "Hold!" cried the Sultana. "I thought there were thieves! Ha, ha! it is you, Boyar Nicola?" And suddenly, there in the light, she raised a shining scimitar in her right hand. Nicola felt a hard blow on the side of his head. He stood still. His grooms started to run, but one fell, yelling, and covered with blood. Just then a great noise was heard, and the lady's servants came in. Nicola fled towards the exit followed by his four companions. Then on into the yard with scimitars flashing on their right and on their left. And once more they are on horseback fleeing towards Vulturesht. There he dismounted, feeling very bitter, and entered the garden once more, and once more sat on the stone bench, and hid his face in his hands. "Woe is me!" he murmured miserably. "How wretched is my life! What is to be done? What is to be done?" He sat there in the October night tortured by his thoughts. Only the breeze carrying the mist from the fields disturbed him. "Woe is me! How wretched is my life!" and he bent forward, his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "What a terrible woman!" he murmured again as he mused. "What eyes she has! Oh, Blessed Virgin! Oh, Blessed Virgin! Do not abandon me, for my heart is breaking!" For some time he stayed there dreaming. After a while he rose and moved towards the house. "What a terrible woman, and what eyes!" In the house he once more called for Vasile. "Good Vasile, I am undone! A terrible woman, good Vasile--she has burnt my heart and turned it to ashes! What is to be done? Do not leave me! Look, you understand, you shall have two of my ducats." "I know what you have been through, master. She is a proud lady, there is no denying it! If I knew you would give me five ducats, or even six--but there, it's only an idea----" "Speak, Vasile, good man, I will give you---- What eyes! Woe is me!" "Then I understand, master," says Vasile, "that you give me seven ducats, but you'll have to give seven times seven if you get her here at your hand--don't be afraid, master, it is not much--only seven times seven to have her here at your hand! I'll bring Cozma Racoare to you! As sure as you put the ducats into the palm of my hand, so sure will he put the Sultana into your arms, that's that." Boyar Nicola was rather alarmed when he heard talk of Cozma Racoare, but afterwards he sighed and said: "Good!" Three days later Racoare came. Nicola was sitting on the stone bench in the garden under the lime-tree, smoking a pipe of fragrant tobacco. When he caught sight of the highwayman he sat gazing at him with startled eyes. Cozma came calmly along with his horse's bridle in his left hand. He wore top boots up to his knees with long steel spurs. A long gun was slung across his back. On his head was a black sheepskin cap. He walked unconcernedly as usual with knitted brows; his horse followed him with bent head. Vasile, the boyar's agent, came up to the stone seat, scratching his head, and whispered with a grin: "What do you say to this, master? Just take a look at him. He could bring you the devil himself!" Boyar Nicola could not take his eyes off Cozma. The highwayman stopped and said: "God be with you!" "I thank you," replied Vasile. "God grant it!" The boyar remained persistently silent. "H'm!" murmured Vasile. "You have come to see us, friend Cozma?" "I have come," responded Racoare. "On our business?" "Yes." Cozma spoke slowly, frowning; wherever he might be no smile ever lit up his face. "Ah, yes, you have come," said the boyar, as if awaking from sleep. "Vasile, go and tell them to prepare coffee, but bring wine at once." "Let them make coffee for one," said Cozma, "I never drink." Vasile went off grinning, after a side-glance at his master. "Ah, you never drink!" said the boyar with an effort. "So, so, you have come on our business--how much? Ah, I am giving fifty ducats." "Good!" said Racoare quietly. Vasile returned, smiling knowingly. The boyar was silent. "Eh," said Vasile, scratching his head, "how are you getting on?" "Good Vasile, go and fetch the purse from under my pillow." "No, there is no need to give me a purse," said the highwayman, "I have no need of money." "What?" murmured the boyar. "Ah, yes! You do not need? Why?" "The thing is to put the Sultana of Frasini into your arms--I hand you over the lady, and you hand me the money." "Let's be brief!" cried Vasile, passing his hand through his hair. "One party gives the lady, the other the money. What did I tell you? Cozma would fetch you the devil from hell. From henceforth the lady is yours." Racoare turned round, strode to the bottom of the garden, fastened his horse to a tree, drew a cloak of serge from his saddle, spread it out and wrapped himself in it. "Well! Well!" groaned Boyar Nicola, breathing heavily. "What a terrible man! But I feel as though he had taken a load off my mind." Vasile smiled but said nothing. Later, when he was by himself, he began to laugh and whisper: "Ha, ha! He who bears a charmed life is a lucky man!" The boyar started up as from sleep and looked fearfully at Vasile; then he shook his head and relapsed into thought. "Ah, yes!" he murmured, without understanding what he was talking about. When night had fallen Cozma Racoare tightened his horse's girths and mounted. Then he said: "Boyar, wait for me in the glade at Vulturesht." The gates were opened, the horse snorted and rushed forth like a dragon. The full moon shone through the veil of an autumnal mist, weaving webs of light, lighting up the silent hills and the dark woods. The rapid flight of the bay broke the deep silence. Racoare rode silently under the overhanging woods with their sparse foliage; he seemed like a phantom in the blue light. Then he reached Frasini. Every one was asleep, the doors were shut. Cozma knocked at the door: Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! "Who is there?" cried a voice from within. "Open!" said Racoare. "Who are you?" "Open!" shouted Cozma. From within was heard a whispered: "Open!" "Do not open!" "Open, it is Cozma!" A light shone through a niche in the wall above the door, and lighted up Cozma's face. Then a rustling sound became audible, the light was extinguished, and the bar across the door rattled. Cozma entered the empty courtyard, dismounted by the steps, and pushed open the door. "The door is open," he murmured, "the lady is not nervous." In the dark corridor his footsteps and his spurs echoed as in a church. A noise was heard in one of the rooms, and a bright light shone into the passage. The Sultana appeared in the doorway, dressed in white with her hair unplaited, with frowning brows and the scimitar in her right hand. "Who are you? What do you want?" she cried. "I have come to fetch you," said Racoare shortly, "and take you to Boyar Nicola." "Ah, you are not burglars?" said the lady, and raised her scimitar. "See here, you will meet the same fate as your Nicola!" Racoare took a step forward, calmly seized the scimitar, squeezed the lady's fist, and the steel blade flew into a corner. The lady sprang quickly back, calling: "Gavril! Niculai! Toader! Help!" Voices were heard, and the servants crowded into the passage, and stood by the door. Racoare approached the lady, and tried to seize her. She avoided him, and caught up a knife from the table. "What are you doing, you boobies? Help! Seize him, bind him!" "Don't talk nonsense--I see you are not frightened; I cannot do other than I am doing!" said Racoare. Then the servants murmured again: "How can we bind him? It is Racoare. He is here! Cozma Racoare, lady!" "Cowards!" cried the lady, and threw herself upon Cozma. The highwayman took her arm, pressed her hands together, tied them with a leather strap, and lifted her under his arm like a bundle. "Get out of the way!" he said then, and the people fell over each other as they scattered to either side. "What a pearl among women!" thought Cozma, while he strode along the corridor with the lady under his arm, "he has not bad taste, that Boyar Nicola! Proud woman!" The Sultana looked with eyes wide with horror at the servants who gave way on either hand in their terror. She felt herself held as in a vice. At last she raised her eyes to Racoare's fierce face. The light from the room was reflected in the man's steely eyes, and lit up his weather-beaten face. "Who are you?" she gasped. "I? Cozma Racoare." The lady gave another glance at the servants huddled in the corners, and she said not another word. Now she understood. Outside, the highwayman mounted the bay, placed the lady in front of him, and set spurs to his horse. Once more the sound of the galloping horse broke the silence of the night. "What a pearl among women!" thought Racoare, and the horse sped along the road like a phantom. The lady turned her head, and studied Racoare by the light of the moon. "Why do you look at me like that, lady?" And the horse sped along under the overhanging woods. The black hair of the lady shone in great billows of light. The foliage glistened with hoar-frost, like silver-leaf. The lady looked at the highwayman and shuddered, she felt herself squeezed in his powerful arms, and her eyes burnt like two stars beneath the heavy knitted brows. "Why do you look at me like that, lady? Why do you shiver? Are you cold?" The galloping hooves thundered through the glades, the leaves glittered in their silver sheen, and the bay passed on like a phantom in the light. A shadow suddenly appeared in the distance. "What is that yonder?" questioned the lady. "Boyar Nicola awaits us there," replied Racoare. The lady said no more. But Cozma felt her stiffen herself. The leather strap was snapped, and two white hands were lifted up. The highwayman had no time to stop her. Like lightning she seized the bridle in her right hand, and turned the horse on the spot, but her left arm she twined round Racoare's neck. The highwayman felt the lady's head resting against his breast, and a voice murmured softly: "Would you give me to another?" And the horse flew like a phantom through the blue light; the meadows rang with the sound of the galloping hooves, the silver leaves glistened, and tresses of black hair floated in the wind. But now shadows seemed to be pursuing them. The hills on the horizon seemed peopled with strange figures, which hurried through the light mist. But the black phantom sped on, and ever onwards, till it was lost in the far distance, in the gloom of the night. THE WANDERERS By M. SADOVEANU A house stood isolated in the middle of a garden, separated from the main group about the market-place. It was an old house, its veranda was both high and broad and had big whitewashed pillars. The pointed roof was tiled and green with moss. In front of the veranda, and facing south, stood two beautiful round lime-trees throwing out their shade. One day in the month of August, the owners, Vladimir Savicky and Ana, his wife, were sitting in the veranda. Both were old, weather-beaten by the storms of many journeys and the misfortunes of life. The old man wore a long white beard and long white hair, which was parted down the middle and smooth on the top; he smoked a very long pipe, and his blue eyes gazed towards the plains which stretched away towards the sunset. The old woman, Ana, selected a nosegay of flowers from a basket. He was tall and vigorous still, she was slight with gentle movements. Forty years ago they left their ruined Poland, and settled in our country. They kept an adopted daughter, and had a son of thirty years of age, a bachelor, and a good craftsman. They had lived for thirty years here in the old house, busying themselves with market-gardening: for thirty years they had lived a sad, monotonous life in this place. They had been alone with their adopted child, with Magdalena; Roman, their boy, had been roaming through the world for the last ten years. Old Vladimir puffed away at his pipe as he stroked his beard; the warmth of the afternoon had made him lay aside his blue jacket. The old wife was choosing her flowers. A gentle breeze, laden with fragrance, came from the garden, from the trees heavy with fruit, and from the gay-coloured flowers. Shafts of light penetrated through the leafy limes, little patches of white light came from above, and played over the bright grass, green as the tree-frog. From time to time the quivering foliage sent a melodious rustle into the peaceful balcony. At intervals the soft notes of a song floated through the open window. Suddenly a resounding noise broke the stillness of the day. What was it? A carriage. The old man started, put down his pipe, and rose. The old woman put her head, wrapped in a white shawl, out over the railings. The rumbling vehicle, an ugly Jew upon the box, drew nearer, and pulled up outside the door of the old house. A strong, broad-shouldered young man descended, a big bundle in his right hand, a case in his left. "Roman! Roman!" cried the old lady in a feeble voice. She tried to rise but fell softly back beside the flowers. "There, there, old lady, it is Roman," murmured the old man gaily, as he went down the stairs. "Mr. Roman!" cried a gentle voice, and Magdalena's fair head appeared at the window. Roman had let fall the bundle and thrown himself into his father's arms. "Yes, old lady, it is Roman!" murmured Vladimir Savicky, with tears in his eyes. He embraced his son, and pressed him to his heart. "Yes, old lady, it is Roman!" That was all he could find to say. "Mother," cried the young man, "I have not seen you for ten years." The old mother cried silently, her son strained her to his breast, while the old man wandered round murmuring tearfully into his beard: "Yes, yes, old lady, it is our Roman." As Roman Savicky straightened his strong frame and turned round, he saw a white face with blue eyes in the doorway. He stood transfixed with astonishment; the girl watched him, smiling shyly. "Ha! ha!" laughed old Savicky, "how now? Do you not know each other? Ah! Kiss each other, you have known Magdalena ever since she was a child." The young people approached each other in silence, the girl offered her cheek with eyelids lowered, and Roman kissed her. "I did not recognize her," said Roman, "she has grown so big." His mother laughed softly. "You, too, Roman, you have grown much bigger--and handsome." "Naturally our Roman is handsome," said the old man, "our own Roman, old lady." Again the mother kissed her son. Roman seated himself upon a chair in the veranda, the old man placed himself on his right, and the mother on the left; they watched him, feasting their eyes upon him. "My darling! my darling!" he said to the old woman, "it is long since I have seen you." In the end they grew silent, looking intently at one another, smiling. The gentle rustle of the lime trees broke the heat and stillness of the August day. "Whence do you come, Roman?" questioned the old man suddenly. "From Warsaw," said his son, raising his head. The old man opened wide his eyes, then he turned towards Ana. "Do you hear that, old lady, from Warsaw?" The old lady nodded her head, and said wonderingly: "From Warsaw!" "Yes," said Roman, "I have journeyed throughout Poland, full of bitterness, and I have wandered among our exiled brothers in all parts of the world." Profound misery rang in his powerful voice. The old people looked smilingly at him, lovingly, but without understanding him. All acute feeling for their country had long ago died away in their hearts. They sat looking happily into the blue eyes of their Roman, at his fair, smooth face, at his beautiful luxuriant hair. The young man began to speak. Gradually his voice rose, it rang powerfully, full of sorrow and bitterness. Where had he not been! He had been everywhere, and everywhere he had met exiled Poles, pining away among strangers, dying far from the land of their fathers. Everywhere the same longing, everywhere the same sorrow. Tyrants ruled over the old hearth, the cry of the oppressed rent the air, patriots lay in chains or trod the road to Siberia, crowds fled from the homes of their fathers, strangers swept like a flood into their places. "Roman, Roman!" said the old woman, bursting into tears, "how beautifully you talk." "Beautifully talks our Roman, old lady," said Vladimir Savicky sadly, "beautifully, but he brings us sad tidings." And in the old man's soul old longings and bitter memories began to stir. On the threshold Magdalena stood dismayed and shuddered as she looked at Roman. Suddenly two old men entered by the door. One had thick, grizzled whiskers, the other a long beard in which shone silver threads. "Ah," cried the old Savicky, "here comes Palchevici, here comes Rujancowsky. Our Roman has come! Here he is!" "We know," said Rujancowsky gravely, "we have seen him." "Yes, yes, we have seen him," murmured Palchevici. They both approached and shook Roman warmly by the hand. "Good day and welcome to you! See, now all the Poles of this town are met together in one place," said Rujancowsky. "What?" questioned Roman. "Only these few are left?" "The others have passed away," said old Savicky sadly. "Yes, they have passed away," murmured Palchevici, running his fingers through his big grey whiskers. They were all silent for a time. "Old lady," said Vladimir Savicky, "go and fetch a bottle of wine and get something to eat too, perhaps Roman is hungry. But where are you? Where is Ana?" asked the old man, looking at Magdalena. "Do not worry, she has gone to get things ready," replied the girl smilingly. "'Tis well! 'tis well!" Then turning towards the two Poles. "You do not know how Roman can talk. You should hear him. Roman, you must say it again." The old wife came with wine and cold meat. She placed meat in front of her boy, and the wine before the older men. They all began to talk. But Roman's voice sounded melancholy in the stillness of the summer day. Then they began to drink to Roman's health, to the health of each one of them. "To Poland!" cried Roman excitedly, striking the table with his fist. And then he began to speak: "Do you realize how the downtrodden people begin to murmur and to agitate? Soon there will rise a mighty storm which will break down the prison walls, the note of liberty will ring through our native land! Ah, you do not know the anguish and the bitterness there! Stranger-ridden and desolate! Since Kosciusko died there are exiles and desolation everywhere! Mother," cried Roman, then turning towards the old woman, "give me the case from over there, I must sing something to you." With these words his eyes darkened and he stared into space. The old people looked at him, much moved, their heads upon their breasts, not speaking a word. Quiet reigned in the old house, and in the garden there was peace; a fiery sunset, crowned with clouds of flame, was merging into the green sea of the woods. Golden rays penetrated into the old veranda and shone on Roman's hair. His mother handed him the case. "Well," said the young man, "I will sing you something with my cither. I will sing of our grief." Then, beneath his fingers, the strings began to murmur as though awaking from sleep. Roman bent forward and began, the old people sat motionless round him. Sad tones vibrated through the quiet of the old house, notes soft and sorrowful like some remote mournful cry, notes deep with the tremor of affliction; the melody rose sobbing through the clear sunset like the flight of some bird of passage. In the souls of the old people there rose like a storm the clamour of past sorrows. The song lamented the ruin of fair lands; they seemed to listen, as in a sad dream, to the bitter tears of those dying for their native land. They seemed to see Kosciusko, worn with the struggle, covered in blood, kneeling with a sword in hand. Finis Poloniæ! Poland is no more! Ruin everywhere, death all around; a cry of sorrow rose; the children were torn from their unhappy land to pine away and die on alien soil! The chords surged, full of grief, through the clear sunset. Then slowly, slowly, the melody died away as though tired with sorrow until the final chord finished softly, like a distant tremor, ending in deathlike silence. The listeners seemed turned to stone. Roman leant his head upon his hand, and his eyes, full of pain, turned towards the flaming sunset. His chin trembled; his mind was full of bitter memories. The old men sat as though stunned, like some wounded creatures, their heads upon their breasts; the old mother cried softly, sighing, her eyes upon her Roman. As the young man turned his eyes towards the door he saw two bright tears in Magdalena's blue eyes; amid a deep silence his own eyes gazed into the girl's while the last crimson rays faded away from the woods. THE FLEDGELING By I. AL. BRATESCU-VOINESHTI One springtime a quail nearly dead with fatigue--she came from far-away Africa--dropped from her flight into a green corn-field on the edge of a plantation. After a few days of rest she began to collect twigs, dried leaves, straw, and bits of hay, and made herself a nest on a mound of earth, high up, so that the rain would not spoil it; then for seven days in succession she laid an egg, in all seven eggs, as small as sugar eggs, and she began to sit upon them. Have you seen how a hen sits on her eggs? Well, that is how the quail did, but instead of sitting in a coop, she sat out of doors, among the grain; it rained, it pelted with rain, but she never moved, and not a drop reached the eggs. After three weeks there hatched out some sweet little birds, not naked like the young of a sparrow, but covered with yellow fluff, like chickens, only smaller, like seven little balls of silk, and they began to scramble through the corn, looking for food. Sometimes the quail caught an ant, sometimes a grasshopper, which she broke into pieces for them, and with their little beaks they went pic! pic! pic! and ate it up immediately. They were pretty and prudent and obedient; they walked about near their mother, and when she called to them "pitpalac!" they ran quickly back to her. Once, in the month of June, when the peasants came to reap the corn, the eldest of the chicks did not run quickly at his mother's call, and, alas, a boy caught him under his cap. He alone could tell the overwhelming fear he felt when he found himself clasped in the boy's hand; his heart beat like the watch in my pocket. Luckily for him an old peasant begged him off. "Let him go, Marin, it's a pity on him, he will die. Don't you see he can hardly move, he is quite dazed." When he found himself free, he fled full of fear to the quail to tell her what had befallen him. She drew him to her and comforted him, and said to him: "Do you see what will happen if you do not listen to me? When you are big you can do what you like, but while you are little you must follow my words or something worse may overtake you." And thus they lived, contented and happy. The cutting of the corn and the stacking of the sheaves shook a mass of seeds on to the stubble which gave them food, and, although there was no water near, they did not suffer from thirst because in the early morning they drank the dew-drops on the blades of grass. By day, when it was very hot, they stayed in the shade of the plantation; in the afternoon, when the heat grew less, they all went out on to the stubble, but on the cold nights they would gather in a group under the protecting wings of the quail as under a tent. Gradually the fluff upon them had changed into down and feathers, and with their mother's help they began to fly. The flying lesson took place in the early morning towards sunrise, when night was turning into day, and in the evening in the twilight, for during the daytime there was danger from the hawks which hovered above the stubble-field. Their mother sat upon the edge and asked them: "Are you ready?" "Yes," they answered. "One, two, three!" And when she said "three," whrrr! away they all flew from the side of the plantation, as far as the sentry-box on the high road, and back again. And their mother told them they were learning to fly in preparation for a long journey they would have to take when the summer was over. "We shall have to fly high up above the earth for days and nights, and we shall see below us great towns and rivers and the sea." One afternoon towards the end of August, while the chicks were playing happily near their mother in the stubble, a carriage was heard approaching, and it stopped in the track by the edge of the plantation. They all raised their heads with eyes like black beads and listened. A voice could be heard calling: "Nero! to heel!" The chicks did not understand, but their mother knew it was a man out shooting, and she stood petrified with fear. The plantation was their refuge, but exactly from that direction came the sportsman. After a moment's thought she ordered them to crouch down close to the earth, and on no consideration to move. "I must rise, you must stay motionless, he who flies is lost. Do you understand?" The chicks blinked their eyes to show they understood, and remained waiting in silence. They could hear the rustling of a dog moving through the stubble, and from time to time could be heard a man's voice: "Where are you? To heel, Nero!" The rustling drew near--the dog saw them; he remained stationary, one paw in the air, his eyes fixed upon them. "Do not move," whispered the quail to them, and she ran quickly farther away from them. The dog followed slowly after her. The sportsman hurried up. His foot was so near to them that they could see an ant crawling up the leg of his boot. Oh, how their hearts beat! A few seconds later the quail rose, and flew low along the ground a few inches in front of the dog's muzzle. It pursued her, and the sportsman followed, shouting: "To heel! to heel!" He could not shoot for fear of hurting the dog; the quail pretended to be wounded so well that the dog was determined to catch her at all cost, but when she thought she was out of range of the gun she quickly flew for shelter towards the plantation. During this time, the eldest fledgeling, instead of remaining motionless like his brothers, as their mother bade them, had taken to his wings; the sportsman heard the sound of his flight, turned and shot. He was some distance away. Only a single shot reached his wings. He did not fall, he managed to fly as far as the plantation, but there the movement of the wings caused the bone which had only been cracked at first to give way altogether, and the fledgeling fell with a broken wing. The sportsman, knowing the plantation was very thick, and seeing it was a question of a young bird only, decided it was not worth while to look for it among the trees. The other little birds did not move from the spot where the quail had left them. They listened in silence. From time to time they heard the report of a gun and the voice of the sportsman calling: "Bring it here!" After a time the carriage left the cart-track by the plantation and followed the sportsman; gradually the shots and the shouting became fainter and died away, and in the silence of the evening nothing could be heard but the song of the crickets; but when night had fallen and the moon had risen above Cornatzel, they clearly heard their mother's voice calling to them from the end of the stubble: "Pitpalac! pitpalac!" They flew quickly towards her and found her. She counted them; one was missing. "Where is the eldest one?" "We do not know--he flew off." Then the heart-broken quail began to call loudly, and yet more loudly, listening on every side. A faint voice from the plantation answered: "Piu! piu!" When she found him, when she saw the broken wing, she knew his fate was sealed, but she hid her own grief in order not to discourage him. From now on, sad days began for the poor fledgeling. He could scarcely move with his wing trailing behind him; with tearful eyes he watched his brothers learning to fly in the early morning and in the evening; at night when the others were asleep under his mother's wings, he would ask her anxiously: "Mother, I shall get well, I shall be able to go with you, shan't I? And you will show me, too, the big cities and rivers and the sea, won't you?" "Yes," answered the quail, forcing herself not to cry. In this way the summer passed. Peasants came with ploughs to plough up the stubble, the quail and her children removed to a neighbouring field of maize; after a time men came to gather in the maize. They cut the straw and hoed up the ground, then the quails retired to the rough grass by the edge of the plantation. The long, beautiful days gave place to short and gloomy ones, the weather began to grow foggy and the leaves of the plantation withered. In the evening, belated swallows could be seen flying low along the ground, sometimes other flocks of birds of passage passed and, in the stillness of the frosty nights, the cry of the cranes could be heard, all migrating in the same direction, towards the south. A bitter struggle took place in the heart of the poor quail. She would fain have torn herself in two, that one half might go with her strong children who began to suffer from the cold as the autumn advanced, and the other half remain with the injured chick which clung to her so desperately. One day, without any warning, the north-east wind blew a dangerous blast, and that decided her. Better that one of the fledgelings should die than that all of them should--and without looking back lest her resolution should weaken, she soared away with the strong little birds, while the wounded one called piteously: "Do not desert me! Do not desert me!" He tried to rise after them, but could not, and remained on the same spot following them with his eyes until they were lost to sight on the southern horizon. Three days later, the whole region was clothed in winter's white, cold garb. The violent snowstorm was followed by a calm as clear as crystal, accompanied by a severe frost. On the edge of the plantation lay a young quail with a broken wing and stiff with cold. After a period of great suffering he had fallen into a pleasant state of semi-consciousness. Through his mind flashed fragments of things seen--the stubble-field, the leg of a boot with an ant crawling upon it, his mother's warm wings. He turned over from one side to the other and lay dead with his little claws pressed together as though in an act of devotion. POPA TANDA By I. SLAVICI God have mercy on the soul of Schoolmaster Pintilie! He was a good man, and a well-known chorister. He was very fond of salad with vinegar. Whenever he was hoarse, he would drink the yolk of an egg with it; when he raised his voice, the windows rattled while he sang, "Oh, Lord, preserve Thy people." He was schoolmaster in Butucani, a fine, large town containing men of position and sound sense, and given to almsgiving and hospitality. Now Schoolmaster Pintilie had only two children: a daughter married to Petrea Tzapu, and Trandafir, Father Trandafir, priest in Saraceni. God keep Father Trandafir! He was a good man, he had studied many books, and he sang even better than his dead father, God have mercy on his soul! He always spoke correctly and carefully as though he were reading out of a book. Father Trandafir was an industrious, careful man. He gathered from many sources, and made something out of nothing. He saved, he mended, he collected to get enough for himself and for others. Father Trandafir went through a great deal in his youth. One does not achieve big results in a minute or two. The poor man has to go without a great deal more than he ever gets. He worked harder with his brain than with a spade and fork. But what he did was not work thrown away. Young Trandafir became priest in his native town, in Butucani, a fine large town containing men of position and good sense, but Trandafir did not enjoy the almsgiving and hospitality. Father Trandafir would have been a wonderful man had not one thing spoilt him. He was too severe in his speech, too harsh in his judgments; he was too straightforward and outspoken. He never minded his words, but said right out what he had in his mind. It is not good to be a man like that. Men take offence if you speak too plainly to them, and it is best to live peaceably with the world. This was evident in Father Trandafir's case. A man like him could not stay two years in Butucani. It was first one thing, then another; at one time he complained to the townspeople, the next time to the archdeacon. Now it is well known that priests must not make complaints to the archdeacon. The archdeacon understands presents much better than complaints. But that was what Father Trandafir would not comprehend. There is no doubt that Father Trandafir was in the right. But the thing is, right is the prerogative of the mighty. The weak can only assert themselves gradually. The ant cannot overthrow the mountain. It can, though, change its position; but slowly, slowly, bit by bit. Perhaps the Father knew that this was so in the world; he had his own standard, though. "Even the devil cannot turn what is true and right into a lie!" This was his remark, and with this remark he got himself turned out of Butucani. That is to say, it was not only he who did it, it was the townspeople too. One word and a little something besides to promote a good understanding with the archdeacon, a visit to the bishop, and a word there from the archdeacon: things get done if one knows how to do them. The long and the short of it was that Father Trandafir was sent from Butucani to Saraceni--to promote a good understanding among the faithful. Priest in Saraceni! Who knows what that means to be priest in Saraceni? That is what befell Father Trandafir! Who would fain leap the ditch throws his bag over it first. Father Trandafir only had a wife and two children; his bag was empty. That was why he leaped so unwillingly from Butucani to Saraceni. In the "Dry Valley" there was a village which they called "Saraceni." A village called "poor" in a "dry" valley; could any place have a more unpleasant name? The Dry Valley! "Valley" because the place was shut in between mountains; "dry," because the stream, which had cut its way through the middle of the valley, was dry most of the year. This was how the valley lies. To the right stood a hill called "Rîpoasa." On the left were three other hills, called "Fatza," "Grofnitza," and "Alunish." Rîpoasa was rocky. Fatza was cultivated; the village stood on Grofnitza, while on Alunish lay the village graveyard among hazel and birch trees. Thus it lay to right and left, but the chief feature of the landscape stood at the bottom. Here rose the mountains--from there, came what did come. The other side, beyond Rîpoasa was the Rapitza Valley--a much deeper valley than the Dry Valley, and so called because the Rapitza flowed through it. The Rapitza was a treacherous river, especially in the spring, and the stream in the Dry Valley was a branch of the Rapitza. In the spring, when the snow melted on the mountains, the Rapitza got angry and poured part of her fury into the branch that flowed through the Dry Valley, and the latter ceased to be "dry." In a few hours the inhabitants of Saraceni were rather too rich in water. This occurred nearly every year. When the crops in the valley appeared to be most favourable, the Dry Valley belied its name and washed away all that lay in its path. It would have been rather better if this invasion had lasted only a short time, but the water remained in the valley, and in many places formed refuges for the frog family. And instead of corn, osiers and interlacing willows grew by the side of its pools. Was it any wonder that in consequence of this the people of Saraceni had become in time the most idle of men? He is a fool who sows where he cannot reap, or where he does not know whether he will be able to reap or not. The Fatza was a sandy spot; the corn grew a few inches high and the maize a yard; on Rîpoasa one could not grow blackberries even, for at the bottom the water spoilt the fruit. Where there is no hope of reward there is no incentive to work. Whoever works wants to earn, but the people of Saraceni had given up all thoughts of gain, and therefore no one felt inspired to work. Those who could afford it passed their time lying out of doors; those who could not, spent their day working in the neighbouring villages. When the winter came life was hard and bitter. But whoever has got used to the bad does not think of better things; the people of Saraceni appeared to think that things could not be better than they were. Fish in the water, birds in the air, moles in the ground, and the people of Saraceni in poverty! Saraceni? One can imagine what a village like Saraceni must have been; here a house, there a house--all alike. Hedges were superfluous, seeing there was nothing to enclose; the street was the whole village. It would have been absurd to put a chimney on the house--the smoke found its way out through the roof. There would have been no sense in putting plaster on the walls either, as that dropped off in time. Some of the buildings were made of bits of wood knocked together, a roof of straw mixed with hay, an oven of clay, an old-fashioned veranda outside, a bed with four posts built into the ground, a door made out of three boards held together by two stakes placed crosswise--quickly made and well made--whoever was not pleased with it, let him make something he liked better. At the top of the village, that is to say on the highest point, was a sort of building which the Saracenese called the "church." It was a heap of old tree trunks piled one on the top of the other in the form of walls. In the old days--when, one does not know--these kind of walls were open to the sky; later, one does not know when, the walls had been made to converge in one place, to support what was supposed to do duty for a tower. This--owing to the fact that the supports of the facade had perished through the buffeting of a very strong wind--had fallen towards the patient earth, dragging the entire structure after it. And there it had remained ever since, for the church counted for little in Saraceni; it was superfluous. Priest? They say there is no village without a priest. Probably whoever said this did not know about Saraceni. Saraceni was a village without a priest. That is to say, it was a village with a priest--only this priest was a priest without a village. Saraceni was unique in one way. There had never been a priest who stayed more than three days in Saraceni; he came one day, stayed the next, and left on the third. Many guilty priests passed through Saraceni; whoever had stayed there long would have expiated all his sins. Then Father Trandafir reached this penitential spot. He could not expect to do as the others had done, come one day, stay the next, and depart the third. He was too much out of favour with the archdeacon to imagine that he would send him to another village. He could not remain without a village: a priest without a village--a cart without a wheel, a yoke without oxen, a hat on the top of a wig. He began to think what he must do; he must take things as they were, and stay gladly in Saraceni. It was only a village in name, but no one could say he was a priest without a village. But really a more suitable priest for a more suitable village you could not have found. The poverty of the priest corresponded to the poverty in the homes of his parishioners. From the beginning Trandafir realized one thing: it was much nicer in Butucani than in Saraceni. There the people all had something, and you could always have some of it. In Saraceni all the latches were made of wood. Then the Father reflected: the priest did all the business of the town, but the town took care of the priest's purse. Before long the Father began to feel sure that the people who started by being charitable and hospitable were not born fools. "It is a wise thing when men meet together to comfort and cheer each other. Even our Redeemer began with almsgiving, and the wedding at Cana of Galilee." Thus thought Father Trandafir; but in Saraceni there was neither almsgiving nor hospitality. "There is one thing," said the Father to himself a little later on, "in a poor village there is no corn for the priest to gather. As long as the people of Saraceni are lazy, so long shall I be hungry!" And he began to think how he was going to make his parishioners industrious. The industrious man eats the stones, makes soup out of the stagnant water, and reaps corn where the hemlock used to grow. "Then"--concluded the priest--"when the cow has fodder she is no longer dry!" Thus he spoke, and he set to work to put it in practice. A man who has nothing to eat busies himself with other people's affairs. He does no good that way! The blind man cannot aid the cripple; the hungry don't improve their village; when the geese keep watch among the vegetables, little remains for the gardener: but Father Trandafir was obstinate; when he started, he went on--and he got there, or he died by the way. The first Sunday Father Trandafir preached before the people, who had assembled in considerable numbers to see the new priest. There is nothing more agreeable to a man who desires the welfare of others than to see his words making an impression. A good thought multiplies itself, penetrating many hearts, and whoever possesses it and passes it on, if he values it, rejoices to see it gaining ground in the world. Father Trandafir felt happy that day. Never before had he been listened to with such attention as on this occasion. It seemed as though these people were listening to something which they knew but which they did not understand well. They drank in his words with such eagerness, it was as though they wanted to read his very soul the better to understand his teaching. That day he read the gospel of "The Prodigal Son." Father Trandafir showed how God, in His unending love for man, had created him to be happy. Having placed man in the world, God wishes him to enjoy all the innocent pleasures of life, for only so will he learn to love life and live charitably with his neighbours. The man who, through his own fault or owing to other causes, only feels the bitterness and sorrow of this world cannot love life; and, not loving it, he despises in a sinful manner the great gift of God. What kind of people are the lazy people, the people who make no effort, who do not stretch out a hand to take this gift? They are sinners! They have no desires--only carnal appetites. Man has been given pure desires which he may gratify with the fruit of his labours; longings are put into his heart that he may conquer the world while God Himself contemplates him with pleasure from on high. To work is the first duty of man; and he who does not work is a sinner. After this, the Father sketched in words which seemed to give life to his ideas the miserable existence of a man perishing from hunger, and he gave his faithful hearers the thoughts which had germinated in his own intelligent brain--how they must work in the spring and in the summer, in the autumn and in the winter. The people had listened; the Father's words were written on their faces; going home they could only talk of what they had heard in church, and each one felt himself more of a man than before. Maybe there were many among them who only waited for Sunday to pass that they might begin their first day of work. "There has never been such a priest in Saraceni!" said Marcu Flori Cucu, as he parted from his neighbour, Mitru. "A priest that does honour to a village," replied Mitru, as if he felt that his village was not exactly honoured. Other Sundays followed. Father Trandafir was ready with his sermon. The second Sunday he had no one to address. The weather was wet, and people stayed at home. Other Sundays the weather was fine; probably then the people did not remember in time; they were loath to part from God's blue sky. And so the Father only had in church some old woman or some aged man with failing sight and deaf ears. Sometimes there was only Cozonac, the bell-ringer. In this way he made no progress. Had he been a different kind of man he would have stopped here. But Father Trandafir was like the goat among cabbages in the garden. When you turn it out at the door, it comes in through the fence, when you mend the fence, it jumps over it, and does a lot more damage by destroying the top of the hedge. God keep him! Father Trandafir still remained a good man. "Wait!" he said. "If you will not come to me, I will go to you!" Then the priest went from door to door. He never ceased talking from the moment it was light. Whenever he came across anyone he gave him good advice. You met the priest in the fields; you found him on the hill; if you went down the valley you encountered the priest; the priest was in the woods. The priest was in church; the priest was at the death-bed; the priest was at the wedding; the priest was with your next-door neighbour--you had to fly the village if you wanted to escape the priest. And whenever he met you, he gave you wise counsel. During a whole year, Father Trandafir gave good advice. People listened gladly--they liked to stay and talk to the priest even if he did give them good advice. All the same, the old saying holds good: men know what they ought to do, but they don't do it. The Father was disappointed. After a certain time he ceased to give advice. There was not a man in the village upon whom he had not poured the whole weight of his learning: he had nothing more to say. "This will not do," said the priest once more. "Advice does not pay. I must start something more severe." He began to chaff. Wherever he found a man, Father Trandafir began to make him ridiculous, to make fun of him in every kind of way. If he passed a house that had not been re-roofed yesterday, he would say to the owner: "Oh, you are a clever man, you are! You have windows in the roof. You do love the light and the blessed sun!" If he found a woman in a dirty blouse: "Look at me! Since when have you taken to wearing stuff dresses?" If he met an unwashed child: "Listen, good wife, you must have a lot of plum jam if you can plaster your children with it!" And if he came across a man lying in the shade he would say to him, "Good luck with your work! Good luck with your work!" If the man got up, he would beg him not to stop work, for his children's sake. He began like this, but he carried it altogether too far. It got to such a pitch that the people did their utmost to get out of the priest's way. He became a perfect pest. The worst thing about it was that the people nicknamed him "Popa Tanda" because he chaffed them so. And "Popa Tanda" he has remained ever since. To tell the truth, it was only in one way the people did not like the priest. Each one was ready to laugh at the others with the priest; no one was pleased, though, when the others laughed at him. That is human; every one is ready to saddle his neighbour's mare. In that way, Father Trandafir pleased his parishioners, but he was not content himself. Before the year was out, every man in the village had become a tease; there was not a person left of whom to make fun, and in the end the wags began to laugh at themselves. That put an end to it. Only one thing remained to do: the village to make fun of the priest. Two whole years passed without Trandafir being able to stir up the people, even when he had passed from advising them to annoying them. They became either givers of advice or they were teasers: all day they stood in groups, some of them giving advice, others joking. It was a wonderful affair; the people recognized the right, despised the bad; but nothing altered them. "Eh! say now, didn't Father Trandafir mind? Didn't he get angry, very angry?" He did get wild. He began to abuse the people. As he had proceeded to advise them, and to chaff them, so now he proceeded to abuse them. Whenever he got hold of a man, he abused him. But he did not get far with this. At first the people allowed themselves to be insulted. Later on, they began to answer back, on the sly, as it were. Finally, thinking it was going too far, they began to abuse the priest. From now on, things got a little involved. Everything went criss-cross. The people began to tell the priest that if he did not leave off laughing at them, and insulting them, they would go to the bishop and get him removed from the village. That is what the priest deserved. The people had hit on the very thing! Throw him out of Saraceni! The priest began to curse in earnest. Off he went; the people got in to their carts to go to the archdeacon, and from the archdeacon to the bishop. In the Book of Wisdom, concerning the life of this world, there is a short sentence which says: our well-wishers are often our undoing and our evil-wishers are useful to us. Father Trandafir was not lucky in getting good out of his evil-wishers. The bishop was a good soul, worthy of being put in all the calendars all over the face of the earth. He took pity on the poor priest, said he was in the right, and scolded the people. And so Popa Tanda stayed in Saraceni. Misfortunes generally heap themselves upon mankind. One gives rise to another, or are they, perhaps, inseparable? Anyhow, they are always like light and shade, one alongside the other. By now Father Trandafir had three children. When he returned from the bishop, he found his wife in bed. There was a fourth little blessing in the house. A sick wife, three little children, a fourth at the breast, and a tumble-down house; the snow drifted through the walls, the stove smoked, the wind came through the roof, the granary was bare, his purse empty, and his heart heavy. Father Trandafir was not the man to find a way out of this embarrassing state of things. Had it been some one else in his situation, he could have helped him: he could not comfort himself. For a long time he stood in the dim light of the little lamp; every one around him slept. The sick woman was asleep. Now there is nothing more conducive to melancholy than the sight of people asleep. He loved those sleeping forms; he loved them and was responsible for their happiness; he lived for them, and their love made life precious to him. Thoughts crowded into his brain. His mind turned to the past and to the future; considering the state in which he found himself, the future could only appear depicted in the saddest colours. His children! His wife! What would become of them? His heart was heavy, and he could not find one consoling thought, one single loop-hole of escape; nowhere in the world was there anything to give him a gleam of hope. The next day was Sunday. The Father went to church with bowed head, to read Matins. Like the generality of mankind, Father Trandafir had never given much thought to what he was doing. He was a priest, and he was content with his lot. He liked to sing, to read the Gospel, to instruct the faithful, to comfort, and to give spiritual assistance to the erring. His thoughts did not go much beyond that. Had he been asked at any time whether he realized the sanctity, the inner meaning of his calling, maybe he would have laughed to himself at all those things which a man only grasps in moments of intense suffering. It is man's nature when his mind comprehends a series of more or less deep thoughts, to measure the whole world by this standard, and not to believe what he does not understand. But man does not always think in this way. There are events during which his brain becomes inactive: in danger, when no escape seems possible; in moments of joy, when he knows not from what source his happiness is derived; at times when his train of thought seems to have lost all coherence. Then, when man has reached, in any way, the point where the possible becomes indistinguishable from the impossible, he ceases to reason, instinct asserts itself. Father Trandafir went into the church. How many times had he not entered that church! Just as a blacksmith might enter his forge. But this time he was seized with an incomprehensible fear, he took a few steps forward and then hid his face in his hands and began to sob bitterly. Why did he cry? Before whom did he cry? His lips uttered these words only: "Almighty God, succour me!" Did he believe that this prayer, expressed with all the energy of despair, could bring him help? He believed nothing; he thought of nothing; he was in a state of exaltation. The Holy Scriptures teach us that just as the ploughman lives on the fruit of his toil, so does the spiritual pastor, who serves the altar, live by the result of his service at that altar. Father Trandafir always believed in the Holy Scriptures; he always worked only for the spiritual welfare of his people, and expected that they, in return, would furnish him with his daily bread. But the world is not always in agreement with what is written and commanded; only the priest agreed with it, the people did not. The Father got little from his office, anyhow not enough; this is to say, four pieces of ground near the village, a poll-tax on the population, and baptismal and burying fees. Taken altogether, it amounted to nothing, seeing that the earth produced scarcely anything, the poll-tax existed only in name, the new-born were baptized for nothing, and the dead were buried gratis by the priest. Near the church was a deserted house; a house in name only. The owner of the house could have kept cattle, but he had no beasts. By the side of the house there was room for a garden, but there was no garden because, as we have already said, there were no fences in Saraceni. Father Trandafir bought the whole place and lived in it. As the house belonged to the priest, nothing much was done to put it in order, and it was quite dilapidated, the walls had holes in them, there were rents in the roof. The Father only troubled himself about other people's houses. The priest's table was no better than the house. According to the old saying, man follows the ways of other men even when he wants to make them follow his own: the priest lived like the rest of the village. Happily he had his wife's dowry, but often one does not try to get help from just the place where it is to be had. The season of Lent drew near. "It will not do!" said Father Trandafir. "This will not do!" And he began to do as the rest of the world does, to occupy himself first and foremost with the care of his own house. Directly the spring-time came, he hired a gipsy, and set him to work to plaster the house with clay. In a few days all four walls were firmly plastered. After that, the priest enjoyed sitting outside more than inside the house, because you could not see the walls of the house so well from within; a plastered house was a fine thing in Saraceni, especially when one could say to oneself, "That is mine!" There was one thing, though, which was not as it should be. Every time the Father's eyes fell upon the sides of the roof he went indoors--he felt he had seen enough. He did not want to see the defective roof, but every time he wanted to look at the walls he had to see the roof. That damned roof! It could no longer be left like that. Down in the valley where there are numerous pools, not only willows and osiers grew, but here and there were to be found sedges and rushes, cat's-tail and a species of reed. "That is what I will do!" thought the priest. He engaged a man, and sent him out to cut sedges and rushes and cat's-tail and reeds. One Saturday the house was surrounded by bundles tied with osiers; and the following Saturday the roof was mended and edged on the top with bundles of reeds over which were stretched two strips of wood fastened with cross pieces. The work was good, and not dear. People passed by the priest's house nodding their heads and saying, "The priest is one of the devil's own men." Now the priest could stay happily outside. But this happiness did not last long. There was still one thing that was not quite right. The priest felt that he was too much in the open. There was no other house in the village like his, and it would have been better a little separated from the village. The Father hardly liked to say "At my place," when "my place" was "in the village." There must be a fence, and a gate for the people to enter by, when they came to see the priest; it might be a fence in name only, and the gate only a hurdle, but it must be an understood thing that before anyone could enter the priest's house he must cross the priest's yard. Once more the priest hired a man and sent him to cut briars and stakes. He fixed the stakes into the ground, and placed the briars between them, and there was the fence, ready made. In front of the house, in the direction of the church, about half an acre of ground was enclosed: the gate was formed by four poles fastened by two others placed crosswise. The priest's wife especially rejoiced at being thus shut in, and the priest rejoiced when he saw his wife's pleasure. There was not a day on which either the priest or his wife did not say to the children: "Listen! you are not to go outside the yard; play quietly at home." Once a man starts, he never gets to the end. One desire gives rise to another. Now the priest's wife got an idea in her head. "Do you know, Father," she said one morning, "I think it would be a good plan to make a few beds for vegetables by the side of the fence." "Vegetable-beds?" "Yes; we can sow onions, carrots, haricot beans, potatoes, and cabbages." The Father was astonished. To him that seemed quite beyond their powers. Vegetable-beds in Saraceni! For a few days his head was full of vegetable-beds, of potatoes, cabbages, and haricot beans; and a few days after that, the ground was already dug up and the beds were ready. Not a day passed on which the priest and his wife did not go about ten times to the beds to see if the seeds were growing. Great was the joy one day. The priest had risen very early. "Wife, get up!" "What's the matter?" "They have sprouted." The priest and his wife and all the children spent the whole day squatting by the beds. The more seeds they saw appear above the ground, the happier they were. And again the villagers passed by the priest's house and looked through the thorns at the priest's vegetable-beds, and they said once more, "The priest is one of the devil's own men!" "Listen, wife," said the priest. "Wouldn't it be a good plan to sow maize along the fence and round the beds?" "Indeed it would! I like fresh maize!" "So do I, especially when it's roasted on the embers!" Here was a new task! The priest surrounded himself with maize. He laughed with pleasure when he thought how pretty it would be when the maize grew up all round and shut out the briars on the fence which had begun to offend his eyes. But there is the old proverb, "Much wants more." At the back of the house was another strip of ground, about four times the size of the bit they had cultivated. The priest could not get it out of his head. Why should this land lie fallow? Couldn't he plant maize at the back of the house too? In the fields opposite, men were ploughing and sowing, the ground was untouched still in the village because it was the village. Marcu Flori Cucu, the priest's neighbour, had a plough; it was rather dilapidated, but it was a plough, and Mitru Catamush, Marcu's neighbour, had two feeble oxen and a foundered horse. The priest, Marcu, Mitru, the oxen and the horse, worked all one day from morn till eve. The ground was ploughed up and sown with maize. From thenceforward, the priest was happier when he was at the back of the house. It was a wonderful and beautiful bit of work--what furrows! And here and there among the furrows a blade of maize peeped out. In spite of this, the priest scratched himself once or twice, and then fairly often, behind the ear. It seemed as though something still weighed upon his mind. It was a difficult matter, which he hardly dare take in hand: the glebe lands. Up to now, they had been neglected; at present, he did not know what to do with them. He would have liked to work them himself. He would have liked to see his own men sowing them; he would have liked to take his wife there in the autumn. It was very tempting. He talked a great deal to his wife about the matter. They would need horses, a cart, a plough, a labourer, stables--they would want a quantity of things. Moreover, the priest did not understand agriculture. However, the vegetable-beds were growing green, the maize was springing up. The priest made up his mind; he took the residue of his wife's dowry and set to work. Marcu's plough was good enough to start with. The priest bought one horse from Mitru; a man in the Rapitza Valley had another one; Stan Schiopu had a cart with three wheels. The priest bought it as he got a wheel from Mitru, to make up for the horse being foundered. Cozonac, the bell-ringer, engaged himself as labourer to the priest, for his house was only a stone's throw away. The priest drove four posts into the ground at one end of the house, two long ones and two short, and he made three sides of plaited osiers and a roof of rushes, and there was the stable all ready. During these days, Father Trandafir had aged by about ten years; but he grew young again when he placed his wife and children in the cart, whipped up the horses, and drove off to see their ploughed land. The villagers saw him, and shook their heads, and said once more: "The priest is the devil's own man." The priest's wife had her own feminine worries. She had a beautiful Icon which had been given to her by the son of the priest at Vezura. At present the Icon was lying at the bottom of a box wrapped up in paper. For a long time she had wished to place it between the windows, to put flowers and sweet basil round it, and look at it often; because this Icon represented the Holy Virgin, and the priest's daughter was called Mary. But the walls were dirty and the Icon had no case. There was another thing that annoyed the priest's wife: one window was filled in with a pig's bladder, and in the other were three broken panes mended with paper. The house was rather dark. Easter drew near. There were only five days to Holy Week. If the priest wanted to spend Easter with his wife, he had still three important things to get: whitewash for the walls, windows for the house, and a case for the Icon of the most Blessed Virgin--all objects that could be found only in a town. To the market, then! The priest had horses and a cart. He was vexed about the osier baskets for the maize; only the backs and sides of them still remained. He was ashamed that a priest like himself should have to go to the market without any maize-baskets. He could not borrow any, seeing he was at Saraceni, where even the priest had no proper maize-baskets. They say "Necessity is the best teacher." The Father sent Cozonac down the valley to fetch osiers, planted two stakes in the ground with thinner sticks set between them about a hand's breadth apart, and then the priest and his wife and children, and Cozonac too, began to plait the osiers in. Before long the baskets were ready. The work was not very remarkable, but for all that they were the best baskets in Saraceni, and so good that Cozonac could not refrain from saying, "The priest is one of the devil's own men!" To the market-place and from the market-place home the Father went proudly with his baskets; other people had some, but he found people could buy worse baskets than those he had made himself. "What is the priest making?" "Baskets for the maize." "But he has got some." "He is making them for those who have not got any." After Easter, Cozonac began to clear the pools of osiers which the priest wove into baskets. The longer the work continued, the better was it done; the last basket was always the best. Marcu Flori Cucu was a sensible man. He liked to stay and talk to the priest. Cozonac cleared the osiers, the priest plaited them, while Marcu lay upon his stomach with his head in his hands and idly watched. "This osier is a little too long," said the priest, measuring the osier with his eye. "Here, Marcu! Give me the hatchet to make it shorter." The hatchet was at Marcu's feet. Marcu raised the upper part of his body, supported himself on his elbows, stretched out his legs, and began feeling about for the hatchet, trying to draw it up by his feet. "Make haste!" said the priest, and gave him a cut with the osier. Marcu jumped up and assured the priest that he was much more nimble than he thought. In the end, this assurance was of great use to him. By Whitsuntide the priest had a cart-load of baskets ready to take to the market, and Marcu knew very well that if the priest sold the baskets he would have a cheerful holiday. The priest had had help for some weeks, and the help had always brought a reward to the man who had given it. Just before Whitsuntide the rain began, and seemed as though it would never cease. "I do not know what I shall do," said the priest. "It seems as though I must leave the market until after Whitsuntide. I do not like going in the rain. If it does not stop raining by Thursday, I just shall not go." Marcu scratched himself behind his ears and said nothing. He could see that it did not suit the priest to get soaked. "Here," he said a little later, ceasing to plait, "couldn't we weave an awning? There are reeds and rushes and osiers in the valley." "Perhaps you are right," replied the priest. "It could be made the same way as we are making these." Through helping him, Marcu had learnt to make better baskets than the priest. The awning did Marcu great credit, the priest did not get wet and came back from the market with a full purse. This time Whit-Sunday was fine. The priest's wife had a new gown, the three eldest children had dolls bought in the town; the tiny one, Mary, had a straw hat with two pink flowers, the walls were white both inside and out, the windows were whole, the house was light, and the Icon of the Holy Virgin could be seen very well placed high up between the windows, decorated with flowers grown along the edge of the vegetable-beds. The priest had brought white flour, meat, butter, and even sugar, from the town. The priest loved his wife, but it was not his way to kiss her at odd times. But, this morning, the first thing he did was to embrace her. His wife began to cry--I don't know why--when Father Trandafir entered the church he felt inclined to cry; he had seen people in front of the Icon and there were tears in his eyes when he went up to the altar. The people say he had never sung more beautifully than he did that day. The saying remained: "To sing like the priest at Whitsuntide!" The parishioners went to see the priest; they passed through the gate before they crossed the door-step; they wiped their boots, put their hats on their sticks, leaned their sticks against the wall, smoothed their moustaches and their beards, and stepped inside. When they came out of the house again, they took a look round, nodded their heads, and said nothing. The years come, the years go; the world moves on, and man is sometimes at peace with the world, and sometimes at odds with it. The high road passed through the town, passed by the Dry Valley and ran farther on to the Rapitza Valley. Where the roads met, at the conjunction of the two valleys, there was a mill on the Rapitza. Near Rapitza was a cross; close to the cross was a fountain, and by the fountain were eight fine sycamores. This spot was called "The Cross of Saraceni." From here to Saraceni was only about an hour by road. In spite of this, whenever he came from the town, the man of Saraceni pulled up here to water his horse, and waited a while, hoping that some wayfarer might come and ask: "What village is that where one sees that beautiful church with white walls and the glittering tower?" And when he is asked, he strokes his moustache, and looking proudly towards the place replies: "Up there on the Grofnitza? That's our village--Saraceni; but you ought to hear the bells--what bells that tower contains! One can hear them a three hours' journey away!" Where the road divided there stood a sign-post with two arms; on one arm was written, "To the Rapitza Valley," and on the other one, "Towards the Dry Valley." There was no road anywhere round about like the one that ran through the Dry Valley towards Saraceni. It was as smooth as a table, and as solid as a cherry-stone. One could see the Saracenese had constructed it lovingly. To right and left, at intervals of ten to fifteen paces, were some shady nut-trees which were a pleasure to look at. The river-bed lay on the right; the road ran along its bank, but higher up, so that the water could not disturb it. The Saracenese had to destroy rock in their progress, but that they did cheerfully, for out of the rock they built the road. From here on, the Saracene felt at home, and drove at a foot's pace. But he was not bored for a second. At every step almost he met an acquaintance with whom he exchanged words, "Where do you come from?" and "Where are you going?" One man had a cart full of lime, another a load of apples; then came a man carrying a trellis-work, and another with a wheelbarrow, a stave, or some other article made of wood. From time to time, along the side of the road, one found the stone-masons at work, their trowels ringing from daybreak till sunset. This road was not a dreary one! There were lime-kilns where the road ran along the valley. In one place there was a whole village. Some men were loading up lime, others unloading stone and wood; the masons were shaping the stones, the men at the kilns were throwing wood on to the fires; the foremen were making noise enough for five. From this point one could see the village well. The gardens were full of trees; only between the bushes or beyond the trees did one catch a glimpse here and there of a bit of the walls or the roofs of the houses. The priest's house was just up by the church; one could only see five windows and a red roof with two chimney stacks. Opposite the church stood the school. The house, of which one could only see a piece of wall with two windows and a roof, belonged to Marcu Flori Cucu. The big building visible lower down was the Town Hall. If the houses had lain less closely together the village would have looked very beautiful, but, as it was, one only caught a glimpse and must imagine the rest. Every one had changed; Father Trandafir only had remained the same: fresh, gay, and busy. If his grey hair and grizzled beard had not betrayed his age, we might have thought that the little children with whom he played in the evening, on the seat in front of the house, were his own. One of them, whom he had lifted up to kiss, stole his hat from off his head and ran away with it. Mariuca opened the window and called out: "My little Trandafir, don't leave grandfather bareheaded." Then she flew from the window to catch Ileana, who had stolen her grandmother's bonnet and adorned herself with it, and was now proudly showing herself to her grandfather. The old grandfather laughed heartily, he loved a joke. From close by came Father Costa, and caught first Ileana and then Mariuca, kissed them, and then seated himself by his father-in-law's side. Marcu, neighbour and old friend, Mariuca's father-in-law, and attached to the house, saw the group and came to join in the conversation. "Old man, take your hat; you must not sit there bare-headed," said the grandmother, handing his hat through the window. One of the villagers, in passing, wished him "Good night," and added to himself, "May the Lord preserve him for many years, for he is one of God's own men." OUT IN THE WORLD By ION POPOVICI-BANATZEANU The man tramping along the broad, dusty highway gradually drew near to a town. He carried a bundle on his back--some old clothes, a change of underlinen and a pair of boots--and at his breast, wrapped up in a handkerchief, were his certificate of baptism, his work-book and his book of military service--all his worldly goods. For three years he had served the Emperor, and failing to find employment in the town where he was, with a stick in his hand and a few coppers in his pocket he had set out into the world, and walked with the steadiness of a man well acquainted with the road. Some one had advised him to go to Lugosh; he had heard there were many craftsmen there driving a big trade, and he pursued his way with hope in his heart. He felt strong and eager to work. For three years he had not seen a workshop, for three years he had not followed the craft which he had learnt so lovingly; it seemed to him he would hardly know how to handle a hide now. Yet with each step forward his confidence in himself increased, and he thought, "I will work, and work so that every one wonders, and the peasant who takes in his hand the sandals I have tanned will never want to part with them." And when he said this to himself he walked faster. He would have liked to fly that he might arrive quicker. But then again he slackened his pace, and other thoughts assailed him: supposing he did not get a situation, what would he do then? "Supposing I do not find work?" He was afraid to answer this or to think of what he would do if he did not get a place. Ah, just to find work with somebody. He comforted himself, and putting away from him all sad thoughts he imagined a rosy future. He saw himself in the workshop doing the work of seven, and saving penny after penny; he saw himself buying first one skin, then two, then three, six and more, and many more, until he had a workshop of his own, and then, if he met a girl he liked, he would marry. He was intoxicated by his own thoughts, and hardly knew where he was going. He walked slowly with his head bent. He would not rest, for he felt no fatigue; it was as though some one urged him forward. It was late autumn, the fields were bare and the road dreary. Buffeted by the wind, the poplars along the side of the road were shedding their leaves, and sadly swaying their pointed tops. The country lay barren and dead, while the voiceless hills were glowing in the light of the setting sun like a man who, on the point of death, tries to save himself by some final remedy. The outlines of solitary fountains prolonged themselves mournfully against the horizon, as though they regretted the life and gaiety of other days. A flight of crows, frightened by I know not what, rose from the dark marshes and alighted upon the tops of the poplars, beating their wings and cawing above the waste. But Sandu saw and heard nothing; he walked absorbed in himself and communing with his own heart. He entered the town as the lights were being lit. He took no side turnings but kept to the main street so that the dogs should not hinder him. "Keep straight on," he said to himself, "past the Roumanian church, then I take the turning to the right till I get to the bridge and at the bridge I must ask my way." And at the bridge he asked his way, but they explained it in such a manner that he lost himself, and it was late before he reached the hostel. He bade good evening and asked rather diffidently whether there were anywhere he could sleep, and if there were something to eat. The innkeeper entered into conversation with him, and learnt that Sandu came from the Dobre district, had done three years' military service, and now was looking for a situation with some tanner. "I have come," Sandu spoke with difficulty, "to see if I can find a place here, for you see----" "Who knows, perhaps you may," the innkeeper interrupted him, and went out of the room. "Should you say I shall find a place?" Sandu asked the innkeeper as he brought him some lard and a piece of bread. "Oh, you may find one if you are good at your trade and hard-working." Sandu said nothing; the only word he could have uttered would have been to say, as he could have said, how hard he meant to work, and what kind of a man he was. But as he could not say this to the innkeeper he told himself what a lot of work he meant to do, and how well he meant to behave himself, as well as if he were a young girl. Absorbed in thought, he ate at long intervals, and the innkeeper, seeing how silent he was, bade him put out the lamp and wished him a good night. But the night was not restful. He crossed himself and stretched himself out on the bench by the side of the wall, his bundle he placed at his head and carefully pushed his money and his papers underneath it. Although he was tired from his tramp, sleep would not visit his eyes. He grew excited, a sort of giddiness overcame him, and he broke into a cold sweat at his own thoughts. He tossed and turned on the narrow bench, and pressed his forehead against the cold wall as he sighed heavily. When the day broke he was exhausted, his bones seemed weak, his feet could hardly support him, and his head felt queer. Water, and the freshness of the early morning, revived him, and he made his way to the market-place where, according to the innkeeper, he would find the booths of the master-tanners. Although it was autumn, people were in no hurry to buy sandals, and only a few of the master-tanners, who did business here on Sundays, were walking about and moving their strips of leather according to the position of the sun so as to ensure them being in the shade. Sandu stood still by the cross in the market-place, and it seemed as if a knife went through his heart; when he saw the empty booths he felt as though his last atom of will had been destroyed. He felt as though he must turn back, as though he could not ask. It seemed to him as though he had not the strength to bear hearing one of the tanners tell him he had no place for him; it would be such a catastrophe that he would sink into the earth. Not knowing what he did he moved forward; but when he approached the first booth he lost confidence, and had not the courage to greet the master. He passed on. He walked round the booths two or three times, but could not summon up courage to ask whether one of the tanners had a situation open or not. "Now I will go," he said very firmly to himself, to give himself strength, but when he moved he saw a peasant go up to the booth. "I will let him make his purchase and then I will go." But he did not stir, he was afraid, especially when the master, not being able to come to terms with the peasant, undid the box, and flung the sandals violently into it. He did nothing; it seemed terrible to him to have to go up to the booth. He did not know why. He felt angry with himself that it should be so. And as he asked himself why he was like this, he recalled to mind various acquaintances who were so very bold and fearless. If only he could be like that! But he could not be so, his nature did not allow it. "Now you good-for-nothing, you are wandering about here like a sheep in a pen," a tanner, small of stature, with brown eyes and a harsh voice, said roughly to him. "I?" stammered Sandu. "I am not a good-for-nothing." "No? Then why do you keep coming round? Haven't I seen you? You walk a bit, you stand still, you have been round us several times, and now you are standing still again; it is as though you had some evil intention!" "Master, I am not----" "Go, whatever you are or are not, else you will see I will get rid of you." Sandu could hardly stand, a sort of mist darkened his eyes, and his heart was bursting. He would have cried, but he was ashamed for a grown man to be walking across the market-place with tears in his eyes. He suffered and would gladly have told how deeply the words he had listened to had hurt him, but he had no one to whom he could open his heart. He returned to the innkeeper with whom he was lodging. Tired and spent he threw himself on the bench. "What is it?" asked the innkeeper. Sandu looked vaguely at him, then, as if afraid to hear the sound of his own voice, he said: "Nothing." The innkeeper felt sorry for him. "Have you found a situation?" "I did not ask for one." "Then how can you hope to get one?" Sandu remained silent. The innkeeper looked strangely at him, shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and went to attend to his duties. With his elbows on the table, and his head resting in his hands, Sandu gazed in front of him, and who knows where his thoughts would have led him if the innkeeper had not said to him: "Listen, Dinu Talpoane sent to ask whether there was any workman in need of work. Go with the apprentice and he may perhaps engage you. He is a respectable man and does a big trade." Without a word Sandu got up. It seemed to him he must be dreaming. But when he saw the apprentice with an apron stained yellow and with big boots covered with stale sap, his eyes shone, and he could have kissed the innkeeper's hands for very joy. Outside he began to talk to the apprentice, who told him that the master was a splendid man, but his wife was harsh and heaven defend you from her tongue; that the workshop was large and the work considerable, especially in the autumn; and that the master sometimes engaged workmen by the day in order to get a set of hides ready more quickly; and many other things he told him. But Sandu was no longer listening. When the apprentice saw that he asked no further questions, he hesitated to say more, and they walked along together in silence. Sandu knew where he had to go, but he did not know what to say, or what terms to make--by the year, the month, the week; he could not think what would be best to do. What he knew of the workshop of the master-tanner with whom he had learnt his trade, and all he had heard from the hands working there with him, seemed to be buzzing in his brain until he grew so bewildered that he could not have told how many days there are in a week, or how much money he would earn if he worked for a whole month. "Here we are," said the apprentice, stopping in front of a doorway with gates. Sandu felt a cold shiver go through him. For a second he stood still. Three years as apprentice and four years as workman he had worked for one master only, and he would have remained there all his life if he had not been taken to be a soldier, and if the master had not died he would have gone back to him the day he left the army. He felt quite nervous, and if the apprentice had not opened the gate he would not have gone in. "They are eating," said the apprentice, seeing the big yard was empty, and he crossed to the bottom of it where a small house stood built against the old workshop. They were close to the window when they heard people talking in the house, and the clatter of knives. "Look here," said Sandu, "you go on and say I have come but that I am waiting till they have finished dinner." The apprentice went in and told the master that a workman was outside, but would not come in till the master had got up from the table. "Tell him to come into the house." But his wife interrupted him with: "Leave him out there. Who knows what sort of a creature he is if he does not venture to show his face inside! Let me have my dinner in peace." The husband, a well-built man, with a round, red face and kind blue eyes, felt if he said any more his wife would snap his head off, so he let the apprentice go. The apprentice, who knew that one word from the mistress was worth a hundred orders from the master, withdrew to the hearth in the outer room, and waited till he should be called to dinner. "But what's the matter, Ghitza, you are not eating?" he heard his mistress saying. "Or are you waiting to be invited? Dear, dear, perhaps I ought to beg the gentleman to come to table!" The apprentice, accustomed to the mistress's ways, took a chair. But he had not swallowed three mouthfuls before the mistress bade him call in "that ne'er-do-well out there." Sandu shyly wished them good day, but of all those sitting round the table he only saw the master, and by his side the mistress, whose eyes seemed to scorch him and make him lose his presence of mind. "What is your name?" the master asked him. "I am called Sandu Boldurean." And in a low voice he told where he was born, with whom he had learnt the trade, and how long he had worked, but during the questioning he scarcely raised his eyelids. He grew confused at once when the mistress screamed at him: "But you'll ruin your hat turning it round like that in your hands. Put it down somewhere and speak up so that a man can understand what you are saying." Sandu felt the blood go to his head, and hardly knowing what he was doing he hung his hat on a bolt on the door. "And you worked only with one master?" "Only one. See, here is my work-book," and with some haste he drew out the handkerchief, unknotted it, and held out his "work-book" to the master. "Let me see too," said the mistress, snatching the book from her husband's hand. "After all, it's no wonder this idiot stayed in the same place; and who knows what kind of a master it was?" she whispered to her husband. He would have replied that it was a very good thing for a workman to have stayed so long with one master, for most tanners worked in the same way, and only here and there were the hides dressed differently; but he was ashamed to say so before the workman, and so he busied himself by looking through the book. Sandu broke into a sweat; when he held out the book he felt his soul was full of joy at having got so far, but little by little, especially when the mistress took the book and whispered to her husband, his heart seemed turned to ice. What would he say to him? Supposing he found something bad? Supposing he did not give him work? These were the questions which passed through his mind and which he could not answer, although he knew his book only spoke well of him, and that the master required a workman because it was autumn when business is in full swing. A great burden seemed lifted from him at the master's words: "Good, I will engage you. How much did you get from your late master?" "I worked for him for four years and had a salary." "What a lot of talk! We will give you one and a half florins per week without washing, and you can stay, though probably in the army you have forgotten all you knew about work," the mistress broke into the conversation, as she rose from the table. It was the signal for the two workmen and the apprentice to return to their work. Sandu stood transfixed. Only the master and a child of six or seven years of age remained in the house, as the girl and the mistress went into the passage to see to the dinner things. "Well, do you agree? Will you stay or not?" scolded the mistress as she appeared in the doorway. "I will stay," replied Sandu, scarcely knowing what he said. The master looked at her, and turned to Sandu. "Have you had your dinner?" "Did he come for you to feed him," his wife interrupted him. "Woman, you----" The mistress threw him a look full of meaning, and disappeared into the yard. "You can start work to-morrow." Sandu turned and went out after the master; they walked side by side. When they reached the yard gate they stopped. The master would have liked to say something about the pay. One and a half florins a week seemed so very little to him, but Sandu was simple and glad to get work, and he did not ask for much. "Master, I will go now. Good luck to you!" "Good luck to you!" replied the master, and he seemed as though he would like to call him back and say another word to him. In rather over a month Sandu had had time to get back into his old ways, and to work hopefully at his trade, but during this time he had, little by little, come to see that in his master's house the cock by no means ruled the roost. Sharp-tongued and ill-tempered, Mistress Veta was often dissatisfied with the work. Now it was because the skins had not come out of the vat yellow enough, and had not enough creases; now it was because a range of skins needed mending as the workmen had not been sufficiently careful; and so on and so on, always hard words for the workmen who worked eagerly and with all their might that the skins might be well tanned, and the mistress have no chance to grumble. At first Sandu found these abusive words hard to bear, and all day long the thought worried him that the mistress only spoke so to him, and that it was with him only that she was dissatisfied. At one time even he was seized with the desire to go away so that he might hear her no longer, and the other men might not be worried on his account, for he said to himself that only since he entered the workshop had the work gone so badly, and the mistress's tongue chided so unceasingly. But, all unperceived by himself, he grew somewhat accustomed to the ways of the house, and when a workman told him that the mistress had always been just the same, and that no matter how well the hides were dressed she always found some fault, he took heart and dismissed the idea of quitting the workshop of Talpoane, the master-tanner. He was up almost before daylight, and never let his work out of his hand till it was dinner-time. He washed his hands clean, and took his usual place at his employers' table--for from olden times it had been the custom for the masters not to keep aloof from the workmen or to dine apart. Silent at his work, he was, also, silent at meals. Only when he was spoken to did Sandu reply, gently and with dignity. The other men talked and laughed, and when they realized that it pleased the mistress to make fun of Sandu they began to crack every kind of joke at his expense. At first Sandu opened his eyes wide. He looked at them and could not understand them, but when he took it in he, too, laughed with them, a laugh full of kindness and friendliness. He lived on good terms with the workmen; only one of them, Iotza, embittered the days. He only had to say: "You have made the solution too weak," for Sandu, although he knew it was not true, to be unhappy all the week, and often his heart was full of fear that the skins would not come out yellow enough or creased enough to please the mistress. But he felt comforted when he noticed that, when he came into the workshop, Master Dinu asked only him how many hides were being worked, and when they would be ready, for at such and such a fair he would need so many, because a customer was trying to get in touch with him. "They'll be ready when they are wanted; don't worry," Sandu would reply. And away Master Dinu would go, quite content, and quite sure that the hides would be ready when they were wanted for the fair, or had to be despatched to some customer. He saw that everything went very well since Sandu entered the workshop. The skins were kept in the pits just long enough for the hair to come off easily and not burn in the lime; the solution was boiled enough, not too hot and not too strong; the poles were in their places; the stretching-pegs were in a neat pile, and the workshop was cleaner than it had ever been before. And Master Dinu knew the value of a good workman in a place where there were many workers, and where work was plentiful. "There is only one thing he lacks," he said to himself, "he would be a man in a thousand, but he is too diffident." But, even in spite of his diffidence, he thought so highly of him that had he asked for four florins a week he would gladly have given it sooner than let him go away. So he said to himself, but Sandu did not dream of asking for much more than he had. All his life he had worked for the same wage. It is true that had he done as the others did, and drawn out money every Sunday, he might, perhaps, have felt it was hard to see Master Dinu paying out a great deal more to the others than to him, but he did not ask for his money. On one occasion only did he draw two florins from his pay, and that was because, on a certain Tuesday, his mother had sent greetings to him and had asked him if possible to send her a little help. Sandu ran off at once to the market-place to find Master Dinu to ask for all the money he was entitled to for his work, that he might send it to his mother. Master Dinu, not knowing what he wanted it for, nor how much he needed, asked whether two florins would be enough. "Yes," he said, and with the coins in his hand he went to the man from his village. He wrapped up the money and begged him to lose no time in giving it to his mother and in telling her how much he longed for her, and that, perhaps, she might come to him, for he was working for a good master, and up to now he had not been idle for a single day. A fortnight passed and he received no tidings of his mother. But on Tuesday, the day of the weekly fair, while he was spreading out the skins, the man came to tell him he had given the money and had brought a letter written by "Peter the Chinaman." Sandu took the letter and would have liked to open it, but he caught the mistress's eye and involuntarily thrust it into his breast. "Look at him," she cried, "we are longing to finish the work quickly, and he thinks only of reading lines from his sweetheart." "I have no sweetheart," replied Sandu gently. "Who writes to you then?" "My mother." "Your mother? She can't know how to use a pen. Did you ever hear such a lie----" "I do not lie." "Not lie? Hold your tongue! As if your mother knows how to write----" And she looked rather sulkily at Sandu, who moved on to the other pile of stretching-pegs. At this moment one of the workmen told her that the letter really was from his mother, but that it was written by a Chinaman in the village. "Then why didn't he tell me?" she cried. "Am I supposed to know everything?" Sandu turned round. "But can you read?" "Yes, mistress, I can." "It's a good thing you can." The mistress went away and the men were busy with their work till dinner-time. Sandu lingered over his letter. When he went indoors the mistress could not resist having one or two hits at him. But Sandu scarcely understood her; his mother thanked him with all her heart, and he was so full of joy that even had the mistress struck him he would have felt nothing of it. He ate of the food, but he could not have told if he were satisfied or hungry when he got up from the table, and he worked like a nigger till the evening. In bed, with his hands beneath his head, many thoughts crossed his mind. Three years had passed since last he saw his mother. He had often longed for her when he was in the army, but only from time to time had he received news of her. He had left her old and poor. "And longing for me will have aged her a great deal more," he said to himself, and his heart was heavy when he thought he could not go to see her. "How good it would be if I could go and see her at Christmas! In the meantime I must send more money to give her pleasure and console her." And he fancied how she would cry with joy when she got the money, and how she would pray God to lengthen his life and give him success and happiness. And he seemed to feel himself close to her, and he seemed to hear the whisper of sweet comforting words. Wrapped in such thoughts as these he fell asleep. The next day God sent glorious weather, and Sandu beat the skins carefully and often that they might dry quickly. But no matter what trouble he and the other men took, the skins would not dry, and Master Dinu could not begin the cutting out till next day; the cutting out and trimming goes quickly when one has everything close at hand, and some one to help one, and Master Dinu began to cut out and to trim. But the damping, oiling, thickening and sewing of the sandals and straps was difficult and tedious. There being great need of haste, Master Dinu told his wife to call Ana, their daughter, that she might help to damp the sandals. The mistress, who was holding the skins to make it easier for Dinu to cut out the straps, and trim them after cutting out, put her hands on her hips and looked at her husband. "What, my Ana damp the sandals?" At his wife's words Master Dinu stayed the knife in the middle of the skin. "She is not a smart lady, is she, and you are not going to marry her to some grandee? There is no disgrace to her in coming to give a little help." His wife lost her temper. Her daughter damp sandals! Her daughter associate with the men! Her daughter, who had gone to school to the nuns for so many years! Her daughter, who knew how to sew so beautifully! Her daughter, who was friends with the niece of one important person, and the inseparable companion of the daughters of another! Her daughter to handle the sandals and make her fingers smell of bark! "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said, hoarse with anger, "even if you do not know how to behave properly, you need not insult your daughter." "Insult?" questioned Master Dinu. But his wife rushed from the room. He looked long after her, then glanced at the workmen, took up the knife with a nervous movement, and began quickly to cut out the sandals. The workmen, who had heard the words exchanged, and seen the abrupt departure of the mistress, kept complete silence and busied themselves with their work. Master Dinu finished cutting the skins. "You might hurry yourselves a little when you know the work ought to be ready," he said to the men, and departed, hanging his head. "Very unhappy is Master Dinu," said Iotza, looking after him. "Why?" one of them asked him. "Why? Because those are the sharpest words I have ever heard coming from his mouth." Dinner was unusually quiet, only the little boy whined and asked for first one thing and then another. His mother gave him one or two raps over the knuckles to make him sit still and be silent, but the child began to cry, and she angrily sent him into the next room. Master Dinu said never a word and his daughter, Ana, looked round her in a frightened manner, and would like to have asked what had happened to-day to make them all so downcast. Sandu had seen her many times, but he had never seen her well. He knew she was the master's daughter. He greeted her when she came to the table, but speak to her or look her really in the face, that, up till to-day, he had never done. But when he saw her looking sadly, now at her father, now at her mother, and then at the others seated round the table, he wanted to say something to her to cheer her and make her laugh. But he had nothing to tell her, he could not find a word, and when their eyes met he felt as though he were being swept away by a storm, and carried he knew not whither. Ana was so beautiful and so graceful. With her white hands and her fair face one would never have believed her to be the daughter of an artisan. Her big blue eyes, so full of kindness, were shaded by black eyelashes, and when she laughed one's heart glowed in the joyous sound, and one wished one could often hear her laughing. Iotza--he had been workman with Dinu for a long time--when the mistress was out of the house, had more than once asked her to mend something for him, and not infrequently she had brought him drink from the cellar when the frost was sharp and he had complained that he could not stand the cold. And with all his prudence Iotza had let drop a word in the workshop in praise of Ana's kindness. And so it came about that they all waited for the mistress to go out that they might speak to Ana and ask her one thing or another. Only Sandu had never been to her. And that was why he especially wanted now to divert her thoughts and make her smile. Her eyes troubled him, and he felt happier when he found himself back in the workshop. One day, according to the allotment of the work, it was his duty to turn the skins in the vats full of birch bark solution. He was alone in the workshop, he could work in peace, but he often let the stick fall from his hand, for, unlike other days, that day the fumes made him perspire, and he did not notice whether the skins were thoroughly turned. There was one vat more to turn when the door opened gently. "Good luck, Sandu." Sandu raised his head as though he were in a dream, wiped away the sweat, and looked at Ana as one looks at a person one does not the least expect to see. He wanted to say something to her, but a lump rose in his throat. Ana came nearer to him. "Sandu, I came to tell you to put the sandals in the box after you have turned the skins." "Good," replied Sandu. "Don't forget what Father said," and away she went. Outside she met Iotza, and passed him in such a hurry that she did not hear his greeting. "Well, Sandu, what did Ana want in the workshop?" he asked as he threw his apron behind a vat. "Nothing," replied Sandu, who was disappointed at not talking longer with Ana. "Nothing? Well, well! Listen, have you turned the skins?" "I have." "Have you filled the boiler with water?" "Yes, I have." "How much have you put? You have not filled it! Bring two more bucketfuls." "How can you pour two more bucketfuls in when it does not hold more than one?" "It does not hold more? I tell you plainly you have been too lazy to bring more, and who knows how you have turned the skins." Sandu grew red. "Iotza, I learnt my work from the master and not from the workman." "And what next?" "The next is, that I don't need your advice." "We shall see," cried Iotza, and went off. Three days later the mistress came to the workshop; she walked about here and there, and after a while she looked at the vats and took out a skin. "Who turned this vat?" "I did," replied Sandu. "I thought as much! Now you--just come and look at your work! That's how you turned it; that's what the solution is like; that's the kind of work you get paid for!" Sandu went up to the vat feeling as though he had been struck on the head. The solution was yellow, the skins were yellow and creased as usual, and he could not understand what fault the mistress had to find. "I told him so," said Iotza, interfering in the conversation; and as he opened the door to take out a bundle of bark, he added: "But he knows everything, and doesn't need advice from anyone." "Of course," scolded the mistress, "you did not have time to turn the skins; you stood talking, and took no heed of your work. What was Ana looking for here the day before yesterday?" "Ana--Ana came to tell me to put away the sandals in the box." "And you could not do that much without being told? You are the kind of man one must tell everything to, otherwise there would not be much use in your work!" For some time Sandu stayed alone in the workshop; he felt as though he could not move. His mistress's words rang continually in his ears, and he felt numbed by their harshness. The apprentice had come to call him to dinner, but he had not gone. It seemed to him they had all heard what the mistress said, and would have stared at him. Iotza and the other man returned from dinner and found him in the workshop, his hand resting on the vat. "Why, when you had turned the skins, didn't you come to dinner, or have you been talking to Ana?" sneered Iotza. Sandu heard his voice, but he did not take in what he said. He looked at him with great sad eyes, and not knowing what to do went outside. Sandu rose at daybreak the following day, but he could not have told if he had slept, or whether his thoughts had tormented him all night. He left the workshop without having done anything, he went to the pits, and took the skins out with the pincers to try whether they were ready to dress, then he returned to the workshop and was still quite unsettled. He went to dinner with the other men; he followed them; had anyone asked him whither he was going he could not have told them. They were alone, and all quite silent, and just this silence was painful to Sandu. He would have liked to hear conversation, a great deal of talking. They were about to rise from the table when the mistress arrived. Everything seemed to turn black before Sandu's eyes. After exchanging a few words, Iotza said: "Mistress, you better let me turn the skins in those two vats----" "Yes, you turn them, just like Sandu did." The blood rushed to his head as Sandu dropped his knife and spilt a piece of lard upon the table. "Do you think I shall pity you because you don't eat? You have not turned them well, and that's all. I didn't begin to keep a workshop to-day or yesterday." "Mistress----" "Oh, it's always mistress, mistress! Do your work properly, and don't let your thoughts go wandering far afield, then no one need find fault with you." The workmen rose. Sandu got up too; his feet could hardly carry him, and his head was heavy. For two whole days Sandu did not know whether he was himself or some one else. He could not take his food, sleep only came to him at rare intervals. And during this time he often thought of going to Master Dinu and giving him notice. Several times he had left the workshop determined to tell him, but once Iotza had called him to come and help with something, and then he had thought it over and had left it to a more suitable time when he should find Dinu alone, for in front of the mistress he could have said nothing to him. And who knows whether he would have said anything, if Master Dinu had not come through the workshop. He asked him how the skins were getting on, and then, as he never cared to prolong a conversation, he prepared to go, after telling him that one lot of work must be pressed forward, and the other done in such and such a way. Sandu had followed him but the words died upon his lips. "What is it, Sandu? Do you want to tell me something?" "Well, Master Dinu, without any offence to you, I want to give up the work." Master Dinu looked long at him. He was prepared for anything except this, and just now when the fairs were in full swing. "You want to give me notice? But why?" "Because the mistress is always abusing me, and she is not satisfied with the way I work, and Iotza makes fun of me, and I can bear it no longer: it is too hard. I work with all my might, and I want to do good work, and I don't want you to keep me just out of charity as people say you do." "Come, don't do that; you know the mistress, that is her way. As for Iotza--listen, I'll stop his mouth. And, then, where would you find another place? Take my advice and let me talk to the mistress." Master Dinu went away, and Sandu returned to the workshop. Before he had spoken with Master Dinu he had not seemed to realize whether there was work to finish, and now he did not know whether he had finished it or not. Master Dinu went into the house. He told his wife that Sandu had wished to leave, and bade her leave him in peace from now on, seeing that he was an industrious workman and an honest man. "Thank you," replied his wife; "let me tell you that I take as much interest in the workshop as you do, and if I am not to be allowed to speak to the workmen, or give them orders about the work----" "I do not say you are not to give them orders, but you are not to make fun of them. After all, they are human beings." "So I am in the wrong! If I tell them how they are to do something I am making fun of the men; impertinent man, to accuse me of joking. And why didn't you send him away?" "Send him away? Why? Just now when we are greatly in need of men? I rack my brains to try and get another hand for the work, and don't know where to find one, while you are longing to get rid of Sandu, and in the long run, for no reason. You must not be like this." They were still talking when Nitza Burencea came to ask if he was going to the fair at Devi. That evening, after supper, the mistress stopped Sandu as she wanted to send him somewhere. "Sandu, why did you want to leave your work? Are you not satisfied with our food?" "Quite satisfied." "Or don't we give you enough whisky in the evening?" "I don't drink whisky." "Don't drink it? But, you silly man, why didn't you tell me? And those other two said nothing about it--you don't think it rains whisky with us, do you? They have drawn your share all these days. But I'll wipe their mouths for them. Why did you not tell me long ago?" "You never asked me." "Well, go where I tell you; and, listen, if I send you it is because I have not got so much confidence in the others; do just what I have told you." "I will do so, mistress," replied Sandu, with a much lighter heart. When he reached the street he told himself the mistress was not so bad after all. An hour later, when he returned, only Ana was downstairs. After saying good evening, seeing that Ana was by herself, he prepared to go out again. Ana, who saw he was about to open the door, asked him: "What do you want, Sandu? Whom are you looking for?" "For the mistress." "Then wait for her, she will soon come. Sit down." Sandu seated himself on the edge of a chair. Ana was sewing; he watched her hands with their rapid movements, and his eyes were absorbed in looking at something more beautiful than he had ever seen before. Ana felt she was being watched. This idea seemed to hurry her, and she grasped her needle and began to sew quickly. The more intently he watched her, the more embarrassed did Ana become, and a rosy flush mantled her cheeks. A sort of fever came over her, and in her innermost soul she was picturing Sandu to herself, how he was sitting on the chair with his black eyes fixed upon her, and his eyes were so beautiful and so eloquent, and Sandu was good-looking. She could bear it no longer, his look seemed to burn her. "Sandu, why do you look at me like that?" "I--I--was not looking." A long silence followed. Their souls seemed to draw near each other in the silent room; they spoke no word, but it was as though they told each other many things and understood each other very well. He was very conscious of her, so near to him, her light breath was almost inaudible, but it made his heart beat fast; she was very conscious of him, and something intangible but sweet seemed to invade their hearts. She felt as though she could not sew, and he found it hard to look at her. He was afraid of offending her and he was shy, and he felt he should be ashamed for her to find his glance resting upon her hands. He kept his head down. But Ana would have liked to look at him, she would have liked to bask in the light of his eyes, for she felt happy enveloped in their warm glow. Sandu did not lift his head. She dropped her ball of thread. Roused by the noise, Sandu jumped as though he had been burnt. He searched under the table and saw it. She forgot to thank him, and he could not say a word, but their eyes met and they both blushed. The time passed on. "The mistress does not come," said Sandu a little later, "and I wanted to tell her that I had to stay some time where she sent me." "She will soon come," replied Ana. "Sandu, you told Mother that I had been in the workshop?" she suddenly questioned, looking straight at him. "I did not tell her." "Then who can have told her?" "It was not I, and I do not know who it was." "How Mother scolded me! And she said I had stayed a long while talking to you. Was I a long time?" "Certainly not; you just came to tell me to put the sandals in the boxes, and then you went away." "Why doesn't Mother like my talking to you when Father says you are so good?" He said nothing; she stopped; and a few moments later the mistress came in. "It is a good thing you are back. I was waiting for you," she said hurriedly. "I nearly sent some one after you; you are very slow. Now, come and tell me what you have done." In the ante-room he told her what he had arranged with her aunt, and then went off to bed. The next day was Sunday. The men had little work to do, and by ten o'clock they were free. As usual on feast days there was wine on the table, and Master Dinu, having bought some thirty skins much more easily than he had expected to, was more cheerful than usual. Sandu was more forthcoming than was his wont, and had washed and brushed himself extra well to-day. Ana, too, was smart, smart as always, but she had no time to sit as she had constantly to jump up to help her mother. Every now and then she threw a glance at Sandu, and a strange feeling of joy possessed her that he could see her, that he looked at her. Only the mistress was as usual, and when the child complained constantly that his head ached she wanted the meal to finish quickly. She laid a wet handkerchief on his forehead and put him to bed. The child became quieter, and Master Dinu, after drinking the wine that was left over, rose from the table--a signal that the meal was finished. Then, according to his usual habit, he took up his hat, inquired if anyone wanted any money, gave Iotza what he asked, and went off into the town. "Sandu," said the mistress, when the workmen had gone, "if you are not going anywhere, come back in an hour when we have finished with the dinner things and sit with Gheorghitza, for to-day is Sunday and perhaps visitors will come to the house." Ana looked at him; Sandu hardly understood the mistress's words, and could not answer her. "Speak, are you coming or not?" "I will come." And he went out as though he had been pushed. At three o'clock came the mistress's mother, a woman of about sixty years of age, rosy in the face and well made. She was wearing a dark coloured skirt, and on her head a kerchief of black silk which reached nearly to her knees, and in her hand, like all old women, she carried a yellow handkerchief. She rarely came to see her daughter, partly because she knew her time for going out in society was past, but especially because Mistress Veta was not glad to see her on feast days; she would not have come to-day, but she had not been for a long time and she was desirous of seeing her grandchildren. Inside the front room she rejoiced over the beauty and good manners of her grand-daughter, who, with her mother, was removing the last speck of dust, or putting back in its right place anything that had been left about. Ana sat down by her grandmother, and her grandmother stroked her head and looked tenderly into her face. She never grew tired of saying: "Such grandchildren, such dear grandchildren." But just when she was feeling happy the door opened. "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici!" said Mistress Veta, jumping up to receive them as though some royal party had arrived. "Pray sit down." Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici accepted the invitation, while their daughter, a pale, plain girl of over twenty years of age, did not forget to kiss the mistress's hand. "I kiss your hand, aunt," said Ana, too, while Mrs. Naraschievici in her turn embraced her on the forehead, and could not help expressing her wonder at how tall Ana had grown and how pretty she was. Ana blushed and joined Miss Naraschievici, while the mistress's eyes shone with pleasure. "You must not tell her so; you must not turn her head," she said, just for something to say, while her mother was asking herself the question as to why on earth her grand-daughter had said that "Aunt." It is true that neither Ana nor Mistress Veta was related to the Naraschievici family; however, Mr. Naraschievici said it was "aristocratic," and all he said was right in Mistress Veta's eyes. "Is Master Dinu at home?" "No. You know what he is--he cannot bear to stay at home." As she said this, Mistress Veta approached her mother, who looked as if she could have taken the whole Naraschievici family and put them outside the door, so angry was she because they had spoilt the happy hour she had hoped to pass with her grand-daughter. "Mother," she whispered in her ear, "it would be kind if you would go downstairs to Gheorghitza, who ought to be up now." The old lady was at the door before she had finished speaking: with her hand on the latch she looked furiously at her daughter and at Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici, choked back some words and went out. She was going away, saying to herself that she would never again set foot inside the house, when she remembered Gheorghitza. When the old lady went in Sandu was telling him tales. "Here is kind Granny, here is kind Granny," cried Gheorghitza gaily. He got up quickly, put his arms round her neck and kissed her over and over again. The old woman forgot her distress as she held Gheorghitza in her arms. He began to untie the handkerchief and feel in the pocket of her gown. "Look what Granny has brought for Gheorghitza," she said. It was her habit to bring some toy for him. Now that he had a plaything, Gheorghitza was no longer ill. His kind Granny made him forget it. The old lady watched him for some time, and then she looked at Sandu. "How is the work getting on?" "Well." "And business is profitable?" "Profitable." As Sandu said this Mistress Veta came into the ante-room, took a plateful of cakes out of a cupboard and went quickly away again. During the noise she made the old lady looked intently towards the window. "She takes them upstairs, but she did not invite me," and her eyes filled with tears. "That is how she esteems me," said the old lady, steeped in bitterness. "It's a sad world. I have reached an old age when my own daughter is ashamed of me. She sends me out of the house as if I were a nobody. May God not punish her, for she has children. But it hurts me to see her pay no attention to me just because of some bankrupts, some wretches who have fled from Temishoara to avoid their creditors. But I did not come to get something out of her. I did not come like those bankrupts to get something to eat. Thank God I have all I need at home, but that she should belittle me in such a way as to make me ridiculous in their eyes--Lord, Lord, did I rear her for this? Is it for this I watched over her?" "Sandu," said the old lady, sighing heavily, "give her my thanks, tell her how I appreciate the honour she has done me, and that all my life I shall never forget that she received me as she should receive her mother. But listen to me; tell her, too, she may wait a long time before I cross her threshold again, and she need not send to me when she wants anything. Let her go to the gentleman, to the bankrupt Naraschievici." And away went Mistress Veta's mother, so angry that she could not see where she was walking, while Sandu sat with drooping head. In about half an hour Ana came. She was disappointed to hear her grandmother had gone, and wanted to know why. Sandu did not like to tell her, and because his heart would not let him lie he said to her in a low voice: "Well, she went because she could not stay." Ana sat on the edge of the bed, and sympathizing with her brother, she asked him whether his head ached. Gheorghitza had no time to answer; he shook his head and went on playing. "Sandu, can you stay with him? You see, I must go up again. Gheorghitza dear, be good and play nicely." Then she kissed him and went slowly away as though she were loth to go. And with her went Sandu's heart and the joy which filled his soul when he saw her standing by her brother and kissing him so tenderly. Mistress Veta was beside herself with pleasure that evening. She did not even ask when or why her mother had gone so suddenly. She told Sandu that he was not to dare to tell her what the old lady had said, but to go and get wood to make a fire to warm the supper. And once again she went over in her mind all that Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici had said. She felt very flattered, and said she did not remember when she had spent such a pleasant day. There was a heavy frost and the Timish was frozen. The tanners were obliged to have openings made in the ice to enable the rinsing of the skins to take place. Sandu, shod in big working boots, made his way through the thick mist and came down to the Timish to rinse a set of skins. Behind him came the apprentice with a barrow containing the block of wood with its stand, the rinser and two hatchets for breaking the ice. They made the opening in the ice and Sandu remained alone. He fixed one end of the block on to a stake and arranged the stand firmly under the other, opened out two skins, placed them one over the other, on the block, and began to work. Sandu was hardened and accustomed to the cold, but however fast he worked his breath froze and his hands grew stiff. Seldom at first, but then more and more frequently did he stamp his feet. He put the rinser on the block, breathed into the palms of his hands, and swinging his arms he beat under his left arm with his right hand, and then under the right arm with his left hand, to make his blood circulate, the while his eyes watered with the cold. Round him was a frosty calm; the gurgling of the water as he turned the skins made him realize all the more the severity of the winter. He worked away at his task, but slowly, and with little result. It was getting towards noon, and he had rinsed five skins when he heard a crunching of the snow on the bank, and raised his head. The rinser dropped from his hand. On the bank was Ana with a jug in her hand, wishing him "Good luck." Sandu did not know how to answer her. "Come, see what I have brought you, a drop of warm wine, for Mother is out, and you must be cold." Sandu came up the bank; he could hardly hold the jug. "Thank you," he said with his mouth, but his heart spoke from his eyes. Ana looked down. "Drink quickly," she said, so softly she could scarcely be heard, "for I must not stay long." Sandu drank the wine. "Ana, Miss Ana----" Ana drew back her hand, and looking at him in a way I cannot describe, she said: "Are you warmer now?" Sandu's eyes were too eloquent, the peaceful isolation was too tempting, the stillness of the atmosphere was too intense, their hearts were too attuned for them not to understand each other. She went up to him with an eager movement, and he put his arm about her waist and clasped her to his heart. They neither of them said a word, but to them both it seemed that no words were needed. "Sandu, I must go, I must really go, for Mother might come," and gently she disengaged herself from his arms, took a few slow steps, turned round, and then fled like a little kid towards the house. While Sandu was watching her, Costa came along; he, too, was a master-tanner. "Ha, ha! Talpoane's hands live well. What a moment for me to arrive," murmured Costa in his beard, smiling as he thought of the story he would be able to tell. "Sandu," he shouted, "I was going to see you, but as you are at the rinsing I have come down to ask you whether the hides which I have been waiting for these three days have come from Pesta." "No, they have not come." "Not? Why the devil haven't they sent them? Have you much work?" "A great deal." "How many hides?" Sandu looked at him. "We have a lot." "A lot. Yes, I know you have a lot, but how many?" "I have not counted them." "Have you got business at Hunedoar fair?" "I believe so; the drying is difficult, though." "You have got some heavy skins, haven't you?" "Some heavy, some light; you know how it is with the work." Costa bit his lips and would like to have given Sandu a cuff or two, so angry was he that he would not tell him what he was longing to know. "But, it's cold!" "It's cold." "Come, you ought not to feel it much when Talpoane's daughter brings you drink." The blood rushed to Sandu's face, and he did not know why he did not strike Costa to the ground as he smiled at him. "But what of it, haven't we all done the same kind of thing? Only look out that nobody sees you and nobody hears you. That's all right, I won't keep you from your work!" Sandu could not see, everything was black before his eyes, he was hot all over and a fire seemed to burn within him. He gnashed his teeth and stretched the skin as though he would tear it, and rinsed as though he had some rival to surpass. At midday the apprentice came to call him to dinner. On the way he remembered what had happened and would have liked to turn back. In the ante-room he saw Ana, and his heart beat as though it were on fire. Ana, too, was radiant, her eyes laughed with joy, and the dimples in her cheeks were more tantalizing than ever. Sandu's heart was full of delight; he forgot what Costa had said; he was only conscious of Ana's voice. After dinner the cold was not quite so cruel, the calm was not so intense, and he did not feel alone; there seemed to be plenty of life around him, but whenever he turned his head he could only see Ana. And longings awoke in his heart, and many pleasant thoughts passed through his mind, and they all gathered round Ana's form. His thoughts carried him far, and he pictured himself with a workshop and a house of his own, and Ana beside him making life sweet. They were so tempting and so full of charm that Sandu smiled to himself as he strung together tender, caressing words to say to Ana, for he felt she belonged to him, and no one could disturb the peace of these happy days. Night closed sadly in and Sandu had long ago finished his work, but he did not want to move. He was loath to leave the pleasant, quiet spot where he had pictured to himself the path in life that was awaiting him. He gave a sigh of regret as he stepped along the bank and walked towards the house of Mistress Veta. The nearer it drew to the Christmas festival the busier became the fairs, and the tanners raised the price of their goods because the weather was moist, and the peasants were obliged to buy sandals whether they wanted to or not. Christmas Eve fell on a Tuesday, and, accordingly, the weekly fair had never been better. Although Mistress Veta had such a lot to do that she had hardly time to turn round, she remained at the booth till ten o'clock, when she returned home. The little white, crown-shaped rolls were baked and divided up, some for the house, some for the poor, and some for the guests who would expect hospitality the day after Christmas Day. When everything was finished and put ready, and Master Dinu arrived, they all went into the front room. There they lit a fire that must not be allowed to die out, that Christ, who was born on this night, might not feel the cold, and there they quietly waited till their house was visited by carol-singers and lads carrying "Stars" or "Magi." To make the joy next day more complete, they lit the Christmas Tree, and out of a cupboard Master Dinu took a little riding-horse for Gheorghitza, and for Ana a work-frame and other things suitable for a big girl. The parents were happy at the gratitude written on their children's faces. Gradually the world seemed to wake up, the quiet in the town was dispelled. As the stars rose in the sky, there appeared in every street, girls carrying "Christmas Trees," boys with "Stars" or "Magi" or "the Manger," and young men with "carols," and amidst this busy movement, amidst this pleasant noise, amidst slow, sad songs or beautiful carols, the whole town seemed enveloped in an atmosphere of reverence; each one, forgetting the troubles of life, felt himself drawing nearer to the glory of God. While Master Dinu was listening to the carol-singers from his windows, and taking the symbol of the Magi into his house, Sandu sat alone in the workshop over the way. He had lit an end of candle, and was sitting on a chair in front of the opening in the stove below the boiler. At intervals a drop of liquid fell from the vats, and the sound of its fall echoed long in the quiet workshop. The noise from outside broke dully against the window and took Sandu's thoughts back to other days. And all at once he began to carol to himself: "And as you journey thither There comes wafted many a mile, From where the Holy Infant lies, The scent of fair flowers, The glow of bright torches, The smoke of the incense, The song of the angels." He sang softly, and the dead past of the years he had spent since he left the home where he was born seemed to unroll itself before him. And as he saw himself alone, and deprived of every kind of pleasure, a tear crept into his eye, and with his head resting upon his hand, he sat gazing into the fire. All the nine years that he had spent Christmas among strangers, he had envied the joy of others, and never once had he felt in his heart the peace of the season as he used to in the days when he was at home. And who would think of him, or who would give him any happiness at this holy festival? The workshop door opened hastily, and the appearance of Ana scattered his thoughts to the wind. "Sandu, I have brought you something for Christmas." Sandu did not hold out his hand for it. "How you look at me, Sandu! Why do you not want what I bring you?" So saying, Ana came quite close to him, and put what she had brought into his hand. "Ana," said Sandu, in a stifled voice, "may God look upon you as I look at you." His voice seemed to come from the depths of his soul, and Ana's look grew troubled. The kindness and sorrow with which he spoke touched her strangely, and resting her head upon his breast she murmured as in a dream: "Sandu, dear Sandu." But she had to go, for she had stolen from the house when some boys, carrying Magi, had arrived, and her mother would be looking for her. Sandu remained behind to tell himself that never had God given him a happier Christmas. The day after Christmas, in the afternoon, his various god-children came to Master Dinu's house: hospitality demands hospitality. They brought with them rolls and other things. Mistress Veta spread food upon the table, and whoever came took in exchange a roll from the god-parents. By the evening, Lena, Tziru's widow, alone remained. Master Dinu was in a hurry to get away, and Ana was downstairs with some friends. The women remained by themselves, enjoying the wine and conversing. And when two women sit gossiping, who escapes unscathed by their tongues? One person is so and so, another person dresses so absurdly that every one laughs at her, and so the idle talk runs on. "Doesn't it make you laugh"--Mistress Veta takes up the word--"when you see Costa's wife as pink as a girl? How can a woman of her age paint herself?" "Never mind her, my dear, there are others----" "I don't seem to have heard of them." Then a little later on: "I don't know how it is but Costa is an ill-natured man and a regular chatterbox." "You say truly, it's the talk of the town." "But he has become a little more careful, he's not as he was a while ago. He has begun to shrug his shoulders only and keep his tongue quiet." "He pretends to, my dear, but you have not heard him--it's better for me not to tell you, not to make you unhappy, especially on a feast day." "Of course, you must tell me," Mistress Veta raised her voice and her eyes flashed. "I would sooner you heard it from other lips." "Now, Lena, either you tell me, or----" Lena knew Mistress Veta too well not to tell her that Costa was saying how he had seen Ana going down to the Timish with warm wine for Sandu, and how she had stood in the cold for two hours talking to him, and a great deal more besides. Red was the wine, but Mistress Veta's face was redder still. She might have had an apoplectic stroke. "Ah! He said those words?" Lena did not know how to calm her. "My dear, really I did not know how much it would upset you or I should never have told you. Why do you get so angry? Every one knows he is a liar and a mischief-maker without his equal in the empire, and who pays attention to all his tales, and all the world knows how you have brought up Ana. What tanner's daughter can touch her? Your Ana--come, leave it." "I will not leave it," cried Mistress Veta, somewhat calmer. "I'll show him. To whom did he say these words?" "I don't know to whom he said them; I heard of it in Trifu's house." "In Trifu's house! Trifu is his cousin. Don't listen, Lena; do you believe his lies?" "How could I believe him, my dear, how could I believe him? Neither did Trifu believe him. He said he would blush to invent such lies." "Lies, Lena, lies. But let him see me! My daughter----" "Say no more about it, Veta. May God keep Ana well, and you see her happy. Costa--but who's Costa? Everybody laughs when he opens his mouth." "You heard it in Trifu's house! Who knows in how many places he has spit out his libels, for that man spits, Lena, he spits worse than any cat; but I am not I if I don't pay him out." Lena agreed with her, and sympathized with her and urged her not to be so angry, for the whole town knew what Ana's behaviour always was, and people stood still and looked after her when she passed by, sweet and modest as a rosebud. "Why let yourself be unhappy, my dear?" she said, getting up to go, "when every one's heart swells when they see Ana, as if she were not the pride of us all when we see her going about with gentlemen's daughters. Ana is just herself, and there is no one like her, so why give yourself bad moments because of the tittle-tattle of a man like Costa?" Mistress Veta accompanied Lena to the door, and came back asking herself what was to be done. Master Dinu came back just at the right moment. Without much hesitation his wife told him everything with various additions and improvements. "Eh! And what of it?" he said. "Don't the people know us and our daughter, and don't they know what Costa's words are worth? Only Costa says it." Mistress Veta looked furiously at him. "What! The town is talking about your daughter, and you don't mind?" "It isn't that I don't mind! Of course I mind, but what would you have me do? Go and kill him? Don't be like this." "Not be like this? I'd better be like you and not care when they insult my daughter!" "Come now, what am I to do?" "What are you to do? Woe betide the house where the man is not a real man! Find out, discover to whom he has said it, collect witnesses, and see he never opens his mouth again." "I will see about it." "Don't see about it, find him." Master Dinu knew that his wife must always have the last word, so he said nothing; he would have been glad not to be at home, but he could not go now. A few minutes later he said: "Listen, Veta, all right, I will find witnesses, but supposing it's true?" "True?" screamed his wife, and looked as though she could have thrown herself upon him and struck him. "True? Why doesn't God strangle the word in your throat?" she snarled, and hurriedly left the room. A few seconds later she returned with Ana. "Ana, hear your father say that it is true you took warm wine to Sandu." The haste with which her mother had called her, and her father's expression so overcame her, that she stood with drooping head, and raising a corner of her apron began to cry. "So this is where we have got to--get out of my sight that I may never see you again." Mistress Veta sank exhausted on to a chair, while Ana sobbed as if her heart would break. "Why all this to-do even if she did take wine to the poor man? What is the great harm in that? She took him wine because he was cold, and because I told her to go," said Master Dinu, going up to Ana. "Don't cry any more," and he stroked her forehead. Ana continued to sob, and clung more and more tightly to her father. Master Dinu felt as if his heart would break. "Go and kiss your mother's hand, it's nothing. Veta----" "No, let her get out of my sight, let her go. Ana has done this to me, my prudent daughter, my good daughter, my much-praised daughter, her mother's joy--she has done this," and Mistress Veta shook her head while everything seemed to turn black before her eyes. Master Dinu did not know what to do. To put an end to it, he drew Ana gently outside, and tried to quiet her sobs. A little later he returned to the house. His wife was exhausted and depressed, and sat gazing at the floor. Suddenly she rose. "Dinu, you must give Sandu notice to-day, do you hear? If you don't go now and tell him never to show himself here again, you'll never have any peace from me." "How can I dismiss the man in the middle of the night? You must see we cannot--and then, what harm has he done?" Mistress Veta could have killed him with a look. "You will give him notice, do you understand? Or I will turn him out." "All right, Veta, we will give him notice, but what stories will be told about us outside! How we dismiss workmen on feast days, and turn them out of the house in the dead of night. You must be patient. To-morrow I will give him all the money due to him, and tell him to go in God's name." "It's your business to deal with him; never let me see him again; if they make any fuss I'll scratch his eyes out. He has got us talked about, no other than he, do you hear? Let him get out of my workshop, or there will be trouble." Early next day, Master Dinu went to the workshop and called to Sandu. He found it difficult, and he much regretted having to part with him, but there was nothing else to be done. He asked him how long he had been in his workshop, what money he had drawn, and made the calculation as to how much he had still to receive. Sandu felt as if the house were falling about his ears--he could not keep him any longer? The blow was a heavy one. "You have twenty-seven florins to come to you," said Master Dinu, and he did not seem to have the courage to look Sandu in the face. "Here are thirty, so that you do not lose your daily pay up to the beginning of next week. May God give you good fortune, you are a good man, and an honest, but I--I can no longer keep you. I am sorry, but I cannot help it. God be with you." And so saying, Master Dinu went away. Lost in thought Sandu stood gazing in front of him, seeing nothing. After a while he sighed heavily, picked up his money, and with a heart that seemed turned to ice he went off to collect all he had, poor man, in the way of clothes and linen, before he took the road. He collected all his possessions, but he could not make up his mind to take leave of the men with whom he had worked so long. Even Iotza was sorry, for Sandu had been kind, and never spoken a rude word to him. "I am sorry to leave you," said Sandu, and he felt as if his heart was breaking. "God be with you," replied they, and holding out their hands they accompanied him outside. Iotza went a little way with him. "Sandu, listen; I cannot bear not to tell you, but I know the mistress and you, and I know you want to go and say good-bye to her. Don't go, listen to me: it was not the master, it was she who said you were to be dismissed. Don't go, it is better not to go." Sandu made no reply. They went a few steps farther together and parted. The nearer he drew to Master Dinu's house, the more he longed to enter. He felt as though some one were urging him to go in. When he was quite near the door Master Dinu came out into the street. When he saw Sandu he stopped. "You are going?" "I am going, master, but I wanted to take leave of the mistress." "As the mistress is not at home let me tell her." Sandu bent his head. "Good luck to you, master." "May God be with you!" With slow and heavy step Sandu took the road to the market-place. At the corner he stopped. He turned his head and looked back along the street towards Master Dinu's house. He had crossed the square and was on the bridge when he met Nitza Burencea. "What's up, Sandu, have you left? Where are you going?" Sandu, like a person awakened out of a trance, with his eyes fastened dreamily upon the distant horizon, answered in a troubled voice: "I go out into the world!" THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN By I. AL. BRATESCU-VOINESHTI Conu Costache had one of the pleasantest faces in the town. Men of the same age as himself said he was nearly seventy years old; but a life free from care, a comfortable fortune, a wife as loving as a sister, two children who were getting on well, and, above all, his own kindly nature, had kept him so healthy, quick of movement and clear of mind, that one would not have given him fifty years. He told stories with a charm and humour that gathered an audience round him whenever he opened his mouth; and as he had travelled much abroad, and was also a sportsman, he knew every kind of amusing anecdote. This man, who was as good as new bread, always smiling, whose person seemed to radiate joy, became acrimonious and impatient every time his game of Preference went badly; it was the one and only, but the daily game of cards he played. He did not get angry out of stinginess--he was not a miser; on the contrary, he was open-handed, that was his nature. If it happened that he "entered" twice in succession, or if he got irritated with his partners, he grew furious. Everything seemed wrong to him; the jam was sour, the coffee too sweet, the water too cold, the lamp too dim, the chalk was not sharp enough; he shouted at the boy who served him; he changed his chair because it squeaked; he hammered upon the table with his fists until the candlesticks jumped; he looked daggers over his spectacles at anyone who made a joke--I assure you, he was in a vile temper, as vile a temper as a man could be in, when he had no other place in which to give vent to it. His partners knew him, and were aware that five minutes after the game was over he would become once more kind, amiable, and amusing Conu Costache. If you were sitting near him when he was playing Preference, you should get up the first time he "entered"; shouldn't wait for him to say to you: "Can't you get away, my good fellow; you spoil my luck!" One day, after two "entries," he said to a person with whom he had only just become acquainted and who would not move away from his side: "Excuse me, sir, but I believe in birds of ill omen. This game is a question of faces. I can scarcely compose my own face; I certainly cannot compose yours. Kindly move a little farther off! Thank you. Don't be offended." Ever since that day, the onlookers at the game have been given the name of birds of ill omen, and they swarmed in the room where Conu Costache played; if the game went well he was affable and they listened to him with pleasure--if the game went badly, they moved away from him and made fun of his ill humour. One evening the Prefect gave a party. The young people danced in the drawing-room; their elders assembled in the other rooms; Conu Costache sat at a table playing Preference with three other people; among them was the attorney, a cunning player with a special talent for making him lose his temper; a large audience had gathered round. Conu Costache was losing: he was angry, but controlled himself--he could not give vent to his annoyance, for there were ladies present. Conu and his friends were playing in the middle of the room; he had barely scored six, and had entered the pool with thirteen. At this moment an old lady approached. She was a Moldavian, the mother of Dr. Ionashcu. She took a chair, seated herself by Conu Costache with the calm serenity of the aged, who neither see nor hear well. There she remained. From time to time she gently put a question to Conu Costache; it had the same effect upon his agitation as does oil upon a fire of coals. "How beautiful it must be at your country-house now, Mr. Costache!" "Beautiful, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, forcing himself to smile--and chalking himself another eighteen in the pool. "I expect you often go there, as it is so close." "I went to-day, Mrs. Raluca." No words can describe the contrast between the placidity with which Mrs. Raluca told her beads, and the fury with which Conu Costache shuffled his cards. "Is it a good harvest, Mr. Costache?" "G--g--good, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, thrusting both hands inside the neck of his shirt to loosen the collar. The game began, the attorney played below the ace, Conu Costache named the suit for the second time. "Have you got a good road along there now?" "Y--y--yes, Mrs. Raluca." It was a wonder his handkerchief did not rub the skin off his forehead, he mopped it with such vigour. His partners and the onlookers shook with laughter; the attorney did not give way at all, he saw how furious he was; he bid with nothing in his hand, and passed just in time to make him "enter" a second time. And at this moment Mrs. Raluca's questions fell one after the other as fast as the beads of a rosary. She did not hear the rustling of the cards nor the choking in Conu Costache's throat, she did not see his misery nor the amusement of the others. "But they have cut down the lovely wood on the right, haven't they, Mr. Costache?" "Th--th--they have cut it down, Mrs. Raluca," he answered, gazing at the ceiling and pressing his temples between his hands. He bid and came in, said "Play"--and found two clubs in the talon which he did not want. Such a collection of cards you have never seen; it might have been done on purpose. If you had tried to arrange them so, you could not have done it. It was a regular "walk-over": one cut four honours, the other cut the spades, and out of the eight games won five. All he cut was an ace, and a pair. He put forty-eight in the pool. "But the little lake still lies on the left, doesn't it, Mr. Costache?" "St--st--still, Mrs. Raluca." With a small brush he violently effaced the whole row of his stakes chalked on the cloth and wrote down a total of ninety-four in huge figures. "But I must ask you, the inn----" Conu Costache turned his chair right round. "Mrs. Raluca, to-morrow afternoon my wife and I are going to our country-house--we will come and pick you up. In this way you will see how they cut down the wood on the right; you will see how the storks walk by the lake on the left; you will see how they have repaired the bridges; you will see how they have renovated the inn at the cross-gates; you will see what a nice house Ionitza Andrescu from Ulmi has built; you will see what big reservoirs the Aurora factory have erected by the road...." Mrs. Raluca understood and took her departure, telling her beads as she went, but even when she had passed into the third room Conu Costache still continued, while the others were convulsed with laughter: "You will see how illegible the figures on the 76 milestone have become; you will see how the boys have broken the insulators on the telegraph posts by throwing stones at them; you will see how the geese hiss when the carriage passes by; you will see----" Then, turning back to his partners, who laughed till the tears ran down their cheeks, he groaned: "Terrible bird of ill omen!" IRINEL By B. DELAVRANCEA When my parents died, both in the same year, I was quite small; I think I must have been about seven years old. I wanted to cry over them both, for I loved them both, but when I approached their coffin I was not alone. You must know that my father left a considerable fortune. There were many people about him who could not endure him. There was talk of a will. There was one member of the family about whom my father said: "It is so long since he crossed our threshold that I do not understand why he is so offended with us." It is unkind to tell you: it was his brother and my uncle, a very good man, with only one fault--he had lost his entire fortune at cards. I found among my father's papers a quantity of his I.O.U.'s, beautifully signed with flourishes, but unpaid. I approached the coffin; I was sure that I should weep as no one had ever wept before. My home without my parents! Some one took me by the hand, and said to me as he kissed me on both cheeks: "Iorgu, Iorgu, cry, Iorgu, for those who will never return!" It was he! The uncle of the promissory notes! Just when my eyes ought to have been full of tears, I caught sight of him, and when I looked round me and saw the other people, when I met so many pairs of eyes, then--I was ashamed and could not cry. Oh, it is a terrible thing to feel ashamed to cry when one is sorrowing! Do you see how shy I am? Have you grasped it? It is difficult to understand. It is difficult, because you, readers, are different. Not one of you are the same as I am. I was so good and timid that, when I completed my twenty-first year, I did not want to leave the guardianship of my eldest uncle, my mother's brother, a very gentle man like myself, and very shy like my mother. It makes me laugh. Is it likely I shall tell you an untruth? Why should I? I don't ask you anything, you don't ask me anything. Why should I lie? But it is true that I have not told you quite openly why I did not ask for an account of my minority, and why I stayed in that house, which was as white as milk--especially on moonlight nights--with its balcony, its oak staircase, its pillars with flowered capitals and wreaths round their centres. Did I like the house? Yes. Did I love my uncle who had managed my affairs? Yes. Was I ashamed, directly I came of age, to demand an account as though I doubted his honesty? Yes. Anything besides? Was there anything else that kept me in bondage? If you had looked at me a little askance, I should have blushed and replied, "Yes." And if you were to look at me even now when I have already grown many white hairs, I should tell you like a guilty child: "No, it is not true that I loved so much the house in which I grew up, or the uncle with whom I lived. There was something else." There was some one there besides a cousin of the same age as myself, besides my uncle--my aunt was dead--besides the house, and a long-haired dog. There was somebody else! Ah! This sort of somebody has reformed many a ne'er-do-well, has dazzled many a shy man, has turned many business men into poets, has shaken many a professor to the depths of his being, blowing away his system like the threads of a spider's web. No doubt it was a very fascinating "somebody" who made you stay in tutelage twenty-four hours after you had reached your twenty-first year and come into 15,000 lei. I think you have guessed the secret which I have hidden till now. Oh, women, women! What do they care for the timid or the philosopher? Neither innocence nor philosophy can resist a light step and a pair of eyes which sparkle and glow and pierce through the coldest, most selfish, most impenetrable heart. Was it not the same Irinel, with whom I once played childish games? Was she not the same wild tomboy with her frocks down to her knees only, and her white stockings that became green by the evening? Was she not the same little demon who threw her books into the veranda on her return from school, and put both arms round my neck to make me give her a ride on my back? The child turned into the woman, and instead of the gentle eyes with their extreme innocence in which I lost myself as in a boundless expanse, there shone two devilish fires in whose light I saw an explanation of life with all its sea of pleasures and emotions. And now Irinel used to take me by the hand. She was fifteen years old; for some time her hand had felt different--warmer, softer, more I don't know what, when I took it in mine. Her gaiety was no longer even and continual as of old; she no longer talked quickly and incessantly. And if I said to her: "Irinel, do you think it will rain to-day?" or "Irinel, there are only two weeks before the long vacation begins, shall you be pleased, as you used to be, when we go to Slanic?" Irinel remained silent, looking straight in front of her, and I am sure that at that moment she saw nothing--trees, houses, and sky disappeared as though in a thick mist. This silence surprised and disquieted me, and I said to her in a low voice, almost as though I were guilty of something wrong: "Irinel, you are scarcely back from school and you are bored already?" An exaggerated gaiety was her immediate reply; she laughed, and talked, and told little anecdotes which she began and left unfinished, especially about life at school. "You don't know," she said to me in a quick, loud voice, "what a letter one of my friends showed me. Only I read it, and another girl and her sister, and it seems to me she showed it to some others. I nearly died of laughter." And Irinel began to laugh, and laughed and laughed until the tears ran down her rosy cheeks. Then sighing and laughing she began: "He wrote to her, trembling, of stars, two only, which burnt and spoke to him. How can the stars he talks about burn? Are they bits of coal? How can stars speak? I don't understand. After that came ice, thawing, marble, a bed of fire, a monastery, suicide--Ah! pauvre Marie! Indeed, I was sorry for her, poor girl! Many a time we put our arms round each other's necks and kissed each other. We kissed each other and began to cry. You must know, Iorgu, that we kept nothing from each other. Every Monday she read me a letter on which could be seen traces of big tears, and I, after I had controlled myself sufficiently not to burst out laughing over those 'two twin stars which burn and speak,' had to prepare to cry, and, believe me, I cried with all my heart. Pauvre chérie!" Irinel was ready to cry after laughing with such enjoyment, but, when she noticed that I kept my eyes cast down and listened in silence as though I were offended, she asked me with malicious irony: "Iorgu, do you think it will rain to-day?" Such scenes took place early in the morning: Sunday was a day of torture for me. All day Irinel said "If you please" to me. She embroidered or played the piano instead of our walking about the yard and garden. All day I felt the terrible anger of a very shy person with "those two stars which speak." For three years I lived this life of daring dreams during the week, of fear and misery on Sunday, of wonderful plans put off from day to day, and concealed with an hypocrisy possessed only by the timid and innocent. During the last year, after a vacation passed at Slanic, I made up my mind. The day she went back to school we hardly dared kiss each other. What cold kisses! We neither of us looked at the other. I remember I looked at the sofa, and it seemed to me as though my lips had touched the hard yellow material instead of those firm, rosy cheeks which were to me a fearful joy. I made up my mind, and I am sure that no one could have come to a more heroic decision. To give myself courage, during the first night I thought out the scene which should take place the following Sunday without fail. I did not sleep all night; in the intense darkness I saw the garden, I saw Irinel, I heard myself, I heard her. The cocks crew. I was lying at full length, my face uppermost, my eyes shut. I was perspiring from the boldness which I had shown during the scene which was running in my mind. "Irinel, will you come and walk in the garden?" "No, merci!" "That will not do, we must go for a walk." She understood that I had decided to say something important to her. Such courage impressed and compelled. The cocks crew. It was midnight. It was pouring; flashes of lightning, like serpents of light, shone for a second through my curtains. "Irinel, you must come with me. Don't you see what a beautiful day it is? I have discovered a bunch of ripe grapes which I have kept for you all the week." "No, merci!" "It is impossible for you not to come. I have made up my mind to tell you something----" "What?" replied Irinel, and turned her eyes upon me. Who could bear such a bright light? I looked down, but revolted by such cowardice I felt the courage of a hero, and lifting my head I replied to her: "You must come!" In all my life I had never commanded anyone. I was ordering her! It was pitch dark; it was raining outside. I turned towards the wall. I closed my eyes. It was light. It was a beautiful Sunday. And still full of that courage I said to her once more: "You must come!" And I took her by the hand. From now on my heart almost ceased to beat. I told her all I had wanted to say to her for two years. "Irinel, Irinel, I love you! Do you love me? Why are you silent? Why do you look down? Tell me, shall I leave the house where I have watched you growing up under my eyes, or----" "Stay!" We embraced each other; we kissed each other. It was over. Lord! How brave men are when they are in love! I grew cold all over when I reflected that this scene had not yet taken place, but was still to come. I sank down under my quilt afraid of such courage. It began to grow light. I went off to sleep gradually, rehearsing this heroic scene: "Irinel, will you come for a walk?" "No, merci!" "This cannot be, you must----" The next day I woke up about ten o'clock. My uncle asked me in his kind, calm voice: "Iorgu, are you not well that you got up so late to-day?" I, feeling myself in fault, replied, embarrassed: "No--a book--I went to sleep late." My ears were burning as though I had held them against a hot stove. The veranda seemed to be giving way under me. Do you know, at that moment a thought crossed my mind that overwhelmed me? Irinel was only Irinel, but, with my uncle, what courage I should need! How would he, an old man of pious habits, regard in his old age a marriage within the prohibited degree among members of his own family? Why did he stand in front of me? Why did he look at me like that? He understood me and was appraising me! His look spoke, though his lips most certainly did not move. I heard the words passing through his mind as distinctly as though some one had whispered in my ear: "I never could have believed, nephew, that you would have turned my child's head! What would your mother say were she alive to see this?" Why did not my uncle turn away from me? Was he looking at me or elsewhere? What else was there to see? I do not know if the fault was great, but the judge was cruel. And my judge grew bigger, like a Titan, like a wall between me and Irinel. In my ears there rang what I am convinced was the sentence he had secretly passed on me: "What a depraved youth! The old are passing away, and with them disappear the old moral ideas!" I was ready to sink under my chair. My uncle said to me: "Iorgu, you have not had any coffee. It seems to me you are not well, are you?" What irony! Were his words more gentle than before? Useless thought! I understood him. God defend you from a good man who disapproves of you. It's bad enough to feel oneself guilty before a good and upright man. Why was punishment for mankind invented? Punishment is the reward of sin. I could have wished that my uncle would pronounce his sentence of punishment. But no, he has taken me prisoner, he has judged me and, instead of punishing me, he stoops to give me coffee and two rolls. In all my life I had never experienced a greater agony. No doubt he had seen us walking silently together, not gaily as we used to do. He understood why Irinel stayed in the house on one or two Sundays. Of course he knew why I did not go to sleep till early dawn, and who knows, he might have heard me calling in my dreams: "Irinel, Irinel, I love you! Do you love me?" What would my uncle think of his daughter married to his sister's son? It would mean asking for a dispensation. Would it not be turning such a religious man into an object of derision in his old age? And for what reason? Just through the caprice of a boy whom he had brought up and cared for. Irinel and I had grown up together more like brother and sister than cousins! If there had only been a question of the civil right! But the laws of the Church! How could one trample them underfoot? Throughout the week, early in the morning, at night and through the day, at meals and during school hours, this thought occupied my mind! "It is impossible! It is impossible! I wonder that I did not see that sooner." About six o'clock on Saturday our old carriage turned into the courtyard; inside was my uncle and by him sat Irinel. From the oak steps of the veranda I watched the white hair and the golden curls and, scarcely able to control my tears, I said to myself: "It is impossible." Irinel sprang from the carriage and came up to me. She was happy. We kissed each other, but, believe me, she seemed to kiss in the air. "What's the matter, Iorgu? You are very pale. You are thinner, or does it only seem so to me?" Before I could answer her my uncle hastened, hastened to say: "I don't know what's the matter with Iorgu. It seems to me he is ill, but he will not say so." Oh! Oh! You don't know what is the matter with me, uncle? You don't know what is the matter? It seems to you I am ill? I do not want to tell you? Do you say what is the matter with you? You are a good man, but what a hypocrite---- He thinks I do not understand him. To Irinel I say gently: "There is nothing the matter, Irinel. But you, are you well?" And so it went on--nearly a whole year of depression. Why should I tell you that I grew thinner and paler, that I often shivered, and with secret pleasure, exaggerated a little cough when I walked in the garden with Irinel? You have seen so many thin and pale men, and you have read so many novels in which consumptive lovers either shoot themselves or throw themselves into the sea, so that if I told you that I grew thinner, that I took to playing billiards, that I began to drink, and that once I drank three half bottles in succession, you would only yawn. There is nothing remarkable in the love and depression of a nervous person. Who would remain, even for an instant, with a man who suffers in silence? And I kept silence from St. Mary's day to St. Peter's. "What is the matter with you?" "Nothing." "Are you ill?" "No, uncle; no, dear Irinel." At last the momentous day arrived! Irinel finished the last year of her education. On the 20th of June she left school for good. That very day she asked my uncle abruptly to what watering-place we were going, and on hearing came into my room. Stretched upon my bed, I was reading the wonderful discourse of Cogalniceanu's, printed in front of the "Chronicles." I made up my mind to read law and study literature and history. When I saw her I jumped up. She whirled round on one foot, and her gown seemed like a big convolvulus; and after this revolution she stopped in front of me, laughing and clapping her hands. She made me a curtsy as she daintily lifted up her skirt on either side between two fingers, and asked me coyly: "Mon cher cousin, can you guess where we are going to this summer?" "No, Irinel," I replied, exaggerating the cough which was becoming more and more of a silly habit. "What will you give me if I tell you?" And after once more whirling round while her gown swept across my feet, and laughing and clapping, she asked me most sedately: "Will you kiss my hand with respect, like a grown-up person's, if I tell you?" "Yes, Irinel." And the cough again played its part. "No, you must kiss my hand first." She held out her hand to me, which I kissed sadly, but with pleasure. "And now this one!" "And that one, Irinel." "To Mehadia! To Mehadia! Won't it be beautiful? I am bored with Slanic." She ran about the house so quickly that her petticoats worked up above her knees. I blushed; she blushed; then breaking into a silvery laugh she threw herself upon me and said: "We will dance a polka. I will sing. I will be gentleman; I will steer you." Then I heard my uncle calling her: "Irinel! Irinel! Where are you?" She disappeared in a second. I threw myself on my bed. I took up the "Chronicles," but instead of reading I began to think. "Irinel! Irinel!" The first Irinel was quick, severe, malicious, the second one was lingering, much softer, almost caressing. Of course he had meant to reassure her, he had wanted to deceive me. He thought to make me believe he had meant nothing. But what did that "Where are you?" signify? I understood from the way in which he had said "where" that there lay the real drift of the question. He had not anything to say to her, but he very much wanted to know "where" she was. In other words, was she perchance with me in my room? Such espionage was humiliating for an orphan whose whole life he had directed, and whose fortune he had controlled, because he had the right to say to him with a single word, by a single look: "This is how I reward an ungrateful person, a youth who has no regard for the old men who are soon to pass away, burying with them the moral customs of this country." That "Where are you?" was as clear as noonday. Do you suppose he did not know where she was? "Ah! An orphan must not fall in love!" I don't know what other thoughts I had. The door of the room opened; Irinel stood in the doorway. How great an unhappiness it is to see happiness standing on the threshold, and to know it will not cross; that it will remain yonder, so near and yet so far! Irinel crossed the threshold; she came up to me. I realized that she had crossed the threshold, but still my happiness remained outside. I understood the old man had sent her back in order to deceive me, and that she had guessed nothing. "Do you know what Father has just told me? A guest is coming to us at the festival of St. Peter. A big merchant." What did that mean? "And did he say anything else?" "Nothing; but yes, he did. We are to kill our fattest chicken and the house is to be put into the most spick and span order, for our guest is an important merchant, a deputy, elderly, and I don't know what all and what else." After teasing me and laughing at me because I coughed just as the girls at school did to make the doctor prescribe iron and old wine, but more particularly old wine than iron, Irinel left me. "Ugh! It's lucky he is old. Supposing he had been a young man?" On St. Peter's day I rose in such a state of anxiety that I started at every sound. Has it not been known for old men to lose their heads and marry girls of eighteen? For three hours I wandered about the grounds. I waited for this rival with the same impatience with which I once waited for Irinel to come quickly from school. Am I deceiving myself or not? The same sensations, identically the same, were present with me, waiting thus for the object of my hatred as when I waited for her I loved. I wanted to see him as soon as possible; for a second; just to know him; to find out who he was. At ten o'clock a carriage drew up in front of the door. Some one got out. When I saw him I began to laugh. He was very feeble, he was very old. No doubt he was smart with his black coat and red tie. I greeted him with respect, I might almost say with affection, and then, sorry at having felt hatred for such an old man, with such snowwhite hair, I went quietly into the garden. I turned down one of the paths. How sad and drear do the most beautiful natural surroundings become when they are reflected by a sad and lonely heart? What indifference everywhere! The garden gate was opened rather hastily as though the wind had forced it. Irinel appeared. She looked all round, then, seeing me, she flew towards me. The breeze which she made by her flight fluttered her thin gown of white batiste with black spots. She was pale. She took my hand. Her own trembled. She tried to speak, and said several times: "Wait, wait, wait while I get my breath----" Then she became silent and looked at me. Oh, what a look! Her eyes flashed sparks. Their blue depths seemed to me like an incomprehensible ocean, tempest driven, without bottom, without boundaries. I looked down, overwhelmed by an inexplicable fear, by a powerful emotion. I noticed my boots, and I thought to myself: "Have they cleaned my boots to-day or not? Of course, they must have. Don't they clean them every day?" "Iorgu, do you know why that old man has come?" "No," I answered her, with a stupid calm. Had they cleaned my boots? Perhaps the dew was still on the grass. "Iorgu, do you know what Father said to me?" "No." "'Put on your foulard gown.'" "Your foulard gown? The one I like so much?" "But do you know why he wanted me to?" "Of course I do." She trembled. I continued, as I took out my handkerchief and flicked the dust from one of my boots: "Of course I know. Isn't to-day a great festival?" "Ah," she replied as she withdrew the hand I was holding, "you understand nothing! What an indifferent and non-understanding man you are!" Indifferent? I understood everything from her look and her emotion, and with a calmness which I was certainly far from feeling I bent down and dusted the other boot. "The old man has come, Irinel----" I said, glancing at her for a moment. She was white, her lower lip quivered, the light in her eyes had darkened. "The old man has come, Irinel. What then? He will dine with us? All the better. We shall be a bigger party at table." Was it I speaking? There were only she and I in the garden. "The old man has come, has come. Alas!" she replied, covering her eyes with both her hands. "The old man has come and some one is going to leave this house! He has----" Irinel began to cry. "What has he?" "A son who is an engineer." "Engineer? Has he learnt engineering?" "Yes, he has learnt engineering!" Irinel replied angrily, and uncovered her crimson cheeks. "Yes, he has learnt en-gi-neer-ing, and some one is going to leave this house!" I watched how she stood in the doorway, and then crossed it lightly as she wiped away her tears on a clean corner of her gown. I looked long after her, then I threw myself face upwards under one of the fruit-trees. Nature was full of life! The apple-trees bent their great boughs; the sparrows chattered, some of them were fluttering their wings, others were collecting into groups preparing for a fierce fight. Little patches of sunlight played upon my face. When I felt two rows of tears trickling into my ears, I jumped to my feet, I gazed towards the door, and said gently, full of a profound melancholy: "Some one is going to leave this house!" The next day I showed my uncle a faked recommendation, in writing, from a doctor ordering me to Bourboule under pretext of a serious affection of the left lung. I pass rapidly over this episode. I kissed my uncle's hand and Irinel. Irinel! Only when I was crossing the frontier and looking from the open window of the train at the Hungarian landscape lying stretched out before me, did I begin to wonder. Supposing she had not looked at me so intently! A searching look paralysed me. Supposing she had asked me what it was I wanted to say to her? Such shyness is a form of madness. But what courage I should have wanted! How could I have convinced my uncle? Was not Irinel like my sister? Ah, no! It was impossible! It was impossible! The train, which was puffing along, gave a whistle that echoed through the country. A few tears fell through the window, and seeking with my eyes the country from which I had come, and the direction where lay the house and garden in which I had grown up so happily, I gave a wave with my hand, and said sighing: "Good-bye, Irinel!" THE END 
838	----	JASMIN Barber, Poet, Philanthropist by Samuel Smiles, LL.D. "Il rasait bien, il chantait.... Si la France possedait dix poetes comme Jasmin, dix poetes de cette influence, elle n'aurait pas a craindre de revolutions."--Sainte-Beuve Preface CHAPTER I. Agen--Jasmins Boyhood Description of Agen Statue of Jasmin His 'Souvenirs' Birth of Jasmin Poverty of the Family Grandfather Boe The Charivari Jasmin's Father and Mother His Playfellows Playing at Soldiers Agen Fairs The Vintage The Spinning Women School detested Old Boe carried to the Hospital Death of Boe CHAPTER II. Jasmin at School Sister Boe Jasmin enters the Seminary His Progress His Naughty Trick Tumbles from a Ladder His Punishment Imprisoned The Preserves Expelled from the Seminary His Mother sells her Wedding-ring for Bread The Abbe Miraben Jasmin a Helpful Boy CHAPTER III. Barber and Hair-dresser Jasmin Apprenticed Reading in his Garret His First Books Florian's Romances Begins to Rhyme The Poetic Nature Barbers and Poetry Importance of the Barber Jasmin first Theatrical Entertainment Under the Tiles Talent for Recitation Jasmin begins Business CHAPTER IV. Jasmin and Mariette Falls in Love Marries Mariette Barrere Jasmin's Marriage Costume Prosperity in Business The 'Curl-Papers' Christened "Apollo" Mariette dislikes Rhyming Visit of Charles Nodier The Pair Reconciled Mariette encourages her Husband Jasmin at Home The "rivulet of silver" Jasmin buys his House on the Gravier Becomes Collector of Taxes CHAPTER V. Jasmin and Gascon Jasmin first Efforts at Verse-making The People Conservative of old Dialects Jasmin's study of Gascon Langue d'Oc and Langue d'Oil Antiquity of Languages in Western Europe The Franks Language of Modern France The Gauls The "Franciman" Language of the Troubadours Gascon and Provencal Jasmin begins to write in Gascon Uneducated Poets Jasmin's 'Me cal Mouri' Miss Costello's translation The 'Charivari' Jasmin publishes First Volume of 'The Curl-papers' (Papillotos) CHAPTER VI. Beranger--'Mes Souvenirs'--P. De Musset The 'Third of May' Statue of Henry IV Nerac Jasmin's Ode in Gascon approved A Corporal in the National Guard Letter to Beranger His Reply 'Mes Souvenirs' Recollections of his past Life Nodier's Eulogy Lines on the Banished Poles Saint-Beuve on Jasmin's Poems Second Volume of the 'Papillotos' published Interview with Paul de Musset CHAPTER VII. 'The Blind Girl of Castel-cuille' A Poetical Legend Translated into English by Lady Georgiana Fullerton and Longfellow Description of Castel-cuille The Story of Marguerite The Bridal Procession to Saint-Amans Presence of Marguerite Her Death The Poem first recited at Bordeaux Enthusiasm excited Popularity of the Author Fetes and Banquets Declines to visit Paris Picture of Mariette A Wise and Sensible Wife Private recitation of his Poems A Happy Pair Eloquence of Jasmin CHAPTER VIII. Jasmin as Philanthropist. Charity a Universal Duty Want of Poor-Law in France Appeals for Help in Times of Distress Jasmin Recitations entirely Gratuitous Famine in the Lot-et-Garonne Composition of the Poem 'Charity' Respect for the Law Collection at Tonneins Jasmin assailed by Deputations His Reception in the Neighbouring Towns Appearance at Bergerac At Gontaud At Damazan His Noble Missions CHAPTER IX. Jasmin's 'Franconnette' Composition of the Poem Expostulations of M. Dumon Jasmin's Defence of the Gascon Dialect Jasmin and Dante 'Franconnette' dedicated to Toulouse Outline of the Story Marshal Montluc Huguenots Castle of Estellac Marcel and Pascal The Buscou 'The Syren with a Heart of Ice' The Sorcerer Franconnette accursed Festival on Easter Morning The Crown Piece Storm at Notre Dame The Villagers determine to burn Franconnette Her Deliverance and Marriage CHAPTER X. Jasmin's at Toulouse. 'Franconnette' Recited first at Toulouse Received with Acclamation Academy of Jeux-Floraux Jasmin Eloquent Declamation The Fetes Publication of 'Franconnette' Sainte-Beuve's Criticism M. de Lavergne Charles Nodier Testimonial to Jasmin Mademoiselle Gaze Death of Jasmin's Mother Jasmin's Acknowledgment Readings in the Cause of Charity Increasing Reputation CHAPTER XI. Jasmin's visit to Paris. Visits Paris with his Son Wonders of Paris Countries Cousins Letters to Agen Visit to Sainte-Beuve Charles Nodier, Jules Janin Landlord of Jasmin's Hotel Recitation before Augustin Thierry and Members of the Academy Career of the Historian His Blindness His Farewell to Literature CHAPTER XII. Jasmin's recitations in Paris. Assembly at Augustin Thierry's The 'Blind Girl' Recited The Girl's Blindness Interruptions of Thierry Ampere Observation Jasmin's love of Applause Interesting Conversation Fetes at Paris Visit to Louis Philippe and the Duchess of Orleans Recitals before the Royal Family Souvenirs of the Visit Banquet of Barbers and Hair-dressers M. Chateaubriand Return to Agen CHAPTER XIII. Jasmin's and his English critics. Translation of his Poems The Athenoeum Miss Costello's Visit to Jasmin Her Description of the Poet His Recitations Her renewed Visit A Pension from the King Proposed Journey to England The Westminster Review Angus B. Reach's Interview with Jasmin His Description of the Poet His Charitable Collections for the Poor Was he Quixotic? His Vivid Conversation His Array of Gifts The Dialect in which he Composes CHAPTER XIV. Jasmin's tours of philanthropy Appeals from the Poor and Distressed His Journeys to remote places Carcassone The Orphan Institute of Bordeaux 'The Shepherd and the Gascon Poet' The Orphan's Gratitude Helps to found an Agricultural Colony Jasmin Letter His Numerous Engagements Society of Arts and Literature His Strength of Constitution At Marseilles At Auch Refusal to shave a Millionaire Mademoiselle Roaldes Jasmin Cheerful Help Their Tour in the South of France At Marseilles again Gratitude of Mademoiselle Roaldes Reboul at Nimes Dumas and Chateaubriand Letters from Madame Lafarge CHAPTER XV. Jasmin's Vineyard--'Martha the Innocent' Agen Jasmin buys a little Vineyard, his 'Papilloto' 'Ma Bigno' dedicated to Madame Veill Description of the Vineyard The Happiness it Confers M. Rodiere, Toulouse Jasmin's Slowness in Composition A Golden Medal struck in his Honour A Pension Awarded him Made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour Serenades in the Gravier Honour from Pope Pius IX 'Martha the Innocent' Description of the Narrative Jasmin and Martha Another Visit to Toulouse The Banquet Dax, Gers, Condon Challenge of Peyrottes Jasmin's Reply His further Poems 'La Semaine d'um Fil' described Dedicated to Lamartine His Reply CHAPTER XVI. The Priest without a Church. Ruin of the Church at Vergt Description of Vergt Jasmin Appealed to for Help The Abbe and Poet Meeting at Perigueux Fetes and Banquets Montignac, Sarlat, Nontron, Bergerac Consecration of the Church Cardinal Gousset Jasmin's Poem 'A Priest without a Church' Assailed by Deputations St. Vincent de paul A Priest and his Parishioners The Church of Vergt again Another Tour for Offerings Creche at Bordeaux Revolution of 1848 Abbe and Poet recommence their Journeys Jasmin invited to become a Deputy Declines, and pursues his Career of Charity CHAPTER XVII. The Church of Vergt again--French Academy-- Emperor and Empress Renewed Journeys Journeys for Church of Vergt Arcachon Biarritz A Troupe of poor Comedians Helped Towns in the South Jasmin's Bell-Tower erected The French Academy M. Villemain to Jasmin M. de Montyon's Prize M. Ancelo to Jasmin Visit Paris again Monseigneur Sibour Banquet by Les Deux Mondes Reviewers Marquise de Barthelemy, described in 'Chambers' Journal Description of Jasmin and the Entertainment Jasmin and the French Academy Visit to Louis Napoleon Intercedes for return of M. Baze Again Visits Paris Louis Napoleon Emperor, and Empress Eugenie The Interview M. Baze Restored to his Family at Agen The Church of Vergt Finished, with Jasmin Bells CHAPTER XVIII. Jasmin enrolled Maitre-es-Jeux at toulouse --crowned by Agen Jasmin invited to Toulouse Enrolled as Maitre-es-Jeux The Ceremony in the Salle des Illustres Jasmin acknowledgment The Crowd in the Place de Capitol Agen awards him a Crown of Gold Society of Saint Vincent de Paul The Committee Construction of the Crown The Public Meeting Address of M. Noubel, Deputy Jasmin's Poem, 'The Crown of My Birthplace' CHAPTER XIX. Last poems--more missions of charity His 'New Recollections' Journey to Albi and Castera Bordeaux Montignac, Saint Macaire Saint Andre, Monsegur Recitation at Arcachon Societies of Mutual Help 'Imitation of Christ' Testimony from Bishop of Saint Flour Jasmin's Self-denial Collects about a Million and a half of Francs for the Poor Expenses of his Journey of fifty Days His Faithful Record Jasmin at Rodez Aurillac Toulouse His last Recital at Villeneuve-sur-Lot CHAPTER XX. Death of Jasmin--his character. Jasmin's Illness from Overwork and Fatigue Last Poem to Renan Receives the Last Sacrament Takes Leave of his Wife His Death, at Sixty-five His Public Funeral The Ceremony Eulogiums M. Noubel, Deputy; Capot and Magen Inauguration of Bronze Statue Character of Jasmin His Love of Truth His Fellow-Feeling for the Poor His Pride in Agen His Loyalty and Patience Charity his Heroic Programme His long Apostolate APPENDIX Jasmin Defence of the Gascon Dialect The Mason's Son The Poor Man's Doctor My Vineyard Franconnette PREFACE. My attention was first called to the works of the poet Jasmin by the eulogistic articles which appeared in the Revue des Deux Mondes, by De Mazade, Nodier, Villemain, and other well-known reviewers. I afterwards read the articles by Sainte-Beuve, perhaps the finest critic of French literature, on the life and history of Jasmin, in his 'Portraits Contemporains' as well as his admirable article on the same subject, in the 'Causeries du Lundi.' While Jasmin was still alive, a translation was published by the American poet Longfellow, of 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille,' perhaps the best of Jasmin's poems. In his note to the translation, Longfellow said that "Jasmin, the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to the South of Scotland, the representative of the heart of the people; one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'aouvelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles, and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs." I had some difficulty in obtaining Jasmin's poems; but at length I received them from his native town of Agen. They consisted of four volumes octavo, though they were still incomplete. But a new edition has since been published, in 1889, which was heralded by an interesting article in the Paris Figaro. While at Royat, in 1888, I went across the country to Agen, the town in which Jasmin was born, lived, and died. I saw the little room in which he was born, the banks of the Garonne which sounded so sweetly in his ears, the heights of the Hermitage where he played when a boy, the Petite Seminaire in which he was partly educated, the coiffeur's shop in which he carried on his business as a barber and hair-dresser, and finally his tomb in the cemetery where he was buried with all the honours that his towns-fellows could bestow upon him. From Agen I went south to Toulouse, where I saw the large room in the Museum in which Jasmin first recited his poem of 'Franconnette'; and the hall in the Capitol, where the poet was hailed as The Troubadour, and enrolled member of the Academy of Jeux Floraux--perhaps the crowning event of his life. In the Appendix to this memoir I have endeavoured to give translations from some of Jasmin's poems. Longfellow's translation of 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille' has not been given, as it has already been published in his poems, which are in nearly every library. In those which have been given, I have in certain cases taken advantage of the translations by Miss Costello Miss Preston (of Boston, U.S.), and the Reverend Mr. Craig, D.D., for some time Rector of Kinsale, Ireland. It is, however, very difficult to translate French poetry into English. The languages, especially the Gascon, are very unlike French as well as English. Hence Villemain remarks, that "every translation must virtually be a new creation." But, such as they are, I have endeavoured to translate the poems as literally as possible. Jasmin's poetry is rather wordy, and requires condensation, though it is admirably suited for recitation. When other persons recited his poems, they were not successful; but when Jasmin recited, or rather acted them, they were always received with enthusiasm. There was a special feature in Jasmin's life which was altogether unique. This was the part which he played in the South of France as a philanthropist. Where famine or hunger made its appearance amongst the poor people--where a creche, or orphanage, or school, or even a church, had to be helped and supported Jasmin was usually called upon to assist with his recitations. He travelled thousands of miles for such purposes, during which he collected about 1,500,000 francs, and gave the whole of this hard-earned money over to the public charities, reserving nothing for himself except the gratitude of the poor and needy. And after his long journeyings were over, he quietly returned to pursue his humble occupation at Agen. Perhaps there is nothing like this in the history of poetry or literature. For this reason, the character of the man as a philanthropist is even more to be esteemed than his character as a poet and a song-writer. The author requests the indulgence of the reader with respect to the translations of certain poems given in the Appendix. The memoir of Jasmin must speak for itself. London, Nov. 1891. JASMIN. CHAPTER I. AGEN.--JASMIN'S BOYHOOD. Agen is an important town in the South of France, situated on the right bank of the Garonne, about eighty miles above Bordeaux. The country to the south of Agen contains some of the most fertile land in France. The wide valley is covered with vineyards, orchards, fruit gardens, and corn-fields. The best panoramic view of Agen and the surrounding country is to be seen from the rocky heights on the northern side of the town. A holy hermit had once occupied a cell on the ascending cliffs; and near it the Convent of the Hermitage has since been erected. Far underneath are seen the red-roofed houses of the town, and beyond them the green promenade of the Gravier. From the summit of the cliffs the view extends to a great distance along the wide valley of the Garonne, covered with woods, vineyards, and greenery. The spires of village churches peep up here and there amongst the trees; and in the far distance, on a clear day, are seen the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. Three bridges connect Agen with the country to the west of the Garonne--the bridge for ordinary traffic, a light and elegant suspension bridge, and a bridge of twenty-three arches which carries the lateral canal to the other side of the river. The town of Agen itself is not particularly attractive. The old streets are narrow and tortuous, paved with pointed stones; but a fine broad street--the Rue de la Republique--has recently been erected through the heart of the old town, which greatly adds to the attractions of the place. At one end of this street an ideal statue of the Republic has been erected, and at the other end a life-like bronze statue of the famous poet Jasmin. This statue to Jasmin is the only one in the town erected to an individual. Yet many distinguished persons have belonged to Agen and the neighbourhood who have not been commemorated in any form. Amongst these were Bernard Palissy, the famous potter{1}; Joseph J. Scaliger, the great scholar and philologist; and three distinguished naturalists, Boudon de Saint-Aman, Bory de Saint-Vincent, and the Count de Lacepede. The bronze statue of Jasmin stands in one of the finest sites in Agen, at one end of the Rue de la Republique, and nearly opposite the little shop in which he carried on his humble trade of a barber and hairdresser. It represents the poet standing, with his right arm and hand extended, as if in the act of recitation. How the fame of Jasmin came to be commemorated by a statue erected in his native town by public subscription, will be found related in the following pages. He has told the story of his early life in a bright, natural, and touching style, in one of his best poems, entitled, "My Recollections" (Mes Souvenirs), written in Gascon; wherein he revealed his own character with perfect frankness, and at the same time with exquisite sensibility. Several of Jasmin's works have been translated into English, especially his "Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille," by Longfellow and Lady Georgina Fullerton. The elegant translation by Longfellow is so well known that it is unnecessary to repeat it in the appendix to this volume. But a few other translations of Jasmin's works have been given, to enable the reader to form some idea of his poetical powers. Although Jasmin's recitations of his poems were invariably received with enthusiastic applause by his quick-spirited audiences in the South of France, the story of his life will perhaps be found more attractive to English readers than any rendering of his poems, however accurate, into a language different from his own. For poetry, more than all forms of literature, loses most by translation--especially from Gascon into English. Villemain, one of the best of critics, says: "Toute traduction en vers est une autre creation que l'original." We proceed to give an account--mostly from his own Souvenirs--of the early life and boyhood of Jasmin. The eighteenth century, old, decrepit, and vicious, was about to come to an end, when in the corner of a little room haunted by rats, a child, the subject of this story, was born. It was on the morning of Shrove Tuesday, the 6th of March, 1798,--just as the day had flung aside its black night-cap, and the morning sun was about to shed its rays upon the earth,--that this son of a crippled mother and a humpbacked tailor first saw the light. The child was born in a house situated in one of the old streets of Agen--15 Rue Fon-de-Rache--not far from the shop on the Gravier where Jasmin afterwards carried on the trade of a barber and hairdresser. "When a prince is born," said Jasmin in his Souvenirs, "his entrance into the world is saluted with rounds of cannon, but when I, the son of a poor tailor made my appearance, I was not saluted even with the sound of a popgun." Yet Jasmin was afterwards to become a king of hearts! A Charivari was, however, going on in front of a neighbour's door, as a nuptial serenade on the occasion of some unsuitable marriage; when the clamour of horns and kettles, marrow-bones and cleavers, saluted the mother's ears, accompanied by thirty burlesque verses, the composition of the father of the child who had just been born. Jacques Jasmin was only one child amongst many. The parents had considerable difficulty in providing for the wants of the family, in food as well as clothing. Besides the father's small earnings as a tailor of the lowest standing, the mother occasionally earned a little money as a laundress. A grandfather, Boe, formed one of the family group. He had been a soldier, but was now too old to serve in the ranks, though France was waging war in Italy and Austria under her new Emperor. Boe, however, helped to earn the family living, by begging with his wallet from door to door. Jasmin describes the dwelling in which this poor family lived. It was miserably furnished. The winds blew in at every corner. There were three ragged beds; a cupboard, containing a few bits of broken plates; a stone bottle; two jugs of cracked earthenware; a wooden cup broken at the edges; a rusty candlestick, used when candles were available; a small half-black looking-glass without a frame, held against the wall by three little nails; four broken chairs; a closet without a key; old Boe's suspended wallet; a tailor's board, with clippings of stuff and patched-up garments; such were the contents of the house, the family consisting in all of nine persons. It is well that poor children know comparatively little of their miserable bringings-up. They have no opportunity of contrasting their life and belongings with those of other children more richly nurtured. The infant Jasmin slept no less soundly in his little cot stuffed with larks' feathers than if he had been laid on a bed of down. Then he was nourished by his mother's milk, and he grew, though somewhat lean and angular, as fast as any king's son. He began to toddle about, and made acquaintances with the neighbours' children. After a few years had passed, Jasmin, being a spirited fellow, was allowed to accompany his father at night in the concerts of rough music. He placed a long paper cap on his head, like a French clown, and with a horn in his hand he made as much noise, and played as many antics, as any fool in the crowd. Though the tailor could not read, he usually composed the verses for the Charivari; and the doggerel of the father, mysteriously fructified, afterwards became the seed of poetry in the son. The performance of the Charivari was common at that time in the South of France. When an old man proposed to marry a maiden less than half his age, or when an elderly widow proposed to marry a man much younger than herself, or when anything of a heterogeneous kind occurred in any proposed union, a terrible row began. The populace assembled in the evening of the day on which the banns had been first proclaimed, and saluted the happy pair in their respective houses with a Charivari. Bells, horns, pokers and tongs, marrow-bones and cleavers, or any thing that would make a noise, was brought into requisition, and the noise thus made, accompanied with howling recitations of the Charivari, made the night positively hideous. The riot went on for several evenings; and when the wedding-day arrived, the Charivarists, with the same noise and violence, entered the church with the marriage guests; and at night they besieged the house of the happy pair, throwing into their windows stones, brickbats, and every kind of missile. Such was their honeymoon! This barbarous custom has now fallen entirely into disuse. If attempted to be renewed, it is summarily put down by the police, though it still exists among the Basques as a Toberac. It may also be mentioned that a similar practice once prevailed in Devonshire described by the Rev. S. Baring Gould in his "Red Spider." It was there known as the Hare Hunt, or Skimmity-riding. The tailor's Charivaris brought him in no money. They did not increase his business; in fact, they made him many enemies. His uncouth rhymes did not increase his mending of old clothes. However sharp his needle might be, his children's teeth were still sharper; and often they had little enough to eat. The maintenance of the family mainly depended on the mother, and the wallet of grandfather Boe. The mother, poor though she was, had a heart of gold under her serge gown. She washed and mended indefatigably. When she had finished her washing, the children, so soon as they could walk, accompanied her to the willows along the banks of the Garonne, where the clothes were hung out to dry. There they had at least the benefit of breathing fresh and pure air. Grandfather Boe was a venerable old fellow. He amused the children at night with his stories of military life-- "Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won." During the day he carried his wallet from door to door in Agen, or amongst the farmhouses in the neighbourhood; and when he came home at eve he emptied his wallet and divided the spoil amongst the family. If he obtained, during his day's journey, some more succulent morsel than another, he bestowed it upon his grandson Jacques, whom he loved most dearly. Like all healthy boys, young Jasmin's chief delight was in the sunshine and the open air. He also enjoyed the pleasures of fellowship and the happiness of living. Rich and poor, old and young, share in this glorified gladness. Jasmin had as yet known no sorrow. His companions were poor boys like himself. They had never known any other condition. Just as the noontide bells began to ring, Jasmin set out with a hunch of bread in his hand--perhaps taken from his grandfather's wallet--to enjoy the afternoon with his comrades. Without cap or shoes he sped' away. The sun was often genial, and he never bethought him of cold. On the company went, some twenty or thirty in number, to gather willow faggots by the banks of the Garonne. "Oh, how my soul leapt!" he exclaimed in his Souvenirs, "when we all set out together at mid-day, singing. 'The Lamb whom Thou hast given me,' a well known carol in the south. The very recollection of that pleasure even now enchants me. 'To the Island--to the Island!' shouted the boldest, and then we made haste to wade to the Island, each to gather together our little bundle of fagots." The rest of the vagrants' time was spent in play. They ascended the cliff towards the grotto of Saint John. They shared in many a contest. They dared each other to do things--possible and impossible. There were climbings of rocks, and daring leaps, with many perils and escapades, according to the nature of boys at play. At length, after becoming tired, there was the return home an hour before nightfall. And now the little fellows tripped along; thirty fagot bundles were carried on thirty heads; and the thirty sang, as on setting out, the same carol, with the same refrain. Jasmin proceeds, in his Souvenirs, to describe with great zest and a wonderful richness of local colour, the impromptu fetes in which he bore a part; his raids upon the cherry and plum orchards--for the neighbourhood of Agen is rich in plum-trees, and prunes are one of the principal articles of commerce in the district. Playing at soldiers was one of Jasmin's favourite amusements; and he was usually elected Captain. "I should need," he says, "a hundred trumpets to celebrate all my victories." Then he describes the dancing round the bonfires, and the fantastic ceremonies connected with the celebration of St. John's Eve. Agen is celebrated for its fairs. In the month of June, one of the most important fairs in the South of France is held on the extensive promenade in front of the Gravier. There Jasmin went to pick up any spare sous by holding horses or cattle, or running errands, or performing any trifling commission for the farmers or graziers. When he had filled to a slight extent his little purse, he went home at night and emptied the whole contents into his mother's hand. His heart often sank as she received his earnings with smiles and tears. "Poor child," she would say, "your help comes just in time." Thus the bitter thought of poverty and the evidences of destitution were always near at hand. In the autumn Jasmin went gleaning in the cornfields, for it was his greatest pleasure to bring home some additional help for the family needs. In September came the vintage--the gathering in and pressing of the grapes previous to their manufacture into wine. The boy was able, with his handy helpfulness, to add a little more money to the home store. Winter followed, and the weather became colder. In the dearth of firewood, Jasmin was fain to preserve his bodily heat, notwithstanding his ragged clothes, by warming himself by the sun in some sheltered nook so long as the day lasted; or he would play with his companions, being still buoyed up with the joy and vigour of youth. When the stern winter set in, Jasmin spent his evenings in the company of spinning-women and children, principally for the sake of warmth. A score or more of women, with their children, assembled in a large room, lighted by a single antique lamp suspended from the ceiling. The women had distaffs and heavy spindles, by means of which they spun a kind of coarse pack-thread, which the children wound up, sitting on stools at their feet. All the while some old dame would relate the old-world ogreish stories of Blue Beard, the Sorcerer, or the Loup Garou, to fascinate the ears and trouble the dreams of the young folks. It was here, no doubt, that Jasmin gathered much of the traditionary lore which he afterwards wove into his poetical ballads. Jasmin had his moments of sadness. He was now getting a big fellow, and his mother was anxious that he should receive some little education. He had not yet been taught to read; he had not even learnt his A B C. The word school frightened him. He could not bear to be shut up in a close room--he who had been accustomed to enjoy a sort of vagabond life in the open air. He could not give up his comrades, his playing at soldiers, and his numerous escapades. The mother, during the hum of her spinning-wheel, often spoke in whispers to grandfather Boe of her desire to send the boy to school. When Jasmin overheard their conversation, he could scarcely conceal his tears. Old Boe determined to do what he could. He scraped together his little savings, and handed them over to the mother. But the money could not then be used for educating Jasmin; it was sorely needed for buying bread. Thus the matter lay over for a time. The old man became unable to go out of doors to solicit alms. Age and infirmity kept him indoors. He began to feel himself a burden on the impoverished family. He made up his mind to rid them of the incumbrance, and desired the parents to put him into the family arm-chair and have him carried to the hospital. Jasmin has touchingly told the incident of his removal. "It happened on a Monday," he says in his Souvenirs: "I was then ten years old. I was playing in the square with my companions, girded about with a wooden sword, and I was king; but suddenly a dreadful spectacle disturbed my royalty. I saw an old man in an arm-chair borne along by several persons. The bearers approached still nearer, when I recognised my afflicted grandfather. 'O God,' said I, 'what do I see? My old grandfather surrounded by my family.' In my grief I saw only him. I ran up to him in tears, threw myself on his neck and kissed him. "In returning my embrace, he wept. 'O grandfather,' said I, 'where are you going? Why do you weep? Why are you leaving our home?' 'My child,' said the old man, 'I am going to the hospital,{2} where all the Jasmins die.' He again embraced me, closed his eyes, and was carried away. We followed him for some time under the trees. I abandoned my play, and returned home full of sorrow." Grandfather Boe did not survive long in the hospital. He was utterly worn out. After five days the old man quietly breathed his last. His wallet was hung upon its usual nail in his former home, but it was never used again. One of the bread-winners had departed, and the family were poorer than ever. "On that Monday," says Jasmin, "I for the first time knew and felt that we were very poor." All this is told with marvellous effect in the first part of the Souvenirs, which ends with a wail and a sob. Endnotes to Chapter I. {1} It is stated in the Bibliographie Generale de l'Agenais, that Palissy was born in the district of Agen, perhaps at La Chapelle Biron, and that, being a Huguenot, he was imprisoned in the Bastille at Paris, and died there in 1590, shortly after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. But Palissy seems to have been born in another town, not far from La Chapelle Biron. The Times of the 7th July, 1891, contained the following paragraph:-- "A statue of Bernard Palissy was unveiled yesterday at Villeneuvesur-Lot, his native town, by M. Bourgeois, Minister of Education." {2} L'hopital means an infirmary or almshouse for old and impoverished people. CHAPTER II. JASMIN AT SCHOOL. One joyful day Jasmin's mother came home in an ecstasy of delight, and cried, "To school, my child, to school!" "To school?" said Jasmin, greatly amazed. "How is this? Have we grown rich?" "No, my poor boy, but you will get your schooling for nothing. Your cousin has promised to educate you; come, come, I am so happy!" It was Sister Boe, the schoolmistress of Agen, who had offered to teach the boy gratuitously the elements of reading and writing. The news of Jacques' proposed scholarship caused no small stir at home. The mother was almost beside herself with joy. The father too was equally moved, and shed tears of gratitude. He believed that the boy might yet be able to help him in writing out, under his dictation, the Charivari impromptus which, he supposed, were his chief forte. Indeed, the whole family regarded this great stroke of luck for Jacques in the light of a special providence, and as the beginning of a brilliant destiny. The mother, in order to dress him properly, rummaged the house, and picked out the least mended suit of clothes, in which to array the young scholar. When properly clothed, the boy, not without fear on his own part, was taken by his mother to school. Behold him, then, placed under the tuition of Sister Boe! There were some fifty other children at school, mumbling at the letters of the alphabet, and trying to read their first easy sentences. Jasmin had a good memory, and soon mastered the difficulties of the A B C. "'Twixt smiles and tears," he says, "I soon learnt to read, by the help of the pious Sister." In six months he was able to enter the Seminary in the Rue Montesquieu as a free scholar. He now served at Mass. Having a good ear for music,he became a chorister, and sang the Tantum ergo. He was a diligent boy, and so far everything prospered well with him. He even received a prize. True, it was only an old cassock, dry as autumn heather. But, being trimmed up by his father, it served to hide his ragged clothes beneath. His mother was very proud of the cassock. "Thank God," she said, "thou learnest well; and this is the reason why, each Tuesday, a white loaf comes from the Seminary. It is always welcome, for the sake of the hungry little ones." "Yes," he replied, "I will try my best to be learned for your sake." But Jasmin did not long wear the cassock. He was shortly after turned out of the Seminary, in consequence of a naughty trick which he played upon a girl of the household. Jasmin tells the story of his expulsion with great frankness, though evidently ashamed of the transaction. He was passing through the inner court one day, during the Shrove Carnival, when, looking up, he caught sight of a petticoat. He stopped and gazed. A strange tremor crept through his nerves. What evil spirit possessed him to approach the owner of the petticoat? He looked up again, and recognised the sweet and rosy-cheeked Catherine--the housemaid of the Seminary. She was perched near the top of a slim ladder leaning against the wall, standing upright, and feeding the feathery-footed pigeons. A vision flashed through Jasmin's mind--"a life all velvet," as he expressed it,--and he approached the ladder. He climbed up a few steps, and what did he see? Two comely ankles and two pretty little feet. His heart burned within him, and he breathed a loud sigh. The girl heard the sigh, looked down, and huddled up the ladder, crying piteously. The ladder was too slim to bear two. It snapped and fell, and they tumbled down, she above and he below! The loud screams of the girl brought all the household to the spot--the Canons, the little Abbe, the cook, the scullion--indeed all the inmates of the Seminary. Jasmin quaintly remarks, "A girl always likes to have the sins known that she has caused others to commit." But in this case, according to Jasmin's own showing, the girl was not to blame. The trick which he played might be very innocent, but to the assembled household it seemed very wicked. He must be punished. First, he had a terrible wigging from the master; and next, he was sentenced to imprisonment during the rest of the Carnival. In default of a dungeon, they locked him in a dismal little chamber, with some bread and water. Next day, Shrove Tuesday, while the Carnival was afoot, Jasmin felt very angry and very hungry. "Who sleeps eats," says the proverb. "But," said Jasmin, "the proverb lies: I did not sleep, and was consumed by hunger." Then he filled up the measure of his iniquity by breaking into a cupboard! It happened that the Convent preserves were kept in the room wherein he was confined. Their odour attracted him, and he climbed up, by means of a table and chair, to the closet in which they were stored. He found a splendid pot of preserves. He opened it; and though he had no spoon, he used his fingers and soon emptied the pot. What a delicious treat he enjoyed enough to make him forget the pleasures of the Carnival. Jasmin was about to replace the empty pot, when he heard the click-clack of a door behind him. He looked round, and saw the Superior, who had unlocked the door, and come to restore the boy to liberty. Oh, unhappy day! When the Abbe found the prisoner stealing his precious preserves, he became furious. "What! plundering my sweetmeats?" he cried. "Come down, sirrah, come down! no pardon for you now." He pulled Jasmin from his chair and table, and the empty jar fell broken at his feet. "Get out, get out of this house, thou imp of hell!" And taking Jasmin by the scruff of the neck, he thrust him violently out of the door and into the street. But worse was yet to come. When the expelled scholar reached the street, his face and mouth were smeared with jam. He was like a blackamoor. Some urchins who encountered him on his homeward route, surmised that his disguise was intended as a masque for the Carnival. He ran, and they pursued him. The mob of boys increased, and he ran the faster. At last he reached his father's door, and rushed in, half dead with pain, hunger, and thirst. The family were all there--father, mother, and children. They were surprised and astonished at his sudden entrance. After kissing them all round, he proceeded to relate his adventures at the Seminary. He could not tell them all, but he told enough. His narrative was received with dead silence. But he was thirsty and hungry. He saw a pot of kidney-bean porridge hanging over the fire, and said he would like to allay his hunger by participating in their meal. But alas! The whole of it had been consumed. The pot was empty, and yet the children were not satisfied with their dinner. "Now I know," said the mother, "why no white bread has come from the Seminary." Jasmin was now greatly distressed. "Accursed sweetmeats," he thought. "Oh! what a wretch I am to have caused so much misery and distress." The children had eaten only a few vegetables; and now there was another mouth to fill. The fire had almost expired for want of fuel. The children had no bread that day, for the Seminary loaf had not arrived. What were they now to do? The mother suffered cruel tortures in not being able to give her children bread, especially on the home-coming of her favourite scapegrace. At last, after glancing at her left hand, she rose suddenly. She exclaimed in a cheerful voice, "Wait patiently until my return." She put her Sunday kerchief on her head, and departed. In a short time she returned, to the delight of the children, with a loaf of bread under her arm. They laughed and sang, and prepared to enjoy their feast, though it was only of bread. The mother apparently joined in their cheerfulness, though a sad pain gnawed at her heart. Jasmin saw his mother hide her hand; but when it was necessary for her to cut the loaf, after making the cross according to custom, he saw that the ring on her left hand had disappeared. "Holy Cross," he thought, "it is true that she has sold her wedding-ring to buy bread for her children." This was a sad beginning of life for the poor boy. He was now another burden on the family. Old Boe had gone, and could no longer help him with his savoury morsels. He was so oppressed with grief, that he could no longer play with his comrades as before. But Providence again came to his aid. The good Abbe Miraben heard the story of his expulsion from the Seminary. Though a boy may be tricky he cannot be perfect, and the priest had much compassion on him. Knowing Jasmin's abilities, and the poverty of his parents, the Abbe used his influence to obtain an admission for him to one of the town's schools, where he was again enabled to carry on his education. The good Abbe was helpful to the boy in many ways. One evening, when Jasmin was on his way to the Augustins to read and recite to the Sisters, he was waylaid by a troop of his old playfellows. They wished him to accompany them to the old rendezvous in the square; but he refused, because he had a previous engagement. The boys then began to hustle him, and proceeded to tear off his tattered clothes. He could only bend his head before his assailants, but never said a word. At length his good friend Miraben came up and rescued him. He drove away the boys, and said to Jasmin, "Little one, don't breathe a word; your mother knows nothing. They won't torment you long! Take up thy clothes," he said. "Come, poverty is not a crime. Courage! Thou art even rich. Thou hast an angel on high watching over thee. Console thyself, brave child, and nothing more will happen to vex thee." The encouragement of the Abbe proved prophetic. No more troubles of this kind afflicted the boy. The aged priest looked after the well-being of himself and family. He sent them bread from time to time, and kept the wolf from their door. Meanwhile Jasmin did what he could to help them at home. During the vintage time he was well employed; and also at fair times. He was a helpful boy, and was always willing to oblige friends and neighbours. But the time arrived when he must come to some determination as to his future calling in life. He was averse to being a tailor, seeing the sad results of his father's trade at home. After consultation with his mother, he resolved on becoming a barber and hairdresser. Very little capital was required for carrying on that trade; only razors, combs, and scissors. Long after, when Jasmin was a comparatively thriving man, he said: "Yes, I have eaten the bread of charity; most of my ancestors died at the hospital; my mother pledged her nuptial ring to buy a loaf of bread. All this shows how much misery we had to endure, the frightful picture of which I have placed in the light of day in my Souvenirs. But I am afraid of wearying the public, as I do not wish to be accused of aiming too much at contrasts. For when we are happy, perfectly happy, there is nothing further from what I am, and what I have been, as to make me fear for any such misconstruction on the part of my hearers." CHAPTER III. BARBER AND HAIRDRESSER. Jasmin was sixteen years old when he was apprenticed to a barber and hairdresser at Agen. The barber's shop was near the Prefecture--the ancient palace of the Bishop. It was situated at the corner of Lamoureux Street and the alley of the Prefecture. There Jasmin learnt the art of cutting, curling, and dressing hair, and of deftly using the comb and the razor. The master gave him instructions in the trade, and watched him while at work. Jasmin was willing and active, and was soon able to curl and shave with any apprentice in Agen. After the day's work was over, the apprentice retired to his garret under the tiles. There he spent his evenings, and there he slept at night. Though the garret was infested by rats, he thought nothing of them; he had known them familiarly at home. They did him no harm, and they even learnt to know him. His garret became his paradise, for there he renewed his love of reading. The solitariness of his life did him good, by throwing his mind in upon himself, and showing the mental stuff of which he was made. All the greatest and weightiest things have been done in solitude. The first books he read were for the most part borrowed. Customers who came to the shop to be shaved or have their hair dressed, took an interest in the conversation of the bright, cheerful, dark-eyed lad, and some of them lent him books to read. What joy possessed him when he took refuge in his garret with a new book! Opening the book was like opening the door of a new world. What enchantment! What mystery! What a wonderful universe about us! In reading a new book Jasmin forgot his impoverished boyhood, his grandfather Boe and his death in the hospital, his expulsion from the Seminary, and his mother's sale of her wedding-ring to buy bread for her children. He had now left the past behind, and a new world lay entrancingly before him. He read, and thought, and dreamed, until far on in the morning. The first books he read were of comparatively little importance, though they furnished an opening into literature. 'The Children's Magazine'{1} held him in raptures for a time. Some of his friendly customers lent him the 'Fables of Florian,' and afterwards Florian's pastoral romance of 'Estelle'--perhaps his best work. The singer of the Gardon entirely bewitched Jasmin. 'Estelle' allured him into the rosy-fingered regions of bliss and happiness. Then Jasmin himself began to rhyme. Florian's works encouraged him to write his first verses in the harmonious Gascon patois, to which he afterwards gave such wonderful brilliancy. In his after life Jasmin was often asked how and when he first began to feel himself a poet. Some think that the poetical gift begins at some fixed hour, just as one becomes a barrister, a doctor, or a professor. But Jasmin could not give an answer. "I have often searched into my past life," he said, "but I have never yet found the day when I began my career of rhyming."{2} There are certain gifts which men can never acquire by will and work, if God has not put the seed of them into their souls at birth; and poetry is one of those gifts. When such a seed has been planted, its divine origin is shown by its power of growth and expansion; and in a noble soul, apparently insurmountable difficulties and obstacles cannot arrest its development. The life and career of Jasmin amply illustrates this truth. Here was a young man born in the depths of poverty. In his early life he suffered the most cruel needs of existence. When he became a barber's apprentice, he touched the lowest rung of the ladder of reputation; but he had at least learned the beginnings of knowledge. He knew how to read, and when we know the twenty-four letters of the alphabet, we may learn almost everything that we wish to know. From that slight beginning most men may raise themselves to the heights of moral and intellectual worth by a persevering will and the faithful performance of duty. At the same time it must be confessed that it is altogether different with poetical genius. It is not possible to tell what unforeseen and forgotten circumstances may have given the initial impulse to a poetic nature. It is not the result of any fortuitous impression, and still less of any act of the will. It is possible that Jasmin may have obtained his first insight into poetic art during his solitary evening walks along the banks of the Garonne, or from the nightingales singing overhead, or from his chanting in the choir when a child. Perhaps the 'Fables of Florian' kindled the poetic fire within him; at all events they may have acted as the first stimulus to his art of rhyming. They opened his mind to the love of nature, to the pleasures of country life, and the joys of social intercourse. There is nothing in the occupation of a barber incompatible with the cultivation of poetry. Folez, the old German poet, was a barber, as well as the still more celebrated Burchiello, of Florence, whose sonnets are still admired because of the purity of their style. Our own Allan Ramsay, author of 'The Gentle Shepherd,' spent some of his early years in the same occupation. In southern and Oriental life the barber plays an important part. In the Arabian tales he is generally a shrewd, meddling, inquisitive fellow. In Spain and Italy the barber is often the one brilliant man in his town; his shop is the place where gossip circulates, and where many a pretty intrigue is contrived. Men of culture are often the friends of barbers. Buffon trusted to his barber for all the news of Montbard. Moliere spent many long and pleasant hours with the barber of Pezenas. Figaro, the famous barber of Seville, was one of the most perfect prototypes of his trade. Jasmin was of the same calling as Gil Bias, inspired with the same spirit, and full of the same talent. He was a Frenchman of the South, of the same race as Villon and Marot. Even in the prim and formal society of the eighteenth century, the barber occupied no unimportant part. He and the sculptor, of all working men, were allowed to wear the sword--that distinctive badge of gentility. In short, the barber was regarded as an artist. Besides, barbers were in ancient times surgeons; they were the only persons who could scientifically "let blood." The Barber-Surgeons of London still represent the class. They possess a cup presented to the Guild by Charles II., in commemoration of his escape while taking refuge in the oak-tree at Boscobel.{3} But to return to the adventures of Jasmin's early life. He describes with great zest his first visit to a theatre. It was situated near at hand, by the ancient palace of the Bishop. After his day's work was over--his shaving, curling, and hairdressing--he went across the square, and pressed in with the rest of the crowd. He took his seat. "'Heavens!' said he, 'where am I?' The curtain rises! 'Oh, this is lovely! It is a new world; how beautifully they sing; and how sweetly and tenderly they speak!' I had eyes for nothing else: I was quite beside myself with joy. 'It is Cinderella,' I cried aloud in my excitement. 'Be quiet,' said my neighbour. 'Oh, sir! why quiet? Where are we? What is this?' 'You gaping idiot,' he replied, 'this is the Comedy!' "Jasmin now remained quiet; but he saw and heard with all his eyes and ears. 'What love! what poetry!' he thought: 'it is more than a dream! It's magic. O Cinderella, Cinderella! thou art my guardian angel!' And from this time, from day to day, I thought of being an actor!" Jasmin entered his garret late at night; and he slept so soundly, that next morning his master went up to rouse him. "Where were you last night? Answer, knave; you were not back till midnight?" "I was at the Comedy," answered Jasmin sleepily; "it was so beautiful!" "You have been there then, and lost your head. During the day you make such an uproar, singing and declaiming. You, who have worn the cassock, should blush. But I give you up; you will come to no good. Change, indeed! You will give up the comb and razor, and become an actor! Unfortunate boy, you must be blind. Do you want to die in the hospital?" "This terrible word," says Jasmin, "fell like lead upon my heart, and threw me into consternation. Cinderella was forthwith dethroned in my foolish mind; and my master's threat completely calmed me. I went on faithfully with my work. I curled, and plaited hair in my little room. As the saying goes, S'il ne pleut, il bruine (If it does not rain, it drizzles). When I suffered least, time passed all the quicker. It was then that, dreaming and happy, I found two lives within me--one in my daily work, another in my garret. I was like a bird; I warbled and sang. What happiness I enjoyed in my little bed under the tiles! I listened to the warbling of birds. Lo! the angel came, and in her sweetest voice sang to me. Then I tried to make verses in the language of the shepherd swain. Bright thoughts came to me; great secrets were discovered. What hours! What lessons! What pleasures I found under the tiles!" During the winter evenings, when night comes on quickly, Jasmin's small savings went to the oil merchant. He trimmed his little lamp, and went on till late, reading and rhyming. His poetical efforts, first written in French, were to a certain extent successful. While shaving his customers, he often recited to them his verses. They were amazed at the boy's cleverness, and expressed their delight. He had already a remarkable talent for recitation; and in course of time he became eloquent. It was some time, however, before his powers became generally known. The ladies whose hair he dressed, sometimes complained that their curl papers were scrawled over with writing, and, when opened out, they were found covered with verses. The men whom he shaved spread his praises abroad. In so small a town a reputation for verse-making soon becomes known. "You can see me," he said to a customer, "with a comb in my hand, and a verse in my head. I give you always a gentle hand with my razor of velvet. My mouth recites while my hand works." When Jasmin desired to display his oratorical powers, he went in the evenings to the quarter of the Augustins, where the spinning-women assembled, surrounded by their boys and girls. There he related to them his pleasant narratives, and recited his numerous verses. Indeed, he even began to be patronized. His master addressed him as "Moussu,"--the master who had threatened him with ending his days in the hospital! Thus far, everything had gone well with him. What with shaving, hairdressing, and rhyming, two years soon passed away. Jasmin was now eighteen, and proposed to start business on his own account. This required very little capital; and he had already secured many acquaintances who offered to patronize him. M. Boyer d'Agen, who has recently published the works of Jasmin, with a short preface and a bibliography,{4} says that he first began business as a hairdresser in the Cour Saint-Antoine, now the Cour Voltaire. When the author of this memoir was at Agen in the autumn of 1888, the proprietor of the Hotel du Petit St. Jean informed him that a little apartment had been placed at Jasmin's disposal, separated from the Hotel by the entrance to the courtyard, and that Jasmin had for a time carried on his business there. But desiring to have a tenement of his own, he shortly after took a small house alongside the Promenade du Gravier; and he removed and carried on his trade there for about forty years. The little shop is still in existence, with Jasmin's signboard over the entrance door: "Jasmin, coiffeur des Jeunes Gens," with the barber's sud-dish hanging from a pendant in front. The shop is very small, with a little sitting-room behind, and several bedrooms above. When I entered the shop during my visit to Agen, I found a customer sitting before a looking-glass, wrapped in a sheet, the lower part of his face covered with lather, and a young fellow shaving his beard. Jasmin's little saloon was not merely a shaving and a curling shop. Eventually it became known as the sanctuary of the Muses. It was visited by some of the most distinguished people in France, and became celebrated throughout Europe. But this part of the work is reserved for future chapters. Endnotes to Chapter III. {1} Magasin des Enfants. {2} Mes Nouveaux Souvenirs. {3} In England, some barbers, and barber's sons, have eventually occupied the highest positions. Arkwright, the founder of the cotton manufacture, was originally a barber. Tenterden, Lord Chief Justice, was a barber's son, intended for a chorister in Canterbury Cathedral. Sugden, afterwards Lord Chancellor, was opposed by a noble lord while engaged in a parliamentary contest. Replying to the allegation that he was only the son of a country barber, Sugden said: "His Lordship has told you that I am nothing but the son of a country barber; but he has not told you all, for I have been a barber myself, and worked in my father's shop,--and all I wish to say about that is, that had his Lordship been born the son of a country barber, he would have been a barber still!" {4} OEUVRES COMPLETES DE JACQUES JASMIN: Preface de l'Edition,, Essai d'orthographe gasconne d'apres les langues Romane et d'Oc, et collation de la traduction litterale. Par Boyer d'Agen. 1889. Quatre volumes. CHAPTER IV. JASMIN AND MARIETTE. Jasmin was now a bright, vivid, and handsome fellow, a favourite with men, women, and children. Of course, an attractive young man, with a pleasant, comfortable home, could not long remain single. At length love came to beautify his existence. "It was for her sake," he says, "that I first tried to make verses in the sweet patois which she spoke so well; verses in which I asked her, in rather lofty phrases, to be my guardian angel for life." Mariette{1} was a pretty dark-eyed girl. She was an old companion of Jasmin's, and as they began to know each other better, the acquaintance gradually grew into affection, and finally into mutual love. She was of his own class of life, poor and hardworking. After the day's work was over, they had many a pleasant walk together on the summer evenings, along the banks of the Garonne, or up the ascending road toward the Hermitage and the rocky heights above the town. There they pledged their vows; like a poet, he promised to love her for ever. She believed him, and loved him in return. The rest may be left to the imagination. Jasmin still went on dreaming and rhyming! Mariette was a lovely subject for his rhymes. He read his verses to her; and she could not but be pleased with his devotion, even though recited in verse. He scribbled his rhymes upon his curl-papers; and when he had read them to his sweetheart, he used them to curl the hair of his fair customers. When too much soiled by being written on both sides, he tore them up; for as yet, he had not the slightest idea of publishing his verses. When the minds of the young pair were finally made up, their further courtship did not last very long. They were willing to be united. "Happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing." The wedding-day at length arrived! Jasmin does not describe his bride's dress. But he describes his own. "I might give you," he says in his Souvenirs, "a picture of our happy nuptial day. I might tell you at length of my newly dyed hat, my dress coat with blue facings, and my home-spun linen shirt with calico front. But I forbear all details. My godfather and godmother were at the wedding. You will see that the purse did not always respond to the wishes of the heart." It is true that Jasmin's wedding-garment was not very sumptuous, nor was his bride's; but they did the best that they could, and looked forward with hope. Jasmin took his wife home to the pleasant house on the Gravier; and joy and happiness sat down with them at their own fireside. There was no Charivari, because their marriage was suitable. Both had been poor, and the wife was ready and willing to share the lot of her young husband, whether in joy or sorrow. Their home was small and cosy--very different from the rat-haunted house of his lame mother and humpbacked father. Customers came, but not very quickly. The barber's shop was somewhat removed from the more populous parts of the town. But when the customers did come, Jasmin treated them playfully and humorously. He was as lively as any Figaro; and he became such a favourite, that when his customers were shaved or had their hair dressed, they invariably returned, as well as recommended others to patronize the new coiffeur. His little shop, which was at first nearly empty, soon became fuller and fuller of customers. People took pleasure in coming to the hair-dresser's shop, and hearing him recite his verses. He sang, he declaimed, while plying his razor or his scissors. But the chins and tresses of his sitters were in no danger from his skipping about, for he deftly used his hands as well as his head. His razor glistened lightly over the stubbly beards, and his scissors clipped neatly over the locks of his customers. Except when so engaged, he went on rhyming. In a little town, gossip flies about quickly, and even gets into the local papers. One day Jasmin read in one of the Agen journals, "Pegasus is a beast that often carries poets to the hospital." Were the words intended for him? He roared with laughter. Some gossip had bewitched the editor. Perhaps he was no poet. His rhymes would certainly never carry him to the hospital. Jasmin's business was becoming a little more lucrative.. It is true his house was not yet fully furnished, but day by day he was adding to the plenishing. At all events his humble home protected him and his wife from wind and weather. On one occasion M. Gontaud, an amiable young poet, in a chaffing way, addressed Jasmin as "Apollo!" in former times regarded as the god of poetry and music. The epistle appeared in a local journal. Jasmin read it aloud to his family. Gontaud alleged in his poem that Apollo had met Jasmin's mother on the banks of the Garonne, and fell in love with her; and that Jasmin, because of the merits of his poetry, was their son. Up flamed the old pair! "What, Catherine?" cried the old man, "is it true that you have been a coquette? How! have I been only the foster-father of thy little poet?" "No! No!" replied the enraged mother; "he is all thine own! Console thyself, poor John; thou alone hast been my mate. And who is this 'Pollo, the humbug who has deceived thee so? Yes, I am lame, but when I was washing my linen, if any coxcomb had approached me, I would have hit him on the mouth with a stroke of my mallet!" "Mother," exclaimed the daughter, "'Pollo is only a fool, not worth talking about; where does he live, Jacques?" Jasmin relished the chaff, and explained that he only lived in the old mythology, and had no part in human affairs. And thus was Apollo, the ancient god of poetry and music, sent about his business. Years passed on, the married pair settled down quietly, and their life of happiness went on pleasantly. The honeymoon had long since passed. Jasmin had married at twenty, and Mariette was a year younger. When a couple live together for a time, they begin to detect some little differences of opinion. It is well if they do not allow those little differences to end in a quarrel. This is always a sad beginning of a married life. There was one thing about her husband that Mariette did not like. That was his verse-making. It was all very well in courtship, but was it worth while in business? She saw him scribbling upon curl-papers instead of attending to his periwigs. She sometimes interrupted him while he was writing; and on one occasion, while Jasmin was absent on business, she went so far as to burn his pens and throw his ink into the fire! Jasmin was a good-natured man, but he did not like this treatment. It was not likely to end in a quiet domestic life. He expostulated, but it was of little use. He would not give up his hobby. He went on rhyming, and in order to write down his verses he bought new pens and a new bottle of ink. Perhaps he felt the germs of poetic thought moving within him. His wife resented his conduct. Why could he not attend to the shaving and hair-dressing, which brought in money, instead of wasting his time in scribbling verses on his curl-papers? M. Charles Nodier, member of the French Academy, paid a visit to Agen in 1832. Jasmin was then thirty-four years old. He had been married fourteen years, but his name was quite unknown, save to the people of Agen. It was well known in the town that he had a talent for versification, for he was accustomed to recite and chaunt his verses to his customers. One quiet morning M. Nodier was taking a leisurely walk along the promenade of the Gravier, when he was attracted by a loud altercation going on between a man and a woman in the barber's shop. The woman was declaiming with the fury of a Xantippe, while the man was answering her with Homeric laughter. Nodier entered the shop, and found himself in the presence of Jasmin and his wife. He politely bowed to the pair, and said that he had taken the liberty of entering to see whether he could not establish some domestic concord between them. "Is that all you came for?" asked the wife, at the same time somewhat calmed by the entrance of a stranger. Jasmin interposed-- "Yes, my dear--certainly; but---" "Your wife is right, sir," said Nodier, thinking that the quarrel was about some debts he had incurred. "Truly, sir," rejoined Jasmin; "if you were a lover of poetry, you would not find it so easy to renounce it." "Poetry?" said Nodier; "I know a little about that myself." "What!" replied Jasmin, "so much the better. You will be able to help me out of my difficulties." "You must not expect any help from me, for I presume you are oppressed with debts." "Ha, ha!" cried Jasmin, "it isn't debts, it's verses, Sir." "Yes, indeed," said the wife, "it's verses, always verses! Isn't it horrible?" "Will you let me see what you have written?" asked Nodier, turning to Jasmin. "By all means, sir. Here is a specimen." The verses began: "Femme ou demon, ange ou sylphide, Oh! par pitie, fuis, laisse-moi! Doux miel d'amour n'est que poison perfide, Mon coeur a trop souffert, il dort, eloigne-toi. "Je te l'ai dit, mon coeur sommeille; Laisse-le, de ses maux a peine il est gueri, Et j'ai peur que ta voix si douce a mon oreille Par un chant d'amour ne l'eveille, Lui, que l'amour a taut meurtri!" This was only about a fourth part of the verses which Jasmin had composed.{2} Nodier confessed that he was greatly pleased with them. Turning round to the wife he said, "Madame, poetry knocks at your door; open it. That which inspires it is usually a noble heart and a distinguished spirit, incapable of mean actions. Let your husband make his verses; it may bring you good luck and happiness." Then, turning to the poet, and holding out his hand, he asked, "What is your name, my friend?" "Jacques Jasmin," he timidly replied. "A good name," said Nodier. "At the same time, while you give fair play to your genius, don't give up the manufacture of periwigs, for this is an honest trade, while verse-making might prove only a frivolous distraction." Nodier then took his leave, but from that time forward Jasmin and he continued the best of friends. A few years later, when the first volume of the Papillotos appeared, Nodier published his account of the above interview in Le Temps. He afterwards announced in the Quotidienne the outburst of a new poet on the banks of the Garonne--a poet full of piquant charm, of inspired harmony--a Lamartine, a Victor Hugo, a Gascon Beranger! After Nodier's departure, Madame Jasmin took a more favourable view of the versification of her husband. She no longer chided him. The shop became more crowded with customers. Ladies came to have their hair dressed by the poet: it was so original! He delighted them with singing or chanting his verses. He had a sympathetic, perhaps a mesmeric voice, which touched the souls of his hearers, and threw them into the sweetest of dreams. Besides attending to his shop, he was accustomed to go out in the afternoons to dress the hair of four or five ladies. This occupied him for about two hours, and when he found the ladies at home, he returned with four or five francs in his purse. But often they were not at home, and he came home francless. Eventually he gave up this part of his trade. The receipts at the shop were more remunerative. Madame encouraged this economical eform; she was accustomed to call it Jasmin's coup d'etat. The evenings passed pleasantly. Jasmin took his guitar and sang to his wife and children; or, in the summer evenings they would walk under the beautiful elms in front of the Gravier, where Jasmin was ready for business at any moment. Such prudence, such iligence, could not but have its effect. When Jasmin's first volume of the Papillotos was published, it was received with enthusiasm. "The songs, the curl-papers," said Jasmin, "brought in such a rivulet of silver, that, in my poetic joy, I broke into morsels and burnt in the fire that dreaded arm-chair in which my ancestors had been carried to the hospital to die." Madame Jasmin now became quite enthusiastic. Instead of breaking the poet's pens and throwing his ink into the fire, she bought the best pens and the best ink. She even supplied him with a comfortable desk, on which he might write his verses. "Courage, courage!" she would say. "Each verse that you write is another tile to the roof and a rafter to the dwelling; therefore make verses, make verses!" The rivulet of silver increased so rapidly, that in the course of a short time Jasmin was enabled to buy the house in which he lived--tiles, rafters, and all. Instead of Pegasus carrying him to the hospital, it carried him to the office of the Notary, who enrolled him in the list of collectors of taxes. He was now a man of substance, a man to be trusted. The notary was also employed to convey the tenement to the prosperous Jasmin. He ends the first part of his Souvenirs with these words: "When Pegasus kicks with a fling of his feet, He sends me to curl on my hobby horse fleet; I lose all my time, true, not paper nor notes, I write all my verse on my papillotes."{3} Endnotes to chapter IV. {1} In Gascon Magnounet; her pet name Marie, or in French Mariette. Madame Jasmin called herself Marie Barrere. {2} The remaining verses are to be found in the collected edition of his works--the fourth volume of Las Papillotos, new edition, pp. 247-9, entitled A une jeune Voyayeuse. {3} Papillotes, as we have said, are curl-papers. Jasmin's words, in Gascon, are these: "Quand Pegazo reguiuno, et que d'un cot de pe Memboyo friza mas marotos, Perdi moun ten, es bray, mais noun pas moun pape, Boti mous beis en papillotos!" CHAPTER V. JASMIN AND GASCON.--FIRST VOLUME OF "PAPILLOTES." Jasmin's first efforts at verse-making were necessarily imperfect. He tried to imitate the works of others, rather than create poetical images of his own. His verses consisted mostly of imitations of the French poems which he had read. He was overshadowed by the works of Boileau, Gresset, Rousseau, and especially by Beranger, who, like himself, was the son of a tailor. The recollections of their poetry pervaded all his earlier verses. His efforts in classical French were by no means successful. It was only when he had raised himself above the influence of authors who had preceded him, that he soared into originality, and was proclaimed the Poet of the South. Jasmin did not at first write in Gascon. In fact, he had not yet mastered a perfect knowledge of this dialect. Though familiarly used in ancient times, it did not exist in any written form. It was the speech of the common people; and though the Gascons spoke the idiom, it had lost much of its originality. It had become mixed, more or less, with the ordinary French language, and the old Gascon words were becoming gradually forgotten. Yet the common people, after all, remain the depositories of old idioms and old traditions, as well as of the inheritances of the past. They are the most conservative element in society. They love their old speech, their old dress, their old manners and customs, and have an instinctive worship of ancient memories. Their old idioms are long preserved. Their old dialect continues the language of the fireside, of daily toil, of daily needs, and of domestic joys and sorrows. It hovers in the air about them, and has been sucked in with their mothers' milk. Yet, when a primitive race such as the Gascons mix much with the people of the adjoining departments, the local dialect gradually dies out, and they learn to speak the language of their neighbours. The Gascon was disappearing as a speech, and very few of its written elements survived. Was it possible for Jasmin to revive the dialect, and embody it in a written language? He knew much of the patois, from hearing it spoken at home. But now, desiring to know it more thoroughly, he set to work and studied it. He was almost as assiduous as Sir Walter Scott in learning obscure Lowland words, while writing the Waverley Novels. Jasmin went into the market-places, where the peasants from the country sold their produce; and there he picked up many new words and expressions. He made excursions into the country round Agen, where many of the old farmers and labourers spoke nothing but Gascon. He conversed with illiterate people, and especially with old women at their spinning-wheels, and eagerly listened to their ancient tales and legends. He thus gathered together many a golden relic, which he afterwards made use of in his poetical works. He studied Gascon like a pioneer. He made his own lexicon, and eventually formed a written dialect, which he wove into poems, to the delight of the people in the South of France. For the Gascon dialect--such is its richness and beauty--expresses many shades of meaning which are entirely lost in the modern French. When Jasmin first read his poems in Gascon to his townspeople at Agen, he usually introduced his readings by describing the difficulties he had encountered in prosecuting his enquiries. His hearers, who knew more French than Gascon, detected in his poems many comparatively unknown words,--not indeed of his own creation, but merely the result of his patient and long-continued investigation of the Gascon dialect. Yet they found the language, as written and spoken by him, full of harmony--rich, mellifluous, and sonorous. Gascon resembles the Spanish, to which it is strongly allied, more than the Provencal, the language of the Troubadours, which is more allied to the Latin or Italian. Hallam, in his 'History of the Middle Ages,' regards the sudden outburst of Troubadour poetry as one symptom of the rapid impulse which the human mind received in the twelfth century, contemporaneous with the improved studies that began at the Universities. It was also encouraged by the prosperity of Southern France, which was comparatively undisturbed by internal warfare, and it continued until the tremendous storm that fell upon Languedoc during the crusade against the Albigenses, which shook off the flowers of Provencal literature.{1} The language of the South-West of France, including the Gascon, was then called Langue d'Oc; while that of the south-east of France, including the Provencal, was called Langue d'Oil. M. Littre, in the Preface to his Dictionary of the French language, says that he was induced to begin the study of the subject by his desire to know something more of the Langue d'Oil--the old French language.{2} In speaking of the languages of Western Europe, M. Littre says that the German is the oldest, beginning in the fourth century; that the French is the next, beginning in the ninth century; and that the English is the last, beginning in the fourteenth century. It must be remembered, however, that Plat Deutsch preceded the German, and was spoken by the Frisians, Angles, and Saxons, who lived by the shores of the North Sea. The Gaelic or Celtic, and Kymriac languages, were spoken in the middle and north-west of France; but these, except in Brittany, have been superseded by the modern French language, which is founded mainly on Latin, German, and Celtic, but mostly on Latin. The English language consists mostly of Saxon, Norse, and Norman-French with a mixture of Welsh or Ancient British. That language is, however, no test of the genealogy of a people, is illustrated by the history of France itself. In the fourth and fifth centuries, the Franks, a powerful German race, from the banks of the Rhine, invaded and conquered the people north of the Somme, and eventually gave the name of France to the entire country. The Burgundians and Visigoths, also a German race, invaded France, and settled themselves in the south-east. In the year 464, Childeric the Frank took Paris. The whole history of the occupation of France is told by Augustin Thierry, in his 'Narratives of the Merovingian Times.' "There are Franks," he says in his Preface, "who remained pure Germans in Gaul; Gallo-Romans, irritated and disgusted by the barbarian rule; Franks more or less influenced by the manners and customs of civilised life; and 'Romans more or less barbarian in mind and manners.' The contrast may be followed in all its shades through the sixth century, and into the middle of the seventh; later, the Germanic and Gallo-Roman stamp seemed effaced and lost in a semi-barbarism clothed in theocratic forms." The Franks, when they had completed the conquest of the entire country, gave it the name of Franken-ric--the Franks' kingdom. Eventually, Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, descended from Childeric the Frank, was in 800 crowned Emperor of the West. Towards the end of his reign, the Norsemen began to devastate the northern coast of Franken-ric. Aix-la-Chapelle was Charlemagne's capital, and there he died and was buried. At his death, the Empire was divided among his sons. The Norse Vikingers continued their invasions; and to purchase repose, Charles the Simple ceded to Duke Rollo a large territory in the northwest of France, which in deference to their origin, was known by the name of Normandy. There Norman-French was for a long time spoken. Though the Franks had supplanted the Romans, the Roman language continued to be spoken. In 996 Paris was made the capital of France; and from that time, the language of Paris became, with various modifications, the language of France; and not only of France, but the Roman or Latin tongue became the foundation of the languages of Italy, Spain, and Portugal. Thus, Gaulish, Frankish, and Norman disappeared to give place to the Latin-French. The Kymriac language was preserved only in Brittany, where it still lingers. And in the south-west of France, where the population was furthest removed from the invasions of the Gauls, Ostrogoths, and Visigoths, the Basques continued to preserve their language,--the Basques, who are supposed by Canon Isaac Taylor to be the direct descendants of the Etruscans. The descendants of the Gauls, however, constitute the mass of the people in Central France. The Gauls, or Galatians, are supposed to have come from the central district of Asia Minor. They were always a warlike people. In their wanderings westward, they passed through the north of Italy and entered France, where they settled in large numbers. Dr. Smith, in his Dictionary of the Bible, says that "Galatai is the same word as Keltici," which indicates that the Gauls were Kelts. It is supposed that St. Paul wrote his Epistle to the Galatians soon after his visit to the country of their origin. "Its abruptness and severity, and the sadness of its tone, are caused by their sudden perversion from the doctrine which the Apostle had taught them, and which at first they had received so willingly. It is no fancy, if we see in this fickleness a specimen of that 'esprit impretueux, ouvert a toutes les impressions,' and that 'mobilite extreme,' which Thierry marks as characteristic of the Gaulish race." At all events, the language of the Gauls disappeared in Central France to make way for the language or the Capital--the modern French, founded on the Latin. The Gaulish race, nevertheless, preserved their characteristics--quickness, lightness, mobility, and elasticity--qualities which enabled them quickly to conceive new ideas, and at the same time to quickly abandon them. The Franks had given the country the name it now bears--that of France. But they were long regarded as enemies by the Central and Southern Gauls. In Gascony, the foreigner was called Low Franciman, and was regarded with suspicion and dislike. "This term of Franciman," says Miss Costello, who travelled through the country and studied the subject, "evidently belongs to a period of the English occupation of Aquitaine, when a Frenchman was another word for an enemy."{3} But the word has probably a more remote origin. When the Franks, of German origin, burst into Gaul, and settled in the country north of the Loire, and afterwards carried their conquests to the Pyrenees, the Franks were regarded as enemies in the south of France. "Then all the countries," says Thierry, "united by force to the empire of the Franks, and over which in consequence of this union, the name of France had extended itself, made unheard-of efforts to reconquer their ancient names and places. Of all the Gallic provinces, none but the southern ones succeeded in this great enterprise; and after the wars of insurrection, which, under the sons of Charlemagne, succeeded the wars of conquest, Aquitaine and Provence became distinct states. Among the South Eastern provinces reappeared even the ancient name of Gaul, which had for ever perished north of the Loire. The chiefs of the new Kingdom of Aries, which extended from the Jura to the Alps, took the title of Gaul in opposition to the Kings of France."{4} It is probable that this was the cause of the name of "Franciman" being regarded as an hereditary term of reproach in the Gaulish country south of the Loire. Gascon and Provencal were the principal dialects which remained in the South, though Littre classes them together as the language of the Troubadours. They were both well understood in the South; and Jasmin's recitations were received with as much enthusiasm at Nimes, Aries, and Marseilles, as at Toulouse, Agen, and Bordeaux. Mezzofanti, a very Tower of Babel in dialects and languages, said of the Provencal, that it was the only patois of the Middle Ages, with its numerous derivations from the Greek, the Arabic, and the Latin, which has survived the various revolutions of language. The others have been altered and modified. They have suffered from the caprices of victory or of fortune. Of all the dialects of the Roman tongue, this patois alone preserves its purity and life. It still remains the sonorous and harmonious language of the Troubadours. The patois has the suppleness of the Italian, the sombre majesty of the Spanish, the energy and preciseness of the Latin, with the "Molle atque facetum, le dolce de, l'Ionic;" which still lives among the Phoceens of Marseilles. The imagination and genius of Gascony have preserved the copious richness of the language. M. de Lavergne, in his notice of Jasmin's works, frankly admits the local jealousy which existed between the Troubadours of Gascony and Provence. There seemed, he said, to be nothing disingenuous in the silence of the Provencals as to Jasmin's poems. They did not allow that he borrowed from them, any more than that they borrowed from him. These men of Southern France are born in the land of poetry. It breathes in their native air. It echoes round them in its varied measures. Nay, the rhymes which are its distinguishing features, pervade their daily talk. The seeds lie dormant in their native soil, and when trodden under foot, they burst through the ground and evolve their odour in the open air. Gascon and Provencal alike preserve the same relation to the classic romance--that lovely but short-lived eldest daughter of the Latin--the language of the Troubadours. We have said that the Gascon dialect was gradually expiring when Jasmin undertook its revival. His success in recovering and restoring it, and presenting it in a written form, was the result of laborious investigation. He did not at first realize the perfect comprehension of the idiom, but he eventually succeeded by patient perseverance, When we read his poems, we are enabled to follow, step by step, his lexicological progress. At first, he clung to the measures most approved in French poetry, especially to Alexandrines and Iambic tetrameters, and to their irregular association in a sort of ballad metre, which in England has been best handled by Robert Browning in his fine ballad of 'Harve; Riel.' Jasmin's first rhymes were written upon curl papers, and then used on the heads of his lady customers. When the spirit of original poetry within him awoke, his style changed. Genius brought sweet music from his heart and mind. Imagination spiritualised his nature, lifted his soul above the cares of ordinary life, and awakened the consciousness of his affinity with what is pure and noble. Jasmin sang as a bird sings; at first in weak notes, then in louder, until at length his voice filled the skies. Near the end of his life he was styled the Saint Vincent de Paul of poetry. Jasmin might be classed among the Uneducated Poets. But what poet is not uneducated at the beginning of his career? The essential education of the poet is not taught in the schools. The lowly man, against whom the asperities of his lot have closed the doors of worldly academies, may nevertheless have some special vocation for the poetic life. Academies cannot shut him out from the odour of the violet or the song of the nightingale. He hears the lark's song filling the heavens, as the happy bird fans the milk-white cloud with its wings. He listens to the purling of the brook, the bleating of the lamb, the song of the milkmaid, and the joyous cry of the reaper. Thus his mind is daily fed with the choicest influences of nature. He cannot but appreciate the joy, the glory, the unconscious delight of living. "The beautiful is master of a star." This feeling of beauty is the nurse of civilisation and true refinement. Have we not our Burns, who "in glory and in joy Followed his plough along the mountain side;" Clare, the peasant boy; Bloomfield, the farmer's lad; Tannahill, the weaver; Allan Ramsay, the peruke-maker; Cooper, the shoemaker; and Critchley Prince, the factory-worker; but greater than these was Shakespeare,--though all were of humble origin. France too has had its uneducated poets. Though the ancient song-writers of France were noble; Henry IV., author of Charmante Gabrielle; Thibault, Count of Champagne; Lusignan, Count de la Marche; Raval, Blondel, and Basselin de la Vive, whose songs were as joyous as the juice of his grapes; yet some of the best French poets of modem times have been of humble origin--Marmontel, Moliere, Rousseau, and Beranger. There were also Reboul, the baker; Hibley, the working-tailor; Gonzetta, the shoemaker; Durand, the joiner; Marchand, the lacemaker; Voileau, the sail-maker; Magu, the weaver; Poucy, the mason; Germiny, the cooper;{5} and finally, Jasmin the barber and hair dresser, who was not the least of the Uneducated Poets. The first poem which Jasmin composed in the Gascon dialect was written in 1822, when he was only twenty-four years old. It was entitled La fidelitat Agenoso, which he subsequently altered to Me cal Mouri (Il me fait mourir), or "Let me die." It is a languishing romantic poem, after the manner of Florian, Jasmin's first master in poetry. It was printed at Agen in a quarto form, and sold for a franc. Jasmin did not attach his name to the poem, but only his initials. Sainte-Beuve, in his notice of the poem, says, "It is a pretty, sentimental romance, showing that Jasmin possessed the brightness and sensibility of the Troubadours. As one may say, he had not yet quitted the guitar for the flageolet; and Marot, who spoke of his flageolet, had not, in the midst of his playful spirit, those tender accents which contrasted so well with his previous compositions. And did not Henry IV., in the midst of his Gascon gaieties and sallies, compose his sweet song of Charmante Gabrielle? Jasmin indeed is the poet who is nearest the region of Henry IV."{6} Me cal Mouri was set to music by Fourgons, and obtained great popularity in the south. It was known by heart, and sung everywhere; in Agen, Toulouse, and throughout Provence. It was not until the publication of the first volume of his poems that it was known to be the work of Jasmin. Miss Louisa Stuart Costello, when making her pilgrimage in the South of France, relates that, in the course of her journey," A friend repeated to me two charming ballads picked up in Languedoc, where there is a variety in the patois. I cannot resist giving them here, that my readers may compare the difference of dialect. I wrote them clown, however, merely by ear, and am not aware that they have ever been printed. The mixture of French, Spanish, and Italian is very curious."{7} As the words of Jasmin's romance were written down by Miss Costello from memory, they are not quite accurate; but her translation into English sufficiently renders the poet's meaning. The following is the first verse of Jasmin's poem in Gascon-- "Deja la ney encrumis la naturo, Tout es tranquille et tout cargo lou dol; Dins lou clouche la brezago murmuro, Et lou tuquet succedo al rossignol: Del mal, helas! bebi jusq'a la ligo, Moun co gemis sans espouer de gari; Plus de bounhur, ey perdut moun amigo, Me cal mouri! me cal mouri!" Which Miss Costello thus translates into English: "Already sullen night comes sadly on, And nature's form is clothed with mournful weeds; Around the tower is heard the breeze's moan, And to the nightingale the bat succeeds. Oh! I have drained the cup of misery, My fainting heart has now no hope in store. Ah! wretched me! what have I but to die? For I have lost my love for evermore!" There are four verses in the poem, but the second verse may also be given "Fair, tender Phoebe, hasten on thy course, My woes revive while I behold thee shine, For of my hope thou art no more the source, And of my happiness no more the sign. Oh! I have drained the cup of misery, My fainting heart has now no bliss in store. Ah! wretched me! what have I but to die? Since I have lost my love for evermore!" The whole of the poem was afterwards translated into modem French, and, though somewhat artificial, it became as popular in the north as in the south. Jasmin's success in his native town, and his growing popularity, encouraged him to proceed with the making of verses. His poems were occasionally inserted in the local journals; but the editors did not approve of his use of the expiring Gascon dialect. They were of opinion that his works might be better appreciated if they appeared in modern French. Gascon was to a large extent a foreign language, and greatly interfered with Jasmin's national reputation as a poet. Nevertheless he held on his way, and continued to write his verses in Gascon. They contained many personal lyrics, tributes, dedications, hymns for festivals, and impromptus, scarcely worthy of being collected and printed. Jasmin said of the last description of verse: "One can only pay a poetical debt by means of impromptus, and though they may be good money of the heart, they are almost always bad money of the head." Jasmin's next poem was The Charivari (Lou Charibari), also written in Gascon. It was composed in 1825, when he was twenty-seven years old; and dedicated to M. Duprount, the Advocate, who was himself a poetaster. The dedication contained some fine passages of genuine beauty and graceful versification. It was in some respects an imitation of the Lutrin of Boileau. It was very different from the doggerel in which he had taken part with his humpbacked father so long ago. Then he had blown the cow-horn, now he spoke with the tongue of a trumpet. The hero of Jasmin's Charivari was one Aduber, an old widower, who dreamt of remarrying. It reminded one of the strains of Beranger; in other passages of the mock-heroic poem of Boileau. Though the poem when published was read with much interest, it was not nearly so popular as Me cal Mouri. This last-mentioned poem, his first published work, touched the harp of sadness; while his Charivari displayed the playfulness of joy. Thus, at the beginning of his career, Jasmin revealed himself as a poet in two very different styles; in one, touching the springs of grief, and in the other exhibiting brightness and happiness. At the end of the same year he sounded his third and deepest note in his poem On the Death of General Foy--one of France's truest patriots. Now his lyre was complete; it had its three strings--of sadness, joy, and sorrow. These three poems--Me cal Mouri, the Charivari, and the ode On the Death of General Foy, with some other verses--were published in 1825. What was to be the title of the volume? As Adam, the carpenter-poet of Nevers, had entitled his volume of poetry 'Shavings,' so Jasmin decided to name his collection 'The Curl-papers of Jasmin, Coiffeur of Agen.' The title was a good one, and the subsequent volumes of his works were known as La Papillotos (the Curl-papers) of Jasmin. The publication of this first volume served to make Jasmin's name popular beyond the town in which they had been composed and published. His friend M. Gaze said of him, that during the year 1825 he had been marrying his razor with the swan's quill; and that his hand of velvet in shaving was even surpassed by his skill in verse-making. Charles Nodier, his old friend, who had entered the barber's shop some years before to intercede between the poet and his wife, sounded Jasmin's praises in the Paris journals. He confessed that he had been greatly struck with the Charivari, and boldly declared that the language of the Troubadours, which everyone supposed to be dead, was still in full life in France; that it not only lived, but that at that very moment a poor barber at Agen, without any instruction beyond that given by the fields, the woods, and the heavens, had written a serio-comic poem which, at the risk of being thought crazy by his colleagues of the Academy, he considered to be better composed than the Lutrin of Boileau, and even better than one of Pope's masterpieces, the Rape of the Lock. The first volume of the Papillotes sold very well; and the receipts from its sale not only increased Jasmin's income, but also increased his national reputation. Jasmin was not, however, elated by success. He remained simple, frugal, honest, and hard-working. He was not carried off his feet by eclat. Though many illustrious strangers, when passing through Agen, called upon and interviewed the poetical coiffeur, he quietly went back to his razors, his combs, and his periwigs, and cheerfully pursued the business that he could always depend upon in his time of need. Endnotes to Chapter V. {1}Hallam's 'Middle Ages,' iii. 434. 12th edit. (Murray.) {2} His words are these: "La conception m'en fut suggeree par mes etudes sur la vieille langue francaise ou langue d'oil. Je fus si frappe des liens qui unissent le francais moderne au francais ancien, j'apercus tant de cas ou les sens et des locutions du jour ne s'expliquent que par les sens et les locutions d'autrefois, tant d'exemples ou la forme des mots n'est pas intelligible sans les formes qui ont precede, qu'il me sembla que la doctrine et meme l'usage de la langue restent mal assis s'ils ne reposent sur leur base antique." (Preface, ii.) {3} 'Bearn and the Pyrenees,' i. 348. {4} THIERRY--'Historical Essays,' No. XXIV. {5} Les Poetes du Peuple an xix. Siecle. Par Alphonse Viollet. Paris, 1846. {6} Portraits contemporains, ii. 61 (ed. 1847). {7} 'Pilgrimage to Auvergne,' ii. 210. CHAPTER VI. MISCELLANEOUS VERSES--BERANGER--'MES SOUVENIRS'--PAUL DE MUSSET. During the next four years Jasmin composed no work of special importance. He occasionally wrote poetry, but chiefly on local subjects. In 1828 he wrote an impromptu to M. Pradel, who had improvised a Gascon song in honour of the poet. The Gascon painter, Champmas, had compared Jasmin to a ray of sunshine, and in 1829 the poet sent him a charming piece of verse in return for his compliment. In 1830 Jasmin composed The Third of May, which was translated into French by M. Duvigneau. It appears that the Count of Dijon had presented to the town of Nerac, near Agen, a bronze statue of Henry IV., executed by the sculptor Raggi--of the same character as the statue erected to the same monarch at Pau. But though Henry IV. was born at Pau, Nerac was perhaps more identified with him, for there he had his strong castle, though only its ruins now remain. Nerac was at one time almost the centre of the Reformation in France. Clement Marot, the poet of the Reformed faith, lived there; and the house of Theodore de Beze, who emigrated to Geneva, still exists. The Protestant faith extended to Agen and the neighbouring towns. When the Roman Catholics obtained the upper hand, persecutions began. Vindocin, the pastor, was burned alive at Agen. J. J. Scaliger was an eye-witness of the burning, and he records the fact that not less than 300 victims perished for their faith. At a later time Nerac, which had been a prosperous town, was ruined by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; for the Protestant population, who had been the most diligent and industrious in the town and neighbourhood, were all either "converted," hanged, sent to the galleys, or forced to emigrate to England, Holland, or Prussia. Nevertheless, the people of Nerac continued to be proud of their old monarch. The bronze statue of Henry IV. was unveiled in 1829. On one side of the marble pedestal supporting the statue were the words "Alumno, mox patri nostro, Henrico quarto," and on the reverse side was a verse in the Gascon dialect: "Brabes Gascons! A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre; Benes! Benes! ey plaze de bous beyre! Approucha-bous!" The words were assumed to be those of; Henry IV., and may be thus translated into English: "Brave Gascons! You may well trust my love for you; Come! come! I leave to you my glory! Come near! Approach!"{1} It is necessary to explain how the verse in Gascon came to be engraved on the pedestal of the statue. The Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts, of Agen, offered a prize of 300 francs for the best Ode to the memory of Henry the Great. Many poems were accordingly sent in to the Society; and, after some consideration, it was thought that the prize should be awarded to M. Jude Patissie. But amongst the thirty-nine poems which had been presented for examination, it was found that two had been written in the Gascon dialect. The committee were at first of opinion that they could not award the prize to the author of any poem written in the vulgar tongue. At the same time they reported that one of the poems written in Gascon possessed such real merit, that the committee decided by a unanimous vote that a prize should be awarded to the author of the best poem written in the Gascon dialect. Many poems were accordingly sent in and examined. Lou Tres de May was selected as the best; and on the letter attached to the poem being opened, the president proclaimed the author to be "Jasmin, Coiffeur." After the decision of the Society at Agen, the people of Nerac desired to set their seal upon their judgment, and they accordingly caused the above words to be engraved on the reverse side of the pedestal supporting the statue of Henry IV. Jasmin's poem was crowned by the Academy of Agen; and though it contained many fine verses, it had the same merits and the same defects as the Charivari, published a few years before. M. Rodiere, Professor of Law at Toulouse, was of opinion that during the four years during which Jasmin produced no work of any special importance, he was carefully studying Gascon; for it ought to be known that the language in which Godolin wrote his fine poems is not without its literature. "The fact," says Rodiere, "that Jasmin used some of his time in studying the works of Godolin is, that while in Lou Charibari there are some French words ill-disguised in a Gascon dress, on the other hand, from the year 1830, there are none; and the language of Jasmin is the same as the language of Godolin, except for a few trifling differences, due to the different dialects of Agen and Toulouse." Besides studying Gascon, Jasmin had some military duties to perform. He was corporal of the third company of the National Guard of Agen; and in 1830 he addressed his comrades in a series of verses. One of these was a song entitled 'The Flag of Liberty' (Lou Drapeou de la Libertat); another, 'The Good All-merciful God!' (Lou Boun Diou liberal); and the third was Lou Seromen. Two years later, in 1832, Jasmin composed The Gascons, which he improvised at a banquet given to the non-commissioned officers of the 14th Chasseurs. Of course, the improvisation was carefully prepared; and it was composed in French, as the non-commissioned officers did not understand the Gascon dialect. Jasmin extolled the valour of the French, and especially of the Gascons. The last lines of his eulogy ran as follows:-- "O Liberty! mother of victory, Thy flag always brings us success! Though as Gascons we sing of thy glory, We chastise our foes with the French!" In the same year Jasmin addressed the poet Beranger in a pleasant poetical letter written in classical French. Beranger replied in prose; his answer was dated the 12th of July, 1832. He thanked Jasmin for his fervent eulogy. While he thought that the Gascon poet's praise of his works was exaggerated, he believed in his sincerity. "I hasten," said Beranger, "to express my thanks for the kindness of your address. Believe in my sincerity, as I believe in your praises. Your exaggeration of my poetical merits makes me repeat the first words of your address, in which you assume the title of a Gascon{2} poet. It would please me much better if you would be a French poet, as you prove by your epistle, which is written with taste and harmony. The sympathy of our sentiments has inspired you to praise me in a manner which I am far from meriting, Nevertheless, sir, I am proud of your sympathy. "You have been born and brought up in the same condition as myself. Like me, you appear to have triumphed over the absence of scholastic instruction, and, like me too, you love your country. You reproach me, sir, with the silence which I have for some time preserved. At the end of this year I intend to publish my last volume; I will then take my leave of the public. I am now fifty-two years old. I am tired of the world. My little mission is fulfilled, and the public has had enough of me. I am therefore making arrangements for retiring. Without the desire for living longer, I have broken silence too soon. At least you must pardon the silence of one who has never demanded anything of his country. I care nothing about power, and have now merely the ambition of a morsel of bread and repose. "I ask your pardon for submitting to you these personal details. But your epistle makes it my duty. I thank you again for the pleasure you have given me. I do not understand the language of Languedoc, but, if you speak this language as you write French, I dare to prophecy a true success in the further publication of your works.--BERANGER."{3} Notwithstanding this advice of Beranger and other critics, Jasmin continued to write his poems in the Gascon dialect. He had very little time to spare for the study of classical French; he was occupied with the trade by which he earned his living, and his business was increasing. His customers were always happy to hear him recite his poetry while he shaved their beards or dressed their hair. He was equally unfortunate with M. Minier of Bordeaux. Jasmin addressed him in a Gascon letter full of bright poetry, not unlike Burns's Vision, when he dreamt of becoming a song-writer. The only consolation that Jasmin received from M. Minier was a poetical letter, in which the poet was implored to retain his position and not to frequent the society of distinguished persons. Perhaps the finest work which Jasmin composed at this period of his life was that which he entitled Mous Soubenis, or 'My Recollections.' In none of his poems did he display more of the characteristic qualities of his mind, his candour, his pathos, and his humour, than in these verses. He used the rustic dialect, from which he never afterwards departed. He showed that the Gascon was not yet a dead language; and he lifted it to the level of the most serious themes. His verses have all the greater charm because of their artless gaiety, their delicate taste, and the sweetness of their cadence. Jasmin began to compose his 'Recollections' in 1830, but the two first cantos were not completed until two years later. The third canto was added in 1835, when the poem was published in the first volume of his 'Curl-Papers' (Papillotes). These recollections, in fact, constitute Jasmin's autobiography, and we are indebted to them for the description we have already given of the poet's early life. Many years later Jasmin wrote his Mous noubels Soubenis--'My New Recollections'; but in that work he returned to the trials and the enjoyments of his youth, and described few of the events of his later life. "What a pity," says M. Rodiere, "that Jasmin did not continue to write his impressions until the end of his life! What trouble he would have saved his biographers! For how can one speak when Jasmin ceases to sing?" It is unnecessary to return to the autobiography and repeat the confessions of Jasmin's youth. His joys and sorrows are all described there--his birth in the poverty-stricken dwelling in the Rue Fon de Rache, his love for his parents, his sports with his playfellows on the banks of the Garonne, his blowing the horn in his father's Charivaris, his enjoyment of the tit-bits which old Boe brought home from his begging-tours, the decay of the old man, and his conveyance to the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die;" then his education at the Academy, his toying with the house-maid, his stealing the preserves, his expulsion from the seminary, and the sale of his mother's wedding-ring to buy bread for her family. While composing the first two cantos of the Souvenirs he seemed half ashamed of the homeliness of the tale he had undertaken to relate. Should he soften and brighten it? Should he dress it up with false lights and colours? For there are times when falsehood in silk and gold are acceptable, and the naked new-born truth is unwelcome. But he repudiated the thought, and added:-- "Myself, nor less, nor more, I'll draw for you, And if not bright, the likeness shall be true." The third canto of the poem was composed at intervals. It took him two more years to finish it. It commences with his apprenticeship to the barber; describes his first visit to the theatre, his reading of Florian's romances and poems, his solitary meditations, and the birth and growth of his imagination. Then he falls in love, and a new era opens in his life. He writes verses and sings them. He opens a barber's shop of his own, marries, and brings his young bride home. "Two angels," he says, "took up their abode with me." His newly-wedded wife was one, and the other was his rustic Muse--the angel of homely pastoral poetry: "Who, fluttering softly from on high, Raised on his wing and bore me far, Where fields of balmiest ether are; There, in the shepherd lassie's speech I sang a song, or shaped a rhyme; There learned I stronger love than I can teach. Oh, mystic lessons! Happy time! And fond farewells I said, when at the close of day, Silent she led my spirit back whence it was borne away!" He then speaks of the happiness of his wedded life; he shaves and sings most joyfully. A little rivulet of silver passes into the barber's shop, and, in a fit of poetic ardour, he breaks into pieces and burns the wretched arm-chair in which his ancestors were borne to the hospital to die. His wife no longer troubles him with her doubts as to his verses interfering with his business. She supplies him with pen, paper, ink, and a comfortable desk; and, in course of time, he buys the house in which he lives, and becomes a man of importance in Agen. He ends the third canto with a sort of hurrah-- "Thus, reader, have I told my tale in cantos three: Though still I sing, I hazard no great risk; For should Pegasus rear and fling me, it is clear, However ruffled all my fancies fair, I waste my time, 'tis true; though verses I may lose, The paper still will serve for curling hair."{4} Robert Nicoll, the Scotch poet, said of his works: "I have written my heart in my poems; and rude, unfinished, and hasty as they are, it can be read there." Jasmin might have used the same words. "With all my faults," he said, "I desired to write the truth, and I have described it as I saw it." In his 'Recollections' he showed without reserve his whole heart. Jasmin dedicated his 'Recollections,' when finished, to M. Florimond de Saint-Amand, one of the first gentlemen who recognised his poetical talents. This was unquestionably the first poem in which Jasmin exhibited the true bent of his genius. He avoided entirely the French models which he had before endeavoured to imitate; and he now gave full flight to the artless gaiety and humour of his Gascon muse. It is unfortunate that the poem cannot be translated into English. It was translated into French; but even in that kindred language it lost much of its beauty and pathos. The more exquisite the poetry that is contained in one language, the more difficulty there is in translating it into another. M. Charles Nodier said of Lou Tres de May that it contains poetic thoughts conveyed in exquisite words; but it is impossible to render it into any language but its own. In the case of the Charivari he shrinks from attempting to translate it. There is one passage containing a superb description of the rising of the sun in winter; but two of the lines quite puzzled him. In Gascon they are "Quand l'Auroro, fourrado en raoubo de sati, Desparrouillo, san brut, las portos del mati.' Some of the words translated into French might seem vulgar, though in Gascon they are beautiful. In English they might be rendered: "When Aurora, enfurred in her robe of satin, Unbars, without noise, the doors of the morning." "Dream if you like," says Nodier, "of the Aurora of winter, and tell me if Homer could have better robed it in words. The Aurora of Jasmin is quite his own; 'unbars the doors of the morning'; it is done without noise, like a goddess, patient and silent, who announces herself to mortals only by her brightness of light. It is this finished felicity of expression which distinguishes great writers. The vulgar cannot accomplish it." Again Nodier says of the 'Recollections': "They are an ingenuous marvel of gaiety, sensibility, and passion! I use," he says, "this expression of enthusiasm; and I regret that I cannot be more lavish in my praises. There is almost nothing in modem literature, and scarcely anything in ancient, which has moved me more profoundly than the Souvenirs of Jasmin. "Happy and lovely children of Guienne and Languedoc, read and re-read the Souvenirs of Jasmin; they will give you painful recollections of public schools, and perhaps give you hope of better things to come. You will learn by heart what you will never forget. You will know from this poetry all that you ought to treasure." Jasmin added several other poems to his collection before his second volume appeared in 1835. Amongst these were his lines on the Polish nation--Aux debris de la Nation Polonaise, and Les Oiseaux Voyageurs, ou Les Polonais en France--both written in Gascon. Saint-beuve thinks the latter one of Jasmin's best works. "It is full of pathos," he says, "and rises to the sublime through its very simplicity. It is indeed difficult to exaggerate the poetic instinct and the unaffected artlessness of this amiable bard. "At the same time," he said, "Jasmin still wanted the fire of passion to reach the noblest poetic work. Yet he had the art of style. If Agen was renowned as 'the eye of Guienne,' Jasmin was certainly the greatest poet who had ever written in the pure patois of Agen." Sainte-Beuve also said of Jasmin that he was "invariably sober." And Jasmin said of himself, "I have learned that in moments of heat and emotion we are all eloquent and laconic, alike in speech and action--unconscious poets in fact; and I have also learned that it is possible for a muse to become all this willingly, and by dint of patient toil." Another of his supplementary poems consisted of a dialogue between Ramoun, a soldier of the Old Guard, and Mathiou, a peasant. It is of a political cast, and Jasmin did not shine in politics. He was, however, always a patriot, whether under the Empire, the Monarchy, or the Republic. He loved France above all things, while he entertained the warmest affection for his native province. If Jasmin had published his volume in classical French he might have been lost amidst a crowd of rhymers; but as he published the work in his native dialect, he became forthwith distinguished in his neighbourhood, and was ever after known as the Gascon poet. Nor did he long remain unknown beyond the district in which he lived. When his second volume appeared in 1835, with a preface by M. Baze, an advocate of the Royal Court of Agen, it created considerable excitement, not only at Bordeaux and Toulouse, but also at Paris, the centre of the literature, science, and fine arts of France. There, men of the highest distinction welcomed the work with enthusiasm. M. Baze, in his preface, was very eulogistic. "We have the pleasure," he said, "of seeing united in one collection the sweet Romanic tongue which the South of France has adopted, like the privileged children of her lovely sky and voluptuous climate; and her lyrical songs, whose masculine vigour and energetic sentiments have more than once excited patriotic transports and awakened popular enthusiasm. For Jasmin is above all a poet of the people. He is not ashamed of his origin. He was born in the midst of them, and though a poet, still belongs to them. For genius is of all stations and ranks of life. He is but a hairdresser at Agen, and more than that, he wishes to remain so. His ambition is to unite the razor to the poet's pen." At Paris the work was welcomed with applause, first by his poetic sponsor, Charles Nodier, in the Temps, where he congratulated Jasmin on using the Gascon patois, though still under the ban of literature. "It is a veritable Saint Bartholomew of innocent and beautiful idioms, which can scarcely be employed even in the hours of recreation." He pronounced Jasmin to be a Gascon Beranger, and quoted several of his lines from the Charivari, but apologised for their translation into French, fearing that they might lose much of their rustic artlessness and soft harmony. What was a still greater honour, Jasmin was reviewed by the first critic of France--Sainte-Beuve in the leading critical journal, the Revue des deux Mondes. The article was afterwards republished in his Contemporary Portraits.{5} He there gives a general account of his poems; compares him with the English and Scotch poets of the working class; and contrasts him with Reboul, the baker of Nimes, who writes in classical French, after the manner of the 'Meditations of Lamartine.' He proceeds to give a brief account of Jasmin's life, taken from the Souvenirs, which he regards as a beautiful work, written with much artlessness and simplicity. Various other reviews of Jasmin's poems appeared, in Agen, Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Paris, by men of literary mark--by Leonce de Lavergne, and De Mazude in the Revue des deux Mondes--by Charles Labitte, M. Ducuing, and M. de Pontmartin. The latter classed Jasmin with Theocritus, Horace, and La Fontaine, and paid him the singular tribute, "that he had made Goodness as attractive as other French writers had made Badness." Such criticisms as these made Jasmin popular, not only in his own district, but throughout France. We cannot withhold the interesting statement of Paul de Musset as to his interview with Jasmin in 1836, after the publication of his second volume of poems. Paul de Musset was the author of several novels, as well as of Lui et Elle, apropos of his brother's connection with George Sand. Paul de Musset thus describes his visit to the poet at Agen.{6} "Let no one return northward by the direct road from Toulouse. Nothing can be more dreary than the Lot, the Limousin, and the interminable Dordogne; but make for Bordeaux by the plains of Gascony, and do not forget the steamboat from Marmande. You will then find yourself on the Garonne, in the midst of a beautiful country, where the air is vigorous and healthy. The roads are bordered with vines, arranged in arches, lovely to the eyes of travellers. The poets, who delight in making the union of the vine with the trees which support it an emblem of marriage, can verify their comparisons only in Gascony or Italy. It is usually pear trees that are used to support them.... "Thanks to M. Charles Nodier, who had discovered a man of modest talent buried in this province, I knew a little of the verses of the Gascon poet Jasmin. Early one morning, at about seven, the diligence stopped in the middle of a Place, where I read this inscription over a shop-door, 'Jasmin, Coiffeur des jeunes gens.' We were at Agen. I descended, swallowed my cup of coffee as fast as I could, and entered the shop of the most lettered of peruke-makers. On a table was a mass of pamphlets and some of the journals of the South. "'Monsieur Jasmin?' said I on entering. 'Here I am, sir, at your service,' replied a handsome brown-haired fellow, with a cheerful expression, who seemed to me about thirty years of age. "'Will you shave me?' I asked. 'Willingly, sir,' he replied, I sat down and we entered into conversation. 'I have read your verses, sir,' said I, while he was covering my chin with lather. "'Monsieur then comprehends the patois?' 'A little,' I said; 'one of my friends has explained to me the difficult passages. But tell me, Monsieur Jasmin, why is it that you, who appear to know French perfectly, write in a language that is not spoken in any chief town or capital.' "'Ah, sir, how could a poor rhymer like me appear amongst the great celebrities of Paris? I have sold eighteen hundred copies of my little pieces of poetry (in pamphlet form), and certainly all who speak Gascon know them well. Remember that there are at least six millions of people in Languedoc.' "My mouth was covered with soap-suds, and I could not answer him for some time. Then I said, 'But a hundred thousand persons at most know how to read, and twenty thousand of them can scarcely be able to enjoy your works.' "'Well, sir, I am content with that amount. Perhaps you have at Paris more than one writer who possesses his twenty thousand readers. My little reputation would soon carry me astray if I ventured to address all Europe. The voice that appears sonorous in a little place is not heard in the midst of a vast plain. And then, my readers are confined within a radius of forty leagues, and the result is of real advantage to an author.' "'Ah! And why do you not abandon your razor?' I enquired of this singular poet. 'What would you have?' he said. 'The Muses are most capricious; to-day they give gold, to-morrow they refuse bread. The razor secures me soup, and perhaps a bottle of Bordeaux. Besides, my salon is a little literary circle, where all the young people of the town assemble. When I come from one of the academies of which I am a member, I find myself among the tools which I can manage better than my pen; and most of the members of the circle usually pass through my hands.' "It is a fact that M. Jasmin shaves more skilfully than any other poet. After a long conversation with this simple-minded man, I experienced a certain confusion in depositing upon his table the amount of fifty centimes which I owed him on this occasion, more for his talent than for his razor; and I remounted the diligence more than charmed with the modesty of his character and demeanour." Endnotes for Chapter VI. {1} M. Duvigneau thus translated the words into French: he begins his verses by announcing the birth of Henry IV.:-- "A son aspect, mille cris d'allegresse Ebranlent le palais et montent jusqu'au ciel: Le voila beau comme dans sa jeunesse, Alors qu'il recevait le baiser maternel. A ce peuple charme qui des yeux le devore Le bon Roi semble dire encore: 'Braves Gascons, accourez tous; A mon amour pour vous vous devez croire; Je met a vous revoir mon bonheur et ma gloire, Venez, venez, approchez-vous!'" {2} Gascon or Gasconade is often used as implying boasting or gasconading. {3} This letter was written before Jasmin had decided to publish the second volume of his Papillotes, which appeared in 1835. {4} The following are the lines in Gascon:-- "Atai boudroy dan bous fini ma triplo paouzo; Mais anfin, ey cantat, n'hazardi pas gran caouzo: Quand Pegazo reguinno, et que d'un cot de pe M'emboyo friza mas marotos, Perdi moun ten, es bray, mais noun pas moun pape; Boti mous bers en papillotos!" {5} 'Portraits Contemporains,' ii. 50. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, Membre de l'Academie Francaise. 1847. {6} 'Perpignan, l'Ariege et le poete Jasmin' (Journal politique et litteraire de Lot-et-Garonne). CHAPTER VII. 'THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE.' Jasmin was now thirty-six years old. He was virtually in the prime of life. He had been dreaming, he had been thinking, for many years, of composing some poems of a higher order than his Souvenirs. He desired to embody in his work some romantic tales in verse, founded upon local legends, noble in conception, elaborated with care, and impressive by the dignity of simple natural passion. In these new lyrical poems his intention was to aim high, and he succeeded to a marvellous extent. He was enabled to show the depth and strength of his dramatic powers, his fidelity in the description of romantic and picturesque incidents, his shrewdness in reading character and his skill in representing it, all of which he did in perfect innocence of all established canons in the composition of dramatic poetry. The first of Jasmin's poetical legends was 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille' (L'Abuglo). It was translated into English, a few years after its appearance, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, daughter of the British ambassador at Paris,{1} and afterwards by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the American poet. Longfellow follows the rhythm of the original, and on the whole his translation of the poem is more correct, so that his version is to be preferred. He begins his version with these words-- "Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Rehearse this little tragedy aright; Let me attempt it with an English quill, And take, O reader, for the deed the will." At the end of his translation Longfellow adds:--"Jasmin, the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to the South of Scotland, the representative of the heart of the people,--one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'auuvelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles, and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne, and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs!" It is unnecessary to quote the poem, which is so well-known by the numerous readers of Longfellow's poems, but a compressed narrative of the story may be given. The legend is founded on a popular tradition. Castel-Cuille stands upon a bluff rock in the pretty valley of Saint-Amans, about a league from Agen. The castle was of considerable importance many centuries ago, while the English occupied Guienne; but it is now in ruins, though the village near it still exists. In a cottage, at the foot of the rock, lived the girl Marguerite, a soldier's daughter, with her brother Paul. The girl had been betrothed to her lover Baptiste; but during his absence she was attacked by virulent small-pox and lost her eyesight. Though her beauty had disappeared, her love remained. She waited long for her beloved Baptiste, but he never returned. He forsook his betrothed Marguerite, and plighted his troth to the fairer and richer Angele. It was, after all, only the old story. Marguerite heard at night the song of their espousals on the eve of the marriage. She was in despair, but suppressed her grief. Wednesday morning arrived, the eve of St. Joseph. The bridal procession passed along the village towards the church of Saint-Amans, singing the bridal song. The fair and fertile valley was bedecked with the blossoms of the apple, the plum, and the almond, which whitened the country round. Nothing could have seemed more propitious. Then came the chorus, which was no invention of the poet, but a refrain always sung at rustic weddings, in accordance with the custom of strewing the bridal path with flowers: "The paths with buds and blossoms strew, A lovely bride approaches nigh; For all should bloom and spring anew, A lovely bride is passing by!"{2} Under the blue sky and brilliant sunshine, the joyous young people frisked along. The picture of youth, gaiety, and beauty, is full of truth and nature. The bride herself takes part in the frolic. With roguish eyes she escapes and cries: "Those who catch me will be married this year!" And then they descend the hill towards the church of Saint-Amans. Baptiste, the bridegroom, is out of spirits and mute. He takes no part in the sports of the bridal party. He remembers with grief the blind girl he has abandoned. In the cottage under the cliff Marguerite meditates a tragedy. She dresses herself, and resolves to attend the wedding at Saint-Amans with her little brother. While dressing, she slips a knife into her bosom, and then they start for the church. The bridal party soon arrived, and Marguerite heard their entrance. The ceremony proceeded. Mass was said. The wedding-ring was blessed; and as Baptiste placed it on the bride's finger, he said the accustomed words. In a moment a voice cried: "It is he! It is he;" and Marguerite rushed through the bridal party towards him with a knife in her hand to stab herself; but before she could reach the bridegroom she fell down dead--broken-hearted! The crime which she had intended to commit against herself was thus prevented. In the evening, in place of a bridal song, the De Profundis was chanted, and now each one seemed to say:-- "The roads shall mourn, and, veiled in gloom, So fair a corpse shall leave its home! Should mourn and weep, ah, well-away, So fair a corpse shall pass to-day!"{3} This poem was finished in August 1835; and on the 26th of the same month it was publicly recited by Jasmin at Bordeaux, at the request of the Academy of that city. There was great beauty, tenderness, and pathos in the poem. It was perfectly simple and natural. The poem might form the subject of a drama or a musical cantata. The lamentations of Marguerite on her blindness remind one of Milton's heart-rending words on the same subject: "For others, day and joy and light, For me, all darkness, always night."{4} Sainte-Beuve, in criticising Jasmin's poems, says that "It was in 1835 that his talent raised itself to the eminence of writing one of his purest compositions--natural, touching and disinterested--his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, in which he makes us assist in a fete, amidst the joys of the villagers; and at the grief of a young girl, a fiancee whom a severe attack of smallpox had deprived of her eyesight, and whom her betrothed lover had abandoned to marry another. "The grief of the poor abandoned girl, her changes of colour, her attitude, her conversation, her projects--the whole surrounded by the freshness of spring and the laughing brightness of the season--exhibits a character of nature and of truth which very few poets have been able to attain. One is quite surprised, on reading this simple picture, to be involuntarily carried back to the most expressive poems of the ancient Greeks--to Theocritus for example--for the Marguerite of Jasmin may be compared with the Simetha of the Greek poet. This is true poetry, rich from the same sources, and gilded with the same imagery. In his new compositions Jasmin has followed his own bias; this man, who had few books, but meditated deeply in his heart and his love of nature; and he followed the way of true art with secret and persevering labour in what appeared to him the most eloquent, easy, and happy manner... "His language," Sainte-Beuve continues, "is always the most natural, faithful, transparent, truthful, eloquent, and sober; never forget this last characteristic. He is never more happy than when he finds that he can borrow from an artizan or labourer one of those words which are worth ten of others. It is thus that his genius has refined during the years preceding the time in which he produced his greatest works. It is thus that he has become the poet of the people, writing in the popular patois, and for public solemnities, which remind one of those of the Middle Ages and of Greece; thus he finds himself to be, in short, more than any of our contemporaries, of the School of Horace, of Theocritus, or of Gray, and all the brilliant geniuses who have endeavoured by study to bring each of their works to perfection."{5} The Blind Girl was the most remarkable work that Jasmin had up to this time composed. There is no country where an author is so popular, when he is once known, as in France. When Jasmin's poem was published he became, by universal consent, the Poet Laureate of the South. Yet some of the local journals of Bordeaux made light of his appearance in that city for the purpose of reciting his as yet unknown poem. "That a barber and hairdresser of Agen," they said, "speaking and writing in a vulgar tongue, should attempt to amuse or enlighten the intelligent people of Bordeaux, seemed to them beneath contempt." But Jasmin soon showed them that genius is of no rank or condition of life; and their views shortly underwent a sudden change. His very appearance in the city was a triumph. Crowds resorted to the large hall, in which he was to recite his new poem of the Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille. The prefect, the mayor, the members of the Academy, and the most cultivated people of the city were present, and received him with applause. There might have been some misgivings as to the success of the poem, but from the moment that he appeared on the platform and began his recitation, every doubt disappeared. He read the poem with marvellous eloquence; while his artistic figure, his mobile countenance, his dark-brown eyebrows, which he raised or lowered at will, his expressive gesticulation, and his passionate acting, added greatly to the effect of his recital, and soon won every heart. When he came to the refrain, "The paths with buds and blossoms strew," he no longer declaimed, but sang after the manner of the peasants in their popular chaunt. His eyes became suffused with tears, and those who listened to the patois, even though they only imperfectly understood it, partook of the impression, and wept also. He was alike tender and impressive throughout the piece, especially at the death of the blind girl; and when he had ended, a storm of applause burst from the audience. There was a clapping of hands and a thunderous stamping of feet that shook the building almost to its foundations. It was a remarkable spectacle, that a humble working man, comparatively uneducated, should have evoked the tumultuous applause of a brilliant assembly of intelligent ladies and gentlemen. It was indeed something extraordinary. Some said that he declaimed like Talma or Rachel, nor was there any note of dissonance in his reception. The enthusiasm was general and unanimous amongst the magistrates, clergy, scientific men, artists, physicians, ship-owners, men of business, and working people. They all joined in the applause when Jasmin had concluded his recitation. From this time forward Jasmin was one of the most popular men at Bordeaux. He was entertained at a series of fetes. He was invited to soirees by the prefect, by the archbishop, by the various social circles, as well as by the workmen's associations. They vied with each other for the honour of entertaining him. He went from matinees to soirees, and in ten days he appeared at thirty-four different entertainments. At length he became thoroughly tired and exhausted by this enormous fete-ing. He longed to be away and at home with his wife and children. He took leave of his friends and admirers with emotion, and, notwithstanding the praises and acclamations he had received at Bordeaux, he quietly turned to pursue his humble occupation at Agen. It was one of the most remarkable things about Jasmin, that he was never carried off his feet by the brilliant ovations he received. Though enough to turn any poor fellow's head, he remained simple and natural to the last. As we say in this country, he could "carry corn" We have said that "Gascon" is often used in connection with boasting or gasconading. But the term was in no way applicable to Jasmin. He left the echo of praises behind him, and returned to Agen to enjoy the comforts of his fireside. He was not, however, without tempters to wean him from his home and his ordinary pursuits. In 1836, the year after his triumphal reception at Bordeaux, some of his friends urged him to go to Paris--the centre of light and leading--in order to "make his fortune." But no! he had never contemplated the idea of leaving his native town. A rich wine merchant of Toulouse was one of his tempters. He advised Jasmin to go to the great metropolis, where genius alone was recognised. Jasmin answered him in a charming letter, setting forth the reasons which determined him to remain at home, principally because his tastes were modest and his desires were homely. "You too," he said, "without regard to troubling my days and my nights, have written to ask me to carry my guitar and my dressing-comb to the great city of kings, because there, you say, my poetical humour and my well-known verses will bring torrents of crowns to my purse. Oh, you may well boast to me of this shower of gold and its clinking stream. You only make me cry: 'Honour is but smoke, glory is but glory, and money is only money!' I ask you, in no craven spirit, is money the only thing for a man to seek who feels in his heart the least spark of poetry? In my town, where everyone works, leave me as I am. Every summer, happier than a king, I lay up my small provision for the winter, and then I sing like a goldfinch under the shade of a poplar or an ash-tree, only too happy to grow grey in the land which gave me birth. One hears in summer the pleasant zigo, ziou, ziou, of the nimble grasshopper, or the young sparrow pluming his wings to make himself ready for flight, he knows not whither; but the wise man acts not so. I remain here in my home. Everything suits me--earth, sky, air--all that is necessary for my comfort. To sing of joyous poverty one must be joyful and poor. I am satisfied with my rye-bread, and the cool water from my fountain." Jasmin remained faithful to these rules of conduct during his life. Though he afterwards made a visit to Paris, it was only for a short time; but his native town of Agen, his home on the Gravier, his shop, his wife and his children, continued to be his little paradise. His muse soared over him like a guardian angel, giving him songs for his happiness and consolation for his sorrows. He was, above all things, happy in his wife. She cheered him, strengthened him, and consoled him. He thus portrayed her in one of his poems: "Her eyes like sparkling stars of heavenly blue; Her cheeks so sweet, so round, and rosy; Her hair so bright, and brown, and curly; Her mouth so like a ripened cherry; Her teeth more brilliant than the snow." Jasmin was attached to his wife, not only by her beauty, but by her good sense. She counselled and advised him in everything. He gave himself up to her wise advice, and never had occasion to regret it. It was with her modest marriage-portion that he was enabled to establish himself as a master hairdresser. When he opened his shop, he set over the entrance door this sign: "L'Art embellit La Nature: Jasmin, Coiffeur des Jeunes Gens." As his family grew, in order to increase his income, he added the words, "Coiffeur des Dames." This proved to be a happy addition to his business. Most of the ladies of Agen strove for the honour of having their hair dressed by the poetical barber. While dressing their hair he delighted them with his songs. He had a sympathetic voice, which touched their souls and threw them into the sweetest of dreams. Though Jasmin was always disposed to rhyme a little, his wise wife never allowed him to forget his regular daily work. At the same time she understood that his delicate nature could not be entirely absorbed by the labours of an ordinary workman. She was no longer jealous of his solitary communions with his muse; and after his usual hours of occupation, she left him, or sat by him, to enable him to pursue his dear reveries in quiet. Mariette, or Marie, as she was usually called, was a thoroughly good partner for Jasmin. Though not by any means a highly educated woman, she felt the elevating effects of poetry even on herself. She influenced her husband's mind through her practical wisdom and good sense, while he in his turn influenced hers by elevating her soul and intellect. Jasmin, while he was labouring over some song or verse, found it necessary to recite it to some one near him, but mostly to his wife. He wandered with her along the banks of the Garonne, and while he recited, she listened with bated breath. She could even venture to correct him; for she knew, better than he did, the ordinary Gascon dialect. She often found for him the true word for the picture which he desired to present to his reader. Though Jasmin was always thankful for her help, he did not abandon his own words without some little contention. He had worked out the subject in his mind, and any new word, or mode of description, might interrupt the beauty of the verses. When he at length recognised the justice of her criticism, he would say, "Marie, you are right; and I will again think over the subject, and make it fit more completely into the Gascon idiom." In certain cases passages were suppressed; in others they were considerably altered. When Jasmin, after much labour and correction, had finished his poem, he would call about him his intimate friends, and recite the poem to them. He had no objection to the most thorough criticism, by his wife as well as by his friends. When the poem was long and elaborate, the auditors sometimes began to yawn. Then the wife stepped in and said: "Jasmin, you must stop; leave the remainder of the poem for another day." Thus the recital ceased for the time. The people of Agen entertained a lively sympathy for their poet. Even those who might to a certain extent depreciate his talent, did every justice to the nobility of his character. Perhaps some might envy the position of a man who had risen from the ranks and secured the esteem of men of fortune and even of the leaders of literary opinion. Jasmin, like every person envied or perhaps detracted, had his hours of depression. But the strong soul of his wife in these hours came to his relief, and assuaged the spirit of the man and the poet. Jasmin was at one time on the point of abandoning verse-making. Yet he was encouraged to proceed by the demands which were made for his songs and verses. Indeed, no fete was considered complete without the recitations of Jasmin. It was no doubt very flattering; yet fame has its drawbacks. His invitations were usually unceremonious. Jasmin was no doubt recognised as a poet, and an excellent reciter; yet he was a person who handled the razor and the curling-tongs. When he was invited to a local party, it was merely that he might recite his verses gratuitously. He did not belong to their social circle, and his wife was not included. What sympathy could she have with these distinguished personages? At length Jasmin declined to go where his wife could not be invited. He preferred to stay at home with his family; and all further invitations of this sort were refused. Besides, his friend Nodier had warned him that a poet of his stamp ought not to appear too often at the feasts of the lazy; that his time was too precious for that; that a poet ought, above all, not to occupy himself with politics, for, by so doing, he ran the risk of injuring his talent. Some of his local critics, not having comprehended the inner life of Jasmin, compared his wife to the gardener of Boileau and the maid-servant of Moliere. But the comparison did not at all apply. Jasmin had no gardener nor any old servant or housekeeper. Jasmin and Marie were quite different. They lived the same lives, and were all in all to each other. They were both of the people; and though she was without culture, and had not shared in the society of the educated, she took every interest in the sentiments and the prosperity of her admirable husband. One might ask, How did Jasmin acquire his eloquence of declamation--his power of attracting and moving assemblies of people in all ranks of life? It was the result, no doubt, partly of the gifts with which the Creator had endowed him, and partly also of patience and persevering study. He had a fine voice, and he managed it with such art that it became like a perfectly tuned instrument in the hands of a musician. His voice was powerful and pathetic by turns, and he possessed great sweetness of intonation,--combined with sympathetic feeling and special felicity of emphasis. And feeling is the vitalising principle of poetry. Jasmin occasionally varied his readings by singing or chaunting the songs which occurred in certain parts of his poems. This, together with his eloquence, gave such immense vital power to the recitations of the Agenaise bard. And we shall find, from the next chapter, that Jasmin used his pathetic eloquence for very noble,--one might almost say, for divine purposes. Endnotes for Chapter VII. {1} The translation appeared in 'Bentley's Miscellany' for March 1840. It was published for a charitable purpose. Mrs. Craven, in her 'Life of Lady Georgiana Fullerton,' says: "It was put in at once, and its two hundred and seventy lines brought to the author twelve guineas on the day on which it appeared. Lady Fullerton was surprised and delighted. All her long years of success, different indeed in degree, never effaced the memory of the joy." {2} The refrain, in the original Gascon, is as follows: "Las carreros diouyon flouri, Tan belo nobio bay sourti; Diouyon flouri, diouyon graua, Tan belo nobio bay passa!" {3} In Gascon: "Las carreros diouyon gemi, Tan belo morto bay sourti! Diouyon gemi, diouyon ploura, Tan belo morto bay passa!" {4} in Gascon: "Jour per aoutres, toutjour! et per jou, malhurouzo, Toutjour ney, toutjour ney! Que fay negre len d'el! Oh! que moun amo es tristo!" {5} Sainte-Beuve: 'Causeries du Lundi,' iv. 240-1 (edit. 1852); and 'Portraits Contemporains,' ii. 61 (edit, 1847). CHAPTER VIII. JASMIN AS PHILANTHROPIST. It is now necessary to consider Jasmin in an altogether different character--that of a benefactor of his species. Self-sacrifice and devotion to others, forgetting self while spending and being spent for the good of one's fellow creatures, exhibit man in his noblest characteristics. But who would have expected such virtues to be illustrated by a man like Jasmin, sprung from the humblest condition of life? Charity may be regarded as a universal duty, which it is in every person's power to practise. Every kind of help given to another, on proper motives, is an act of charity; and there is scarcely any man in such a straitened condition as that he may not, on certain occasions, assist his neighbour. The widow that gives her mite to the treasury, the poor man that brings to the thirsty a cup of cold water, perform their acts of charity, though they may be of comparatively little moment. Wordsworth, in a poetic gem, described the virtue of charity: "... Man is dear to man; the poorest poor Long for some moments in a weary life When they can know and feel that they have been, Themselves, the fathers and the dealers out Of some small blessings, have been kind to such As needed kindness, for the single cause That we have all of us one human heart." This maxim of Wordsworth's truly describes the life and deeds of Jasmin. It may be said that he was first incited to exert himself on behalf of charity to his neighbours, by the absence of any Poor Law in France such as we have in England. In the cases of drought, when the crops did not ripen; or in the phylloxera blights, when the grapes were ruined; or in the occasional disastrous floods, when the whole of the agricultural produce was swept away; the small farmers and labourers were reduced to great distress. The French peasant is usually very thrifty; but where accumulated savings were not available for relief, the result, in many cases, was widespread starvation. Jasmin felt that, while himself living in the midst of blessings, he owed a duty, on such occasions, to the extreme necessities of his neighbours. The afflicted could not appeal to the administrators of local taxes; all that they could do was to appeal to the feelings of the benevolent, and rely upon local charity. He believed that the extremely poor should excite our liberality, the miserable our pity, the sick our assistance, the ignorant our instruction, and the fallen our helping hand. It was under such circumstances that Jasmin consented to recite his poems for the relief of the afflicted poor. His fame had increased from year to year. His songs were sung, and his poems were read, all over the South of France. When it was known that he was willing to recite his poems for charitable purposes he was immediately assailed with invitations from far and near. When bread fell short in winter-time, and the poor were famished; when an hospital for the needy was starving for want of funds; when a creche or infants' asylum had to be founded; when a school, or an orphanage, had to be built or renovated, and money began to fail, an appeal was at once made to Jasmin's charitable feelings. It was not then usual for men like Jasmin to recite their poems in public. Those who possessed his works might recite them for their own pleasure. But no one could declaim them better than he could, and his personal presence was therefore indispensable. It is true, that about the same time Mr. Dickens and Mr. Thackeray were giving readings from their works in England and America. Both readers were equally popular; but while they made a considerable addition to their fortunes,{1} Jasmin realised nothing for himself; all that was collected at his recitations was given to the poor. Of course, Jasmin was received with enthusiasm in those towns and cities which he visited for charitable purposes. When it was known that he was about to give one of his poetical recitals, the artisan left his shop, the blacksmith his smithy, the servant her household work; and the mother often shut up her house and went with her children to listen to the marvelous poet. Young girls spread flowers before his pathway; and lovely women tore flowers from their dresses to crown their beloved minstrel with their offerings. Since his appearance at Bordeaux, in 1835, when he recited his Blind Girl for a charitable purpose, he had been invited to many meetings in the neighbourhood of Agen, wherever any worthy institution had to be erected or assisted. He continued to write occasional verses, though not of any moment, for he was still dreaming of another masterpiece. All further thoughts of poetical composition were, however, dispelled, by the threatened famine in the Lot-et-Garonne. In the winter of 1837 bread became very dear in the South of France. The poor people were suffering greatly, and the usual appeal was made to Jasmin to come to their help. A concert was advertised to be given at Tonneins, a considerable town to the north-west of Agen, when the local musicians were to give their services, and Jasmin was to recite a poem. For this purpose he composed his 'Charity' (La Caritat). It was addressed to the ladies and musicians who assisted at the entertainment. Charity is a short lyrical effusion, not so much a finished poem as the utterings of a tender heart. Though of some merit, it looks pale beside The Blind Girl. But his choice of the subject proved a forecast of the noble uses which Jasmin was afterwards enabled to make of his poetical talents. Man, he said in his verses, is truly great, chiefly through his charity. The compassionate man, doing his works of benevolence, though in secret, in a measure resembles the Divine Author of his being. The following is the introductory passage of the poem:-- "As we behold at sea great ships of voyagers Glide o'er the waves to billows white with spray, And to another world the hardy travellers convey; Just as bold savants travel through the sky To illustrate the world which they espy, Men without ceasing cry, 'How great is man!' But no! Great God! How infinitely little he! Has he a genius? 'Tis nothing without goodness! Without some grace, no grandeur do we rate. It is the tender-hearted who show charity in kindness. Unseen of men, he hides his gift from sight, He does all that he owes in silent good, Like the poor widow's mite; Yet both are great, Great above all--great as the Grace of God." This is, of course, a very feeble attempt to render the words of Jasmin. He was most pathetic when he recounted the sorrows of the poor. While doing so, he avoided exciting their lower instincts. He disavowed all envy of the goods of others. He maintained respect for the law, while at the same time he exhorted the rich to have regard for their poorer brethren. "It is the glory of the people," he said at a meeting of workmen, "to protect themselves from evil, and to preserve throughout their purity of character." This was the spirit in which Jasmin laboured. He wrote some other poems in a similar strain--'The Rich and Poor,' 'The Poor Man's Doctor,' 'The Rich Benefactor' (Lou Boun Riche); but Jasmin's own Charity contained the germ of them all. He put his own soul into his poems. At Tonneins, the emotion he excited by his reading of Charity was very great, and the subscriptions for the afflicted poor were correspondingly large. The municipality never forgot the occasion; and whenever they became embarrassed by the poverty of the people, they invariably appealed to Jasmin, and always with the same success. On one occasion the Mayor wrote to him: "We are still under the charm of your verses; and I address you in the name of the poor people of Tonneins, to thank you most gratefully for the charitable act you have done for their benefit. The evening you appeared here, sir, will long survive in our memory. It excited everywhere the most lively gratitude. The poor enjoyed a day of happiness, and the rich enjoyed a day of pleasure, for nothing can be more blessed than Charity!" Jasmin, in replying to this letter, said: "Christ's words were, 'Ye have the poor always with you'; in pronouncing this fact, he called the world to deeds of charity, and instituted this admirable joint responsibility (solidarite), in virtue of which each man should fulfil the duty of helping his poorer neighbours. It is this responsibility which, when the cry of hunger or suffering is heard, is most instrumental in bringing all generous souls to the front, in order to create and multiply the resources of the poor." Jasmin's success at Tonneins led to numerous invitations of a like character. "Come over and help us," was the general cry during that winter of famine. The barber's shop was invaded by numerous deputations; and the postman was constantly delivering letters of invitation at his door. He was no longer master of his time, and had considerable difficulty in attending to his own proper business. Sometimes his leisure hours were appropriated six months beforehand; and he was often peremptorily called upon to proceed with his philanthropic work. When he could find time enough to spare from his business, he would consent to give another recitation. When the distance was not great he walked, partly for exercise, and partly to save money. There were few railways in those days, and hiring a conveyance was an expensive affair. Besides, his desire always was, to hand over, if possible, the whole of the receipts to the charitable institutions for whose benefit he gave his recitations. The wayfaring poet, on his approach to the town in which he was to appear, was usually met by crowds of people. They received him with joy and acclamation. The magistrates presented him with a congratulatory address. Deputations from neighbouring towns were present at the celebration. At the entrance to the town Jasmin often passed under a triumphal arch, with "Welcome, Jasmin! our native poet!" inscribed upon it. He was conveyed, headed by the local band, to the hall where he was to give his recitation. Jasmin's appearance at Bergerac was a great event. Bergerac is a town of considerable importance, containing about fourteen thousand inhabitants, situated on the right or north bank of the river Dordogne. But during that terrible winter the poor people of Bergerac were in great distress, and Jasmin was summoned to their help. The place was at too great a distance from Agen for him to walk thither, and accordingly he was obliged to take a conveyance. He was as usual met by a multitude of people, who escorted him into the town. The magistrates could not find a place sufficiently large to give accommodation to the large number of persons who desired to hear him. At length they found a large building which had been used as a barn; and there they raised a platform for the poet. The place was at once filled, and those who could not get admission crowded about the entrance. Some of the people raised ladders against the walls of the building, and clambered in at the windows. Groups of auditors were seen at every place where they could find a footing. Unfortunately the weather was rainy, and a crowd of women filled the surrounding meadow, sheltered by their umbrellas. More than five hundred persons had not been able to find admission, and it was therefore necessary for Jasmin to give several more readings to satisfy the general enthusiasm. All the receipts were given over by Jasmin for the benefit of the poor, and the poet hurried home at once to his shaving and hair-dressing. On another occasion, at Gontaud, the weather was more satisfactory. The day was fine and sunny, and the ground was covered with flowers. About the time that Jasmin was expected, an open carriage, festooned with flowers, and drawn by four horses, was sent to the gate of the town, escorted by the municipal council, to wait for the poet. When he arrived on foot for the place was at no great distance from Agen twelve young girls, clothed in white, offered him a bouquet of flowers, and presented him with an address. He then entered the carriage and proceeded to the place where he was to give his recitation. All went well and happily, and a large offering was collected and distributed amongst the poor. Then at Damazan, where he gave another reading for the same purpose, after he had entered the carriage which was to convey him to the place of entertainment, a number of girls preceded the carriage in which the poet sat, and scattered flowers in his way, singing a refrain of the country adapted to the occasion. It resembled the refrain sung before the bride in The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille: "The paths with flowers bestrew, So great a poet comes this way; For all should flower and bloom anew, So great a poet comes to-day."{2} These are only specimens of the way in which Jasmin was received during his missions of philanthropy. He went from north to south, from east to west, by river and by road, sleeping where he could, but always happy and cheerful, doing his noble work with a full and joyous heart. He chirruped and sang from time to time as if his mouth was full of nightingales. And he was never without enthusiastic multitudes to listen to his recitals, and to share their means with the poor and afflicted. We might fill this little story with a detailed account of his journeyings; but a summary account is all that is at present necessary. We shall afterwards return to the subject. Endnotes to Chapter VIII. {1} Mr. George Dolby, in his work 'Charles Dickens as I knew him,' tells "the story of the famous 'reading tours,' the most brilliantly successful enterprises that were ever undertaken." Chappell and Co. paid him 1500 sterling for thirty readings in London and the provinces, by which they realised 5000 sterling. Arthur Smith and Mr. Headland were his next managers, and finally Mr. George Dolby. The latter says that Mr. Dickens computed the money he netted under the Smith and Headland management at about 12,000 sterling; and under Dolby's management "he cleared nearly 33,000 sterling." {2} In Gascon: "Las carreros diouyon fleuri, Tan gran poete bay sourti; Diouyon fleuri, diouyon graua, Tan gran poete bay passa." CHAPTER IX. JASMIN'S 'FRANCONNETTE.' Jasmin published no further poems for three or four years. His time was taken up with his trade and his philanthropic missions. Besides, he did not compose with rapidity; he elaborated his poems by degrees; he arranged the plot of his story, and then he clothed it with poetical words and images. While he walked and journeyed from place to place, he was dreaming and thinking of his next dramatic poem--his Franconnette, which many of his critics regard as his masterpiece. Like most of his previous poems, Jasmin wrote Franconnette in the Gascon dialect. Some of his intimate friends continued to expostulate with him for using this almost dead and virtually illiterate patois. Why not write in classical French? M. Dumon, his colleague at the Academy of Agen, again urged him to employ the national language, which all intelligent readers could understand. "Under the reign of our Henry IV.," said M. Dumon, "the Langue d'Oil became, with modifications, the language of the French, while the Langue d'Oc remained merely a patois. Do not therefore sing in the dialect of the past, but in the language of the present, like Beranger, Lamartine, and Victor Hugo. "What," asked M. Dumon, "will be the fate of your original poetry? It will live, no doubt, like the dialect in which it is written; but is this, the Gascon patois, likely to live? Will it be spoken by our posterity as long as it has been spoken by our ancestors? I hope not; at least I wish it may be less spoken. Yet I love its artless and picturesque expressions, its lively recollections of customs and manners which have long ceased to exist, like those old ruins which still embellish our landscape. But the tendency which is gradually effacing the vestiges of our old language and customs is but the tendency of civilisation itself. "When Rome fell under the blows of the barbarians, she was entirely conquered; her laws were subjected at the same time as her armies. The conquest dismembered her idiom as well as her empire.... The last trace of national unity disappeared in this country after the Roman occupation. It had been Gaul, but now it became France. The force of centralisation which has civilised Europe, covering this immense chaos, has brought to light, after more than a hundred years, this most magnificent creation the French monarchy and the French language. Let us lament, if you will, that the poetical imagination and the characteristic language of our ancestors have not left a more profound impression. But the sentence is pronounced; even our Henry IV. could not change it. Under his reign the Langue d'Oil became for ever the French language, and the Langue d'Oc remained but a patois. "Popular poet as you are, you sing to posterity in the language of the past. This language, which you recite so well, you have restored and perhaps even created; yet you do not feel that it is the national language; this powerful instrument of a new era, which invades and besieges yours on all sides like the last fortress of an obsolete civilisation." Jasmin was cut to the quick by this severe letter of his friend, and he lost not a moment in publishing a defence of the language condemned to death by his opponent. He even displayed the force and harmony of the language which had been denounced by M. Dumon as a patois. He endeavoured to express himself in the most characteristic and poetical style, as evidence of the vitality of his native Gascon. He compared it to a widowed mother who dies, and also to a mother who does not die, but continues young, lovely, and alert, even to the last. Dumon had published his protest on the 28th of August, 1837, and a few days later, on the 2nd of September, Jasmin replied in the following poem:-- "There's not a deeper grief to man Than when his mother, faint with years, Decrepit, old, and weak and wan, Beyond the leech's art appears; When by her couch her son may stay, And press her hand, and watch her eyes, And feel, though she revives to-day, Perchance his hope to-morrow dies. It is not thus, believe me, sir, With this enchantress--she will call Our second mother: Frenchmen err, Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall! Our mother-tongue--all melody-- While music lives can never die. Yes! she still lives, her words still ring; Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. The people love their ancient songs, and will While yet a people, love and keep them still: These lays are as their mother; they recall Fond thoughts of mother, sister, friends, and all The many little things that please the heart, The dreams, the hopes, from which we cannot part. These songs are as sweet waters, where we find Health in the sparkling wave that nerves the mind. In ev'ry home, at ev'ry cottage door, By ev'ry fireside, when our toil is o'er, These songs are round us--near our cradles sigh, And to the grave attend us when we die. Oh, think, cold critics! 'twill be late and long, Ere time shall sweep away this flood of song! There are who bid this music sound no more, And you can hear them, nor defend--deplore! You, who were born where its first daisies grew, Have fed upon its honey, sipp'd its dew, Slept in its arms, and wakened to its kiss, Danced to its sounds, and warbled to its tone-- You can forsake it in an hour like this! Yes, weary of its age, renounce--disown-- And blame one minstrel who is true--alone!"{1} This is but a paraphrase of Jasmin's poem, which, as we have already said, cannot be verbally translated into any other language. Even the last editor of Jasmin's poems--Boyer d'Agen--does not translate them into French poetry, but into French prose. Much of the aroma of poetry evaporates in converting poetical thoughts from one language into another. Jasmin, in one part of his poem, compares the ancient patois to one of the grand old elms in the Promenade de Gravier, which, having in a storm had some of its branches torn away, was ordered by the local authorities to be rooted up. The labourers worked away, but their pick-axes became unhafted. They could not up-root the tree; they grew tired and forsook the work. When the summer came, glorious verdure again clothed the remaining boughs; the birds sang sweetly in the branches, and the neighbours rejoiced that its roots had been so numerous and the tree had been so firmly planted. Jasmin's description of his mother-tongue is most touching. Seasons pass away, and, as they roll on, their echoes sound in our ears; but the loved tongue shall not and must not die. The mother-tongue recalls our own dear mother, sisters, friends, and crowds of bygone associations, which press into our minds while sitting by the evening fire. This tongue is the language of our toils and labours; she comes to us at our birth, she lingers at our tomb. "No, no--I cannot desert my mother-tongue!" said Jasmin. "It preserves the folk-lore of the district; it is the language of the poor, of the labourer, the shepherd, the farmer and grape-gatherers, of boys and girls, of brides and bridegrooms. The people," he said to M. Dumon, "love to hear my songs in their native dialect. You have enough poetry in classical French; leave me to please my compatriots in the dialect which they love. I cannot give up this harmonious language, our second mother, even though it has been condemned for three hundred years. Why! she still lives, her voice still sounds; like her, the seasons pass, the bells ring out their peals, and though a hundred thousand years may roll away, they will still be sounding and ringing!" Jasmin has been compared to Dante. But there is this immense difference between them. Dante was virtually the creator of the Italian language, which was in its infancy when he wrote his 'Divine Comedy' some six hundred years ago, while Jasmin was merely reviving a gradually-expiring dialect. Drouilhet de Sigalas has said that Dante lived at the sunrise of his language, while Jasmin lived at its sunset. Indeed, Gascon was not a written language, and Jasmin had to collect his lexicon, grammar, and speech mostly from the peasants who lived in the neighbourhood of Agen. Dante virtually created the Italian language, while Jasmin merely resuscitated for a time the Gascon dialect. Jasmin was not deterred by the expostulations of Dumon, but again wrote his new epic of Franconnette in Gascon. It took him a long time to clothe his poetical thoughts in words. Nearly five years had elapsed since he recited The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille to the citizens of Bordeaux; since then he had written a few poetical themes, but he was mainly thinking and dreaming, and at times writing down his new epic Franconnette. It was completed in 1840, when he dedicated the poem to the city of Toulouse. The story embodied in the poem was founded on an ancient tradition. The time at which it occurred was towards the end of the sixteenth century, when France was torn to pieces by the civil war between the Huguenots and the Catholics. Agen was then a centre of Protestantism. It was taken and retaken by both parties again and again. The Huguenot captain, Truelle, occupied the town in April 1562; but Blaize de Montluc, "a fierce Catholic," as he is termed by M. Paul Joanne, assailed the town with a strong force and recaptured it. On entering the place, Montluc found that the inhabitants had fled with the garrison, and "the terrible chief was greatly disappointed at not finding any person in Agen to slaughter."{2} Montluc struck with a heavy hand the Protestants of the South. In the name of the God of Mercy he hewed the Huguenots to pieces, and, after spreading desolation through the South, he retired to his fortress at Estellac, knelt before the altar, took the communion, and was welcomed by his party as one of the greatest friends of the Church. The civil war went on for ten years, until in August 1572 the massacre of Saint Bartholomew took place. After that event the word "Huguenot" was abolished, or was only mentioned with terror. Montluc's castle of Estellac, situated near the pretty village of Estanquet, near Roquefort--famous for its cheese--still exists; his cabinet is preserved, and his tomb and statue are to be seen in the adjoining garden. The principal scenes of the following story are supposed to have occurred at Estanquet, a few miles to the south of Agen. Franconnette, like The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, is a story of rivalry in love; but, though more full of adventure, it ends more happily. Franconnette was a village beauty. Her brilliant eyes, her rosy complexion, her cherry lips, her lithe and handsome figure, brought all the young fellows of the neighbourhood to her feet. Her father was a banished Huguenot, but beauty of person sets differences of belief at defiance. The village lads praised her and tried to win her affections; but, like beauties in general, surrounded by admirers, she was a bit of a flirt. At length two rivals appeared--one Marcel, a soldier under Montluc, favoured by Franconnette's grandmother, and Pascal, the village blacksmith, favoured by the girl herself. One Sunday afternoon a number of young men and maidens assembled at the foot of Montluc's castle of Estellac on the votive festival of St. Jacques at Roquefort. Franconnette was there, as well as Marcel and Pascal, her special admirers. Dancing began to the music of the fife; but Pascal, the handsomest of the young men, seemed to avoid the village beauty. Franconnette was indignant at his neglect, but was anxious to secure his attention and devotion. She danced away, sliding, whirling, and pirouetting. What would not the admiring youths have given to impress two kisses on her lovely cheek!{3} In these village dances, it is the custom for the young men to kiss their partners, if they can tire them out; but in some cases, when the girl is strong; and an accomplished dancer, she declines to be tired until she wishes to cease dancing. First one youth danced with Franconnette, then another; but she tired them all. Then came Marcel, the soldier, wearing his sabre, with a cockade in his cap--a tall and stately fellow, determined to win the reward. But he too, after much whirling and dancing, was at last tired out: he was about to fall with dizziness, and then gave in. On goes the dance; Franconnette waits for another partner; Pascal springs to her side, and takes her round the waist. Before they had made a dozen steps, the girl smiles and stops, and turns her blushing cheeks to receive her partner's willing kisses. Marcel started up in a rage, and drawing himself to his full height, he strode to Pascal. "Peasant!" he said, "thou hast supplied my place too quickly," and then dealt him a thundering blow between the eyes. Pascal was not felled; he raised his arm, and his fist descended on Marcel's head like a bolt. The soldier attempted to draw his sabre. When Pascal saw this, he closed with Marcel, grasped him in his arms, and dashed him to the ground, crushed and senseless. Marcel was about to rise to renew the duel, when suddenly Montluc, who happened to be passing with the Baron of Roquefort, stepped forward and sternly ordered the combatants to separate. This terrible encounter put an end to the fete. The girls fled like frightened doves. The young men escorted Pascal to his home preceded by the fifers. Marcel was not discouraged. On recovering his speech, he stammered out, grinding his teeth: "They shall pay clearly for this jesting; Franconnette shall have no other husband than myself." Many months passed. The harvest was gathered in. There were no more out-door fetes or dances. The villagers of Estanquet assembled round their firesides. Christmas arrived with it games and carol-singing. Then came the Feast of Lovers, called the Buscou,{4} on the last day of the year, where, in a large chamber, some hundred distaffs were turning, and boys and girls, with nimble fingers, were winding thread of the finest flax. Franconnette was there, and appointed queen of the games. After the winding was over, the songs and dances began to the music of a tambourin. The queen, admired by all, sang and danced like the rest. Pascal was not there; his mother was poor, and she endeavoured to persuade him to remain at home and work. After a short struggle with himself, Pascal yielded. He turned aside to his forge in silent dejection; and soon the anvil was ringing and the sparks were flying, while away down in the village the busking went merrily on. "If the prettiest were always the most sensible," says Jasmin, "how much my Franconnette might have accomplished;" but instead of this, she flitted from place to place, idle and gay, jesting, singing, dancing, and, as usual, bewitching all. Then Thomas, Pascal's friend, asked leave to sing a few verses; and, fixing his keen eyes upon the coquette, he began in tones of lute-like sweetness the following song, entitled 'The Syren with a Heart of Ice.' We have translated it, as nearly as possible, from the Gascon dialect. "Faribolo pastouro, Sereno al co de glas, Oh! digo, digo couro Entendren tinda l'houro Oun t'amistouzaras. Toutjour fariboulejes, Et quand parpailloulejes La foulo que mestrejes, Sur toun cami set met Et te siet. Mais res d'acos, maynado, Al bounhur pot mena; Qu'es acos d'estre aymado, Quand on sat pas ayma?" "Wayward shepherd maid, Syren with heart of ice, Oh! tell us, tell us! when We listen for the hour When thou shalt feel Ever so free and gay, And when you flutter o'er The number you subdue, Upon thy path they fall At thy feet. But nothing comes of this, young maid, To happiness it never leads; What is it to be loved like this If you ne'er can love again?" Such poetry however defies translation. The more exquisite the mastery of a writer over his own language, the more difficult it is to reproduce it in another. But the spirit of the song is in Miss Costello's translation,{5} as given in Franconnette at the close of this volume. When reciting Franconnette, Jasmin usually sang The Syren to music of his own composition. We accordingly annex his music. All were transported with admiration at the beautiful song. When Thomas had finished, loud shouts were raised for the name of the poet. "Who had composed this beautiful lay?" "It is Pascal," replied Thomas. "Bravo, Pascal! Long live Pascal!" was the cry of the young people. Franconnette was unwontedly touched by the song. "But where is Pascal?" she said. "If he loves, why does he not appear?" "Oh," said Laurent, another of his rivals, in a jealous and piqued tone, "he is too poor, he is obliged to stay at home, his father is so infirm that he lives upon alms!" "You lie," cried Thomas. "Pascal is unfortunate; he has been six months ill from the wounds he received in defence of Franconnette, and now his family is dependent upon him; but he has industry and courage, and will soon recover from his misfortunes." Franconnette remained quiet, concealing her emotions. Then the games began. They played at Cache Couteau or Hunt the Slipper. Dancing came next; Franconnette was challenged by Laurent, and after many rounds the girl was tired, and Laurent claimed the kisses that she had forfeited. Franconnette flew away like a bird; Laurent ran after her, caught her, and was claiming the customary forfeit, when, struggling to free herself, Laurent slipped upon the floor, fell heavily, and broke his arm. Franconnette was again unfortunate. Ill-luck seems to have pursued the girl. The games came to an end, and the young people were about to disperse when, at this unlucky moment, the door was burst open and a sombre apparition appeared. It was the Black Forest sorcerer, the supposed warlock of the neighbourhood. "Unthinking creatures," he said, "I have come from my gloomy rocks up yonder to open your eyes. You all adore this Franconnette. Behold, she is accursed! While in her cradle her father, the Huguenot, sold her to the devil. He has punished Pascal and Laurent for the light embrace she gave them. He warned in time and avoid her. The demon alone has a claim to her." The sorcerer ended; sparks of fire surrounded him, and after turning four times round in a circle he suddenly disappeared! Franconnette's friends at once held aloof from her. They called out to her, "Begone!" All in a maze the girl shuddered and sickened; she became senseless, and fell down on the floor in a swoon. The young people fled, leaving her helpless. And thus ended the second fete which began so gaily. The grossest superstition then prevailed in France, as everywhere. Witches and warlocks were thoroughly believed in, far more so than belief in God and His Son. The news spread abroad that the girl was accursed and sold to the Evil One, and she was avoided by everybody. She felt herself doomed. At length she reached her grandmother's house, but she could not work, she could scarcely stand. The once radiant Franconnette could neither play nor sing; she could only weep. Thus ended two cantos of the poem. The third opens with a lovely picture of a cottage by a leafy brookside in the hamlet of Estanquet. The spring brought out the singing-birds to pair and build their nests. They listened, but could no longer hear the music which, in former years, had been almost sweeter than their own. The nightingales, more curious than the rest, flew into the maid's garden; they saw her straw hat on a bench, a rake and watering-pot among the neglected jonquils, and the rose branches running riot. Peering yet further and peeping into the cottage door, the curious birds discovered an old woman asleep in her arm-chair, and a pale, quiet girl beside her, dropping tears upon her lily hands. "Yes, yes, it is. Franconnette," says the poet. "You will have guessed that already. A poor girl, weeping in solitude, the daughter of a Huguenot, banned by the Church and sold to the devil! Could anything be more frightful?" Nevertheless her grandmother said to her, "My child, it is not true; the sorcerer's charge is false. He of good cheer, you are more lovely than ever." One gleam of hope had come to Franconnette; she hears that Pascal has defended her everywhere, and boldly declared her to be the victim of a brutal plot. She now realised how great was his goodness, and her proud spirit was softened even to tears. The grandmother put in a good word for Marcel, but the girl turned aside. Then the old woman said, "To-morrow is Easter Day; go to Mass, pray as you never prayed before, and take the blessed bread, proving that you are numbered with His children for ever." The girl consented, and went to the Church of Saint Peter on Easter morning. She knelt, with her chaplet of beads, among the rest, imploring Heaven's mercy. But she knelt alone in the midst of a wide circle. All the communicants avoided her. The churchwarden, Marcel's uncle, in his long-tailed coat, with a pompous step, passed her entirely by, and refused her the heavenly meal. Pascal was there and came to her help. He went forward to the churchwarden and took from the silver plate the crown piece{6} of the holy element covered with flowers, and took and presented two pieces of the holy bread to Franconnette--one for herself, the other for her grandmother. From that moment she begins to live a new life, and to understand the magic of love. She carries home the blessed bread to the ancient dame, and retires to her chamber to give herself up, with the utmost gratefulness, to the rapturous delight of loving. "Ah," says Jasmin in his poem, "the sorrowing heart aye loveth best!" Yet still she remembers the fatal doom of the sorcerer that she is sold for a price to the demon. All seem to believe the hideous tale, and no one takes her part save Pascal and her grandmother. She kneels before her little shrine and prays to the Holy Virgin for help and succour. At the next fete day she repaired to the church of Notre Dame de bon Encontre,{7} where the inhabitants of half a dozen of the neighbouring villages had assembled, with priests and crucifixes, garlands and tapers, banners and angels. The latter, girls about to be confirmed, walked in procession and sang the Angelus at the appropriate hours. The report had spread abroad that Franconnette would entreat the Blessed Virgin to save her from the demon. The strangers were more kind to her than her immediate neighbours, and from many a pitying heart the prayer went up that a miracle might be wrought in favour of the beautiful maiden. She felt their sympathy, and it gave her confidence. The special suppliants passed up to the altar one by one--Anxious mothers, disappointed lovers, orphans and children. They kneel, they ask for blessings, they present their candles for the old priest to bless, and then they retire. Now came the turn of Franconnette. Pascal was in sight and prayed for her success. She went forward in a happy frame of mind, with her taper and a bouquet of flowers. She knelt before the priest. He took the sacred image and presented it to her; but scarcely had it touched the lips of the orphan when a terrible peal of thunder rent the heavens, and a bolt of lightning struck the spire of the church, extinguishing her taper as well as the altar lights. This was a most unlucky coincidence for the terrified girl; and, cowering like a lost soul, she crept out of the church. The people were in consternation. "It was all true, she was now sold to the devil! Put her to death, that is the only way of ending our misfortunes!" The truth is that the storm of thunder and lightning prevailed throughout the neighbourhood. It is a common thing in southern climes. The storm which broke out at Notre Dame destroyed the belfry; the church of Roquefort was demolished by a bolt of lightning, the spire of Saint Pierre was ruined. The storm was followed by a tempest of hail and rain. Agen was engulfed by the waters; her bridge was destroyed,{8} and many of the neighbouring vineyards were devastated. And all this ruin was laid at the door of poor Franconnette! The neighbours--her worst enemies--determined to burn the daughter of the Huguenot out of her cottage. The grandmother first heard the cries of the villagers: "Fire them, let them both burn together." Franconnette rushed to the door and pleaded for mercy. "Go back," cried the crowd, "you must both roast together." They set fire to the rick outside and then proceeded to fire the thatch of the cottage. "Hold, hold!" cried a stern voice, and Pascal rushed in amongst them. "Cowards! would you murder two defenceless women? Tigers that you are, would you fire and burn them in their dwelling?" Marcel too appeared; he had not yet given up the hope of winning Franconnette's love. He now joined Pascal in defending her and the old dame, and being a soldier of Montluc, he was a powerful man in the neighbourhood. The girl was again asked to choose between the two. At last, after refusing any marriage under present circumstances, she clung to Pascal. "I would have died alone," she said, "but since you will have it so, I resist no longer. It is our fate; we will die together." Pascal was willing to die with her, and turning to Marcel he said: "I have been more fortunate than you, but you are a brave man and you will forgive me. I have no friend, but will you act as a squire and see me to my grave?" After struggling with his feelings, Marcel at last said: "Since it is her wish, I will be your friend." A fortnight later, the marriage between the unhappy lovers took place. Every one foreboded disaster. The wedding procession went down the green hill towards the church of Notre Dame. There was no singing, no dancing, no merriment, as was usual on such occasions. The rustics shuddered at heart over the doom of Pascal. The soldier Marcel marched at the head of the wedding-party. At the church an old woman appeared, Pascal's mother. She flung her arms about him and adjured him to fly from his false bride, for his marriage would doom him to death. She even fell at the feet of her son and said that he should pass over her body rather than be married. Pascal turned to Marcel and said: "Love overpowers me! If I die, will you take care of my mother?" Then the gallant soldier dispelled the gloom which had overshadowed the union of the loving pair. "I can do no more," he said; "your mother has conquered me. Franconnette is good, and pure, and true. I loved the maid, Pascal, and would have shed my blood for her, but she loved you instead of me. "Know that she is not sold to the Evil One. In my despair I hired the sorcerer to frighten you with his mischievous tale, and chance did the rest. When we both demanded her, she confessed her love for you. It was more than I could bear, and I resolved that we should both die. "But your mother has disarmed me; she reminds me of my own. Live, Pascal, for your wife and your mother! You need have no more fear of me. It is better that I should die the death of a soldier than with a crime upon my conscience." Thus saying, he vanished from the crowd, who burst into cheers. The happy lovers fell into each other's arms. "And now," said Jasmin, in concluding his poem, "I must lay aside my pencil. I had colours for sorrow; I have none for such happiness as theirs!" Endnotes to Chapter IX. {1} The whole of Jasmin's answer to M. Dumon will be found in the Appendix at the end of this volume. {2}'Gascogne et Languedoc,' par Paul Joanne, p. 95 (edit. 1883). {3} The dance still exists in the neighbourhood of Agen. When there a few years ago, I was drawn by the sound of a fife and a drum to the spot where a dance of this sort was going on. It was beyond the suspension bridge over the Garonne, a little to the south of Agen. A number of men and women of the working-class were assembled on the grassy sward, and were dancing, whirling, and pirouetting to their hearts' content. Sometimes the girls bounded from the circle, were followed by their sweethearts, and kissed. It reminded one of the dance so vigorously depicted by Jasmin in Franconnette. {4} Miss Harriet Preston, of Boston, U.S., published part of a translation of Franconnette in the 'Atlantic Monthly' for February, 1876, and adds the following note: "The buscou, or busking, was a kind of bee, at which the young people assembled, bringing the thread of their late spinning, which was divided into skeins of the proper size by a broad and thin plate of steel or whalebone called a busc. The same thing, under precisely the same name, figured in the toilets of our grandmothers, and hence, probably, the Scotch use of the verb to busk, or attire." {5} Miss Louisa Stuart Costello in 'Bearn and the Pyrenees.' {6} A custom which then existed in certain parts of France. It was taken by the French emigrants to Canada, where it existed not long ago. The crown of the sacramental bread used to be reserved for the family of the seigneur or other communicants of distinction. {7} A church in the suburbs of Agen, celebrated for its legends and miracles, to which numerous pilgrimages are made in the month of May. {8} A long time ago the inhabitants of the town of Agen communicated with the other side of the Garonne by means of little boats. The first wooden bridge was commenced when Aquitaine was governed by the English, in the reign of Richard Coeur-de-lion, at the end of the twelfth century. The bridge was destroyed and repaired many times, and one of the piles on which the bridge was built is still to be seen. It is attributed to Napoleon I. that he caused the first bridge of stone to be erected, for the purpose of facilitating the passage of his troops to Spain. The work was, however, abandoned during his reign, and it was not until the Restoration that the bridge was completed. Since that time other bridges, especially the suspension bridge, have been erected, to enable the inhabitants of the towns on the Garonne to communicate freely with each other. CHAPTER X. JASMIN AT TOULOUSE. It had hitherto been the custom of Jasmin to dedicate his poems to one of his friends; but in the case of Franconnette he dedicated the poem to the city of Toulouse. His object in making the dedication was to express his gratitude for the banquet given to him in 1836 by the leading men of the city, at which the President had given the toast of "Jasmin, the adopted son of Toulouse." Toulouse was the most wealthy and prosperous city in the South of France. Among its citizens were many men of literature, art, and science. Jasmin was at first disposed to dedicate Franconnette to the city of Bordeaux, where he had been so graciously received and feted on the recitation of his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille; but he eventually decided to dedicate the new poem to the city of Toulouse, where he had already achieved a considerable reputation. Jasmin was received with every honour by the city which had adopted him. It was his intention to read the poem at Toulouse before its publication. If there was one of the towns or cities in which his language was understood--one which promised by the strength and depth of its roots to defy all the chances of the future--that city was Toulouse, the capital of the Langue d'Oc. The place in which he first recited the poem was the Great Hall of the Museum. When the present author saw it about two years ago, the ground floor was full of antique tombs, statues, and monuments of the past; while the hall above it was crowded with pictures and works of art, ancient and modern. About fifteen hundred persons assembled to listen to Jasmin in the Great Hall. "It is impossible," said the local journal,{1} "to describe the transport with which he was received." The vast gallery was filled with one of the most brilliant assemblies that had ever met in Toulouse. Jasmin occupied the centre of the platform. At his right and left hand were seated the Mayor, the members of the Municipal Council, the Military Chiefs, the members of the Academy of Jeux-Floraux,{2} and many distinguished persons in science, literature, and learning. A large space had been reserved for the accommodation of ladies, who appeared in their light summer dresses, coloured like the rainbow; and behind them stood an immense number of the citizens of Toulouse. Jasmin had no sooner begun to recite his poem than it was clear that he had full command of his audience. Impressed by his eloquence and powers of declamation, they were riveted to their seats, dazzled and moved by turns, as the crowd of beautiful thoughts passed through their minds. The audience were so much absorbed by the poet's recitation that not a whisper was heard. He evoked by the tones and tremor of his voice their sighs, their tears, their indignation. He was by turns gay, melancholy, artless, tender, arch, courteous, and declamatory. As the drama proceeded, the audience recognised the beauty of the plot and the poet's knowledge of the human heart. He touched with grace all the cords of his lyre. His poetry evidently came direct from his heart: it was as rare as it was delicious. The success of the recitation was complete, and when Jasmin resumed his seat he received the most enthusiastic applause. As the whole of the receipts were, as usual, handed over by Jasminto the local charities, the assembly decided by acclamation that a subscription should be raised to present to the poet, who had been adopted by the city, some testimony of their admiration for his talent, and for his having first recited to them and dedicated to Toulouse his fine poem of Franconnette. Jasmin handed over to the municipality the manuscript of his poem in a volume beautifully bound. The Mayor, in eloquent language, accepted the work, and acknowledged the fervent thanks of the citizens of Toulouse. As at Bordeaux, Jasmin was feted and entertained by the most distinguished people of the city. At one of the numerous banquets at which he was present, he replied to the speech of the chairman by an impromptu in honour of those who had so splendidly entertained him. But, as he had already said: "Impromptus may be good money of the heart, but they are often the worst money of the head."{3} On the day following the entertainment, Jasmin was invited to a "grand banquet" given by the coiffeurs of Toulouse, where they presented him with "a crown of immortelles and jasmines," and to them also he recited another of his impromptus.{4} Franconnette was shortly after published, and the poem was received with almost as much applause by the public as it had been by the citizens of Toulouse. Sainte-beuve, the prince of French critics, said of the work:-- "In all his compositions Jasmin has a natural, touching idea; it is a history, either of his invention, or taken from some local tradition. With his facility as an improvisatore, aided by the patois in which he writes,... when he puts his dramatis personae into action, he endeavours to depict their thoughts, all their simple yet lively conversation, and to clothe them in words the most artless, simple, and transparent, and in a language true, eloquent, and sober: never forget this latter characteristic of Jasmin's works."{5} M. de Lavergne says of Franconnette, that, of all Jasmin's work, it is the one in which he aimed at being most entirely popular, and that it is at the same time the most noble and the most chastened. He might also have added the most chivalrous. "There is something essentially knightly," says Miss Preston, "in Pascal's cast of character, and it is singular that at the supreme crisis of his fate he assumes, as if unconsciously, the very phraseology of chivalry. "Some squire (donzel) should follow me to death. It is altogether natural and becoming in the high-minded smith." M. Charles Nodier--Jasmin's old friend--was equally complimentary in his praises of Franconnette. When a copy of the poem was sent to him, with an accompanying letter, Nodier replied:-- "I have received with lively gratitude, my dear and illustrious friend, your beautiful verses, and your charming and affectionate letter. I have read them with great pleasure and profound admiration. A Although ill in bed, I have devoured Franconnette and the other poems. I observe, with a certain pride, that you have followed my advice, and that you think in that fine language which you recite so admirably, in place of translating the patois into French, which deprives it of its fullness and fairness. I thank you a thousand times for your very flattering epistle. I am too happy to expostulate with you seriously as to the gracious things you have said to me; my name will pass to posterity in the works of my friends; the glory of having been loved by you goes for a great deal." The time at length arrived for the presentation of the testimonial of Toulouse to Jasmin. It consisted of a branch of laurel in gold. The artist who fashioned it was charged to put his best work into the golden laurel, so that it might be a chef d'oeuvre worthy of the city which conferred it, and of being treasured in the museum of their adopted poet. The work was indeed admirably executed. The stem was rough, as in nature, though the leaves were beautifully polished. It had a ribbon delicately ornamented, with the words "Toulouse a Jasmin." When the work was finished and placed in its case, the Mayor desired to send it to Jasmin by a trusty messenger. He selected Mademoiselle Gasc, assisted by her father, advocate and member of the municipal council, to present the tribute to Jasmin. It ought to have been a fete day for the people of Agen, when their illustrious townsman, though a barber, was about to receive so cordial an appreciation of his poetical genius from the learned city of Toulouse. It ought also to have been a fete day for Jasmin himself. But alas! an unhappy coincidence occurred which saddened the day that ought to have been a day of triumph for the poet. His mother was dying. When Mademoiselle Gasc, accompanied by her father, the Mayor of Agen, and other friends of Jasmin, entered the shop, they were informed that he was by the bedside of his mother, who was at death's door. The physician, who was consulted as to her state, said that there might only be sufficient time for Jasmin to receive the deputation. He accordingly came out for a few moments from his mother's bed-side. M. Gasc explained the object of the visit, and read to Jasmin the gracious letter of the Mayor of Toulouse, concluding as follows:-- "I thank you, in the name of the city of Toulouse, for the fine poem which you have dedicated to us. This branch of laurel will remind you of the youthful and beautiful Muse which has inspired you with such charming verses." The Mayor of Agen here introduced Mademoiselle Gasc, who, in her turn, said:-- "And I also, sir, am most happy and proud of the mission which has been entrusted to me." Then she presented him with the casket which contained the golden laurel. Jasmin responded in the lines entitled 'Yesterday and To-day,' from which the following words may be quoted:-- "Yesterday! Thanks, Toulouse, for our old language and for my poetry. Your beautiful golden branch ennobles both. And you who offer it to me, gracious messenger--queen of song and queen of hearts--tell your city of my perfect happiness, and that I never anticipated such an honour even in my most golden dreams. "To-day! Fascinated by the laurel which Toulouse has sent me, and which fills my heart with joy, I cannot forget, my dear young lady, the sorrow which overwhelms me--the fatal illness of my mother--which makes me fear that the most joyful day of my life will also be the most sorrowful." Jasmin's alarms were justified. His prayers were of no avail. His mother died with her hand in his shortly after the deputation had departed. Her husband had preceded her to the tomb a few years before. He always had a firm presentiment that he should be carried in the arm-chair to the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die." But Jasmin did his best to save his father from that indignity. He had already broken the arm-chair, and the old tailor died peacefully in the arms of his son. Some four months after the recitation of Franconnette at Toulouse, Jasmin resumed his readings in the cause of charity. In October 1840 he visited Oleron, and was received with the usual enthusiasm; and on his return to Pau, he passed the obelisk erected to Despourrins, the Burns of the Pyrenees. At Pau he recited his Franconnette to an immense audience amidst frenzies of applause. It was alleged that the people of the Pyrenean country were prosaic and indifferent to art. But M. Dugenne, in the 'Memorial des Pyrenees,' said that it only wanted such a bewitching poet as Jasmin--with his vibrating and magical voice--to rouse them and set their minds on fire. Another writer, M. Alfred Danger, paid him a still more delicate compliment. "His poetry," he said, "is not merely the poetry of illusions; it is alive, and inspires every heart. His admirable delicacy! His profound tact in every verse! What aristocratic poet could better express in a higher degree the politeness of the heart, the truest of all politeness."{6} Jasmin did not seem to be at all elated by these eulogiums. When he had finished his recitations, he returned to Agen, sometimes on foot, sometimes in the diligence, and quietly resumed his daily work. His success as a poet never induced him to resign his more humble occupation. Although he received some returns from the sale of his poems, he felt himself more independent by relying upon the income derived from his own business. His increasing reputation never engendered in him, as is too often the case with self-taught geniuses who suddenly rise into fame, a supercilious contempt for the ordinary transactions of life. "After all," he said, "contentment is better than riches." Endnotes to Chapter X. {1} Journal de Toulouse, 4th July, 1840. {2} The Society of the Jeux-Floraux derives its origin from the ancient Troubadours. It claims to be the oldest society of the kind in Europe. It is said to have been founded in the fourteenth century by Clemence Isaure, a Toulousian lady, to commemorate the "Gay Science." A meeting of the society is held every year, when prizes are distributed to the authors of the best compositions in prose and verse. It somewhat resembles the annual meeting of the Eisteddfod, held for awarding prizes to the bards and composers of Wales. {3} The following was his impromptu to the savants of Toulouse, 4th July, 1840:-- "Oh, bon Dieu! que de gloire! Oh, bon Dieu! que d'honneurs! Messieurs, ce jour pour ma Muse est bien doux; Mais maintenant, d'etre quitte j'ai perdu l'esperance: Car je viens, plus fier que jamais, Vous payer ma reconnaissance, Et je m'endette que plus!" {4} This is the impromptu, given on the 5th July, 1840: "Toulouse m'a donne un beau bouquet d'honneur; Votre festin, amis, en est une belle fleur; Aussi, clans les plaisirs de cette longue fete, Quand je veux remercier de cela, Je poursuis mon esprit pour ne pas etre en reste Ici, l'esprit me nait et tombe de mon coeur!" {5} 'Causeries du Lundi,' iv. 240 (edit. 1852). {6} "La politesse du coeur," a French expression which can scarcely be translated into English; just as "gentleman" has no precise equivalent in French. CHAPTER XI. JASMIN'S VISIT TO PARIS. Jasmin had been so often advised to visit Paris and test his powers there, that at length he determined to proceed to the capital of France. It is true, he had been eulogized in the criticisms of Sainte-Beuve, Leonce de Lavergne, Charles Nodier, and Charles de Mazade; but he desired to make the personal acquaintance of some of these illustrious persons, as well as to see his son, who was then settled in Paris. It was therefore in some respects a visit of paternal affection as well as literary reputation. He set out for Paris in the month of May 1842. Jasmin was a boy in his heart and feelings, then as always. Indeed, he never ceased to be a boy--in his manners, his gaiety, his artlessness, and his enjoyment of new pleasures. What a succession of wonders to him was Paris--its streets, its boulevards, its Tuileries, its Louvre, its Arc de Triomphe--reminding him of the Revolution and the wars of the first Napoleon. Accompanied by his son Edouard, he spent about a week in visiting the most striking memorials of the capital. They visited together the Place de la Concorde, the Hotel de Ville, Notre Dame, the Madeleine, the Champs Elysees, and most of the other sights. At the Colonne Vendome, Jasmin raised his head, looked up, and stood erect, proud of the glories of France. He saw all these things for the first time, but they had long been associated with his recollections of the past. There are "country cousins" in Paris as well as in London. They are known by their dress, their manners, their amazement at all they see. When Jasmin stood before the Vendome Column, he extended his hand as if he were about to recite one of his poems. "Oh, my son," he exclaimed, "such glories as these are truly magnificent!" The son, who was familiar with the glories, was rather disposed to laugh. He desired, for decorum's sake, to repress his father's exclamations. He saw the people standing about to hear his father's words. "Come," said the young man, "let us go to the Madeleine, and see that famous church." "Ah, Edouard," said Jasmin, "I can see well enough that you are not a poet; not you indeed!" During his visit, Jasmin wrote regularly to his wife and friends at Agen, giving them his impressions of Paris. His letters were full of his usual simplicity, brightness, boyishness, and enthusiasm. "What wonderful things I have already seen," he said in one of his letters, "and how many more have I to see to-morrow and the following days. M. Dumon, Minister of Public Works" (Jasmin's compatriot and associate at the Academy of Agen), "has given me letters of admission to Versailles, Saint-Cloud, Meudon in fact, to all the public places that I have for so long a time been burning to see and admire." After a week's tramping about, and seeing the most attractive sights of the capital, Jasmin bethought him of his literary friends and critics. The first person he called upon was Sainte-Beuve, at the Mazarin Library, of which he was director. "He received me like a brother," said Jasmin, "and embraced me. He said the most flattering things about my Franconnette, and considered it an improvement upon L'Aveugle. 'Continue,' he said, 'my good friend' and you will take a place in the brightest poetry of our epoch.' In showing me over the shelves in the Library containing the works of the old poets, which are still read and admired, he said, 'Like them, you will never die.'" Jasmin next called upon Charles Nodier and Jules Janin. Nodier was delighted to see his old friend, and after a long conversation, Jasmin said that "he left him with tears in his eyes." Janin complimented him upon his works, especially upon his masterly use of the Gascon language. "Go on," he said, "and write your poetry in the patois which always appears to me so delicious. You possess the talent necessary for the purpose; it is so genuine and rare." The Parisian journals mentioned Jasmin's appearance in the capital; the most distinguished critics had highly approved of his works; and before long he became the hero of the day. The modest hotel in which he stayed during his visit, was crowded with visitors. Peers, ministers, deputies, journalists, members of the French Academy, came to salute the author of the 'Papillotos.' The proprietor of the hotel began to think that he was entertaining some prince in disguise--that he must have come from some foreign court to negotiate secretly some lofty questions of state. But when he was entertained at a banquet by the barbers and hair-dressers of Paris, the opinions of "mine host" underwent a sudden alteration. He informed Jasmin's son that he could scarcely believe that ministers of state would bother themselves with a country peruke-maker! The son laughed; he told the maitre d'hotel that his bill would be paid, and that was all he need to care for. Jasmin was not, however, without his detractors. Even in his own country, many who had laughed heartily and wept bitterly while listening to his voice, feared lest they might have given vent to their emotions against the legitimate rules of poetry. Some of the Parisian critics were of opinion that he was immensely overrated. They attributed the success of the Gascon poet to the liveliness of the southerners, who were excited by the merest trifles; and they suspected that Jasmin, instead of being a poet, was but a clever gasconader, differing only from the rest of his class by speaking in verse instead of prose. Now that Jasmin was in the capital, his real friends, who knew his poetical powers, desired him to put an end to these prejudices by reciting before a competent tribunal some of his most admired verses. He would have had no difficulty in obtaining a reception at the Tuileries. He had already received several kind favours from the Duke and Duchess of Orleans while visiting Agen. The Duke had presented him with a ring set in brilliants, and the Duchess had given him a gold pin in the shape of a flower, with a fine pearl surrounded by diamonds, in memory of their visit. It was this circumstance which induced him to compose his poem 'La Bago et L'Esplingo' (La Bague et L'Epingle) which he dedicated to the Duchess of Orleans. But Jasmin aimed higher than the Royal family. His principal desire was to attend the French Academy; but as the Academy did not permit strangers to address their meetings, Jasmin was under the necessity of adopting another method. The Salons were open. M. Leonce de Lavergne said to him: "You are now classed among our French poets; give us a recitation in Gascon." Jasmin explained that he could not give his reading before the members of the Academy. "That difficulty," said his friend, "can soon be got over: I will arrange for a meeting at the salon of one of our most distinguished members." It was accordingly arranged that Jasmin should give a reading at the house of M. Augustin Thierry, one of the greatest of living historians. The elite of Parisian society were present on the occasion, including Ampere, Nizard, Burnouf, Ballanche, Villemain, and many distinguished personages of literary celebrity. A word as to Jasmin's distinguished entertainer, M. Augustin Thierry. He had written the 'History of the Conquest of England by the Normans'--an original work of great value, though since overshadowed by the more minute 'History of the Norman Conquest,' by Professor Freeman. Yet Thierry's work is still of great interest, displaying gifts of the highest and rarest kind in felicitous combination. It shows the careful plodding of the antiquary, the keen vision of the man of the world, the passionate fervour of the politician, the calm dignity of the philosophic thinker, and the grandeur of the epic poet. Thierry succeeded in exhuming the dry bones of history, clothing them for us anew, and presenting almost visibly the "age and body of the times" long since passed away. Thierry had also written his 'Narratives of the Merovingian Times,' and revived almost a lost epoch in the early history of France. In writing out these and other works--the results of immense labour and research--he partly lost his eyesight. He travelled into Switzerland and the South of France in the company of M. Fauriel. He could read no more, and towards the end of the year the remains of his sight entirely disappeared. He had now to read with the eyes of others, and to dictate instead of writing. In his works he was assisted by the friendship of M. Armand Carrel, and the affection and judgment of his loving young wife. He proceeded with courage, and was able to complete the fundamental basis of the two Frankish dynasties. He was about to follow his investigations into the history of the Goths, Huns, and Vandals, and other races which had taken part in the dismemberment of the empire. "However extended these labours," he says,{1} "my complete blindness could not have prevented my going through them; I was resigned as much as a courageous man can be: I had made a friendship with darkness. But other trials came: acute sufferings and the decline of my health announced a nervous disease of the most serious kind. I was obliged to confess myself conquered, and to save, if it was still time, the last remains of my health." The last words of Thierry's Autobiographical Preface are most touching. "If, as I delight in thinking, the interest of science is counted in the number of great national interests, I have given my country all that the soldier mutilated on the field of battle gives her. Whatever may be the fate of my labours, this example I hope will not be lost. I would wish it to serve to combat the species of moral weakness which is the disease of the present generation; to bring back into the straight road of life some of those enervated souls that complain of wanting faith, that know not what to do, and seek everywhere, without finding it, an object of worship and admiration. Why say, with so much bitterness, that in this world, constituted as it is, there is no air for all lungs, no employment for all minds? Is there not opportunity for calm and serious study? and is not that a refuge, a hope, a field within the reach of all of us? With it, evil days are passed over without their weight being felt; every one can make his own destiny; every one can employ his life nobly. This is what I have done, and would do again if I had to recommence my career: I would choose that which has brought me to where I am. Blind, and suffering without hope, and almost without intermission, I may give this testimony, which from me will not appear suspicious; there is something in this world better than sensual enjoyments, better than fortune, better than health itself: it is devotion to science." Endnotes for Chapter XI. {1} Autobiographical Preface to the 'Narratives of the Merovingian Times.' CHAPTER XII. JASMIN'S RECITATIONS IN PARIS. It was a solemn and anxious moment for Jasmin when he appeared before this select party of the most distinguished literary men in Paris: he was no doubt placed at a considerable disadvantage, for his judges did not even know his language. He had frequently recited to audiences who did not know Gascon; and on such occasions he used, before commencing his recitation, to give in French a short sketch of his poem, with, an explanation of some of the more difficult Gascon words. This was all; his mimic talent did the rest. His gestures were noble and well-marked. His eyes were flashing, but they became languishing when he represented tender sentiments. Then his utterance changed entirely, often suddenly, following the expressions of grief and joy. There were now smiles, now tears in his voice. It was remarkable that Jasmin should first recite before the blind historian The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille. It may be that he thought it his finest poem, within the compass of time allotted to him, and that it might best please his audience. When he began to speak in Gascon he was heard with interest. A laugh was, indeed, raised by a portion of his youthful hearers, but Jasmin flashed his penetrating eye upon them; and there was no more laughter. When he reached the tenderest part he gave way to his emotion, and wept. Tears are as contagious as smiles; and even the academicians, who may not have wept with Rachel, wept with Jasmin. It was the echo of sorrow to sorrow; the words which blind despair had evoked from the blind Margaret. All eyes were turned to Thierry as Jasmin described the girl's blindness. The poet omitted some of the more painful lines, which might have occasioned sorrow to his kind entertainer. These lines, for instance, in Gascon: "Jour per aoutres, toutjour! et per jou, malhurouzo, Toutjour ney! toutjour ney! Que fay negre len d'el! Oh! que moun amo es tristo! Oh! que souffri, moun Diou! Couro ben doun, Batisto!" or, as translated by Longfellow: "Day for the others ever, but for me For ever night! for ever night! When he is gone, 'tis dark! my soul is sad! I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad." When Jasmin omitted this verse, Thierry, who had listened with rapt attention, interrupted him. "Poet," he said, "you have omitted a passage; read the poem as you have written it." Jasmin paused, and then added the omitted passage. "Can it be?" said the historian: "surely you, who can describe so vividly the agony of those who cannot see, must yourself have suffered blindness!" The words of Jasmin might have been spoken by Thierry himself, who in his hours of sadness often said, "I see nothing but darkness today." At the end of his recital Jasmin was much applauded. Ampere, who had followed him closely in the French translation of his poem, said: "If Jasmin had never written verse, it would be worth going a hundred leagues to listen to his prose." What charmed his auditors most was his frankness. He would even ask them to listen to what he thought his best verses. "This passage," he would say, "is very fine." Then he read it afresh, and was applauded. He liked to be cheered. "Applaud! applaud!" he said at the end of his reading, "the clapping of your hands will be heard at Agen." After the recitation an interesting conversation took place. Jasmin was asked how it was that he first began to write poetry; for every one likes to know the beginnings of self-culture. He thereupon entered into a brief history of his life; how he had been born poor; how his grandfather had died at the hospital; and how he had been brought up by charity. He described his limited education and his admission to the barber's shop; his reading of Florian; his determination to do something of a similar kind; his first efforts, his progress, and eventually his success. He said that his object was to rely upon nature and truth, and to invest the whole with imagination and sensibility--that delicate touch which vibrated through all the poems he had written. His auditors were riveted by his sparkling and brilliant conversation. This seance at M. Thierry's completed the triumph of Jasmin at Paris. The doors of the most renowned salons were thrown open to him. The most brilliant society in the capital listened to him and feted him. Madame de Remusat sent him a present of a golden pen, with the words: "I admire your beautiful poetry; I never forget you; accept this little gift as a token of my sincere admiration." Lamartine described Jasmin, perhaps with some exaggeration, as the truest and most original of modern poets. Much of Jasmin's work was no doubt the result of intuition, for "the poet is born, not made." He was not so much the poet of art as of instinct. Yet M. Charles de Mazede said of him: "Left to himself, without study, he carried art to perfection." His defect of literary education perhaps helped him, by leaving him to his own natural instincts. He himself said, with respect to the perusal of books: "I constantly read Lafontaine, Victor Hugo, Lamartine and Beranger." It is thus probable that he may have been influenced to a considerable extent by his study of the works of others. Before Jasmin left Paris he had the honour of being invited to visit the royal family at the palace of Neuilly, a favourite residence of Louis Philippe. The invitation was made through General de Rumigny, who came to see the poet at his hotel for the purpose. Jasmin had already made the acquaintance of the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, while at Agen a few years before. His visit to Neuilly was made on the 24th of May, 1842. He was graciously received by the royal family. The Duchess of Orleans took her seat beside him. She read the verse in Gascon which had been engraved on the pedestal of the statue at Nerac, erected to the memory of Henry IV. The poet was surprised as well as charmed by her condescension. "What, Madame," he exclaimed, "you speak the patois?" "El jou tabe" (and I also), said Louis Philippe, who came and joined the Princess and the poet. Never was Jasmin more pleased than when he heard the words of the King at such a moment. Jasmin was placed quite at his ease by this gracious reception. The King and the Duchess united in desiring him to recite some of his poetry. He at once complied with their request, and recited his Caritat and L'Abuglo ('The Blind Girl'). After this the party engaged in conversation. Jasmin, by no means a courtier, spoke of the past, of Henry IV., and especially of Napoleon--"L'Ampereur," as he described him. Jasmin had, in the first volume of his 'Papillotos,' written some satirical pieces on the court and ministers of Louis Philippe. His friends wished him to omit these pieces from the new edition of his works, which was about to be published; but he would not consent to do so. "I must give my works," he said, "just as they were composed; their suppression would be a negation of myself, and an act of adulation unworthy of any true-minded man." Accordingly they remained in the 'Papillotos.' Before he left the royal party, the Duchess of Orleans presented Jasmin with a golden pin, ornamented with pearls and diamonds; and the King afterwards sent him, as a souvenir of his visit to the Court, a beautiful gold watch, ornamented with diamonds. Notwithstanding the pleasure of this visit, Jasmin, as with a prophetic eye, saw the marks of sorrow upon the countenance of the King, who was already experiencing the emptiness of human glory. Scarcely had Jasmin left the palace when he wrote to his friend Madame de Virens, at Agen: "On that noble face I could see, beneath the smile, the expression of sadness; so that from to-day I can no longer say: 'Happy as a King.'" Another entertainment, quite in contrast with his visit to the King, was the banquet which Jasmin received from the barbers and hair-dressers of Paris. He there recited the verses which he had written in their honour. M. Boisjoslin{1} says that half the barbers of Paris are Iberiens. For the last three centuries, in all the legends and anecdotes, the barber is always a Gascon. The actor, the singer, often came from Provence, but much oftener from Gascony: that is the country of la parole. During Jasmin's month at Paris he had been unable to visit many of the leading literary men; but he was especially anxious to see M. Chateaubriand, the father of modern French literature. Jasmin was fortunate in finding Chateaubriand at home, at 112 Rue du Bac. He received Jasmin with cordiality. "I know you intimately already," said the author of the 'Genius of Christianity;' "my friends Ampere and Fauriel have often spoken of you. They understand you, they love and admire you. They acknowledge your great talent,' though they have long since bade their adieu to poetry; you know poets are very wayward," he added, with a sly smile. "You have a happy privilege, my dear sir: when our age turns prosy, you have but to take your lyre, in the sweet country of the south, and resuscitate the glory of the Troubadours. They tell me, that in one of your recent journeys you evoked enthusiastic applause, and entered many towns carpeted with flowers. Ah, mon Dieu, we can never do that with our prose!" "Ah, dear sir," said Jasmin, "you have achieved much more glory than I. Without mentioning the profound respect with which all France regards you, posterity and the world will glorify you." "Glory, indeed," replied Chateaubriand, with a sad smile. "What is that but a flower that fades and dies; but speak to me of your sweet south; it is beautiful. I think of it, as of Italy; indeed it sometimes seems to me better than that glorious country!" Notwithstanding his triumphant career at Paris, Jasmin often thought of Agen, and of his friends and relations at home. "Oh, my wife, my children, my guitar, my workshop, my papillotos, my pleasant Gravier, my dear good friends, with what pleasure I shall again see you." That was his frequent remark in his letters to Agen. He was not buoyed up by the praises he had received. He remained, as usual, perfectly simple in his thoughts, ways, and habits; and when the month had elapsed, he returned joyfully to his daily work at Agen. Jasmin afterwards described the recollections of his visit in his 'Voyage to Paris' (Moun Bouyatage a Paris). It was a happy piece of poetry; full of recollections of the towns and departments through which he journeyed, and finally of his arrival in Paris. Then the wonders of the capital, the crowds in the streets, the soldiers, the palaces, the statues and columns, the Tuileries where the Emperor had lived. "I pass, and repass, not a soul I know, Not one Agenais in this hurrying crowd; No one salutes or shakes me by the hand." And yet, he says, what a grand world it is! how tasteful! how fashionable! There seem to be no poor. They are all ladies and gentlemen. Each day is a Sabbath; and under the trees the children play about the fountains. So different from Agen! He then speaks of his interview with Louis Philippe and the royal family, his recital of L'Abuglo before "great ladies, great writers, lords, ministers, and great savants;" and he concludes his poem with the words: "Paris makes me proud, but Agen makes me happy." The poem is full of the impressions of his mind at the time--simple, clear, naive. It is not a connected narrative, nor a description of what he saw, but it was full of admiration of Paris, the centre of France, and, as Frenchmen think, of civilisation. It is the simple wonder of the country cousin who sees Paris for the first time--the city that had so long been associated with his recollections of the past. And perhaps he seized its more striking points more vividly than any regular denizen of the capital. Endnotes for Chapter XII. {1} 'Les Peuples de la France: Ethnographie Nationale.' (Didier.) CHAPTER XIII. JASMIN AND HIS ENGLISH CRITICS. Jasmin's visit to Paris in 1842 made his works more extensively known, both at home and abroad. His name was frequently mentioned in the Parisian journals, and Frenchmen north of the Loire began to pride themselves on their Gascon poet. His Blind Girl had been translated into English, Spanish, and Italian. The principal English literary journal, the Athenaeum, called attention to his works a few months after his appearance in Paris.{1} The editor introduced the subject in the following words: "On the banks of the Garonne, in the picturesque and ancient town of Agen, there exists at this moment a man of genius of the first order--a rustic Beranger, a Victor Hugo, a Lamartine--a poet full of fire, originality, and feeling--an actor superior to any now in France, excepting Rachel, whom he resembles both in his powers of declamation and his fortunes. He is not unknown--he is no mute inglorious Milton; for the first poets, statesmen, and men of letters in France have been to visit him. His parlour chimney-piece, behind his barber's shop, is covered with offerings to his genius from royalty and rank. His smiling, dark-eyed wife, exhibits to the curious the tokens of her husband's acknowledged merit; and gold and jewels shine in the eyes of the astonished stranger, who, having heard his name, is led to stroll carelessly into the shop, attracted by a gorgeous blue cloth hung outside, on which he may have read the words, Jasmin, Coiffeur." After mentioning the golden laurels, and the gifts awarded to him by those who acknowledged his genius, the editor proceeds to mention his poems in the Gascon dialect--his Souvenirs his Blind Girl and his Franconnette--and then refers to his personal appearance. "Jasmin is handsome in person, with eyes full of intelligence, of good features, a mobility of expression absolutely electrifying, a manly figure and an agreeable address; but his voice is harmony itself, and its changes have an effect seldom experienced on or off the stage. The melody attributed to Mrs. Jordan seems to approach it nearest. Had he been an actor instead of a poet, he would have 'won all hearts his way'... On the whole, considering the spirit, taste, pathos, and power of this poet, who writes in a patois hitherto confined to the lower class of people in a remote district--considering the effect that his verses have made among educated persons, both French and foreign, it is impossible not to look upon him as one of the remarkable characters of his age, and to award him, as the city of Clemence Isaure has done, the Golden Laurel, as the first of the revived Troubadours, destined perhaps to rescue his country from the reproach of having buried her poetry in the graves of Alain Chartier and Charles of Orleans, four centuries ago." It is probable that this article in the Athenaeum was written by Miss Louisa Stuart Costello, who had had an interview with the poet, in his house at Agen, some years before. While making her tour through Auvergne and Languedoc in 1840,{2} she states that she picked up three charming ballads, and was not aware that they had ever been printed. She wrote them down merely by ear, and afterwards translated Me cal Mouri into English (see page 57). The ballad was very popular, and was set to music. She did not then know the name of the composer, but when she ascertained that the poet was "one Jasmin of Agen," she resolved to go out of her way and call upon him, when on her journey to the Pyrenees about two years later.{3} She had already heard much about him before she arrived, as he was regarded in Gascony as "the greatest poet in modern times." She had no difficulty in finding his shop at the entrance to the Promenade du Gravier, with the lines in large gold letters, "Jasmin, Coiffeur" Miss Costello entered, and was welcomed by a smiling dark-eyed woman, who informed her that her husband was busy at that moment dressing a customer's hair, but begged that she would walk into his parlour at the back of the shop. Madame Jasmin took advantage of her husband's absence to exhibit the memorials which he had received for his gratuitous services on behalf of the public. There was the golden laurel from the city of Toulouse; the golden cup from the citizens of Auch, the gold watch with chain and seals from "Le Roi" Louis Philippe, the ring presented by the Duke of Orleans, the pearl pin from the Duchess, the fine service of linen presented by the citizens of Pau, with other offerings from persons of distinction. At last Jasmin himself appeared, having dressed his customer's hair. Miss Costello describes his manner as well-bred and lively, and his language as free and unembarrassed. He said, however, that he was ill, and too hoarse to read. He spoke in a broad Gascon accent, very rapidly and even eloquently. He told the story of his difficulties and successes; how his grandfather had been a beggar, and all his family very poor, but that now he was as rich as he desired to be. His son, he said, was placed in a good position at Nantes, and he exhibited his picture with pride. Miss Costello told him that she had seen his name mentioned in an English Review. Jasmin said the review had been sent to him by Lord Durham, who had paid him a visit; and then Miss Costello spoke of Me cal Mouri, as the first poem of his that she had seen. "Oh," said he, "that little song is not my best composition: it was merely my first." His heart was now touched. He immediately forgot his hoarseness, and proceeded to read some passages from his poems. "If I were only well," said he, "and you would give me the pleasure of your company for some time, I would kill you with weeping: I would make you die with distress for my poor Margarido, my pretty Franconnette." He then took up two copies of his Las Papillotos, handed one to Miss Costello, where the translation was given in French, and read from the other in Gascon. "He began," says the lady, "in a rich soft voice, and as we advanced we found ourselves carried away by the spell of his enthusiasm. His eyes swam in tears; he became pale and red; he trembled; he recovered himself; his face was now joyous, now exulting, gay, jocose; in fact, he was twenty actors in one; he rang the changes from Rachel to Bouffe; and he finished by relieving us of our tears, and overwhelming us with astonishment. He would have been a treasure on the stage; for he is still, though his youth is past, remarkably good-looking and striking; with black, sparkling eyes of intense expression; a fine ruddy complexion; a countenance of wondrous mobility; a good figure, and action full of fire and grace: he has handsome hands, which he uses with infinite effect; and on the whole he is the best actor of the kind I ever saw. I could now quite understand what a Troubadour or jongleur he might be; and I look upon Jasmin as a revived specimen of that extinct race." Miss Costello proceeded on her journey to Bearn and the Pyrenees, and on her return northwards she again renewed her acquaintance with Jasmin and his dark-eyed wife. "I did not expect," she says, "that I should be recognised; but the moment I entered the little shop I was hailed as an old friend. 'Ah' cried Jasmin, 'enfin la voila encore!' I could not but be flattered by this recollection, but soon found that it was less on my own account that I was thus welcomed, than because circumstances had occurred to the poet that I might perhaps explain. He produced several French newspapers, in which he pointed out to me an article headed 'Jasmin a Londres,' being a translation of certain notices of himself which had appeared in a leading English literary journal the Athenaeum.... I enjoyed his surprise, while I informed him that I knew who was the reviewer and translator; and explained the reason for the verses giving pleasure in an English dress, to the superior simplicity of the English language over modern French, for which he had a great contempt, as unfitted for lyrical composition.{4} He inquired of me respecting Burns, to whom he had been likened, and begged me to tell him something about Moore. "He had a thousand things to tell me; in particular, that he had only the day before received a letter from the Duchess of Orleans, informing him that she had ordered a medal of her late husband to be struck, the first of which should be sent to him. He also announced the agreeable news of the King having granted him a pension of a thousand francs. He smiled and wept by turns as he told all this; and declared that, much as he was elated at the possession of a sum which made him a rich man for life (though it was only equal to 42 sterling), the kindness of the Duchess gratified him still more. "He then made us sit down while he read us two new poems; both charming, and full of grace and naivete; and one very affecting, being an address to the King, alluding, to the death of his son. "As he read, his wife stood by, and fearing that we did not comprehend the language, she made a remark to that effect, to which he answered impatiently, 'Nonsense! don't you see they are in tears?' This was unanswerable; we were allowed to hear the poem to the end, and I certainly never listened to anything more feelingly and energetically delivered. "We had much conversation, for he was anxious to detain us; and in the course of it, he told me that he had been by some accused of vanity. 'Oh!' he exclaimed, 'what would you have? I am a child of nature, and cannot conceal my feelings; the only difference between me and a man of refinement is, that he knows how to conceal his vanity and exaltation at success, while I let everybody see my emotions.' "His wife drew me aside, and asked my opinion as to how much money it would cost to pay Jasmin's expenses, if he undertook a journey to England. 'However,' she added, 'I dare say he need be at no charge, for of course your Queen has read that article in his favour, and knows his merit. She probably will send for him, pay all the expenses of his journey, and give him great fetes in London!" Miss Costello, knowing the difficulty of obtaining Royal recognition of literary merit in England, unless it appears in forma pauperis, advised the barber-poet to wait till he was sent for--a very good advice, for then it would be never! She concludes her recollections with this remark: "I left the happy pair, promising to let them know the effect that the translation of Jasmin's poetry produced in the Royal mind. Indeed, their earnest simplicity was really entertaining." A contributor to the Westminster Review{5} also gave a very favourable notice of Jasmin and his poetry, which, he said, was less known in England than it deserved to be; nor was it well known in France since he wrote in a patois. Yet he had been well received by some of the most illustrious men in the capital, where unaided genius, to be successful, must be genius indeed; and there the Gascon bard had acquired for himself a fame of which any man might well be proud. The reviewer said that the Gascon patois was peculiarly expressive and heart-touching, and in the South it was held in universal honour. Jasmin, he continued, is what Burns was to the Scottish peasantry; only he received his honours in his lifetime. The comparison with Burns, however, was not appropriate. Burns had more pith, vigour, variety, and passion, than Jasmin who was more of a descriptive writer. In some respects Jasmin resembled Allan Ramsay, a barber and periwig-maker, like himself, whose Gentle Shepherd met with as great a success as Jasmin's Franconnette. Jasmin, however, was the greater poet of the two. The reviewer in the Westminster, who had seen Jasmin at Agen, goes on to speak of the honours he had received in the South and at Paris--his recitations in the little room behind his shop--his personal appearance, his hearty and simple manners--and yet his disdain of the mock modesty it would be affectation to assume. The reviewer thus concludes: "From the first prepossessing, he gains upon you every moment; and when he is fairly launched into the recital of one of his poems, his rich voice does full justice to the harmonious Gascon. The animation and feeling he displays becomes contagious. Your admiration kindles, and you become involved in his ardour. You forget the little room in which he recites; you altogether forget the barber, and rise with him into a superior world, an experience in a way you will never forget, the power exercised by a true poet when pouring forth his living thoughts in his own verses.... "Such is Jasmin--lively in imagination, warm in temperament, humorous, playful, easily made happy, easily softened, enthusiastically fond of his province, of its heroes, of its scenery, of its language, and of its manners. He is every inch a Gascon, except that he has none of that consequential self-importance, or of the love of boasting and exaggeration, which, falsely or not, is said to characterise his countrymen. "Born of the people, and following a humble trade, he is proud of both circumstances; his poems are full of allusions to his calling; and without ever uttering a word in disparagment of other classes, he everywhere sings the praises of his own. He stands by his order. It is from it he draws his poetry; it is there he finds his romance. "And this is his great charm, as it is his chief distinction. He invests virtue, however lowly, with the dignity that belongs to it. He rewards merit, however obscure, with its due honour. Whatever is true or beautiful or good, finds from him an immediate sympathy. The true is never rejected by him because it is commonplace; nor the beautiful because it is everyday; nor the good because it is not also great. He calls nothing unclean but vice and crime, He sees meanness in nothing but in the sham, the affectation, and the spangles of outward show. "But while it is in exalting lowly excellence that Jasmin takes especial delight, he is not blind, as some are, to excellence in high places. All he seeks is the sterling and the real. He recognises the sparkle of the diamond as well as that of the dewdrop. But he will not look upon paste. "He is thus pre-eminently the poet of nature; not, be it understood, of inanimate nature only, but of nature also, as it exists in our thoughts, and words, and acts of nature as it is to be found living and moving in humanity. But we cannot paint him so well as he paints himself. We well remember how, in his little shop at Agen, he described to us what he believed to be characteristic of his poetry; and we find in a letter from him to M. Leonce de Lavergne the substance of what he then said to us: "'I believe,' he said, 'that I have portrayed a part of the noble sentiments which men and women may experience here below. I believe that I have emancipated myself more than anyone has ever done from every school, and I have placed myself in more direct communication with nature. My poetry comes from my heart. I have taken my pictures from around me in the most humble conditions of men; and I have done for my native language all that I could.'" A few years later Mr. Angus B. Reach, a well-known author, and a contributor to Punch in its earlier days, was appointed a commissioner by the Morning Chronicle to visit, for industrial purposes, the districts in the South of France. His reports appeared in the Chronicle; but in 1852, Mr. Reach published a fuller account of his journeys in a volume entitled 'Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone.'{6} In passing through the South of France, Mr. Reach stopped at Agen. "One of my objects," he says, "was to pay a literary visit to a very remarkable man--Jasmin, the peasant-poet of Provence and Languedoc--the 'Last of the Troubadours,' as, with more truth than is generally to be found in ad captandum designations, he terms himself, and is termed by the wide circle of his admirers; for Jasmin's songs and rural epics are written in the patois of the people, and that patois is the still almost unaltered Langue d'Oc--the tongue of the chivalric minstrelsy of yore. "But Jasmin is a Troubadour in another sense than that of merely availing himself of the tongue of the menestrels. He publishes, certainly, conforming so far to the usages of our degenerate modern times; but his great triumphs are his popular recitations of his poems. Standing bravely up before an expectant assembly of perhaps a couple of thousand persons--the hot-blooded and quick-brained children of the South--the modern Troubadour plunges over head and ears into his lays, evoking both himself and his applauding audiences into fits of enthusiasm and excitement, which, whatever may be the excellence of the poetry, an Englishman finds it difficult to conceive or account for. "The raptures of the New Yorkers and Bostonians with Jenny Lind are weak and cold compared with the ovations which Jasmin has received. At a recitation given shortly before my visit to Auch, the ladies present actually tore the flowers and feathers out of their bonnets, wove them into extempore garlands, and flung them in showers upon the panting minstrel; while the editors of the local papers next morning assured him, in floods of flattering epigrams, that humble as he was now, future ages would acknowledge the 'divinity' of a Jasmin! "There is a feature, however, about these recitations which is still more extraordinary than the uncontrollable fits of popular enthusiasm which they produce. His last entertainment before I saw him was given in one of the Pyrenean cities, and produced 2,000 francs. Every sous of this went to the public charities; Jasmin will not accept a stiver of money so earned. With a species of perhaps overstrained, but certainly exalted, chivalric feeling, he declines to appear before an audience to exhibit for money the gifts with which nature has endowed him. "After, perhaps, a brilliant tour through the South of France, delighting vast audiences in every city, and flinging many thousands of francs into every poor-box which he passes, the poet contentedly returns to his humble occupation, and to the little shop where he earns his daily bread by his daily toil as a barber and hair-dresser. It will be generally admitted that the man capable of self-denial of so truly heroic a nature as this, is no ordinary poetaster. "One would be puzzled to find a similar instance of perfect and absolute disinterestedness in the roll of minstrels, from Homer downwards; and, to tell the truth, there does seem a spice of Quixotism mingled with and tinging the pure fervour of the enthusiast. Certain it is, that the Troubadours of yore, upon whose model Jasmin professes to found his poetry, were by no means so scrupulous. 'Largesse' was a very prominent word in their vocabulary; and it really seems difficult to assign any satisfactory reason for a man refusing to live upon the exercise of the finer gifts of his intellect, and throwing himself for his bread upon the daily performance of mere mechanical drudgery. "Jasmin, as may be imagined, is well known in Agen. I was speedily directed to his abode, near the open Place of the town, and within earshot of the rush of the Garonne; and in a few moments I found myself pausing before the lintel of the modest shop inscribed Jasmin, Perruquier, Coiffeur des jeunes Gens. A little brass basin dangled above the threshold; and looking through the glass I saw the master of the establishment shaving a fat-faced neighbour. Now I had come to see and pay my compliments to a poet, and there did appear to me to be something strangely awkward and irresistibly ludicrous in having to address, to some extent, in a literary and complimentary vein, an individual actually engaged in so excessively prosaic and unelevated a species of performance. "I retreated, uncertain what to do, and waited outside until the shop was clear. Three words explained the nature of my visit, and Jasmin received me with a species of warm courtesy, which was very peculiar and very charming; dashing at once, with the most clattering volubility and fiery speed of tongue, into a sort of rhapsodical discourse upon poetry in general, and the patois of it, spoken in Languedoc, Provence, and Gascony in particular. "Jasmin is a well-built and strongly limbed man of about fifty, with a large, massive head, and a broad pile of forehead, overhanging two piercingly bright black-eyes, and features which would be heavy, were they allowed a moment's repose from the continual play of the facial muscles, sending a never-ending series of varying expressions across the dark, swarthy visage. Two sentences of his conversation were quite sufficient to stamp his individuality. "The first thing which struck me was the utter absence of all the mock-modesty, and the pretended self-underrating, conventionally assumed by persons expecting to be complimented upon their sayings or doings. Jasmin seemed thoroughly to despise all such flimsy hypocrisy. 'God only made four Frenchmen poets,' he burst out with, 'and their names are, Corneille, Lafontaine, Beranger, and Jasmin!' "Talking with the most impassioned vehemence, and the most redundant energy of gesture, he went on to declaim against the influences of civilisation upon language and manners as being fatal to all real poetry. If the true inspiration yet existed upon earth, it burned in the hearts and brains of men far removed from cities, salons, and the clash and din of social influences. Your only true poets were the unlettered peasants, who poured forth their hearts in song, not because they wished to make poetry, but because they were joyous and true. "Colleges, academies, schools of learning, schools of literature, and all such institutions, Jasmin denounced as the curse and the bane of true poetry. They had spoiled, he said, the very French language. You could no more write poetry in French now than you could in arithmetical figures. The language had been licked and kneaded, and tricked out, and plumed, and dandified, and scented, and minced, and ruled square, and chipped--(I am trying to give an idea of the strange flood of epithets he used)--and pranked out, and polished, and muscadined--until, for all honest purposes of true high poetry, it was mere unavailable and contemptible jargon. "It might do for cheating agents de change on the Bourse--for squabbling politicians in the Chambers--for mincing dandies in the salons--for the sarcasm of Scribe-ish comedies, or the coarse drolleries of Palais Royal farces, but for poetry the French language was extinct. All modern poets who used it were faiseurs de phrase--thinking about words and not feelings. 'No, no,' my Troubadour continued, 'to write poetry, you must get the language of a rural people--a language talked among fields, and trees, and by rivers and mountains--a language never minced or disfigured by academies and dictionary-makers, and journalists; you must have a language like that which your own Burns, whom I read of in Chateaubriand, used; or like the brave, old, mellow tongue--unchanged for centuries--stuffed with the strangest, quaintest, richest, raciest idioms and odd solemn words, full of shifting meanings and associations, at once pathetic and familiar, homely and graceful--the language which I write in, and which has never yet been defiled by calculating men of science or jack-a-dandy litterateurs.'" The above sentences may be taken as a specimen of the ideas with which Jasmin seemed to be actually overflowing from every pore in his body--so rapid, vehement, and loud was his enunciation of them. Warming more and more as he went on, he began to sketch the outlines of his favourite pieces. Every now and then plunging into recitation, jumping from French into patois, and from patois into French, and sometimes spluttering them out, mixed up pell-mell together. Hardly pausing to take breath, he rushed about the shop as he discoursed, lugging out, from old chests and drawers, piles of old newspapers and reviews, pointing out a passage here in which the estimate of the writer pleased him, a passage there which showed how perfectly the critic had mistaken the scope of his poetic philosophy, and exclaiming, with the most perfect naivete, how mortifying it was for men of original and profound genius to be misconceived and misrepresented by pigmy whipper-snapper scamps of journalists. "There was one review of his works, published in a London 'Recueil,' as he called it, to which Jasmin referred with great pleasure. A portion of it had been translated, he said, in the preface to a French edition of his works; and he had most of the highly complimentary phrases by heart. The English critic, he said, wrote in the Tintinum, and he looked dubiously at me when I confessed that I had never heard of the organ in question. "'Pourtant,' he said, 'je vous le ferai voir,' and I soon perceived that Jasmin's Tintinum was no other than the Athenaeum! "In the little back drawing-room behind the shop, to which the poet speedily introduced me, his sister {it must have been his wife}, a meek, smiling woman, whose eyes never left him, following as he moved with a beautiful expression of love and pride in his glory, received me with simple cordiality. The walls were covered with testimonials, presentations, and trophies, awarded by critics and distinguished persons, literary and political, to the modern Troubadour. Not a few of these are of a nature to make any man most legitimately proud. Jasmin possesses gold and silver vases, laurel branches, snuff-boxes, medals of honour, and a whole museum of similar gifts, inscribed with such characteristic and laconiclegends as 'Au Poete, Les Jeunes filles de Toulouse reconnaissantes!' &c. "The number of garlands of immortelles, wreaths of ivy-jasmin (punning upon the name), laurel, and so forth, utterly astonished me. Jasmin preserved a perfect shrubbery of such tokens; and each symbol had, of course, its pleasant associative remembrance. One was given by the ladies of such a town; another was the gift of the prefect's wife of such a department. A handsome full-length portrait had been presented to the poet by the municipal authorities of Agen; and a letter from M. Lamartine, framed, above the chimney-piece, avowed the writer's belief that the Troubadour of the Garonne was the Homer of the modern world. M. Jasmin wears the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and has several valuable presents which were made to him by the late ex-king and different members of the Orleans family. "I have been somewhat minute in giving an account of my interview with M. Jasmin, because he is really the popular poet--the peasant poet of the South of France--the Burns of Limousin, Provence, and Languedoc. His songs are in the mouths of all who sing in the fields and by the cottage firesides. Their subjects are always rural, naive, and full of rustic pathos and rustic drollery. To use his words to me, he sings what the hearts of the people say, and he can no more help it than can the birds in the trees. Translations into French of his main poems have appeared; and compositions more full of natural and thoroughly unsophisticated pathos and humour it would be difficult to find. "Jasmin writes from a teeming brain and a beaming heart; and there is a warmth and a glow, and a strong, happy, triumphant march of song about his poems, which carry you away in the perusal as they carried away the author in the writing. I speak, of course, from the French translations, and I can well conceive that they give but a comparatively faint transcript of the pith and power of the original. The patois in which these poems are written is the common peasant language of the South-west of France. It varies in some slight degree in different districts, but not more than the broad Scotch of Forfarshire differs from that of Ayrshire. As for the dialect itself, it seems in the main to be a species of cross between old French and Spanish--holding, however, I am assured, rather to the latter tongue than to the former, and constituting a bold, copious, and vigorous speech, very rich in its colouring, full of quaint words and expressive phrases, and especially strong in all that relates to the language of the passions and affections. "I hardly know how long my interview with Jasmin might have lasted, for he seemed by no means likely to tire of talking, and his talk was too good and too curious not to be listened to with interest; but the sister {or wife} who had left us for a moment, coming back with the intelligence that there was quite a gathering of customers in the shop, I hastily took my leave, the poet squeezing my hand like a vice, and immediately thereafter dashing into all that appertains to curling-irons, scissors, razors, and lather, with just as much apparent energy and enthusiasm as he had flung into his rhapsodical discourse on poetry and language!" It is scarcely necessary to apologise for the length of this extract, because no author that we know of--not even any French author--has given so vivid a description of the man as he lived, moved, and talked, as Mr. Reach; and we believe the reader will thank us for quoting from an almost entirely forgotten book, the above graphic description of the Gascon Poet. Endnotes for Chapter XIII. {1} The Athenaeum, 5th November, 1842. 'The Curl-papers of Jasmin, the Barber of Agen.' ('Las Papillotos de Jasmin, Coiffeur.') {2} 'A Pilgrimage to Auvergne, from Picardy to Velay.' 1842. {3} 'Bearn and the Pyrenees.' 1844. {4} "There are no poets in France now", he said to Miss Costello. "There cannot be. The language does not admit of it. Where is the fire, the spirit, the expression, the tenderness, the force, of the Gascon? French is but the ladder to reach the first floor of the Gascon; how can you get up to a height except by means of a ladder?" {5} Westminster Review for October, 1849. {6} Published by David Bogue, Fleet Street. 1852. Mr. Reach was very particular about the pronunciation of his name. Being a native of Inverness, the last vowel was guttural. One day, dining with Douglas Jerrold, who insisted on addressing him as Mr. Reek or Reech, "No," said the other; "my name is neither Reek nor Reech,but Reach," "Very well," said Jerrold, "Mr. Reach will you have a Peach?" CHAPTER XIV. JASMIN'S TOURS OF PHILANTHROPY. The poet had no sooner returned from his visit to Paris than he was besieged with appeals to proceed to the relief of the poor in the South of France. Indeed, for more than thirty years he devoted a considerable part of his time to works of charity and benevolence. He visited successively cities and towns so far remote from each other, as Bayonne and Marseilles, Bagneres and Lyons. He placed his talents at the service of the public from motives of sheer benevolence, for the large collections which were made at his recitations were not of the slightest personal advantage to himself. The first place he visited on this occasion was Carcassonne, south-east of Toulouse,--a town of considerable importance, and containing a large number of poor people. M. Dugue, prefect of the Aude, wrote to Jasmin: "The crying needs of this winter have called forth a desire to help the poor; but the means are sadly wanting. Our thoughts are necessarily directed to you. Will you come and help us?" Jasmin at once complied. He was entertained by the prefect. After several successful recitations, a considerable sum of money was collected for the relief of the poor of Carcassonne. To perpetuate the recollection of Jasmin's noble work, and to popularise the genius of the poet, the Prefect of the Aude arranged that Jasmin's poems should be distributed amongst all the schools of his department, and for this purpose a portion of the surplus funds was placed at the disposal of the Council-general. Bordeaux next appealed to the poet. He had a strong love for Bordeaux. It was the place where he had first recited his Blind Girl, where he had first attracted public attention, and where he was always admired and always feted. The Orphan Institution of the city was in difficulties; its funds were quite exhausted; and who should be invited to come to their help but their old friend Jasmin? He was again enthusiastically received. The Franklin Rooms were crowded, and money flowed quickly into the orphans' treasury. Among the poems he recited was the following:-- THE SHEPHERD AND THE GASCON POET.{1} Aux Bordelais, au jour de ma grande Seance au Casino. In a far land, I know not where, Ere viol's sigh; or organ's swell, Had made the sons of song aware That music! is a potent spell: A shepherd to a city came, Play'd on his pipe, and rose to fame. He sang of fields, and at each close, Applause from ready hands arose. The simple swain was hail'd and crown'd, In mansions where the great reside, And cheering smiles and praise he found, And in his heart rose honest pride. All seem'd with joy and rapture gleaming, He trembled lest he was but dreaming. But, modest still, his soul was moved; Yet of his hamlet was his thought-- Of friends at home, and her he loved, When back his laurel branch he brought. And pleasure beaming in his eyes, Enjoyed their welcome and surprise. 'Twas thus with me when Bordeaux deigned To listen to my rustic song: Whose music praise and honour gain'd More than to rural strains belong. Delighted, charm'd, I scarcely knew Whence sprung this life so fresh and new, And to my heart I whispered low, When to my fields returned again, "Is not the Gascon Poet now As happy as the shepherd swain?" The minstrel never can forget, The spot where first success he met; But he, the shepherd who, of yore, Has charm'd so many a list'ing ear, Came back, and was beloved no more. He found all changed and cold and drear A skilful hand had touch'd the flute; His pipe and he were scorn'd--were mute. But I, once more I dared appear, And found old friends so true and dear. The mem'ry of my ancient lays Lived in their hearts, awoke their praise. Oh! they did more. I was their guest; Again was welcomed and caress't, And, twined with their melodious tongue, Again my rustic carol rung; And my old language proudly found Her words had list'ners pressing round. Thus, though condemn'd the shepherd's skill, The Gascon Poet triumph'd still. At the end of the recital a pretty little orphan girl came forward and presented Jasmin with a laurel adorned with a ruby, with these words in golden letters, "To Jasmin, with the orphans' gratitude." Jasmin finally descended from the rostrum and mixed with the audience, who pressed round him and embraced him. The result was the collection of more than a thousand francs for the orphans' fund. No matter what the institution was, or where it was situated, if it was in difficulties, and Jasmin was appealed to, provided it commended itself to his judgment, he went far and near to give his help. A priest at a remote place in Perigord had for some time endeavoured to found an agricultural colony for the benefit of the labourers, and at last wrote to Jasmin for assistance. The work had been patronised by most of the wealthy people of the province; but the colony did not prosper. There remained no one to help them but the noble barber of Agen. Without appealing any more to the rich for further aid, the priest applied to Jasmin through a mutual friend, one of the promoters of the undertaking, who explained to him the nature of the enterprise. The following was Jasmin's answer:-- "MY DEAR SIR,--I have already heard of the Pious Work of the curate of Vedey, and shall be most happy to give him my services for one or two evenings, though I regret that I must necessarily defer my visit until after the month of February next. In May I have promised to go twice to the help of the Albigenses, in aid of their hospital and the poor of Alba. I start to-morrow for Cahors, to help in a work equally benevolent, begun long ago. I am engaged for the month of August for Foix and Bagneres de Luchon, in behalf of a church and an agricultural society. All my spare time, you will observe, is occupied; and though I may be tired out by my journeys, I will endeavour to rally my forces and do all that I can for you. Tell the curate of Vedey, therefore, that as his labour has been of long continuance, my Muse will be happy to help his philanthropic work during one or two evenings at Perigueux, in the month of March next. "Yours faithfully, "J. JASMIN." In due time Jasmin fulfilled his promise, and a considerable sum was collected in aid of the agricultural colony, which, to his great joy, was eventually established and prospered. On another and a very different occasion the Society of Arts and Literature appealed to him. Their object was to establish a fund for the assistance of the poorer members of their craft--something like the Royal Literary Fund of London. The letter addressed to him was signed by Baron Taylor, Ingres, Ambroise Thomas, Auber, Meyerbeer, Adolphe Adam, Jules Simon, Zimmermann, Halevy, and others. It seemed extraordinary that men of such distinction in art and literature should appeal to a man of such humble condition, living at so remote a place as Agen. "We ask your help," they said, "for our work, which has only been begun, and is waiting for assistance. We desire to have the encouragement and powerful support of men of heart and intelligence. Do not be surprised, sir, that we address this demand to you. We have not yet appealed to the part of France in which you live; but we repose our hopes in your admirable talent, inspired as it is with Christian charity, which has already given birth to many benefactions, for the help of churches, schools, and charitable institutions, and has spread amongst your compatriots the idea of relieving the poor and necessitous." Incited by these illustrious men, Jasmin at once took the field, and by his exertions did much towards the foundation of the proposed institution. The strength of his constitution seemed to be inexhaustible. On one occasion he went as far as Marseilles. He worked, he walked, he travelled, he recited almost without end. Though he sometimes complained of being over-tired, he rallied, and went on as before. At Marseilles, for instance, he got up early in the morning, and at 8 A.M. he was present at a private council in a school. At 11 he presided at a meeting of the Society of Saint Francis Xavier, where he recited several of his poems before two thousand persons. At 2 o'clock he was present at a banquet given in his honour. In the evening he had another triumphant reception. In the morning he spoke of country, religion, and work to the humbler classes, and in the evening he spoke of love and charity to a crowded audience of distinguished ladies. He was entertained at Marseilles like a prince, rather than like a poet. He sometimes gave as many as three hundred recitations of this sort in a year; visiting nearly every town from Bordeaux to Marseilles for all kinds of charitable institutions. Of course his travels were enlivened by many adventures, and some people were unwilling to allow him to forget that he was a barber. When at Auch, a town several miles to the south of Agen, he resided with the mayor. The time for the meeting had nearly arrived; but the mayor was still busy with his toilet. The prefect of Gers was also waiting. Fearing the impatience of his guests, the mayor opened the door of his chamber to apologise, showing his face covered with lather. "Just a moment," he said; "I am just finishing my shaving." "Oh," said Jasmin, "why did you not perform your toilet sooner? But now let me help you." Jasmin at once doffed his coat, gave the finishing touch to his razor, and shaved the mayor in a twinkling, with what he called his "hand of velvet." In a few minutes after, Jasmin was receiving tumultuous applause for his splendid recitations. Thus, as time was pressing, it was a pleasure to Jasmin to make himself useful to his friend the mayor. But on another occasion he treated a rich snob in the way he deserved. Jasmin had been reciting for the benefit of the poor. At the conclusion of the meeting, the young people of the town improvised a procession of flambeaux and triumphantly escorted him to his hotel. Early next morning, while Jasmin was still asleep, he was awakened by some one knocking at his chamber door. He rose, opened it, and found himself in presence of one of the most opulent persons of the town. There are vulgar people everywhere, and this person had more wealth than courtesy. Like Jasmin, he was a man of the people; but he had neither the grace nor the politeness of the Gascon barber. He was but a parvenu, and his riches had only produced an accumulation of snobbishness. He pushed into the room, installed himself without invitation in a chair, and, without further ceremony, proceeded:-- "My dear Jasmin," he said, "I am a banker--a millionaire, as you know; I wish you to shave me with your own hand. Please set to work at once, for I am pressed for time. You can ask what you like for your trouble." "Pardon me, sir," said Jasmin, with some pride, "I only shave for pay at home." "What do you say?" "It is true, sir; I only shave for pay at home." "Come, come--you are jesting! I cannot be put off. Make your charge as much as you like--but shave me." "Again I say, sir, it is impossible." "How impossible? It seems to me that it is your trade!" "It is so; but at this moment I am not disposed to exercise it." The banker again pleaded; Jasmin was firm; and the millionaire went away unshaved! During one of his recitations at Toulouse, he was introduced to Mdlle. Roaldes, a young and beautiful lady, with whose father, a thriving stockbroker, he stayed while in that city. His house was magnificent and splendidly furnished. Many persons of influence were invited to meet Jasmin, and, while there, he was entertained with much hospitality. But, as often happens with stockbrokers, M. Roaldes star fell; he suffered many losses, and at length became poor and almost destitute. One day, while Jasmin was sharpening his razors in his shop in Agen, who should appear but Mdlle. Therese Roaldes, sad and dejected. It was the same young lady who had charmed him, not only by her intellectual converse, but by her admirable musical ability. She had sung brilliantly at the entertainment given at her father's house, and now she came to lay her case before the Agenaise barber! She told her whole story, ending with the present destitution of her father--formerly the rich stockbroker. "What can we do now?" asked Jasmin; "something must be done at once." Mdlle. Roaldes judged rightly of the generous heart of Jasmin. He was instantly ready and willing to help her. They might not restore her father's fortunes, but they might rescue him from the poverty and humiliations in which his sudden reverse of fortune had involved him. The young lady had only her voice and her harp, but Jasmin had his "Curl-papers." Mdlle. Roaldes was beautiful; could her beauty have influenced Jasmin? For beauty has a wonderful power in the world. But goodness is far better, and it was that and her filial love which principally influenced Jasmin in now offering her his assistance. The two made their first appearance at Agen. They gave their performance in the theatre, which was crowded, The name of Mdlle. Roaldes excited the greatest sympathy, for the misfortunes of her father were well known in the South. For this beautiful girl to descend from her brilliant home in Toulouse to the boards of a theatre at Agen, was a sad blow, but her courage bore her up, and she excited the sympathetic applause of the audience. In the midst of the general enthusiasm, Jasmin addressed the charming lady in some lines which he had prepared for the occasion. Holding in his hand a bouquet of flowers, he said-- "Oh well they bloom for you! Mothers and daughters, Throw flowers to her, though moistened with your tears. These flowers receive them, for They bear the incense of our hearts. Daughter of heaven, oh, sing! your name shines bright, The earth applauds, and God will bless you ever." At the conclusion of his poem, Jasmin threw his wreath of flowers to the young lady, and in an instant she was covered with flowers by the audience. Mdlle. Roaldes was deeply moved. She had faced a public audience for the first time; she had been received with applause, and from that moment she felt confidence in her performances as well as in her labour of love. The poet, with the singer and harpist, made a tour in the southern provinces, and the two muses, poetry and music, went from town to town, enlivening and enlightening the way. Every heart praised the poet for giving his services to his young and beautiful friend. They applauded also the lovely woman who made her harp-chords vibrate with her minstrel's music. The pair went to Montauban, Albi, Toulouse, and Nimes; they were welcomed at Avignon, the city of Petrarch and the Popes. Marseilles forgot for a time her harbour and her ships, and listened with rapture to the musician and the poet. At Marseilles Jasmin felt himself quite at home. In the intervals between the concerts and recitals, he made many new friends, as well as visited many old ones. His gay and genial humour, his lively sallies, his brilliant recitals, brought him friends from every circle. M. Merv, in a political effusion, welcomed the Gascon poet. He was invited to a fete of l'Athenee-Ouvier (the Workman's Athenaeum); after several speeches, Jasmin rose and responded: "I am proud," he said, "of finding myself among the members of this society, and of being welcomed by men who are doubly my brethren--by the labour of the hands and by the labour of the head. You have moved me and astonished me, and I have incurred to l'Athenee-Ouvier a poetical debt which my muse can only repay with the most tender recollections." Many pleasant letters passed between Jasmin and Mdlle. de Roaldes. The lady entertained the liveliest gratitude to the poet, who had helped her so nobly in her misfortunes. On the morning after her first successful appearance at Agen, she addressed to him a letter full of praise and thankfulness. She ended it thus: "Most amiable poet, I adore your heart, and I do homage to your genius." In a future letter she confessed that the rays of the sun were not less welcome than the rays of his genius, and that her music would have been comparatively worthless but for his poetry. Towards the end of their joint entertainment she again wrote to him: "You have become, my dear poet, my shower of gold, my heaven-sent manna, while you continue your devotion to my personal interests.... As a poet, I give you all the glory; as a friend, I owe you the affection of my filial heart, the hopes of a better time, and the consolation of my future days... Let it be remembered that this good deed on your part is due to your heart and will. May it protect you during your life, and make you blest in the life which is to come!" While at Nimes, the two poet-artisans met--Reboul the baker and Jasmin the barber. Reboul, who attended the music-recitation, went up to Jasmin and cordially embraced him, amidst the enthusiastic cheers of three thousand people. Jasmin afterwards visited Reboul at his bakery, where they had a pleasant interview with respect to the patois of Provence and Gascony. At the same time it must be observed that Reboul did not write in patois, but in classical French. Reboul had published a volume of poems which attracted the notice and praise of Lamartine and Alexandre Dumas. Perhaps the finest poem in the volume is entitled The Angel and Child. Reboul had lost his wife and child; he sorrowed greatly at their death, and this poem was the result. The idea is simple and beautiful. An angel, noticing a lovely child in its cradle, and deeming it too pure for earth, bears its spirit away to Heaven. The poem has been admirably translated by Longfellow. Dumas, in 'Pictures of Travel in the South of France,' relates an interview with the baker-poet of Nimes. "What made you a poet?" asked Dumas. "It was sorrow," replied Reboul--"the loss of a beloved wife and child. I was in great grief; I sought solitude, and, finding no one who could understand me, poured forth my grief to the Almighty." "Yes," said Dumas, "I now comprehend your feelings. It is thus that true poets become illustrious. How many men of talent only want a great misfortune to become men of genius! You have told me in a word the secret of your life; I know it now as well as you do." And yet Jasmin, the contemporary of Reboul, had written all his poetry without a sorrow, and amidst praise and joyfulness. Chateaubriand, when in the South of France, called upon Reboul. The baker met him at the door. "Are you M. Reboul?" inquired the author of 'The Martyrs.' "Which, sir--the baker or the poet?" "The poet, of course." "Then the poet cannot be seen until mid-day. At present the baker is working at the oven." Chateaubriand accordingly retired, but returned at the time appointed, and had a long and interesting conversation with Reboul. While at Montpellier Jasmin received two letters from Madame Lafarge, then in prison. The circumstances connected with her case were much discussed in the journals of the time. She had married at seventeen a M. Lafarge, and found after her marriage that he had deceived her as to his property. Ill-feeling arose between the unhappy pair, and eventually she was tried for poisoning her husband. She was condemned with extenuating circumstances, and imprisoned at Montpellier in 1839. She declared that she was innocent of the crime imputed to her, and Jasmin's faith in the virtue of womanhood led him to believe her. Her letters to Jasmin were touching. "Many pens," she said, "have celebrated your genius; let mine touch your heart! Oh, yes, sir, you are good, noble, and generous! I preserve every word of yours as a dear consolation; I guard each of your promises as a holy hope. Voltaire has saved Calas. Sing for me, sir, and I will bless your memory to the day of my death. I am innocent!... For eight long years I have suffered; and I am still suffering from the stain upon my honour. I grieve for a sight of the sun, but I still love life. Sing for me." She again wrote to Jasmin, endeavouring to excite his interest by her appreciation of his poems. "The spirit of your work," she said, "vibrates through me in every form. What a pearl of eulogy is Maltro! What a great work is L'Abuglo! In the first of these poems you reach the sublime of love without touching a single chord of passion. What purity, and at the same time what ease and tenderness! It is not only the fever of the heart; it is life itself, its religion, its virtue. This poor innuocento does not live to love; she loves to live.... Her love diffuses itself like a perfume--like the scent of a flower.... In writing Maltro your muse becomes virgin and Christian; and to dictate L'Abuglo is a crown of flowers, violets mingled with roses, like Tibullus, Anacreon, and Horace." And again: "Poet, be happy; sing in the language of your mother, of your infancy, of your loves, your sorrows. The Gascon songs, revived by you, can never be forgotten. Poet, be happy! The language which you love, France will learn to admire and read, and your brother-poets will learn to imitate you.... Spirit speaks to spirit; genius speaks to the heart. Sing, poet, sing! Envy jeers in vain; your Muse is French; better still, it is Christian, and the laurel at the end of your course has two crowns--one for the forehead of the poet and the other for the heart of the man. Grand actions bring glory; good deeds bring happiness." Although Jasmin wrote an interesting letter to Madame Lafarge, he did not venture to sing or recite for her relief from prison. She died before him, in 1852. Endnotes for Chapter XIV. {1} We adopt the translation of Miss Costello. CHAPTER XV. JASMIN'S VINEYARD--'MARTHA THE INNOCENT.' Agen, with its narrow and crooked streets, is not altogether a pleasant town, excepting, perhaps, the beautiful promenade of the Gravier, where Jasmin lived. Yet the neighbourhood of Agen is exceedingly picturesque, especially the wooded crags of the Hermitage and the pretty villas near the convent of the Carmelites. From these lofty sites a splendid view of the neighbouring country is to be seen along the windings of the Garonne, and far off, towards the south, to the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees. Down beneath the Hermitage and the crags a road winds up the valley towards Verona, once the home of the famous Scaligers.{1} Near this place Jasmin bought a little vineyard, and established his Tivoli. In this pretty spot his muse found pure air, liberty, and privacy. He called the place--like his volume of poems--his "Papillote," his "Curlpaper." Here, for nearly thirty years, he spent some of his pleasantest hours, in exercise, in reflection, and in composition. In commemoration of his occupation of the site, he composed his Ma Bigno--'My Vineyard'--one of the most simple and graceful of his poems. Jasmin dedicated Ma Bigno to Madame Louis Veill, of Paris. He told her of his purchase of Papillote, a piece of ground which he had long desired to have, and which he had now been able to buy with the money gained by the sale of his poems. He proceeds to describe the place: "In this tiny little vineyard," he says, "my only chamber is a grotto. Nine cherry trees: such is my wood! I have six rows of vines, between which I walk and meditate. The peaches are mine; the hazel nuts are mine! I have two elms, and two fountains. I am indeed rich! You may laugh, perhaps, at my happiness. But I wish you to know that I love the earth and the sky. It is a living picture, sparkling in the sunshine. Come," he said, "and pluck my peaches from the branches; put them between your lovely teeth, whiter than the snow. Press them: from the skin to the almond they melt in the mouth--it is honey!" He next describes what he sees and hears from his grotto: the beautiful flowers, the fruit glowing in the sun, the luscious peaches, the notes of the woodlark, the zug-zug of the nightingale, the superb beauty of the heavens. "They all sing love, and love is always new." He compares Paris, with its grand ladies and its grand opera, with his vineyard and his nightingales. "Paris," he says, "has fine flowers and lawns, but she is too much of the grande dame. She is unhappy, sleepy. Here, a thousand hamlets laugh by the river's side. Our skies laugh; everything is happy; everything lives. From the month of May, when our joyous summer arrives, for six months the heavens resound with music. A thousand nightingales sing all the night through.... Your grand opera is silent, while our concert is in its fullest strain." The poem ends with a confession on the part of the poet of sundry pilferings committed by himself in the same place when a boy--of apple-trees broken, hedges forced, and vine-ladders scaled, winding up with the words: "Madame, you see I turn towards the past without a blush; will you? What I have robbed I return, and return with usury. I have no door to my vineyard; only two thorns bar its threshold. When, through a hole I see the noses of marauders, instead of arming myself with a cane, I turn and go away, so that they may come back. He who robbed when he was young, may in his old age allow himself to be robbed too." A most amicable sentiment, sure to be popular amongst the rising generation of Agen. Ma Bigno is written in graceful and felicitous verse. We have endeavoured to give a translation in the appendix; but the rendering of such a work into English is extremely difficult. The soul will be found wanting; for much of the elegance of the poem consists in the choice of the words. M. de Mazade, editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes, said of Ma Bigno that it was one of Jasmin's best works, and that the style and sentiments were equally satisfactory to the poetical mind and taste. M. Rodiere, of Toulouse, in his brief memoir of Jasmin,{2} says that "it might be thought that so great a work as Franconnette would have exhausted the poet. When the aloe flowers, it rests for nearly a hundred years before it blooms again. But Jasmin had an inexhaustible well of poetry in his soul. Never in fact was he more prolific than in the two years which followed the publication of Franconnette. Poetry seemed to flow from him like a fountain, and it came in various forms. His poems have no rules and little rhythm, except those which the genius of the poet chooses to give them; but there is always the most beautiful poetry, perfectly evident by its divine light and its inspired accents." Jasmin, however, did not compose with the rapidity described by his reviewer. He could not throw off a poem at one or many sittings; though he could write an impromptu with ready facility. When he had an elaborate work in hand, such as The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, Franconnette, or Martha the Innocent, he meditated long over it, and elaborated it with conscientious care. He arranged the plan in his mind, and waited for the best words and expressions in which to elaborate his stanzas, so as most clearly to explain his true meaning. Thus Franconnette cost him two years' labour. Although he wrote of peasants in peasants' language, he took care to avoid everything gross or vulgar. Not even the most classical poet could have displayed inborn politeness--la politesse du coeur--in a higher degree. At the same time, while he expressed passion in many forms, it was always with delicacy, truth, and beauty. Notwithstanding his constant philanthropic journeys, he beguiled his time with the germs of some forthcoming poem, ready to be elaborated on his return to Agen and his vineyard. His second volume of poems was published in 1842, and in a few months it reached its third edition. About 20,000 copies of his poems had by this time been issued. The sale of these made him comparatively easy in his circumstances; and it was mainly by their profits that he was enabled to buy his little vineyard near Verona. It may also be mentioned that Jasmin received a further increase of his means from the Government of Louis Philippe. Many of his friends in the South of France were of opinion that his philanthropic labours should be publicly recognised. While Jasmin had made numerous gifts to the poor from the collections made at his recitations; while he had helped to build schools, orphanages, asylums, and even churches, it was thought that some recompense should be awarded to him by the State for his self-sacrificing labours. In 1843 the Duchess of Orleans had a golden medal struck in his honour; and M. Dumon, when presenting it to Jasmin, announced that the Minister of Instruction had inscribed his name amongst the men of letters whose works the Government was desirous of encouraging; and that consequently a pension had been awarded to him of 1,000 francs per annum. This welcome news was shortly after confirmed by the Minister of Instruction himself. "I am happy," said M. Villemain, "to bear witness to the merit of your writings, and the originality of your poetry, as well as to the loyalty of your sentiments." The minister was not, however, satisfied with conferring this favour. It was ordered that Jasmin should be made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, at the same time that Balzac, Frederick Soulie, and Alfred de Musset, were advanced to the same role of honour. The minister, in conveying the insignia to Jasmin, said: "Your actions are equal to your works; you build churches; you succour indigence; you are a powerful benefactor; and your muse is the sister of Charity." These unexpected honours made no difference in the poet's daily life. He shaved and curled hair as before. He lived in the same humble shop on the Gravier. He was not in the least puffed up. His additional income merely enabled him to defray his expenses while on his charitable journeys on behalf of his poorer neighbours. He had no desire to be rich; and he was now more than comfortable in his position of life. When the news arrived at Agen that Jasmin had been made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, his salon was crowded with sympathetic admirers. In the evening, a serenade was performed before his door on the Gravier by the Philharmonic Society of Agen. Indeed, the whole town was filled with joy at the acknowledged celebrity of their poet. A few years later Pope Pius IX. conferred upon Jasmin the honour of Chevalier of the Order of St. Gregory the Great. The insignia of the Order was handed to the poet by Monseigneur de Vezins, Bishop of Agen, in Sept. 1850. Who could have thought that the barber-poet would have been so honoured by his King, and by the Head of his Church? Jasmin's next important poem, after the production of Franconnette was Martha the Innocent.--{In Gascon, Maltro l'Innoucento; French, Marthe la Folle}. It is like The Blind Girl, a touching story of disappointment in love. Martha was an orphan living at Laffitte, on the banks of the Lot. She was betrothed to a young fellow, but the conscription forbade their union. The conscript was sent to the wars of the first Napoleon, which were then raging. The orphan sold her little cottage in the hope of buying him off, or providing him with a substitute. But it was all in vain. He was compelled to follow his regiment. She was a good and pious girl, beloved by all. She was also beautiful,--tall, fair, and handsome, with eyes of blue--"the blue of heaven," according to Jasmin: "With grace so fine, and air so sweet, She was a lady amongst peasants." The war came to an end for a time. The soldier was discharged, and returned home. Martha went out to meet him; but alas! like many other fickle men, he had met and married another. It was his wife who accompanied him homewards. Martha could not bear the terrible calamity of her blighted love. She became crazy--almost an idiot. She ran away from her home at Laffitte, and wandered about the country. Jasmin, when a boy, had often seen the crazy woman wandering about the streets of Agen with a basket on her arm, begging for bread. Even in her rags she had the remains of beauty. The children ran after her, and cried, "Martha, a soldier!" then she ran off, and concealed herself. Like other children of his age Jasmin teased her; and now, after more than thirty years, he proposed to atone for his childish folly by converting her sad story into a still sadder poem. Martha the Innocent is a charming poem, full of grace, harmony, and beauty. Jasmin often recited it, and drew tears from many eyes. In the introduction he related his own part in her history. "It all came back upon him," he said," and now he recited the story of this martyr of love."{3} After the completion of Martha, new triumphs awaited Jasmin in the South of France. In 1846 he again went to Toulouse on a labour of love. He recited his new poem in the Room of the Illustrious at the Capitol. A brilliant assembly was present. Flowers perfumed the air. The entire audience rose and applauded the poet. The ladies smiled and wept by turns. Jasmin seemed to possess an electric influence. His clear, harmonious, and flexible voice, gave emphasis by its rich sympathetic tones to the artistic elements of his story. The man who thus evoked such rapture from his audience was not arrayed in gorgeous costume. He was a little dark-eyed man of the working class, clothed in a quiet suit of black. At the close of the recitation, the assembly, ravished with his performance, threw him a wreath of flowers and laurels--more modest, though not less precious than the golden branch which they had previously conferred upon him. Jasmin thanked them most heartily for their welcome. "My Muse," he said, "with its glorious branch of gold, little dreamt of gleaning anything more from Toulouse; but Toulouse has again invited me to this day's festival, and I feel more happy than a king, because my poem is enthroned in the midst of the Capitol. Your hands have applauded me throughout, and you have concluded by throwing this crown of flowers at my feet." It was then resolved to invite Jasmin to a banquet. Forty ladies, the cream of Toulousian society, organised the proceedings, and the banquet was given at the palace of M. de Narbonne. At the end of the proceedings a young lady stepped forward, and placed upon the poet's head a crown of immortelles and violets joined together by a ribbon with golden threads, on which was inscribed in letters of gold, "Your thoughts are immortal!" Was not this enough to turn any poor poet's head? The ladies clapped their hands. What could Jasmin say? "It is enough," he said "to make angels jealous!" The dinner ended with a toast to the author of Martha, who still wore the crown upon his brow. It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm with which the poet was received all through the South. At Dax, the ladies, for want of crowns of laurels to cover him, tore the flowers and feathers from their bonnets, and threw them at his feet. In another town the ladies rose and invaded the platform where Jasmin stood; they plucked from his button-hole the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and divided it amongst them, as a precious relic of their glorious poet. He was received at Gers and Condon with equal enthusiasm. At Condon he charmed his audience with his recitations for about five hours. Frenzies of applause greeted him. He was invited to a banquet, where he received the usual praises. When the banquet was over, and Jasmin escaped, he was met in the street by crowds of people, who wished to grasp him by the hand. He recited to them in the open air his poem of charity. They compared Jasmin to O'Connell; but the barber of Agen, by the power which he exercised for the good of the people, proved himself more than equal to the greatest of agitators. Sainte-Beuve quotes with keen enjoyment{4} the bantering letter which Jasmin sent to Peyrottes, a Provencal poet, who challenged him to a poetical combat. It was while he was making one of his charitable tours through Languedoc, that Jasmin received the following letter (24 December, 1847):-- "SIR,--I dare, in my temerity, which may look like hardihood, to propose to you a challenge. Will you have the goodness to accept it? In the Middle Ages, the Troubadours did not disdain such a challenge as that which, in my audacity, I now propose to you. "I will place myself at your disposal at Montpellier on any day and at any hour that may be most convenient to you. We shall name four persons of literary standing to give us three subjects with which we are to deal for twenty-four hours. We shall be shut up together. Sentries will stand at the door. Only our provisions shall pass through. "A son of Herault, I will support the honour and the glory of my country! And as in such circumstances, a good object is indispensable, the three subjects given must be printed and sold for the benefit of the Creche of Montpellier." Peyrotte ended his letter with a postscript, in which he said that he would circulate his challenge among the most eminent persons in Montpellier. Jasmin answered this letter as follows:-- "SIR,--I did not receive your poetical challenge until the day before yesterday, on the point of my departure for home; but I must tell you that, though I have received it, I cannot accept it. "Do you really propose to my muse, which aims at free air and liberty, to shut myself up in a close room, guarded by sentinels, who could only allow provisions to enter, and there to treat of three given subjects in twenty-four hours! Three subjects in twenty-four hours! You frighten me, sir, for the peril in which you place my muse. "I must inform you, in all humility, that I often cannot compose more than two or three lines a day. My five poems, L'Aveugle, Mes Souvenirs, Franconnette, Martha the Innocent, and Les Deux Jumeaux, have cost me ten years' work, and they only contain in all but 2,400 verses!... I cannot write poetry by command. I cannot be a prisoner while I compose. Therefore I decline to enter the lists with you. "The courser who drags his chariot with difficulty, albeit he may arrive at the goal, cannot contend with the fiery locomotive of the iron railway. The art which produces verses one by one, depends upon inspiration, not upon manufacture. Therefore my muse declares itself vanquished in advance; and I authorise you to publish my refusal of your challenge." In a postscript, Jasmin added: "Now that you have made the acquaintance of my Muse, I will, in a few words, introduce you to the man. I love glory, but the success of others never troubles my sleep at night!" "When one finds," says Sainte-Beuve, "this theory of work pushed to such a degree by Jasmin, with whom the spark of inspiration seems always so prompt and natural, what a sad return we have of the poetical wealth dissipated by the poets of our day." Sainte-Beuve summed up his praise of the Gascon poet by insisting that he was invariably sober in his tone. "I have learned," said Jasmin of himself, "that in moments of heat and emotion we may be eloquent or laconic, alike in speech and action--unconscious poets, in fact; but I have also learned that it is possible for a poet to become all this voluntarily by dint of patient toil and conscientious labour!" Jasmin was not the man to rest upon his laurels. Shortly after his visit to Paris in 1842, he began to compose his Martha the Innocent, which we have already briefly described. Two years later he composed Les Deux Freres Jumeaux--a story of paternal and motherly affection. This was followed by his Ma Bigno ('My Vineyard'), and La Semaine d'un Fils ('The Week's Work of a Son'), which a foot-note tells us is historical, the event having recently occurred in the neighbourhood of Agen. A short description may be given of this affecting story. The poem is divided into three parts. In the first, a young boy and his sister, Abel and Jeanne, are described as kneeling before a cross in the moonlight, praying to the Virgin to cure their father. "Mother of God, Virgin compassionate, send down thine Angel and cure our sick father. Our mother will then be happy, and we, Blessed Virgin, will love and praise thee for ever." The Virgin hears their prayer, and the father is cured. A woman opens the door of a neighbouring house and exclaims joyously, "Poor little ones, death has departed. The poison of the fever is counteracted, and your father's life is saved. Come, little lambs, and pray to God with me." They all three kneel and pray by the side of the good father Hilaire, formerly a brave soldier, but now a mason's labourer. This ends the first part. The second begins with a description of morning. The sun shines through the glass of the casement mended with paper, yet the morning rays are bright and glorious. Little Abel glides into his father's room. He is told that he must go to the house of his preceptor to-day, for he must learn to read and write. Abel is "more pretty than strong;" he is to be an homme de lettres, as his little arms would fail him if he were to handle the rough stones of his father's trade. Father and son embraced each other. For a few days all goes well, but on the fourth, a Sunday, a command comes from the master mason that if Hilaire does not return to his work to-morrow, his place shall be given to another. This news spreads dismay and consternation among them all. Hilaire declares that he is cured, tries to rise from his bed, but falls prostrate through weakness. It will take a week yet to re-establish his health. The soul of little Abel is stirred. He dries his tears and assumes the air of a man; he feels some strength in his little arms. He goes out, and proceeds to the house of the master mason. When he returns, he is no longer sorrowful: "honey was in his mouth, and his eyes were smiling." He said, "My father, rest yourself: gain strength and courage; you have the whole week before you. Then you may labour. Some one who loves you will do your work, and you shall still keep your place." Thus ends the second part. The third begins: "Behold our little Abel, who no longer toils at the school-desk, but in the workshop. In the evenings he becomes again a petit monsieur; and, the better to deceive his father, speaks of books, papers, and writings, and with a wink replies to the inquiring look of his mother (et d'un clin d'oeil repond aux clins des yeux de sa mere). Four days pass thus. On the fifth, Friday, Hilaire, now cured, leaves his house at mid-day. But fatal Friday, God has made thee for sorrow!" The father goes to the place where the masons are at work. Though the hour for luncheon has not arrived, yet no one is seen on the platforms above; and O bon Dieu! what a crowd of people is seen at the foot of the building! Master, workmen, neighbours--all are there, in haste and tumult. A workman has fallen from the scaffold. It is poor little Abel. Hilaire pressed forward to see his beloved boy lie bleeding on the ground! Abel is dying, but before he expires, he whispers, "Master, I have not been able to finish the work, but for my poor mother's sake do not dismiss my father because there is one day short!" The boy died, and was carried home by his sorrowful parent. The place was preserved for Hilaire, and his wages were even doubled. But it was too late. One morning death closed his eyelids; and the good father went to take another place in the tomb by the side of his son. Jasmin dedicated this poem to Lamartine, who answered his dedication as follows:-- "Paris, 28th April, 1849. "My dear brother,--I am proud to read my name in the language which you have made classic; more proud still of the beautiful verses in which you embalm the recollection of our three months of struggle with the demagogues against our true republic. Poets entertain living presentiments of posterity. I accept your omen. Your poem has made us weep. You are the only epic writer of our time, the sensible and pathetic Homer of the people (proletaires). "Others sing, but you feel. I have seen your son, who has three times sheltered me with his bayonet--in March and April. He appears to me worthy of your name.--LAMARTINE." Besides the above poems, Jasmin composed Le Pretre sans Eglise (The Priest without a Church), which forms the subject of the next chapter. These poems, with other songs and impromptus, were published in 1851, forming the third volume of his Papillotos. After Jasmin had completed his masterpieces, he again devoted himself to the cause of charity. Before, he had merely walked; now he soared aloft. What he accomplished will be ascertained in the following pages. Endnotes for Chapter XV. {1} The elder Scaliger had been banished from Verona, settled near Agen, and gave the villa its name. The tomb of the Scaliger family in Verona is one of the finest mausoleums ever erected. {2} Journal de Toulouse, 4th July, 1840. {3} In the preface to the poem, which was published in 1845, the editor observes:--"This little drama begins in 1798, at Laffitte, a pretty market-town on the banks of the Lot, near Clairac, and ends in 1802. When Martha became an idiot, she ran away from the town to which she belonged, and went to Agen. When seen in the streets of that town she became an object of commiseration to many, but the children pursued her, calling out, 'Martha, a soldier!' Sometimes she disappeared for two weeks at a time, and the people would then observe, 'Martha has hidden herself; she must now be very hungry!' More than once Jasmin, in his childhood, pursued Martha with the usual cry of 'A soldier.' He little thought that at a future time he should make some compensation for his sarcasms, by writing the touching poem of Martha the Innocent; but this merely revealed the goodness of his heart and his exquisite sensibility. Martha died at Agen in 1834." {4} 'Causeries du Lundi,' iv. 241, edit. 1852. CHAPTER XVI. THE PRIEST WITHOUT A CHURCH. The Abbe Masson, priest of Vergt in Perigord, found the church in which he officiated so decayed and crumbling, that he was obliged to close it. It had long been in a ruinous condition. The walls were cracked, and pieces of plaster and even brick fell down upon the heads of the congregation; and for their sake as well as for his own, the Abbe Masson was obliged to discontinue the services. At length he resolved to pull down the ruined building, and erect another church in its place. Vergt is not a town of any considerable importance. It contains the ruins of a fortress built by the English while this part of France was in their possession. At a later period a bloody battle was fought in the neighbourhood between the Catholics and the Huguenots. Indeed, the whole of the South of France was for a long period disturbed by the civil war which raged between these sections of Christians. Though both Roman Catholics and Protestants still exist at Vergt, they now live together in peace and harmony. Vergt is the chief town of the Canton, and contains about 1800 inhabitants. It is a small but picturesque town, the buildings being half concealed by foliage and chestnut trees. Not far off, by the river Candou, the scenery reminds one of the wooded valley at Bolton Priory in Yorkshire. Though the Abbe Masson was a man of power and vigour, he found it very difficult to obtain funds from the inhabitants of the town for the purpose of rebuilding his church. There were no Ecclesiastical Commissioners to whom he could appeal, and the people of the neighbourhood were too limited in their circumstances to help him to any large extent. However, he said to himself, "Heaven helps those who help themselves;" or rather, according to the Southern proverb, Qui trabaillo, Thion li baillo--"Who is diligent, God helps." The priest began his work with much zeal. He collected what he could in Vergt and the neighbourhood, and set the builders to work. He hoped that Providence would help him in collecting the rest of the building fund. But the rebuilding of a church is a formidable affair; and perhaps the priest, not being a man of business, did not count the cost of the undertaking. He may have "counted his chickens before they were hatched." Before long the priest's funds again ran short. He had begun the rebuilding in 1840; the work went on for about a year; but in 1841 the builders had to stop their operations, as the Abbe Masson's funds were entirely exhausted. What was he to do now? He suddenly remembered the barber of Agen, who was always willing to give his friendly help. He had established Mdlle. Roaldes as a musician a few years before; he had helped to build schools, orphanages, asylums, and such like. But he had never helped to build a church. Would he now help him to rebuild the church of Vergt? The Abbe did not know Jasmin personally, but he went over to Agen, and through a relative, made his acquaintance. Thus the Abbe and the poet came together. After the priest had made an explanation of his position, and of his difficulties in obtaining money for the rebuilding of the church of Vergt, Jasmin at once complied with the request that he would come over and help him. They arranged for a circuit of visits throughout the district--the priest with his address, and Jasmin with his poems. Jasmin set out for Vergt in January 1843. He was received at the border of the Canton by a numerous and brilliant escort of cavalry, which accompanied him to the presbytery. He remained there for two days, conferring with the Abbe. Then the two set out together for Perigueux, the chief city of the province, accompanied on their departure by the members of the Municipal Council and the leading men of the town. The first meeting was held in the theatre of Perigueux, which was crowded from floor to ceiling, and many remained outside who could not obtain admission. The Mayor and Municipal Councillors were present to welcome and introduce the poet. On this occasion, Jasmin recited for the first time, "The Ruined Church" (in Gascon: La Gleyzo Descapelado) composed in one of his happiest moments. Jasmin compared himself to Amphion, the sweet singer of Greece, who by his musical powers, enabled a city to be built; and now the poet invoked the citizens of Perigueux to enable the Abbe Masson to rebuild his church. His poem was received with enthusiasm, and almost with tears of joy at the pleading of Jasmin. There was a shower of silver and gold. The priest was overjoyed at the popularity of his colleague, and also at his purse, which was filled with offerings. While at Perigueux the poet and the priest enjoyed the hospitality of M. August Dupont, to whom Jasmin, in thanks, dedicated a piece of poetry. Other entertainments followed--matinees and soirees. Jasmin recited some of his poems before the professors and students at the college, and at other places of public instruction. Then came banquets--aristocratic and popular--and, as usual, a banquet of the hair-dressers. There was quite an ovation in the city while he remained there. But other calls awaited Jasmin. He received deputations from many of the towns in the department soliciting his appearance, and the recitation of his poems. He had to portion out his time with care, and to arrange the programme of his visits. When the two pilgrims started on their journey, they were frequently interrupted by crowds of people, who would not allow Jasmin to pass without reciting some of his poetry. Jasmin and Masson travelled by the post-office car--the cheapest of all conveyances--but at Montignac they were stopped by a crowd of people, and Jasmin had to undergo the same process. Free and hearty, he was always willing to comply with their requests. That day the postman arrived at his destination three hours after his appointed time. It was in the month of February, when darkness comes on so quickly, that Jasmin informed the magistrates of Sarlat, whither he was bound, that he would be there by five o'clock. But they waited, and waited for him and the priest at the entrance to the town, attended by the clergy, the sub-prefect, the town councillors, and a crowd of people. It was a cold and dreary night. Still no Jasmin! They waited for three long hours. At last Jasmin appeared on the post-office car. "There he comes at last!" was the general cry. His arrival was greeted with enthusiastic cheers. It was now quite dark. The poet and the priest entered Sarlat in triumph, amidst the glare of torches and the joyful shouts of the multitude. Then came the priest's address, Jasmin's recitations, and the final collection of offerings. It is unnecessary to repeat the scenes, however impressive, which occurred during the journey of the poet and the priest. There was the same amount of enthusiasm at Nontron, Bergerac, and the other towns which they visited. At Nontron, M. A. de Calvimont, the sub-prefect, welcomed Jasmin with the following lines: "To Jasmin, our grand poet, The painter of humanity; For him, elect of heaven, life is a fete Ending in immortality." Jasmin replied to this with some impromptu lines, 'To Poetry,' dedicated to the sub-prefect. At Bergerac he wrote his Adieu to Perigord, in which he conveyed his thanks to the inhabitants of the department for the kindness with which they had received him and his companion. This, their first journey through Perigord, was brought to a close at the end of February, 1843. The result of this brilliant journey was very successful. The purse of the Abbe was now sufficiently well filled to enable him to proceed with the rebuilding of the church of Vergt; and the work was so well advanced, that by the 23rd of the following month of July it was ready for consecration. A solemn ceremony then took place. Six bishops, including an archbishop, and three hundred priests were present, with more than fifteen thousand people of all ranks and conditions of life. Never had such a ceremony been seen before--at least in so small a town. The Cardinal Gousset, Archbishop of Rheims, after consecrating the church, turned to Jasmin, and said: "Poet, we cannot avoid the recognition of your self-sacrificing labours in the rebuilding of this church; and we shall be happy if you will consent to say a few words before we part." "Monseigneur," replied Jasmin, "can you believe that my muse has laboured for fifteen days and fifteen nights, that I should interrupt this day of the fete? Vergt keeps fete to-day for religion, but not for poetry, though it welcomes and loves it. The church has six pontiffs; the poet is only a subdeacon; but if I must sing my hymn officially, it must be elsewhere." The Archbishop--a man of intelligence who understood the feelings of poets--promised, at the collation which followed the consecration, to give Jasmin the opportunity of reciting the verses which he had composed for the occasion. The poem was entitled 'A Priest without a Church' (in Gascon: Lou Preste sans Glegzo) dedicated to M. Masson, the Cure of Vergt. In his verses the poet described the influence of a noble church upon the imagination as well as the religion of the people. But he said nothing of his own labours in collecting the necessary funds for the rebuilding of the church. The recitation of the poem was received with enthusiasm. Monseigneur Bertaud, who preached in the afternoon on the "Infinity of God," touchingly referred to the poems of Jasmin, and developed the subject so happily referred to by the poet. "Such examples as his," he said, "such delicate and generous sentiments mingled together, elevate poetry and show its noble origin, so that we cannot listen to him without the gravest emotion."{1} It was a great day for Vergt, and also a great day for the poet. The consecration of the church amidst so large an assemblage of clergy and people occasioned great excitement in the South. It was noised abroad in the public journals, and even in the foreign press. Jasmin's fame became greater than ever; and his barber's shop at Agen became, as it were, a shrine, where pilgrims, passing through the district, stopped to visit him and praise his almost divine efforts to help the cause of religion and civilisation. The local enthusiasm was not, however, without its drawbacks. The success of the curate of Vergt occasioned a good deal of jealousy. Why should he be patronised by Jasmin, and have his purse filled by his recitations, when there were so many other churches to be built and repaired, so many hospitals and schools to found and maintain, so many orphanages to assist, so many poor to relieve, so many good works to be done? Why should not Jasmin, who could coin money with words which cost him nothing, come to the help of the needy and afflicted in the various districts throughout the South? Thus Jasmin was constantly assailed by deputations. He must leave his razors and his curling-tongs, and go here, there, and everywhere to raise money by his recitations. The members of the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul were, as usual, full of many charitable designs. There had been a fire, a flood, an epidemic, a severe winter, a failure of crops, which had thrown hundreds of families into poverty and misery; and Jasmin must come immediately to their succour. "Come, Jasmin! Come quick, quick!" He was always willing to give his assistance; but it was a terrible strain upon his mental as well as his physical powers. In all seasons, at all hours, in cold, in heat, in wind, in rain, he hastened to give his recitations--sometimes of more than two hours' duration, and often twice or thrice in the same day. He hastened, for fear lest the poor should receive their food and firing too late. What a picture! Had Jasmin lived in the time of St. Vincent de Paul, the saint would have embraced him a thousand times, and rejoiced to see himself in one way surpassed; for in pleading for the poor, he also helped the rich by celebrating the great deeds of their ancestors, as he did at Beziers, Riquet, Albi, Lafeyrouse, and other places. The spectacle which he presented was so extraordinary, that all France was struck with admiration at the qualities of this noble barber of Agen. On one occasion Jasmin was requested by a curate to come to his help and reconcile him with his parishioners. Jasmin succeeded in performing the miracle. It happened that in 1846 the curate of Saint-Leger, near Penne, in the Tarn, had caused a ball-room to be closed. This gave great offence to the young people, who desired the ball-room to be opened, that they might have their fill of dancing. They left his church, and declared that they would have nothing further to do with him. To reconcile the malcontents, the curate promised to let them hear Jasmin. accordingly, one Sunday afternoon the inhabitants of four parishes assembled in a beautiful wood to listen to Jasmin. He recited his Charity and some other of his serious poems. When he had finished, the young people of Saint-Leger embraced first the poet, and then the curate. The reconciliation was complete. To return to the church at Vergt. Jasmin was a poet, not an architect. The Abbe Masson knew nothing about stone or mortar. He was merely anxious to have his church rebuilt and consecrated as soon as possible. That had been done in 1843. But in the course of a few years it was found that the church had been very badly built. The lime was bad, and the carpentry was bad. The consequence was, that the main walls of the church bulged out, and the shoddy building had to be supported by outside abutments. In course of time it became clear that the work, for the most part, had to be done over again. In 1847 the Abbe again appealed to Jasmin. This new task was more difficult than the first, for it was necessary to appeal to a larger circle of contributors; not confining themselves to Perigord only, but taking a wider range throughout the South of France. The priest made the necessary arrangements for the joint tour. They would first take the northern districts--Angouleme, Limoges, Tulle, and Brives--and then proceed towards the south. The pair started at the beginning of May, and began their usual recitations and addresses, such as had been given during the first journey in Perigord. They were received with the usual enthusiasm. Prefects, bishops, and municipal bodies, vied with each other in receiving and entertaining them. At Angouleme, the queen of southern cities, Jasmin was presented with a crown of immortelles and a snuff-box, on which was engraved: "Esteem--Love--Admiration! To Jasmin, the most sublime of poets! From the youth of Angouleme, who have had the happiness of seeing and hearing him!" The poet and priest travelled by night as well as by day in order to economise time. After their tour in the northern towns and cities, they returned to Vergt for rest. They entered the town under a triumphal arch, and were escorted by a numerous cavalcade. Before they retired to the priest's house, the leading men of the commune, in the name of the citizens, complimented Jasmin for his cordial help towards the rebuilding of the church. After two days of needful rest Jasmin set out for Bordeaux, the city whose inhabitants had first encouraged him by their applause, and for which he continued to entertain a cordial feeling to the last days of his life. His mission on this occasion was to assist in the inauguration of a creche, founded and supported by the charitable contributions of the friends of poor children. It is not necessary to mention the enthusiasm with which he was received. The further progress of the poet and the priest, in search of contributions for rebuilding the church, was rudely interrupted by the Revolution which broke out at Paris in 1848. His Majesty Louis Philippe abdicated the throne of France on the 24th of February, rather than come into armed collision with his subjects; and, two days after, the Republic was officially proclaimed at the Hotel de Ville. Louis Philippe and his family took refuge in England--the usual retreat of persecuted Frenchmen; and nine months later, Louis Napoleon Buonaparte, who had also been a refugee in England, returned to France, and on the 20th of December was proclaimed President of the French Republic. Jasmin and Masson accordingly suspended their tour. No one would listen to poetical recitations in the midst of political revolutions. Freedom and tranquillity were necessary for the contemplation of ideas very different from local and national squabbles. The poet and priest accordingly bade adieu to each other; and it was not until two years later that they were able to recommence their united journeys through the South of France. The proclamation of the Republic, and the forth coming elections, brought many new men to the front. Even poets made their appearance. Lamartine, who had been a deputy, was a leader in the Revolution, and for a time was minister for foreign affairs. Victor Hugo, a still greater poet, took a special interest in the politics of the time, though he was fined and imprisoned for condemning capital punishment. Even Reboul, the poet-baker of Nimes, deserted his muse and his kneading trough to solicit the suffrages of his fellow-citizens. Jasmin was wiser. He was more popular in his neighbourhood than Reboul, though he cared little about politics. He would neither be a deputy, nor a municipal councillor, nor an agent for elections. He preferred to influence his country by spreading the seeds of domestic and social virtues; and he was satisfied with his position in Agen as poet and hair-dresser. Nevertheless a deputation of his townsmen waited upon Jasmin to request him to allow his name to appear as a candidate for their suffrages. The delegates did not find him at his shop. He was at his vineyard; and there the deputation found him tranquilly seated under a cherry-tree shelling peas! He listened to them with his usual courtesy, and when one of the committee pressed him for an answer, and wished to know if he was not a good Republican, he said, "Really, I care nothing for the Republic. I am one of those who would have saved the constitutional monarchy by enabling it to carry out further reforms.... But," he continued, "look to the past; was it not a loss to destroy the constitutional monarchy? But now we must march forward, that we may all be united again under the same flag. The welfare of France should reign in all our thoughts and evoke our most ardent sympathy. Choose among our citizens a strong and wise man... If the Republic is to live in France, it must be great, strong, and good for all classes of the people. Maintaining the predominance of the law will be its security; and in preserving law it will strengthen our liberties.'" In conclusion, Jasmin cordially thanked his fellow-citizens for the honour they proposed to confer upon him, although he could not accept it. The affairs of the State, he said, were in a very confused condition, and he could not pretend to unravel them. He then took leave of the deputation, and quietly proceeded to complete his task--the shelling of his peas! Endnotes for Chapter XVI. {1} The whole of the interview between the Archbishop of Rheims and Jasmin is given by Sainte-Beuve in 'Causeries du Lundi,' iv. 250. CHAPTER XVII. THE CHURCH OF VERGT AGAIN--FRENCH ACADEMY--EMPEROR AND EMPRESS. When the political turmoils in France had for a time subsided, Jasmin and the Abbe Masson recommenced their journeys in the South for the collection of funds for the church at Vergt. They had already made two pilgrimages--the first through Perigord, the second to Angouleme, Limoges, Tulle, and Brives. The third was begun early in 1850, and included the department of the Landes, the higher and lower Pyrenees, and other districts in the South of France. At Bagneres de Bigorre and at Bagneres de Luchon the receipts were divided between the church at Vergt and that at Luchon. The public hospitals and the benevolent societies frequently shared in the receipts. There seemed to be no limits to the poet's zeal in labouring for those who were in want of funds. Independent of his recitations for the benefit of the church at Vergt, he often turned aside to one place or another where the poor were in the greatest need of assistance. On one occasion he went to Arcachon. He started early in the morning by the steamer from Agen to Bordeaux, intending to proceed by railway (a five hours' journey) from Bordeaux to Arcachon. But the steamers on the Garonne were then very irregular, and Jasmin did not reach Bordeaux until six hours later than the appointed time. In the meanwhile a large assembly had met in the largest room in Arcachon. They waited and waited; but no Jasmin! The Abbe Masson became embarrassed; but at length he gave his address, and the receipts were 800 francs. The meeting dispersed very much disappointed, because no Jasmin had appeared, and they missed his recitations. At midnight the cure returned to Bordeaux and there he found Jasmin, just arrived from Agen by the boat, which had been six hours late. He was in great dismay; but he afterwards made up for the disappointment by reciting to the people of Arcachon. The same thing happened at Biarritz. A large assembly had met, and everything was ready for Jasmin. But there was no Jasmin! The omnibus from Bayonne did not bring him. It turned out, that at the moment of setting out he was seized with a sudden loss of voice. As in the case of Arcachon, the cure had to do without him. The result of his address was a collection of 700 francs. The Abbe Masson was a liberal-minded man. When Jasmin urged him to help others more needy than himself, he was always ready to comply with his request. When at Narbonne, in the department of Aude, a poor troupe of comedians found themselves in difficulties. It was winter-time, and the weather was very cold. The public could not bear their canvas-covered shed, and deserted the entertainment. Meanwhile the artistes were famished. Knowing the generosity of Jasmin, they asked him to recite at one of their representations. He complied with their request; the place was crowded; and Jasmin's recitations were received with the usual enthusiasm. It had been arranged that half the proceeds should go to the church at Vergt, and the other half to the comedians. But when the entire troupe presented themselves to the Abbe and offered him the full half, he said: "No! no! keep it all. You want it more than I do. Besides, I can always fall back upon my dear poet!" A fourth pilgrimage of the priest and poet was afterwards made to the towns of Rodez, Villefranche-d'aveyron, Cahors, Figeac, Gourdon, and Sarlat; and the proceeds of these excursions, added to a subvention of 5,000 francs from the Government, enabled the church of Vergt to be completed. In 1852 the steeple was built, and appropriately named "Jasmin's Bell-tower" (Clocher Jasmin). But it was still without bells, for which a subsequent pilgrimage was made by Jasmin and Masson. To return to the honours paid to Jasmin for his works of benevolence and charity. What was worth more to him than the numerous golden laurels which had been bestowed upon him, was his recognition by the highest and noblest of institutions, the Academy of France. Although one of the objects of its members was to preserve the French language in its highest purity they were found ready to crown a poet who wrote his poems in the patois of the South. There were, however, several adverse criticisms on the proposed decision of the Academy; though poetry may be written in every tongue, and is quite independent of the language or patois in which it is conveyed. Indeed; several members of the Academy--such as MM. Thiers, De Remusat, Viennet, and Flourens--came from the meridional districts of France, and thoroughly understood the language of Jasmin. They saw in him two men--the poet, and the benefactor of humanity. This consideration completely overruled the criticisms of the minority. Jasmin had once before appeared at M. Thierry's before the best men of the Academy; and now the whole of the Academy, notwithstanding his patois, approached and honoured the man of good deeds. Jasmin owed to M. Villemain one of the most brilliant panegyrics which he had ever received. The Academy desired to award a special prize in accordance with the testamentary bequest of M. de Montyon{1}--his last debt to art and morality; a talent that employs itself in doing good under a form the most brilliant and popular. This talent, he continued, is that of the true poet; and Jasmin, during his pure and modest life, has employed his art for the benefit of morality with a noble, helpful influence, while nothing detracted from the dignity of his name. Like the Scottish poet Burns, Jasmin had by his dialect and his poetical talents enriched the literature of his country. Jasmin, the hair-dresser of Agen, the poet of the South, who drew crowds to hear the sound of his voice--who even embellished the festivals of the rich, but who still more assisted in the pleasures of the poor--who spent his time in endowing charitable establishments--who helped to build churches, schools, and orphanages--Jasmin, the glory of his Commune as well as of the South of France, deserved to be adopted by all France and publicly acknowledged by the Academy. Tacitus has said that renown is not always deserved, it chooses its due time--Non semper errat fama, aliquando eligit ("Fame is not always mistaken; she sometimes chooses the right"). We have proof of it to-day. The enthusiastic approbation of the great provinces of France for a popular poet cannot be a surprise. They single out the last, and I may add, the greatest poet of the Troubadours! M. Villemain proceeded to comment upon the poetical works of Jasmin--especially his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, his Franconnette, and the noble works he had done for the poor and the suffering; his self-sacrificing labours for the building of schools, orphanages, and churches. "Everywhere," he said, "his elevated and generous soul has laboured for the benefit of the world about him; and now he would, by the aid of the Academy, embellish his coronet with a privileged donation to the poet and philanthropist." He concluded by saying that the especial prize for literary morality and virtuous actions would be awarded to him, and that a gold medal would be struck in his honour with the inscription: "Au Jasmin, Poete moral et populaire!" M. Ancelo communicated to Jasmin the decision of the Academy. "I have great pleasure," he said, "in transmitting to you the genuine sympathy, the sincere admiration, and the unanimous esteem, which your name and your works have evoked at this meeting of the Academy. The legitimate applause which you everywhere receive in your beautiful country finds its echo on this side of the Loire; and if the spontaneous adoption of you by the French Academy adds nothing to your glory, it will at least serve to enhance our own." The prize unanimously awarded to Jasmin on the 19th of August, 1852, was 3000 francs, which was made up to 5000 by the number of copies of the "Papillotos" purchased by the Academy for distribution amongst the members. Jasmin devoted part of the money to repairing his little house on the Gravier: and the rest was ready for his future charitable missions. On receiving the intimation of the prizes awarded to him, he made another journey to Paris to pay his respects to his devoted friends of the Academy. He was received with welcome by the most eminent persons in the metropolis. He was feted as usual. At the salon of the Marquis de Barthelemy he met the Duc de Levis, the Duc des Cars, MM. Berryer, de Salvandy, de Vatismenil, Hyde de Neuville, and other distinguished noblemen and gentlemen. Monsigneur Sibour, Archbishop of Paris, was desirous of seeing and hearing this remarkable poet of the South. The Archbishop invited him to his palace for the purpose of hearing a recitation of his poems; and there he met the Pope's Nuncio, several bishops, and the principal members of the Parisian clergy. After the recitation, the Archbishop presented Jasmin with a golden branch with this device: "To Jasmin! the greatest of the Troubadours, past, present, or to come." The chief authors of Paris, the journalists, and the artists, had a special meeting in honour of Jasmin. A banquet was organised by the journalists of the Deux Mondes, at the instance of Meissonier, Lireux, Lalandelle, C. Reynaud, L. Pichat, and others. M. Jules Janin presided, and complimented Jasmin in the name of the Parisian press. The people of Agen, resident in Paris, also gave him a banquet, at which Jasmin recited a poem composed for the occasion. One of his evenings was spent at the house of Madame la Marquise de Barthelemy. An interesting account of the soiree is given by a correspondent of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, who was present on the occasion.{2} The salons of Madame la Marquise were filled to overflowing. Many of the old nobility of France were present. "It was a St. Germain's night," as she herself expressed it. High-sounding names were there--much intellect and beauty; all were assembled to do honour to the coiffeur from the banks of the Garonne. France honours intellect, no matter to what class of society it belongs: it is an affectionate kind of social democracy. Indeed, among many virtues in French society, none is so delightful, none so cheering, none so mutually improving, and none more Christian, than the kindly intercourse, almost the equality, of all ranks of society, and the comparatively small importance attached to wealth or condition, wherever there is intellect and power. At half-past nine. Jasmin made his appearance--a short, stout, dark-haired man, with large bright eyes, and a mobile animated face, his button-hole decorated with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour. He made his way through the richly attired ladies sparkling with jewels, to a small table at the upper end of the salon, whereon were books, his own "Curl-papers," two candles, a carafe of fresh water, and a vase of flowers. The ladies arranged themselves in a series of brilliant semicircles before him. The men blocked up the doorway, peering over each other's shoulders. Jasmin waved his hand like the leader of an orchestra, and a general silence sealed all the fresh noisy lips. One haughty little brunette, not long emancipated from her convent, giggled audibly; but Jasmin's eye transfixed her, and the poor child sat thereafter rebuked and dumb. The hero of the evening again waved his hands, tossed back his hair, struck an attitude, and began his poem. The first he recited was "The Priest without a Church" (Le Preste sans gleyzo). He pleaded for the church as if it were about to be built. He clasped his hands, looked up to heaven, and tears were in his eyes. Some sought for the silver and gold in their purses; but no collection was made, as the church had already been built, and was free of debt. After an interval, he recited La Semaine d'un Fils; and he recited it very beautifully. There were some men who wept; and many women who exclaimed, "Charmant! Tout-a-fait charmant!" but who did not weep. Jasmin next recited Ma Bigno, which has been already described. The contributor to Chambers's Journal proceeds: "It was all very amusing to a proud, stiff, reserved Britisher like myself, to see how grey-headed men with stars and ribbons could cry at Jasmin's reading; and how Jasmin, himself a man, could sob and wipe his eyes, and weep so violently, and display such excessive emotion. This surpassed my understanding--probably clouded by the chill atmosphere of the fogs, in which every Frenchman believes we live.... After the recitations had concluded, Jasmin's social ovation began. Ladies surrounded him, and men admired him. A ring was presented, and a pretty speech spoken by a pretty mouth, accompanied the presentation; and the man of the people was flattered out of all proportion by the brave, haughty old noblesse. "To do Jasmin justice, although naturally enough spoiled by the absurd amount of adulation he has met with, he has not been made cold-hearted or worldly. He is vain, but true and loyal to his class. He does not seek to disguise or belie his profession. In fact, he always dwells upon his past more or less, and never misses an opportunity of reminding his audience that he is but a plebeian, after all. "He wears a white apron, and shaves and frizzes hair to this day, when at Agen; and though a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, member of Academies and Institutes without number, feted, praised, flattered beyond anything we can imagine in England, crowned by the king and the then heir to the throne with gilt and silver crowns, decked with flowers and oak-leaves, and all conceivable species of coronets, he does not ape the gentleman, but clips, curls, and chatters as simply as heretofore, and as professionally. There is no little merit in this steady attachment to his native place, and no little good sense in this adherence to his old profession... It is far manlier and nobler than that weak form of vanity shown in a slavish imitation of the great, and a cowardly shame of one's native condition. "Without going so far as his eulogistic admirers in the press, yet we honour in him a true poet, and a true man, brave, affectionate, mobile, loving, whose very faults are all amiable, and whose vanity takes the form of nature. And if we of the cold North can scarcely comprehend the childish passionateness and emotional unreserve of the more sensitive South, at least we can profoundly respect the good common to us all the good which lies underneath that many-coloured robe of manners which changes with every hamlet; the good which speaks from heart to heart, and quickens the pulses of the blood; the good which binds us all as brothers, and makes but one family of universal man; and this good we lovingly recognise in Jasmin; and while rallying him for his foibles, respectfully love him for his virtues, and tender him a hand of sympathy and admiration as a fine; poet, a good citizen, and a true-hearted man." Before leaving Paris it was necessary for Jasmin to acknowledge his gratitude to the French Academy. The members had done him much honour by the gold medal and the handsome donation they had awarded him. On the 24th of August, 1852, he addressed the Forty of the Academy in a poem which he entitled 'Langue Francaise, Langue Gasconne,' or, as he styled it in Gascon, 'Lengo Gascouno, Lengo Francezo.' In this poem, which was decorated with the most fragrant flowers of poetry with which he could clothe his words, Jasmin endeavoured to disclose the characteristics of the two languages. At the beginning, he said: "O my birth-place, what a concert delights my ear! Nightingales, sing aloud; bees, hum together; Garonne, make music on your pure and laughing stream; the elms of Gravier, tower above me; not for glory, but for gladness."{3} After the recitation of the poem, M. Laurentie said that it abounded in patriotic sentiments and fine appreciation, to say nothing of the charming style of the falling strophes, at intervals, in their sonorous and lyrical refrain. M. Villemain added his acclamation. "In truth," said he, "once more our Academy is indebted to Jasmin!" The poet, though delighted by these ovations, declared that it was he who was indebted to the members of the Academy, not they to him. M. de Salvandy reassured him: "Do not trouble yourself, Jasmin; you have accomplished everything we could have wished; you have given us ten for one, and still we are your debtors." After Jasmin had paid his compliments to the French Academy, he was about to set out for Agen--being fatigued and almost broken down by his numerous entertainments in Paris--when he was invited by General Fleury to visit the President of the French Republic at Saint-Cloud. This interview did not please him so much as the gracious reception which he had received in the same palace some years before from Louis Philippe and the Duchess of Orleans; yet Jasmin was a man who respected the law, and as France had elected Louis Napoleon as President, he was not unwilling to render him his homage. Jasmin had already seen the President when passing through Agen a few years before, on his visit to Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Toulon; but they had no personal interview. M. Edmond Texier, however, visited Jasmin, and asked him whether he had not composed a hymn for the fete of the day. No! he had composed nothing; yet he had voted for Louis Napoleon, believing him to be the saviour of France. "But," said M. Texier, "if the Prince appeals to you, you will eulogise him in a poem?" "Certainly," replied Jasmin, "and this is what I would say: 'Sir, in the name of our country, restore to us our noble friend M. Baze. He was your adversary, but he is now conquered, disarmed, and most unhappy. Restore him to his mother, now eighty years old; to his weeping family; and to all his household, who deplore his absence; restore him also to our townsmen, who love and honour him, and bear no hostility towards the President, His recall will be an admirable political act, and will give our country more happiness that the highest act of benevolence.'" This conversation between Jasmin and Texier immediately appeared in the columns of the Siecle, accompanied with a stirring sympathetic article by the editor. It may be mentioned that M. Baze was one of Jasmin's best friends. He had introduced the poet to the public, and written the charming preface to the first volume of the 'Papillotos,' issued in 1835. M. Baze was an advocate of the Royal Court of Agen--a man of fine character, and a true patriot. He was Mayor of Agen, commander of the National Guard, and afterwards member of the Legislative Assembly and the Senate. But he was opposed to Prince Louis Napoleon, and was one of the authors of the motion entitled de Questeurs. He was arrested on the night of the 2nd December, 1851, imprisoned for a month in the Mazas, and then expelled from the territory of France. During his exile he practised at Liege as an advocate. Jasmin again went to Paris in May 1853, and this time on his mission of mercy. The editor of the Siecle announced his arrival. He was again feted, and the salons rejoiced in his recitations. After a few days he was invited to Saint-Cloud. Louis Napoleon was now Emperor of France, and the Empress Eugenie sat by his side. The appearance of Jasmin was welcomed, and he was soon made thoroughly at ease by the Emperor's interesting conversation. A company had been assembled, and Jasmin was requested to recite some of his poems. As usual, he evoked smiles and tears by turns. When the audience were in one of their fits of weeping, and Jasmin had finished his declamation, the Emperor exclaimed, "Why; poet, this is a genuine display of handkerchiefs"--(Mais, poete, c'est un veritable scene de mouchoirs). Jasmin seized this moment for revealing to the Emperor the desire which he had long entertained, for recalling from exile his dear friend M. Baze. He had prepared a charming piece of verse addressed to the Empress Eugenie, requesting his return to France through the grand door of honour. "Restore him to us," he said; "Agen cries aloud. The young Empress, as good as beautiful, beloved of Heaven, will pray with her sympathetic soul, and save two children and an unhappy mother--she, who will be soon blessed as a happy mother herself."{4} Jasmin concluded his poem with the following words in Gascon: Esperi! Lou angels nou se troumpon jamay.' The result of this appeal to the Empress was that Jasmin's prayer was immediately granted by the Emperor. M. Baze returned to France at once, without any conditions whatever. The parents of the quondam exile wrote to Jasmin thanking him most cordially for his exertions in their favour. Four days after the soiree at Saint-Cloud, the Prefect of the Indre-et-Loire, head of the Baze family, wrote to Jasmin, saying: "Your muse is accustomed to triumphs; but this one ought to rejoice your heart, and should yield you more honour than all the others. For my part, I feel myself under the necessity of thanking you cordially for your beautiful and noble action; and in saying so, I interpret the sentiments of the whole family." Madame Baze addressed the Emperor in a letter of grateful thanks, which she wrote at the dictation of Jasmin. The Siecle also gave an account of Jasmin's interview with the Emperor and Empress at Saint-Cloud, and the whole proceeding redounded to the honour of the Gascon poet. Jasmin had been made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour at the same time as Balzac, Frederick Soulie, and Alfred de Musset. The minister bore witness to the worth of Jasmin, notwithstanding the rusticity of his idiom; and he was classed amongst the men who did honour to French literature. He was considered great, not only in his poems, but in his benevolent works: "You build churches; you help indigence; you possess the talent of a powerful benefactor; and your muse is the sister of charity." When the news of the honours conferred upon Jasmin reached Agen, the people were most sympathetic in their demonstrations. The shop of the barber-poet was crowded with visitors, and when he himself reached the town he was received with the greatest enthusiasm. The Philharmonic Society again treated him to a serenade, and the whole town was full of joy at the honour done to their beloved poet. To return to the church of Vergt, which was not yet entirely finished. A bell-tower had been erected, but what was a bell-tower without bells? There was a little tinkling affair which could scarcely be heard in the church, still less in the neighbourhood. With his constant trust in Providence, the Abbe did not hesitate to buy a clock and order two large bells. The expense of both amounted to 7000 francs. How was this to be paid? His funds were entirely exhausted. The priest first applied to the inhabitants of Vergt, but they could not raise half the necessary funds. There was Jasmin! He was the only person that could enable the Abbe to defray his debt. Accordingly, another appeal was made to the public outside of Vergt. The poet and the priest set out on their fifth and last pilgrimage; and this time they went as far as Lyons--a city which Jasmin had never seen before. There he found himself face to face with an immense audience, who knew next to nothing of his Gascon patois. He was afraid of his success; but unwilling to retreat, he resolved, he said, "to create a squadron in reserve"; that is, after reciting some of the old inspirations of his youth, to give them his Helene or 'Love and Poetry,' in modern classical French. The result, we need scarcely say, was eminently successful, and the Abbe; was doubly grateful in having added so many more thousand francs to his purse. During this journey another priest, the Abbe Cabanel, united his forces with those of Jasmin and Masson. This Abbe was curate of Port de Sainte-Foi-la-Grande. He had endeavoured to erect in his parish a public school under the charge of religious teachers. He now proposed to partake of the profits of the recitations for the purpose of helping on his project; and Jasmin and Masson willingly complied with his request. They accordingly appeared at the town of Sainte-Foi, and the result was another excellent collection. After visiting other towns, sufficient subscriptions were collected to enable the Abbe to pay off his debts. The clock and bells were christened by Monseigneur de Sangalerie, who had himself been a curate of the parish of Vergt; and the bells were inscribed with the name of JASMIN, the chief founder and rebuilder of the church. The bells were the last addition to Jasmin's bell-tower, but the final result was reached long after the beginning of the rebuilding of the church. Endnotes for Chapter XVII. {1} The Baron de Montyon bequeathed a large sum to the Academie Francaise, the Academie des Sciences, and the Faculte de Medecine, for the purpose of being awarded in prizes to men of invention and discovery, or for any literary work likely to be useful to society, and to rewarding acts of virtue among the poor. Jasmin was certainly entitled to a share in this benevolent fund. {2} Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, July, 1853 {3} The following are the Gascon words of this part of the poem: "O moun bres, d'un councer festejo moun aoureillo! Rouseignol, canto fort! brounzino fort, Abeillo! Garono, fay souna toun flot rizen et pur; Des ourmes del Grabe floureji la cabeillo, Non de glorio... mais de bounhur!" {4} The editor of Vol. IV. of Jasmins Poems (1863) gives this note: "In this circumstance, Jasmin has realised the foresight which the ancients afforded to their poets, of predicting, two years in advance, the birth of the Prince Imperial." CHAPTER XVIII. JASMIN ENROLLED MAITRE-ES-JEUX AT TOULOUSE--CROWNED BY AGEN. Shortly after the return of Jasmin from Paris, where he had the honour of an interview with the Emperor and Empress, as well as with the members of the French Academy, he was invited to Toulouse for the purpose of being enrolled as Maitre-es-jeux in the Academy of Jeux Floreaux. Toulouse is known as the city of Literary Fetes, and the reception of Jasmin as Maitre-es-Jeux will long exist as a permanent record in her annals. The Academy of Jeux Floreaux had no prize of 5000 frs. to bestow, nor any crowns, nor any golden laurels. She hides her poverty under her flowers, and although she would willingly have given all her flowers to Jasmin, yet her rules prevented her. She called Jasmin to her bosom, and gave him the heartiest of welcomes. But the honour was there--the honour of being invited to join a brotherhood of illustrious men. The title of Maitre-es-jeux is a rare distinction, awarded only to the highest celebrities. The ceremony of installing Jasmin took place on the 6th of February, 1854. The great Salle des Illustres was crowded long before he made his appearance, while the Place de Capitol was filled with a vast number of his admirers. The archbishop, the prefect, the mayor, the magistrates, and the principal citizens of Toulouse were present, with the most beautiful women in the city. Many of the southern bishops were present, having desired to enjoy the pleasure of assisting at the ceremony. After an address of congratulation, Jasmin was enrolled amongst the members, and presented with his diploma of Maitre-es-jeux. Though it was only a piece of parchment, he considered it the rarest of distinctions. It connected the poet, through five centuries, with the last of the Troubadours, whose language he had so splendidly revived. Jasmin valued his bit of parchment more highly than all the other gifts he had received. In answer to his enrolment, he said: "I have now enough! I want no more! All things smile upon me. My muse went proudly from the forty of Toulouse to the forty of Paris. She is more than proud to-day, she is completely happy; for she sees my name, which Isaure blessed, come from the forty of Paris to the forty of Toulouse," After his enrolment, the poet-barber left the salon. A large crowd had assembled in the court, under the peristyle, in the Place of the Capitol. Every head was uncovered as he passed through their ranks, and those who accompanied him to his lodging, called out, "Vive Jasmin! Vive Jasmin!" Never had such a scene been witnessed before. Although Jasmin had declared to the Academy of Jeux Floreaux that he wanted nothing more than the diploma they had given him, yet another triumph was waiting him. The citizens of Agen capped all the previous honours of the poet. They awarded him a crown of gold, which must have been the greatest recompense of all. They had known him during almost his entire life--the son of a humpbacked tailor and a crippled mother, of poor but honest people, whose means had been helped by the grandfather, Boe, who begged from door to door, the old man who closed his eyes in the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die!" They had known him by his boyish tricks, his expulsion from the Academy, his setting up as a barber, his happy marriage, and his laborious progress, until the "shower of silver" came running into his shop. "Pau de labouro, pau de salouro," No work, no bread. Though born in the lowest condition of life, he had, by the help of his wife, and by his own energy and perseverance, raised himself to the highest position as a man of character. Before he reached the age of thirty {1} he began to show evidences of his genius as a poet. But still more important were his works of charity, which endeared him to the people through the South of France. It was right and reasonable that his fellow-citizens should desire to take part in the honours conferred upon their beloved poet. He had already experienced their profound sympathy during his self-sacrificing work, but they now wished to testify their public admiration, and to proclaim the fact by some offering of intrinsic value. The Society of Saint-Vincent de Paul--whom he had so often helped in their charitable labours--first started the idea. They knew what Jasmin had done to found schools, orphanages, and creches. Indeed, this was their own mission, and no one had laboured so willingly as he had done to help them in their noble work. The idea, thus started by the society, immediately attracted public attention, and was received with universal approval. A committee was formed, consisting of De Bouy, mayor; H. Noubel, deputy; Aunac, banker; Canon Deyche, arch-priest of the cathedral; Dufort, imperial councillor; Guizot, receiver-general; Labat, advocate-general; Maysonnade, president of the conference of Saint-Vincent de Paul; Couturier, the engineer, and other gentlemen. A subscription was at once opened and more than four thousand persons answered the appeal. When the subscriptions were collected, they were found so great in amount, that the committee resolved to present Jasmin with a crown of gold. Five hundred years before, Petrarch had been crowned at Rome in the name of Italy, and now Jasmin was to be crowned at Agen, in the name of Meridional France. To crown a man, who, during his lifetime had been engaged in the trade of barber and hair-dresser, seemed something extraordinary and unique. To the cold-blooded people of the North there might appear something theatrical in such a demonstration, but it was quite in keeping with the warm-hearted children of the South. The construction of the crown was entrusted to MM. Fannieres of Paris, the best workers of gold in France. They put their best art and skill into the crown. It consisted of two branches of laurel in dead gold, large and knotted behind, like the crowns of the Caesars and the poets, with a ruby, artistically arranged, containing the simple device: La Ville d'Agen, a Jasmin! The pendants of the laurel, in dead silver, were mixed with the foliage. The style of the work was severe and pure, and the effect of the chef d'oeuvre was admirable. The public meeting, at which the golden crown was presented to Jasmin, was held on the 27th of November, 1856, in the large hall of the Great Seminary. Gilt banners were hung round the walls, containing the titles of Jasmin's principal poems, while the platform was splendidly decorated with emblems and festoons of flowers. Although the great hall was of large dimensions, it could not contain half the number of people who desired to be present on this grand occasion. An immense crowd assembled in the streets adjoining the seminary. Jasmin, on his arrival, was received with a triple salvo of applause from the crowd without, and next from the assembly within. On the platform were the members of the subscription committee, the prefect, the Bishop of Agen, the chiefs of the local government, the general in command of the district, and a large number of officers and ecclesiastics. Jasmin, when taking his place on the platform saluted the audience with one of his brilliant impromptus, and proceeded to recite some of his favourite poems: Charity; The Doctor of the Poor; Town and Country; and, The Week's Work of a Son. Then M. Noubel, in his double capacity of deputy for the department, and member of the subscription committee, addressed Jasmin in the following words: "Poet, I appear here in the name of the people of Agen, to offer you the testimony of their admiration and profound sympathy. I ask you to accept this crown! It is given you by a loving and hearty friend, in the name of your native town of Agen, which your poetry has charmed, which rejoices in your present success, and is proud of the glory of your genius. Agen welcomed the first germs of your talent; she has seen it growing, and increasing your fame; she has entered with you into the palaces of kings; she has associated herself with your triumphs throughout; now the hour of recognising your merits has arrived, and she honours herself in crowning you. "But it is not merely the Poet whom we recognise to-day; you have a much greater claim to our homage. In an age in which egoism and the eager thirst for riches prevails, you have, in the noble work which you have performed, displayed the virtues of benevolence and self-sacrifice. You yourself have put them into practice. Ardent in the work of charity, you have gone wherever misery and poverty had to be relieved, and all that you yourself have received was merely the blessings of the unfortunate. Each of your days has been celebrated for its good works, and your whole life has been a hymn to benevolence and charity. "Accept, then, Jasmin, this crown! Great poet, good citizen, you have nobly earned it! Give it an honoured place in that glorious museum of yours, which the towns and cities of the South have enriched by their gifts. May it remain there in testimony of your poetical triumphs, and attest the welcome recognition of your merits by your fellow-citizens. "For myself, I cannot but be proud of the mission which has been entrusted to me. I only owe it, I know, to the position of deputy in which you have placed me by popular election. I am proud, nevertheless, of having the honour of crowning you, and I shall ever regard this event as the most glorious recollection of my life." After this address, during which M. Noubel was greatly moved, he took the crown of gold and placed it on the head of the poet. It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm of the meeting at this supreme moment. The people were almost beside themselves. Their exclamations of sympathy and applause were almost frantic. Jasmin wept with happiness. After the emotion hard subsided, with his eyes full of tears, he recited his piece of poetry entitled: The Crown of my Birthplace.{2} In this poem, Jasmin took occasion to recite the state of poverty in which he was born, yet with the star of poetry in his breast; his dear mother, and her anxieties about his education and up-bringing; his growth; his first efforts in poetical composition, and his final triumph; and at last his crown of gold conferred upon him by the people of Agen--the crown of his birthplace. "I feel that if my birthplace crowns me, In place of singing. . . I should weep!" After Jasmin had recited his touching poem, he affectionately took leave of his friends, and the assembly dispersed. Endnotes to Chapter XVIII. {1} There is a Gascon proverb which says: "Qu'a vingt ans nouns po, Qu'a trent ans noun sa, Qu'a cranto noun er, Qu'a cincanto se paouso pa, Sabe pa que pot esper." "Who at twenty does nothing; Who at thirty knows nothing; Who at forty has nothing; Who at fifty changes nothing: For him there is no hope." {2} Perhaps this might be better rendered "The Crown of my Infancy;" in Gascon, "La Courouno del Bres." CHAPTER XIX. LAST POEMS--MORE MISSIONS OF CHARITY. This was the last occasion on which Jasmin publicly appeared before his fellow-townsmen; and it could not perhaps have been more fitting and appropriate. He still went on composing poetry; amongst other pieces, La Vierge, dedicated to the Bishop of Algiers, who acknowledged it in a complimentary letter. In his sixty-second year, when his hair had become white, he composed some New Recollections (Mous Noubels Soubenis), in which he again recalled the memories of his youth. In his new Souvenirs he only gives a few fresh stories relating to the period of his infancy and youth. Indeed they scarcely go beyond the period covered by his original Souvenirs. In the midst of his various honours at Paris, Toulouse, and Agen, he did not forget his true mission, the help and relief of the afflicted. He went to Albi, and gave a recitation which produced 2000 francs. The whole of this sum went to the poor. There was nothing for himself but applause, and showers of flowers thrown at his feet by the ladies present. It was considered quite unprecedented that so large a sum should have been collected in so poor a district. The mayor however was prepared for the event. After a touching address to the poet, he presented him with a ring of honour, with the arms of the town, and the inscribed words: "Albi a Jasmin." He went for the same purpose, to Castera in the Gers, a decayed town, to recite his poems, in the words of the cure, for "our poor church." He was received as usual with great enthusiasm; and a present of silver was given to him with the inscribed words: "A Jasmin, l'Eglise du Castera reconnaissante!" Jasmin answered, by reciting an impromptu he had composed for the occasion. At Bordeaux, one of his favourite cities, he was received with more than the usual enthusiasm. There he made a collection in aid of the Conference of Saint-vincent de Paul. In the midst of the seance, he appeared almost inspired, and recited "La Charite dans Bordeaux"--the grand piece of the evening. The assembly rose en masse, and cheered the poet with frantic applause. The ladies threw an avalanche of bouquets at the hero of the fete. After quiet had been restored, the Society of Saint-vincent de Paul cordially thanked Jasmin through the mouth of their President; and presented him with a magnificent golden circlet, with this inscription: "La Caritat dins Bourdeau!" Among his other recitations towards the close of his life, for the purpose of collecting money for the relief of the poor, were those at Montignac in Perigord; at Saint-Macaire; at Saint-Andre de Cubzac, and at Monsegur. Most of these were remote villages far apart from each other. He had disappointed his friends at Arcachon several years before, when he failed to make his appearance with the Abbe Masson, during their tour on behalf of the church of Vergt, owing to the unpunctuality of the steamboat; but he promised to visit them at some future period. He now redeemed his promise. The poor were in need, and he went to their help. A large audience had assembled to listen to his recitations, and a considerable sum of money was collected. The audience overwhelmed him with praises and the Mayor of Teste the head department of the district--after thanking Jasmin for his admirable assistance, presented him with a gold medal, on which was inscribed: "Fete de Charite d'Arcachon: A Jasmin." These laurels and medals had become so numerous, that Jasmin had almost become tired of such tributes to his benevolence. He went to Bareges again, where Monseigneur the Bishop of Tarbes had appealed to him for help in the erection of an hospital. From that town he proceeded to Saint-Emilion and Castel-Naudary, to aid the Society of Mutual Help in these two towns. In fact, he was never weary of well-doing. "This calamitous winter," he wrote in January, 1854, "requires all my devotion. I will obey my conscience and give myself to the help of the famished and suffering, even to the extinction of my personal health." And so it was to the end. When his friends offered him public entertainments, he would say, "No, no! give the money to the poor!" What gave Jasmin as much pleasure as any of the laurels and crowns conferred upon him, was a beautifully bound copy of the 'Imitation of Christ,' with the following inscription: "A testimony from the Bishop of Saint-Flour, in acknowledgment of the services which the great poet has rendered to the poor of his diocese." No poet had so many opportunities of making money, and of enriching himself by the contributions of the rich as well as the poor. But such an idea never entered his mind. He would have regarded it as a sacrilege to evoke the enthusiasm of the people, and make money; for his own benefit, or to speculate upon the triumphs of his muse. Gold earned in this way, he said, would have burnt his fingers. He worked solely for the benefit of those who could not help themselves. His poetry was to him like a sweet rose that delighted the soul and produced the fruits of charity. His conduct has been called Quixotic. Would that there were more Quixotes in the world! After his readings, which sometimes produced from two to three thousand francs, the whole of the proceeds were handed over to those for whose benefit they had been given, after deducting, of course, the expenses of travelling, of which he kept a most accurate account. It is estimated that the amount of money collected by Jasmin during his recitations for philanthropic objects amounted to at least 1,500,000 francs (equal to 62,500 sterling). Besides, there were the labour of his journeys, and the amount of his correspondence, which were almost heroic. M. Rabain{1} states that from 1825 to 1860, the number of letters received by Jasmin was more than twelve thousand. Mr. Dickens, in giving the readings from his works in Great Britain, netted over 35,000 sterling, besides what he received for his readings in America. This, of course, led quite reasonably to the enhancing of his fortune. But all that Jasmin received from his readings was given away--some say "thrown away"--to the poor and the needy. It is not necessary to comment on such facts; one can only mention and admire them. The editor of Le Pays says: "The journeys of Jasmin in the South were like a triumphal march. No prince ever received more brilliant ovations. Flowers were strewn in his way; the bells rang out on his appearance; the houses were illuminated; the Mayors addressed him in words of praise; the magistrates, the clergy followed him in procession. Bestowed upon a man, and a poet, such honours might seem exaggerated; but Jasmin, under the circumstances, represented more than poetry: he represented Charity. Each of his verses transformed him into an alms-giver; and from the harvest of gold which he reaped from the people, he preserved for himself only the flowers. His epics were for the unfortunate. This was very noble; and the people of Agen should be proud of their poet."{2} The account which Jasmin records of his expenses during a journey of fifty days, in which he collected more than 20,000 francs, is very remarkable. It is given in the fourth volume of 'Les Papillotes,' published in 1863, the year before his death, and is entitled, "Note of my expenses of the journey, which I have deducted from the receipts during my circuit of fifty days." On certain occasions nothing whatever was charged, but a carriage was probably placed at his disposal, or the ticket for a railway or a diligence may have been paid for by his friends. On many occasions he walked the distance between the several places, and thus saved the cost of his conveyance. But every item of expense was set forth in his "Note" with the most scrupulous exactness. Here is the translation of Jasmin's record for his journeys during these fifty days:--"... At Foix, from M. de Groussou, President of the Communion of Bienfaisance, 33 fr., 50 c. At Pamiers, nil. At Saint-Girons, from the President of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, 16 fr. At Lavaur, from M. the Mayor, 22 fr. At Saint-Sulpice, nil. At Toulouse, where I gave five special seances, of which the two first, to Saint-Vincent de Paul and the Prefecture, produced more than 1600 fr., nil. My muse was sufficiently accounted for; it was during my reception as Maitre-es-jeux. At Rodez, from the President of the Conference of Saint-Vincent de Paul, 29 fr. 50c. At Saint-Geniez, nil. At Saint-Flour, from M. Simon, vicar-general, 22 fr. 50 c. At Murat, nil. At Mauriac, nil. At Aurillac, from M. Geneste, mayor, for my return to Agen, 24 fr. Total, 147 fr. 50 centimes." Thus, more than 20,000 francs were collected for the poor, Jasmin having deducted 147 fr. 50 c. for the cost of his journeys from place to place. It must also be remembered that he travelled mostly in winter, when the ground was covered with snow. In February, 1854, M. Migneret, Prefect of Haute-garonne, addressed a letter to Jasmin, which is worthy of preservation. "It is pleasant," he said, "after having enjoyed at night the charms of your poetry, to begin the next day by taking account of the misfortunes they relieve. I owe you this double honour, and I thank you with the greatest gratitude.... As to our admiration of your talent, it yields to our esteem for your noble heart; the poet cannot be jealous of the good citizen."{3} Notwithstanding the rigour of the season, and the snow and wind, the like of which had not been known for more than twenty years, Jasmin was welcomed by an immense audience at Rodez. The recitation was given in the large hall of the Palais de Justice, and never had so large a collection been made. The young people of the town wished to give Jasmin a banquet, but he declined, as he had to hurry on to another place for a similar purpose. He left them, however, one of his poems prepared for the occasion. He arrived at Saint-Flour exhausted by fatigue. His voice began to fail, partly through the rigours of the climate, yet he continued to persevere. The bishop entertained him in his palace, and introduced him personally to the audience before which he was to give his recitations. Over the entrance-door was written the inscription, "A Jasmin, le Poete des Pauvres, Saint-fleur reconnaissante!" Before Jasmin began to recite he was serenaded by the audience. The collection was greater than had ever been known. It was here that the bishop presented Jasmin with that famous manual, 'The Imitation of Christ,' already referred to. It was the same at Murat, Mauriac, and Aurillac. The recitation at Aurillac was given in the theatre, and the receipts were 1200 francs. Here also he was serenaded. He departed from Aurillac covered with the poor people's blessings and gratitude. At Toulouse he gave another entertainment, at the instance of the Conference of Saint-Francois Xavier. There were about 3000 persons present, mostly of the working classes. The seance was prolonged almost to midnight. The audience, most of whom had to rise early in the morning, forgot their sleep, and wished the poet to prolong his recitations! Although the poor machine of Jasmin's body was often in need of rest, he still went about doing good. He never ceased ministering to the poor until he was altogether unable to go to their help. Even in the distressing cold, rain, and wind of winter--and it was in winter more than in summer that he travelled, for it was then that the poor were most distressed--he entirely disregarded his own comfort, and sometimes travelled at much peril; yet he went north and south, by highways and byways, by rivers and railways, in any and every direction, provided his services could be of use. He sacrificed himself always, and was perfectly regardless of self. He was overwhelmed with honours and praises. He became weary of triumphs--of laurels, flowers, and medals--he sometimes became weary of his life; yet he never could refuse any pressing solicitation made to him for a new recital of his poems. His trials, especially in winter time, were often most distressing. He would recite before a crowded audience, in a heated room, and afterwards face the icy air without, often without any covering for his throat and neck. Hence his repeated bronchial attacks, the loss of his voice, and other serious affections of his lungs. The last meeting which Jasmin attended on behalf of the poor was at the end of January 1864, only three months before his death. It was at Villeneuve-sur-Lot, a town several miles north of Agen. He did not desire to put the people to the expense of a conveyance, and therefore he decided to walk. He was already prematurely old and stooping. The disease which ended his life had already made considerable progress. He should have been in bed; nevertheless, as the poor needed his help, the brave old man determined to proceed to Villeneuve. He was helped along the road by some of his friends; and at last, wearied and panting, he arrived at his destination. The meeting was held in the theatre, which was crowded to suffocation. No sooner had Jasmin reached the platform, amidst the usual triumphant cheering, than, after taking a short rest, he sprang to his feet and began the recitation of his poems. Never had his voice seemed more spirited and entrancing. He delighted his audience, while he pleaded most eloquently for the relief of the poor. "I see him now," wrote one of his friends, "from behind the side-scenes of the theatre, perspiring profusely, wet to the skin, with a carafe of water to allay the ardent thirst occasioned by three hours of splendid declamation." In his then critical state, the three hours' declamation was enough to kill him. At all events, it was his last recitation. It was the song of the dying swan. In the midst of his triumphs, he laid down his life for the poor; like the soldier who dies with the sound of victory in his ears. Endnotes to Chapter XIX. {1} 'Jasmin, sa Vie et ses OEuvres.' Paris, 1867. {2} Le Pays, 14th February, 1854. {3} 'Las Papillotos de Jasmin,' iv. 56. CHAPTER XX. DEATH OF JASMIN--HIS CHARACTER. After his final recitation at Villeneuve, Jasmin, sick, ill, and utterly exhausted, reached Agen with difficulty. He could scarcely stand. It was not often that travelling had so affected him; but nature now cried out and rebelled. His wife was, of course, greatly alarmed. He was at once carefully put to bed, and there he lay for fifteen days. When he was at length able to rise, he was placed in his easy chair, but he was still weak, wearied, and exhausted. Mariette believed that he would yet recover his strength; but the disease under which he laboured had taken a strong hold of him, and Jasmin felt that he was gradually approaching the close of his life. About this time Renan's 'Life of Jesus' was published. Jasmin was inexpressibly shocked by the appearance of the book, for it seemed to him to strike at the foundations of Christianity, and to be entirely opposed to the teachings of the Church. He immediately began to compose a poem, entitled The Poet of the People to M. Renan,{1} in which he vindicated the Catholic faith, and denounced the poisonous mischief contained in the new attack upon Christianity. The poem was full of poetic feeling, with many pathetic touches illustrative of the life and trials of man while here below. The composition of this poem occupied him for some time. Although broken by grief and pain, he made every haste to correct the proofs, feeling that it would probably be the last work that he should give to the world. And it was his last. It was finished and printed on the 24th of August, 1864. He sent several copies to his more intimate friends with a dedication; and then he took finally to his bed, never to rise again. "I am happy," he said, "to have terminated my career by an act of faith, and to have consecrated my last work to the name of Jesus Christ." He felt that it was his passport to eternity. Jasmin's life was fast drawing to a close. He knew that he must soon die; yet never a word of fear escaped his lips; nor was his serenity of mind disturbed. He made his preparations for departure with as much tranquillity and happiness, as on the days when he was about to start on one of his philanthropic missions. He desired that M. Saint-Hilaire, the vicar of the parish, should be sent for. The priest was at once by the bedside of his dying friend. Jasmin made his replies to him in a clear and calm voice. His wife, his son, his grand-children, were present when he received the Viaticum--the last sacrament of the church. After the ceremony he turned to his wife and family, and said: "In my last communion I have prayed to God that He may keep you all in the most affectionate peace and union, and that He may ever reign in the hearts of those whom I love so much and am about to leave behind me." Then speaking to his wife, he said, "Now Mariette,--now I can die peacefully." He continued to live until the following morning. He conversed occasionally with his wife, his son, and a few attached friends. He talked, though with difficulty, of the future of the family, for whom he had made provision. At last, lifting himself up by the aid of his son, he looked towards his wife. The brightness of love glowed in his eyes; but in a moment he fell back senseless upon the pillow, and his spirit quietly passed away. Jasmin departed this life on the 5th of October, 1864, at the age of sixty-five. He was not an old man; but the brightest jewels soonest wear their setting. When laid in his coffin, the poem to Renan, his last act of faith, was placed on his breast, with his hands crossed over it. The grief felt at his death was wide and universal. In the South of France he was lamented as a personal friend; and he was followed to the grave by an immense number of his townspeople. The municipal administration took charge of the funeral. At ten o'clock in the morning of the 8th October the procession started from Jasmin's house on the Promenade du Gravier. On the coffin were placed the Crown of Gold presented to him by his fellow-townsmen, the cross of Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, and that of Saint-Gregory the Great. A company of five men, and a detachment of troops commanded by an officer, formed the line. The following gentlemen held the cords of the funeral pall:-- M. Feart, Prefect of the Lot-et-Garonne; M. Henri Noubel, Deputy and Mayor of Agen; General Ressayre, Commander of the Military Division; M. Bouet, President of the Imperial Court; M. de Laffore, engineer; and M. Magen, Secretary of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts. A second funeral pall was held by six coiffeurs of the corporation to which Jasmin had belonged. Behind the hearse were the Brothers of the Christian Doctrine, the Sisters of Saint-Vincent de Paul, and the Little Sisters of the Poor. The mourners were headed by the poet's son and the other members of his family. The cortege was very numerous, including the elite of the population. Among them were the Procureur-General, the Procureur-imperial, the Engineer-in-chief of the Department, the Director of Taxes, many Councillors-General, all the members of the Society of Agriculture, many officers of the army, many ecclesiastics as well as ministers of the reformed worship. Indeed, representatives of nearly the whole population were present. The procession first entered the church of Saint Hilaire, where the clergy of the four parishes had assembled. High mass was performed by the full choir. The Miserere of Beethoven was given, and some exquisite pieces from Mozart. Deep emotion was produced by the introduction, in the midst of this beautiful music, of some popular airs from the romance of Franconnette and Me Cal Mouri, Jasmin's first work. The entire ceremony was touching, and moved many to tears. After the service had been finished, the procession moved off to the cemetery--passing through the principal streets of the town, which were lined by crowds of mournful spectators. Large numbers of people had also assembled at the cemetery. After the final prayer, M. Noubel, Deputy and Mayor of Agen, took the opportunity of pronouncing a eulogium over the grave of the deceased. His speech was most sympathetic and touching. We can only give a few extracts from his address: "Dear and great poet," he said, "at the moment when we commit to the earth thy mortal remains, I wish, in the name of this town of Agen, where thou wert born and which thou hast truly loved, to address to thee a last, a supreme adieu. Alas! What would'st thou have said to me some years ago, when I placed upon thy forehead the crown--decreed by the love and admiration of thy compatriots--that I should so soon have been called upon to fulfil a duty that now rends my heart. The bright genius of thy countenance, the brilliant vigour in thine eyes, which time, it seemed, would never tarnish, indicated the fertile source of thy beautiful verses and noble aspirations! "And yet thy days had been numbered, and you yourself seemed to have cherished this presentiment; but, faithful to thy double mission of poet and apostle of benevolence, thou redoubled thy efforts to enrich with new epics thy sheaf of poetry, and by thy bountiful gifts and charity to allay the sorrows of the poor. Indefatigable worker! Thou hast dispensed most unselfishly thy genius and thy powers! Death alone has been able to compel thee to repose! "But now our friend is departed for ever! That poetical fire, that brilliant and vivid intelligence, that ardent heart, have now ceased to strive for the good of all; for this great and generous soul has ascended to Him who gave it birth. It has returned to the Giver of Good, accompanied by our sorrows and our tears. It has ascended to heaven with the benedictions of all the distressed and unfortunate whom he has succoured. It is our hope and consolation that he may find the recompense assured for those who have usefully and boldly fulfilled their duty here below. "This duty, O poet, thou hast well fulfilled. Those faculties, which God had so largely bestowed upon thee, have never been employed save for the service of just and holy causes. Child of the people, thou hast shown us how mind and heart enlarge with work; that the sufferings and privations of thy youth enabled thee to retain thy love of the poor and thy pity for the distressed. Thy muse, sincerely Christian, was never used to inflame the passions, but always to instruct, to soothe, and to console. Thy last song, the Song of the Swan, was an eloquent and impassioned protest of the Christian, attacked in his fervent belief and his faith. "God has doubtless marked the term of thy mission; and thy death was not a matter of surprise. Thou hast come and gone, without fear; and religion, thy supreme consoler, has calmed the sufferings of thy later hours, as it had cradled thee in thy earlier years. "Thy body will disappear, but thy spirit, Jasmin, will never be far from us. Inspire us with thy innocent gaiety and brotherly love. The town of Agen is never ungrateful; she counts thee amongst the most pure and illustrious of her citizens. She will consecrate thy memory in the way most dignified to thee and to herself. "The inhabitants of towns without number, where thou hast exercised thy apostolate of charity, will associate themselves with this work of affection and remembrance. But the most imperishable monument is that which thou hast thyself founded with thine own head and hands, and which will live in our hearts--the creations of thy genius and the memory of thy philanthropy." After the Mayor of Agen had taken leave of the mortal remains of the poet, M. Capot, President of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts, gave another eloquent address. He was followed by M. Magen, Secretary to the same society. The troops fired a salute over the grave, and took leave of the poet's remains with military honours. The immense crowd of mourners then slowly departed from the cemetery. Another public meeting took place on the 12th of May, 1870, on the inauguration of the bronze statue of Jasmin in the Place Saint Antoine, now called the Place Jasmin. The statue was erected by public subscription, and executed by the celebrated M. Vital Dubray. It stands nearly opposite the house where Jasmin lived and carried on his trade. Many of his old friends came from a considerable distance to be present at the inauguration of the statue. The Abbe Masson of Vergt was there, whose church Jasmin had helped to re-build. M. l'Abbe Donis, curate of Saint-Louis at Bordeaux, whom he had often helped with his recitations; the able philologist Azais; the young and illustrious Provencal poet Mistral; and many representatives of the Parisian and Southern press, were present on the occasion. The widow and son of the poet, surrounded by their family, were on the platform. When the statue was unveiled, a salvo of artillery was fired; then the choir of the Brothers of the Communal Christian School saluted the "glorious resurrection of Jasmin" with their magnificent music, which was followed by enthusiastic cheers. M. Henri Noubel, Deputy and Mayor of Agen, made an eloquent speech on the unveiling of the statue. He had already pronounced his eulogium of Jasmin at the burial of the poet, but he was still full of the subject, and brought to mind many charming recollections of the sweetness of disposition and energetic labours of Jasmin on behalf of the poor and afflicted. He again expressed his heartfelt regret for the departure of the poet. M. Noubel was followed by M. l'Abbe Donis, of Bordeaux, who achieved a great success by his eulogy of the life of Jasmin, whom he entitled "The Saint-vincent de Paul of poetry." He was followed by the Abbe Capot, in the name of the clergy, and by M. Magen, in the name of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts. They were followed by MM. Azais and Pozzi, who recited some choice pieces of poetry in the Gascon patois. M. Mistral came last--the celebrated singer of "Mireio"--who, with his faltering voice, recited a beautiful piece of poetry composed for the occasion, which was enthusiastically applauded. The day was wound up with a banquet in honour of M. Dubray, the artist who had executed the bronze statue. The Place Jasmin was brilliantly illuminated during the evening, where an immense crowd assembled to view the statue of the poet, whose face and attitude appeared in splendid relief amidst a blaze of light. It is unnecessary further to describe the character of Jasmin. It is sufficiently shown by his life and labours--his genius and philanthropy. In the recollections of his infancy and boyhood, he truthfully describes the pleasures and sorrows of his youth--his love for his mother, his affection for his grandfather, who died in the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die." He did not even conceal the little tricks played by him in the Academy, from which he was expelled, nor the various troubles of his apprenticeship. This was one of the virtues of Jasmin--his love of truth. He never pretended to be other than what he was. He was even proud of being a barber, with his "hand of velvet." He was pleased to be entertained by the coiffeurs of Agen, Paris, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. He was a man of the people, and believed in the dignity of labour. At the same time, but for his perseverance and force of character, he never could have raised himself to the honour and power of the true poet. He was born poor, and the feeling of inherited poverty adhered to him through life, and inspired him with profound love for the poor and the afflicted of his class. He was always ready to help them, whether they lived near to him or far from him. He was, in truth, "The Saint-Vincent de Paul of poetry." His statue, said M. Noubel, pointing up to it, represented the glorification of genius and virtue, the conquest of ignorance and misery. M. Deydou said at Bordeaux, when delivering an address upon the genius of Jasmin--his Eminence Cardinal Donnet presiding--that poetry, when devoted to the cause of charity, according to the poet himself, was "the glory of the earth and the perfume of heaven." Jasmin loved his dear town of Agen, and was proud of it. After his visit to the metropolis, he said, "If Paris makes me proud, Agen makes me happy." "This town," he said, on another occasion, "has been my birthplace; soon it shall be my grave." He loved his country too, and above all he loved his native language. It was his mother-tongue; and though he was often expostulated with for using it, he never forsook the Gascon. It was the language of the home, of the fireside, of the fields, of the workshop, of the people amongst whom he lived, and he resolved ever to cherish and elevate the Gascon dialect. "Popular and purely natural poetry," said Montaigne in the 16th century, "has a simplicity and gracefulness which surpass the beauty of poetry according to art." Jasmin united the naive artlessness of poetry with the perfection of art. He retained the simplicity of youth throughout his career, and his domestic life was the sanctuary of all the virtues. In his poems he vividly described filial love, conjugal tenderness, and paternal affection, because no one felt these graces of life more fervently than himself. He was like the Italian painter, who never went beyond his home for a beautiful model. Victor Hugo says that a great man is like the sun--most beautiful when he touches the earth, at his rising and at his setting. Jasmin's rising was in the depths of honest poverty, but his setting was glorious. God crowned his fine life by a special act of favour; for the last song of the poet was his "act of faith"--his address to Renan. Jasmin was loyal, single-minded, self-reliant, patient, temperate, and utterly unselfish. He made all manner of sacrifices during his efforts in the cause of charity. Nothing was allowed to stand in the way of his missions on behalf of the poor. In his journey of fifty days in 1854, he went from Orthez--the country of Gaston Phoebus--to the mountains of Auvergne, in spite of the rigours of the weather. During that journey he collected 20,000 francs. In all, as we have said, he collected, during his life-time, more than a million and a half of francs, all of which he devoted to the cause of philanthropy. Two words were engraved on the pedestal of his statue, Poetry and Charity! Charity was the object and purpose of his heroic programme. Yet, in his poetry he always exhibited his tender-hearted gaiety. Even when he weeps, you see the ray of sunlight in his tears. Though simple as a child in ordinary life, he displayed in his writings the pathos and satire of the ancient Troubadours, with no small part of the shrewdness and wit attributed to persons of his calling. Although esteemed and praised by all ranks and classes of people--by king, emperor, princes, and princesses; by cardinals and bishops; by generals, magistrates, literary men, and politicians--though the working people almost worshipped him, and village girls strewed flowers along his pathway--though the artisan quitted his workshop, and the working woman her washing-tub, to listen to his marvellous recitations, yet Jasmin never lost his head or was carried away by the enthusiastic cheers which accompanied his efforts, but remained simple and unaffected to the last. Another characteristic of him was, that he never forsook his friends, however poor. His happiest moments were those in which he encountered a companion of his early youth. Many still survived who had accompanied him while making up his bundle of fagots on the islands of the Garonne. He was delighted to shake hands with them, and to help, when necessary, these playmates of his boyhood. He would also meet with pleasure the working women of his acquaintance, those who had related to him the stories of Loup Garou and the traditions of the neighbourhood, and encouraged the boy from his earliest youth. Then, at a later period of his life, nothing could have been more worthy of him than his affection for his old benefactor, M. Baze, and his pleading with Napoleon III., through the Empress, for his return to France "through the great gate of honour!" Had Jasmin a fault? Yes, he had many, for no one exists within the limits of perfection. But he had one in especial, which he himself confessed. He was vain and loved applause, nor did he conceal his love. When at Toulouse, he said to some of his friends, "I love to be applauded: it is my whim; and I think it would be difficult for a poet to free himself from the excitement of applause." When at Paris, he said, "Applaud! applaud! The cheers you raise will be heard at Agen." Who would not overlook a fault, if fault it be, which is confessed in so naive a manner? When complimented about reviving the traditions of the Troubadours, Jasmin replied, "The Troubadours, indeed! Why, I am a better poet than any of the Troubadours! Not one of them could have composed a long poem of sustained interest, like my Franconnette." Any fault or weakness which Jasmin exhibited was effaced by the good wishes and prayers of thousands of the poor and afflicted whom he had relieved by his charity and benevolence. The reality of his life almost touches the ideal. Indeed, it was a long apostolate. Cardinal Donnet, Archbishop of Bordeaux, said of him, that "he was gifted with a rich nature, a loyal and unreserved character, and a genius as fertile as the soil of his native country. The lyre of Jasmin," he said, "had three chords, which summed up the harmonies of heaven and earth--the true, the useful, and the beautiful." Did not the members of the French Academy--the highest literary institution in the world--strike a gold medal in his honour, with the inscription, "La medaille du poete moral et populaire"? M. Sainte-Beuve, the most distinguished of French critics, used a much stronger expression. He said, "If France had ten poets like Jasmin--ten poets of the same power and influence--she need no longer have any fear of revolutions." Genius is as nothing in the sight of God; but "whosoever shall give a cup of water to drink in the name of Christ, because they belong to Christ, shall not lose his reward." M. Tron, Deputy and Mayor of Bagnere-du-luchon, enlarged upon this text in his eulogy of Jasmin. "He was a man," he said, "as rich in his heart as in his genius. He carried out that life of 'going about doing good' which Christ rehearsed for our instruction. He fed the hungry, clothed the naked, succoured the distressed, and consoled and sympathised with the afflicted. Few men have accomplished more than he has done. His existence was unique, not only in the history of poets, but of philanthropists." A life so full of good could only end with a Christian death. He departed with a lively faith and serene piety, crowning by a peaceful death one of the strangest and most diversified careers in the nineteenth century. "Poetry and Charity," inscribed on the pedestal of his statue in Agen, fairly sums up his noble life and character. Endnotes for Chapter XX. {1} 'Lou Poeto del Puple a Moussu Renan.' APPENDIX. JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT. To M. SYLVAIN DUMON, Deputy-Minister, who has condemned to death our native language. There's not a deeper grief to man Than when our mother, faint with years, Decrepit, old, and weak, and wan, Beyond the leech's art appears; When by her couch her son may stay, And press her hand, and watch her eyes, And feel, though she survives to-day, Perchance his hope to-morrow dies. It is not thus, believe me, Sir, With this enchantress, we will call Our second mother. Frenchmen err, Who cent'ries since proclaimed her fall! Our mother tongue, all melody, While music lives, shall never die. Yes! still she lives, her words still ring, Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. The people love their ancient songs, and will While yet a people, love and keep them still. These lays are like their mother--they recall Fond thoughts of brother, sister, friends, and all The many little things that please the heart-- Those dreams and hopes, from which we cannot part; These songs are as sweet waters, where we find Health in the sparkling wave that nerves the mind. In every home, at every cottage door, By every fireside, when our toil is o'er, These songs are round us, near our cradles sigh, And to the grave attend us when we die. Oh! think, cold critic! 'twill be late and long Ere time shall sweep away this flood of song! There are who bid this music sound no more, And you can hear them, nor defend--deplore! You, who were born where the first daisies grew, Have 'fed upon its honey, sipp'd its dew, Slept in its arms, and wakened to its kiss, Danced to its sounds, and warbled to its tone-- You can forsake it in an hour like this! Weary of age, you may renounce, disown, And blame one minstrel who is true--alone! For me, truth to my eyes made all things plain; At Paris, the great fount, I did not find The waters pure, and to my stream again I come, with saddened and with sobered mind; And now the spell is broken, and I rate The little country far above the great. For you, who seem her sorrows to deplore, You, seated high in power, the first among, Beware! nor make her cause of grief the more; Believe her mis'ry, nor condemn her tongue. Methinks you injure where you seek to heal, If you deprive her of that only weal. We love, alas! to sing in our distress; For so the bitterness of woe seems less; But if we may not in our language mourn, What will the polish'd give us in return? Fine sentences, but all for us unmeet-- Words full of grace, even such as courtiers greet: A deck'd out miss, too delicate and nice To walk in fields; too tender and precise To sing the chorus of the poor, or come When Labour lays him down fatigued at home. To cover rags with gilded robes were vain-- The rents of poverty would show too plain. How would this dainty dame, with haughty brow, Shrink at a load, and shudder at a plough! Sulky, and piqued, and silent would she stand As the tired peasant urged his team along: No word of kind encouragement at hand, For flocks no welcome, and for herds no song! Yet we will learn, and you shall teach-- Our people shall have double speech: One to be homely, one polite, As you have robes for different wear; But this is all:--'tis just and right, And more our children will not bear, Lest flocks of buzzards flit along, Where nightingales once poured their song. There may be some who, vain and proud, May ape the manners of the crowd, Lisp French, and maim it at each word, And jest and gibe to all afford; But we, as in long ages past, Will still be poets to the last!{1} Hark! and list the bridal song, As they lead the bride along: "Hear, gentle bride! your mother's sighs, And you would hence away! Weep, weep, for tears become those eyes." ----"I cannot weep--to-day." Hark! the farmer in the mead Bids the shepherd swain take heed: "Come, your lambs together fold, Haste, my sons! your toil is o'er: For the setting sun has told That the ox should work no more." Hark! the cooper in the shade Sings to the sound his hammer made: "Strike, comrades, strike! prepare the cask. 'Tis lusty May that fills the flask: Strike, comrades! summer suns that shine Fill the cellars full of wine." Verse is, with us, a charm divine, Our people, loving verse, will still, Unknowing of their art, entwine Garlands of poesy at will. Their simple language suits them best: Then let them keep it and be blest. Let the wise critics build a wall Between the nurse's cherished voice, And the fond ear her words enthral, And say their idol is her choice. Yes!--let our fingers feel the rule, The angry chiding of the school; True to our nurse, in good or ill, We are not French, but Gascon still. 'Tis said that age new feeling brings, Our youth returns as we grow old; And that we love again the things Which in our memory had grown cold. If this be true, the time will come When to our ancient tongue, once more, You will return, as to a home, And thank us that we kept the store. Remember thou the tale they tell Of Lacuee and Lacepede,{2} When age crept on, who loved to dwell On words that once their music made; And, in the midst of grandeur, hung, Delighted, on their parent tongue. This will you do: and it may be, When weary of the world's deceit, Some summer-day we yet may see Your coming in our meadows sweet; Where, midst the flowers, the finch's lay Shall welcome you with music gay; While you shall bid our antique tongue Some word devise, or air supply, Like those that charm'd your youth so long, And lent a spell to memory. Bethink you how we stray'd alone Beneath those elms in Agen grown, That each an arch above us throws, Like giants, hand-in-hand, in rows. A storm once struck a fav'rite tree, It trembled, shook, and bent its boughs,-- The vista is no longer free: Our governor no pause allows; "Bring hither hatchet, axe, and spade, The tree must straight be prostrate laid!" But vainly strength and art were tried, The stately tree all force defied; Well might the elm resist and foil their might, For though his branches were decay'd to sight, As many as his leaves the roots spread round, And in the firm set earth they slept profound. Since then, more full, more green, more gay, The crests amid the breezes play: And birds of every note and hue Come trooping to his shade in Spring; Each summer they their lays renew, And while the years endure they sing. And thus it is, believe me, sir, With this enchantress--she we call Our second mother; Frenchmen err Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall. No! she still lives, her words still ring, Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. September 2nd, 1837. Endnotes to JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT. {1} Jasmin here quotes several patois songs, well known in the country. {2} Both Gascons. THE MASON'S SON.{1} {LA SEMMANO D'UN FIL.} Riches, n'oubliez pas un seul petit moment Que des pauvres la grande couvee Se reveille toujours le sourire a la bouche Quand elle s'endort sans avoir faire! (Riche et Pauvre.) The swallows fly about, although the air is cold, Our once fair sun has shed his brightest gold. The fields decay On All-saints day. Ground's hard afoot, The birds are mute; The tree-tops shed their chill'd and yellow leaves, They dying fall, and whirl about in sheaves. One night, when leaving late a neighb'ring town, Although the heavens were clear, Two children paced along, with many a moan-- Brother and sister dear; And when they reached the wayside cross Upon their knees they fell, quite close. Abel and Jane, by the moon's light, Were long time silent quite; As they before the altar bend, With one accord their voices sweet ascend. "Mother of God, Virgin compassionate! Oh! send thy angel to abate The sickness of our father dear, That mother may no longer fear-- And for us both! Oh! Blessed Mother, We love thee, more and more, we two together!" The Virgin doubtless heard their prayer, For, when they reached the cottage near, The door before them opened wide, And the dear mother, ere she turned aside, Cried out: "My children brave, The fever's gone--your father's life is safe! Now come, my little lambs, and thank God for His grace." In their small cot, forthwith the three, To God in prayer did bend the knee, Mother and children in their gladness weeping, While on a sorry bed a man lay sleeping-- It was the father, good Hilaire! Not long ago, a soldier brave, But now--a working mason's slave. II. The dawn next day was clear and bright, The glint of morning sunlight Gleamed through the windows taper, Although they only were patched up with paper. When Abel noiseless entered, with his foot-fall slight, He slipped along to the bedside; He oped the little curtain, without stirring of the rings; His father woke and smiled, with joy that pleasure brings. "Abel," he said, "I longed for thee; now listen thou to me: We're very poor indeed--I've nothing save my weekly fee; But Heaven has helped our lives to save--by curing me. Dear boy, already thou art fifteen years-- You know to read, to write--then have no fears; Thou art alone, thou'rt sad, but dream no more, Thou ought'st to work, for now thou hast the power! I know thy pain and sorrow, and thy deep alarms; More good than strong--how could thy little arms Ply hard the hammer on the stony blocks? But our hard master, though he likes good looks, May find thee quite a youth; He says that thou hast spirit; and he means for thy behoof. Then do what gives thee pleasure, Without vain-glory, Abel; and spend thy precious leisure In writing or in working--each is a labour worthy, Either with pen or hammer--they are the tools most lofty; Labour in mind or body, they do fatigue us ever-- But then, Abel my son, I hope that never One blush upon you e'er will gather To shame the honour of your father." Abel's blue eyes were bright with bliss and joy-- Father rejoiced--four times embraced the boy; Mother and daughter mixed their tears and kisses, Then Abel saw the master, to his happiness, And afterwards four days did pass, All full of joyfulness. But pleasure with the poor is always unenduring. A brutal order had been given on Sunday morning That if, next day, the father did not show his face, Another workman, in that case, Would be employed to take his place! A shot of cannon filled with grape Could not have caused such grief, As this most cruel order gives To these four poor unfortunates. "I'm cured!" Hilaire cried; "let me rise and dress;" He tried--fell back; and then he must confess He could not labour for another week! Oh, wretched plight-- For him, his work was life! Should he keep sick, 'twas death! All four sat mute; sudden a my of hope Beamed in the soul of Abel. He brushed the tear-drops from his een, Assumed a manly mien, Strength rushed into his little arms, On his bright face the blushes came; He rose at once, and went to reason With that cruel master mason. Abel returned, with spirits bright, No longer trembling with affright; At once he gaily cries, With laughing mouth and laughing eyes:-- "My father! take your rest; have faith and courage; Take all the week, then thou shalt work apace; Some one, who loves thee well, will take thy place, Then thou may'st go again and show thy face." III. Saved by a friend, indeed! He yet had friends in store! Oh! how I wish that in this life so lonely.... But, all will be explained at work on Monday; There are good friends as yet--perhaps there's many more. It was indeed our Abel took his father's place. At office first he showed his face; Then to the work-yard: thus his father he beguiled. Spite of his slender mien, he worked and always smiled. He was as deft as workmen twain; he dressed The stones, and in the mortar then he pressed The heavy blocks; the workmen found him cheerful. Mounting the ladder like a bird: He skipped across the rafters fearful. He smiled as he ascended, smiled as he descended-- The very masons trembled at his hardiness: But he was working for his father--in his gladness, His life was full of happiness; His brave companions loved the boy Who filled their little life with joy. They saw the sweat run down his brow, And clapped their hands, though weary he was now. What bliss of Abel, when the day's work's o'er, And the bright stars were shining: Unto the office he must go, And don his better clothing-- Thus his poor father to deceive, who thought he went a-clerking. He took his paper home and wrote, 'midst talk with Jane so shyly, And with a twinkling eye he answered mother's looks so slyly. Three days thus passed, and the sick man arose, Life now appeared to him a sweet repose. On Thursday, tempting was the road; At midday, Friday, he must walk abroad. But, fatal Friday--God has made for sorrow. The father, warmed up by the sun's bright ray, Hied to the work-yard, smiling by the way; He wished to thank the friend who worked for him, But saw him not--his eyes were dim-- Yet he was near; and looking up, he saw no people working, No dinner-bell had struck, no workmen sure were lurking. Oh, God! what's happened at the building yard? A crowd collected--master, mason--as on guard. "What's this?" the old man cried. "Alas! some man has fallen!" Perhaps it was his friend! His soul with grief was burning. He ran. Before him thronged the press of men, They tried to thrust him back again; But no; Hilaire pressed through the crowd of working men. Oh, wretched father--man unfortunate; The friend who saved thee was thy child--sad fate! Now he has fallen from the ladder's head, And lies a bleeding mass, now nearly dead! Now Hilaire uttered a most fearful cry; The child had given his life, now he might die. Alas! the bleeding youth Was in his death-throes, he could scarcely breathe; "Master," he said, "I've not fulfilled my task, But, in the name of my poor mother dear, For the day lost, take father on at last." The father heard, o'erwhelmed he was with fear, Abel now saw him, felt that he was near, Inclined his head upon his breast, and praying-- Hand held in hand, he smiled on him while dying. For Hilary, his place was well preserved, His wages might perhaps be doubled. Too late! too late! one saddened morn The sorrow of his life was gone; And the good father, with his pallid face, Went now to take another place Within the tomb, beside his much loved son. Endnotes to THE MASON'S SON. {1} Jasmin says, "the subject of this poem is historical, and recently took place in our neighbourhood." THE POOR MAN'S DOCTOR. {LOU MEDICI DES PAURES.} Dedicated to M. CANY, Physician of Toulouse. With the permission of the Rev. Dr. J. Duncan Craig, of Glenagary, Kingston, Dublin, I adopt, with some alterations, his free translation of Jasmin's poem. Sweet comes this April morning, its faint perfumes exhaling; Brilliant shines the sun, so crisp, so bright, so freshening; Pearl-like gleam and sparkle the dew-drops on the rose, While grey and gnarled olives droop like giants in repose. Soundeth low, solemnly, the mid-day bell in th' air, Glideth on sadly a maiden sick with care; Her head is bent, and sobbing words she sheds with many a tear, But 'tween the chapel and the windmill another doth appear. She laughs and plucks the lovely flowers with many a joyous bound, The other, pale and spiritless, looks upward from the ground; "Where goest thou, sweet Marianne, this lovely April day?" "Beneath the elms of Agen--there lies my destined way. "I go to seek this very day the Doctor of the Poor.{1} Did'st thou not hear how skilfully he did my mother cure? Behold this silver in my hand, these violets so sweet, The guerdon of his loving care--I'll lay them at his feet. "Now, dost thou not remember, my darling Marianne, How in our lonely hut the typhus fever ran? And we were poor, without a friend, or e'en our daily bread, And sadly then, and sorrowful, dear mother bowed her head. "One day, the sun was shining low in lurid western sky, All, all, our little wealth was gone, and mother yearned to die, When sudden, at the open door, a shadow crossed the way, And cheerfully a manly voice did words of comfort say: "'Take courage, friends, your ills I know, your life I hope to save.' 'Too late!' dear mother cried; 'too late! My home is in the grave; Our things are pledged, our med'cine gone, e'en bread we cannot buy.' The doctor shudder'd, then grew pale, but sadly still drew nigh. "No curtains had we on our bed: I marked his pallid face; Five silver crowns now forth he drew with melancholy grace-- 'Poor woman, take these worthless coins, suppress your bitter grief! Don't blush; repay them when you can--these drops will give relief.' "He left the hut, and went away; soon sleep's refreshing calm Relieved the patient he had helped--a wonder-working balm; The world now seemed to smile again, like springtide flowers so gay, While mother, brothers, and myself, incessant worked away. "Thus, like the swallows which return with spring unto our shore, The doctor brought rejoicing back unto our vine-wreathed door; And we are happy, Isabel, and money too we've made; But why dost weep, when I can laugh?" the gentle maiden said. "Alas! alas! dear Marianne, I weep and mourn to-day, From your house to our cottage-home the fever made its way; My father lies with ghastly face, and many a raving cry-- Oh, would that Durand too might come, before the sick man die!" "Dear Isabel, haste on, haste on--we'll seek his house this hour! Come, let us run, and hasten on with all our utmost power. He'll leave the richest palace for the poor man's humble roof-- He's far from rich, except in love, of that we've had full proof!" The good God bless the noble heart that careth for the poor; Then forth the panting children speed to seek the sick man's cure; And as beneath our giant elms they pass with rapid tread, They scarcely dare to look around, or lift their weary head. The town at last is reached, by the Pont-Long they enter, Close by the Hue des Jacobins, near Durand's house they venture. Around the portals of the door there throngs a mournful crowd; They see the Cross, they hear the priests the Requiem chaunt aloud. The girls were troubled in their souls, their minds were rent with grief; One above all, young Marianne, was trembling like a leaf: Another death--oh, cruel thought! then of her father dying, She quickly ran to Durand's door, and asked a neighbour, crying: "Where's the good doctor, sir, I pray? I seek him for my father!" He soft replied, "The gracious God into His fold doth gather The best of poor folks' doctors now, to his eternal rest; They bear the body forth, 'tis true: his spirit's with the blest." Bright on his corpse the candles shine around his narrow bier, Escorted by the crowds of poor with many a bitter tear; No more, alas! can he the sad and anguished-laden cure-- Oh, wail! For Durand is no more--the Doctor of the Poor! Endnotes to THE POOR MAN'S DOCTOR. {1} In the last edition of Jasmin's poems (4 vols. 8vo, edited by Buyer d'Agen) it is stated (p. 40, 1st vol.) that "M. Durand, physician, was one of those rare men whom Providence seems to have provided to assuage the lot of the poorest classes. His career was full of noble acts of devotion towards the sick whom he was called upon to cure. He died at the early age of thirty-five, of a stroke of apoplexy. His remains were accompanied to the grave by nearly all the poor of Agen and the neighbourhood." MY VINEYARD.{1} {MA BIGNO.} To MADAME LOUIS VEILL, Paris. Dear lady, it is true, that last month I have signed A little scrap of parchment; now myself I find The master of a piece of ground Within the smallest bound-- Not, as you heard, a spacious English garden Covered with flowers and trees, to shrine your bard in-- But of a tiny little vineyard, Which I have christened "Papilhoto"! Where, for a chamber, I have but a grotto. The vine-stocks hang about their boughs, At other end a screen of hedgerows, So small they do not half unroll; A hundred would not make a mile, Six sheets would cover the whole pile. Well! as it is, of this I've dreamt for twenty years-- You laugh, Madame, at my great happiness, Perhaps you'll laugh still more, when it appears, That when I bought the place, I must confess There were no fruits, Though rich in roots; Nine cherry trees--behold my wood! Ten rows of vines--my promenade! A few peach trees; the hazels too; Of elms and fountains there are two. How rich I am! My muse is grateful very; Oh! might I paint? while I the pencil try, Our country loves the Heavens so bright and cheery. Here, verdure starts up as we scratch the ground, Who owns it, strips it into pieces round; Beneath our sun there's nought but gayest sound. You tell me, true, that in your Paris hot-house, You ripen two months sooner 'neath your glass, of course. What is your fruit? Mostly of water clear, The heat may redden what your tendrils bear. But, lady dear, you cannot live on fruits alone while here! Now slip away your glossy glove And pluck that ripened peach above, Then place it in your pearly mouth And suck it--how it 'lays your drouth-- Melts in your lips like honey of the South! Dear Madame, in the North you have great sights-- Of churches, castles, theatres of greatest heights; Your works of art are greater far than here. But come and see, quite near The banks of the Garonne, on a sweet summer's day, All works of God! and then you'll say No place more beautiful and gay! You see the rocks in all their velvet greenery; The plains are always gold; and mossy very, The valleys, where we breathe the healthy air, And where we walk on beds of flowers most fair! The country round your Paris has its flowers and greensward, But 'tis too grand a dame for me, it is too dull and sad. Here, thousand houses smile along the river's stream; Our sky is bright, it laughs aloud from morn to e'en. Since month of May, when brightest weather bounds For six months, music through the air resounds-- A thousand nightingales the shepherd's ears delight: All sing of Love--Love which is new and bright. Your Opera, surprised, would silent hearken, When day for night has drawn aside its curtain, Under our heavens, which very soon comes glowing. Listen, good God! our concert is beginning! What notes! what raptures? Listen, shepherd-swains, One chaunt is for the hill-side, the other's for the plains. "Those lofty mountains Far up above, I cannot see All that I love; Move lower, mountains, Plains, up-move, That I may see All that I love."{2} And thousand voices sound through Heaven's alcove, Coming across the skies so blue, Making the angels smile above-- The earth embalms the songsters true; The nightingales, from tree to flower, Sing louder, fuller, stronger. 'Tis all so sweet, though no one beats the measure, To hear it all while concerts last--such pleasure! Indeed my vineyard's but a seat of honour, For, from my hillock, shadowed by my bower, I look upon the fields of Agen, the valley of Verone.{3} How happy am I 'mongst my vines! Such pleasures there are none. For here I am the poet-dresser, working for the wines. I only think of propping up my arbours and my vines; Upon the road I pick the little stones-- And take them to my vineyard to set them up in cones, And thus I make a little house with but a sheltered door-- As each friend, in his turn, now helps to make the store. And then there comes the vintage--the ground is firm and fast, With all my friends, with wallets or with baskets cast, We then proceed to gather up the fertile grapes at last. Oh! my young vine, The sun's bright shine Hath ripened thee All--all for me! No drizzling showers Have spoilt the hours. My muse can't borrow; My friends, to-morrow Cannot me lend; But thee, young friend, Grapes nicely drest, With figs the finest And raisins gather Bind them together! Th' abundant season Will still us bring A glorious harvesting; Close up thy hands with bravery Upon the luscious grapery! Now all push forth their tendrils; though not past remedy, At th' hour when I am here, my faithful memory Comes crowding back; my oldest friends Now make me young again--for pleasure binds Me to their hearts and minds. But now the curtained night comes on again. I see, the meadows sweet around, My little island, midst the varying ground, Where I have often laughed, and sometimes I have groaned. I see far off the leafy woodland, Or near the fountain, where I've; often dreamed; Long time ago there was a famous man{4} Who gave its fame to Agen. I who but write these verses slight Midst thoughts of memory bright. But I will tell you all--in front, to left, to right, More than a hedgerow thick that I have brought the light, More than an apple-tree that I have trimmed, More than an old vine-stalk that I have thinned To ripen lovely Muscat. Madame, you see that I look back upon my past, Without a blush at last; What would you? That I gave my vineyard back-- And that with usury? Alack! And yet unto my garden I've no door-- Two thorns are all my fence--no more! When the marauders come, and through a hole I see their nose, Instead of taking up a stick to give them blows, I turn aside; perhaps they never may return, the horde! He who young robs, when older lets himself be robbed! Endnotes to MY VINEYARD. {1} Jasmin purchased a little piece of ground, which he dedicated to his "Curl-papers" (Papilhoto), on the road to Scaliger's villa, and addressed the above lines to his lady-admirer in Paris, Madame Louis veill. {2} From a popular song by Gaston Phebus. {3} Referring to Verona, the villa of Scaliger, the great scholar. {4} Scaliger. FRANCONNETTE. FIRST PART. Blaise de Montluc--Festival at Roquefort--The Prettiest Maiden--The Soldier and the Shepherds--Kissing and Panting-- Courage of Pascal--Fury of Marcel--Terrible Contest. 'Twas at the time when Blaise the murderous Struck heavy blows by force of arms. He hewed the Protestants to pieces, And, in the name of God the Merciful, Flooded the earth with sorrow, blood, and tears. Alas! 'twas pitiful--far worse beyond the hills, Where flashing gun and culverin were heard; There the unhappy bore their heavy cross, And suffered, more than elsewhere, agonising pain, Were killed and strangled, tumbled into wells; 'Tween Penne and Fumel the saddened earth was gorged. Men, women, children, murdered everywhere, The hangman even stopped for breath; While Blaise, with heart of steel, dismounted at the gate Of his strong castle wall, With triple bridge and triple fosse; Then kneeling, made his pious prayers, Taking the Holy Sacrament, His hands yet dripping with fraternal blood!{1} Now every shepherd, every shepherd lass, At the word Huguenot shuddered with affright, Even 'midst their laughing courtship. And yet it came to pass That in a hamlet, 'neath a castled height, One Sunday, when a troop of sweethearts danced Upon the day of Roquefort fete, And to a fife the praises sang Of Saint James and the August weather-- That bounteous month which year by year, Through dew-fall of the evening bright, And heat of Autumn noons doth bring Both grapes and figs to ripening. It was the finest fete that eyes had ever seen Under the shadow of the leafy parasol, Where aye the country-folk convene. O'erflowing were the spaces all, From cliff, from dale, from every home Of Montagnac and Sainte-Colombe, Still they do come, Too many far to number; More, ever more, while flames the sunshine o'er, There's room for all, their coming will not cumber, The fields shall be their chamber, and the little hillocks green The couches of their slumber. What pleasure! what delight! the sun now fills the air; The sweetest thing in life Is the music of the fife And the dancing of the fair. You see their baskets emptying Of waffles all home-made. They quaff the nectar sparkling Of freshest lemonade. What crowds at Punchinello, While the showman beats his cymbal! Crowds everywhere! But who is this appears below? Ah! 'tis the beauteous village queen! Yes, 'tis she; 'tis Franconnette! A fairer girl was never seen. In the town as in the prairie, You must know that every country Has its chosen pearl of love. Ah, well! This was the one-- They named her in the Canton, The prettiest, sweetest dove. But now, you must not fancy, gentlemen, That she was sad and sighing, Her features pale as any lily, That she had dying eyes, half-shut and blue, And slender figure clothed with languishing, Like to a weeping willow by a limpid lake. Not so, my masters. Franconnette Had two keen flashing eyes, like two live stars; Her laughing cheeks were round, where on a lover might Gather in handfuls roses bright; Brown locks and curly decked her head; Her lips were as the cherry red, Whiter than snow her teeth; her feet How softly moulded, small and fleet; How light her limbs! Ah, well-a-day! And of the whole at once I say, She was the very beau-ideal Of beauty in a woman's form, most fair and real. Such loveliness, in every race, May sudden start to light. She fired the youths with ready love, Each maiden with despair. Poor youths, indeed! Oh! how they wished To fall beneath her feet! They all admired her, and adored, Just as the priest adores the cross-- 'Twas as if there shone a star of light The young girl's brow across! Yet, something vexing in her soul began to hover; The finest flower had failed her in this day of honour. Pascal, whom all the world esteemed, Pascal, the handsomest, whose voice with music beamed, He shunned the maid, cast ne'er a loving glance; Despised! She felt hate growing in her heart, And in her pretty vengeance She seized the moment for a brilliant dart Of her bright eyes to chain him. What would you have? A girl so greatly envied, She might become a flirt conceited; Already had she seemed all this, Self-glorious she was, I fear, Coquetting rarely comes amiss, Though she might never love, with many lovers near! Grandmother often said to her, "Child, child!" with gentle frown, "A meadow's not a parlour, and the country's not a town, And thou knowest well that we have promised thee lang syne To the soldier-lad, Marcel, who is lover true of thine. So curb thy flights, thou giddy one, The maid who covets all, in the end mayhap hath none." "Nay, nay," replied the tricksy fay, With swift caress, and laughter gay, "There is another saw well-known, Time enough, my grannie dear, to love some later day! 'She who hath only me, hath 'none.'" Now, such a flighty course, you may divine, Made hosts of melancholy swains, Who sighed and suffered jealous pains, Yet never sang reproachful strains, Like learned lovers when they pine, Who, as they go to die, their woes write carefully On willow or on poplar tree. Good lack! thou could'st not shape a letter, And the silly souls, though love-sick, to death did not incline, Thinking to live and suffer on were better! But tools were handled clumsily, And vine-sprays blew abroad at will, And trees were pruned exceeding ill, And many a furrow drawn awry. Methinks you know her now, this fair and foolish girl; Watch while she treads one measure, then see her dip and twirl! Young Etienne holds her hand by chance, 'Tis the first rigadoon they dance; With parted lips, right thirstily Each rustic tracks them as they fly, And the damsel sly Feels every eye, And lighter moves for each adoring glance. Holy cross! what a sight! when the madcap rears aright Her shining lizard's head! her Spanish foot falls light, Her wasp-like figure sways And swims and whirls and springs again. The wind with corner of her 'kerchief plays. Those lovely cheeks where on the youths now gaze, They hunger to salute with kisses twain! And someone shall; for here the custom is, Who tires his partner out, salutes her with a kiss; The girls grow weary everywhere, Wherefore already Jean and Paul, Louis, Guillaume, and strong Pierre, Have breathless yielded up their place Without the coveted embrace. Another takes his place, Marcel the wight, The soldier of Montluc, prodigious in his height, Arrayed in uniform, bearing his sword, A cockade in his cap, the emblem of his lord, Straight as an I, though bold yet not well-bred, His heart was soft, but thickish was his head. He blustered much and boasted more and more, Frolicked and vapoured as he took the floor Indeed he was a very horrid bore. Marcel, most mad for Franconnette, tortured the other girls, Made her most jealous, yet she had no chance, The swelled-out coxcomb called on her to dance. But Franconnette was loth, and she must let him see it; He felt most madly jealous, yet was maladroit, He boasted that he was beloved; perhaps he did believe it quite-- The other day, in such a place, She shrank from his embrace! The crowd now watched the dancing pair, And marked the tricksy witching fair; They rush, they whirl! But what's amiss? The bouncing soldier lad, I wis, Can never snatch disputed kiss! The dancing maid at first smiles at her self-styled lover, "Makes eyes" at him, but ne'er a word does utter; She only leaped the faster! Marcel, piqued to the quick, longed to subdue this creature, He wished to show before the crowd what love he bore her; One open kiss were sweeter far Than twenty in a corner! But, no! his legs began to fail, his head was in a trance, He reeled, he almost fell, he could no longer dance; Now he would give cockade, sabre, and silver lace, Would it were gold indeed, for her embrace! Yet while the pair were still afoot, the girl looked very gay-- Resolved never to give way! While headstrong Marcel, breathless, spent, and hot in face, He reeled and all but fell; then to the next gave place! Forth darted Pascal in the soldier's stead, They make two steps, then change, and Franconnette, Weary at last, with laughing grace, Her foot stayed and upraised her face! Tarried Pascal that kiss to set? Not he, be sure! and all the crowd His vict'ry hailed with plaudits loud. The clapping of their palms like battle-dores resounded, While Pascal stood among them quite confounded! Oh, what a picture for the soldier who so loved his queen! Him the kiss maddened! Measuring Pascal with his een, He thundered, "Peasant, you have filled my place most sly; Not so fast, churl!"--and brutally let fly With aim unerring one fierce blow, Straight in the other's eyes, doubling the insult so. Good God!{2} how stings the madd'ning pain, His dearest happiness that blow must stain, Kissing and boxing--glory, shame! Light, darkness! Fire, ice! Life, death! Heaven, hell! All this was to our Pascal's soul the knell Of hope! But to be thus tormented By flagrant insult, as the soldier meant it; Now without fear he must resent it! It does not need to be a soldier nor a "Monsieur," An outrage placidly to bear. Now fiery Pascal let fly at his foe, Before he could turn round, a stunning blow; 'Twas like a thunder peal, And made the soldier reel; Trying to draw his sabre, But Pascal, seeming bigger, Gripped Marcel by the waist, and sturdily Lifted him up, and threw his surly Foe on the ground, breathless, and stunned severely. "Now then!" while Pascal looked on the hound thrown by him, "The peasant grants thee chance of living!" "Despatch him!" cried the surging crowd. "Thou art all cover'd o'er with blood!" But Pascal, in his angry fit of passion, Had hurt his wrist and fist in a most serious fashion. "No matter! All the same I pardon him! You must have pity on the beaten hound!" "No, finish him! Into morsels cut him!" The surging, violent crowd now cried around. "Back, peasants, back! Do him no harm!" Sudden exclaimed a Monsieur, speaking with alarm; The peasants moved aside, and then gave place To Montluc, glittering with golden lace; It was the Baron of Roquefort! The frightened girls, like hunted hares, At once dispers'd, flew here and there. The shepherds, but a moment after, With thrilling fife and beaming laughter, The brave and good Pascal attended on his way, Unto his humble home, as 'twere his nuptial day. But Marcel, furious, mad with rage, exclaimed, "Oh! could I stab and kill them! But I'm maimed!" Only a gesture of his lord Restrained him, hand upon his sword. Then did he grind his teeth, as he lay battered, And in a low and broken voice he muttered: "They love each other, and despise my kindness, She favours him, and she admires his fondness; Ah, well! by Marcel's patron, I'll not tarry To make them smart, and Franconnette No other husband than myself shall marry!" SECOND PART. The Enamoured Blacksmith--His Fretful Mother--The Busking Soiree--Pascal's Song--The Sorcerer of the Black Forest-- The Girl Sold to the Demon. Since Roquefort fete, one, two, three months have fled; The dancing frolic, with the harvest ended; The out-door sports are banished-- For winter comes; the air is sad and cold, it sighs Under the vaulted skies. At fall of night, none risks to walk across the fields, For each one, sad and cheerless, beelds Before the great fires blazing, Or talks of wolfish fiends{3} amazing; And sorcerers--to make one shudder with affright-- That walk around the cots so wight, Or 'neath the gloomy elms, and by farmyards at night. But now at last has Christmas come, And little Jack, who beats the drum, Cries round the hamlet, with his beaming face: "Come brisken up, you maidens fair, A merry busking{4} shall take place On Friday, first night of the year!" Ah! now the happy youths and maidens fair Proclaimed the drummer's words, so bright and rare. The news were carried far and near Light as a bird most fleet With wings to carry thoughts so sweet. The sun, with beaming rays, had scarcely shone Ere everywhere the joyous news had flown; At every fireside they were known, By every hearth, in converse keen, The busking was the theme. But when the Friday came, a frozen dew was raining, And by a fireless forge a mother sat complaining; And to her son, who sat thereby, She spoke at last entreatingly: "Hast thou forgot the summer day, my boy, when thou didst come All bleeding from the furious fray, to the sound of music home? How I have suffered for your sorrow, And all that you have had to go through. Long have I troubled for your arm! For mercy's sake Oh! go not forth to-night! I dreamt of flowers again, And what means that, Pascal, but so much tears and pain!" "Now art thou craven, mother! and see'st that life's all black, But wherefore tremble, since Marcel has gone, and comes not back!" "Oh yet, my son, do you take heed, I pray! For the wizard of the Black Wood is roaming round this way; The same who wrought such havoc, 'twas but a year agone, They tell me one was seen to come from 's cave at dawn But two days past--it was a soldier; now What if this were Marcel? Oh, my child, do take care! Each mother gives her charms unto her sons; do thou Take mine; but I beseech, go not forth anywhere!" "Just for one little hour, mine eyes to set On my friend Thomas, whom I'm bound to meet!" "Thy friend, indeed! Nay, nay! Thou meanest Franconnette, Whom thou loves dearly! I wish thou'd love some other maid! Oh, yes! I read it in thine eyes! Though thou sing'st, art gay, thy secret bravely keeping, That I may not be sad, yet all alone thou'rt weeping-- My head aches for thy misery; Yet leave her, for thine own good, my dear Pascal; She would so greatly scorn a working smith like thee, With mother old in penury; For poor we are--thou knowest truly. "How we have sold and sold fill scarce a scythe remains. Oh, dark the days this house hath seen Since, Pascal, thou so ill hast been; Now thou art well, arouse! do something for our gains Or rest thee, if thou wilt; with suffering we can fight; But, for God's love, oh! go not forth to-night!" And the poor mother, quite undone, Cried, while thus pleading with her son, Who, leaning on his blacksmith's forge The stifling sobs quelled in his gorge. "'Tis very true," he said, "that we are poor, But had I that forgot?... I go to work, my mother, now, be sure!" No sooner said than done; for in a blink Was heard the anvil's clink, The sparks flew from the blacksmith's fire Higher and still higher! The forgeman struck the molten iron dead, Hammer in hand, as if he had a hundred in his head! But now, the Busking was apace, And soon, from every corner place The girls came with the skein of their own making To wind up at this sweethearts' merry meeting. In the large chamber, where they sat and winded The threads, all doubly garnished, The girls, the lads, plied hard their finger, And swiftly wound together The clews of lint so fair, As fine as any hair. The winding now was done; and the white wine, and rhymsters, Came forth with rippling glass and porringers, And brought their vivid vapours To brighten up their capers-- Ah! if the prettiest were the best, with pride I would my Franconnette describe. Though queen of games, she was the last, not worst, It is not that she reigned at present, yet was first. "Hold! Hold!" she cried, the brown-haired maid, Now she directed them from side to side-- Three women merged in one, they said-- She dances, speaks, sings, all bewitching, By maiden's wiles she was so rich in; She sings with soul of turtle-dove, She speaks with grace angelic; She dances on the wings of love-- Sings, speaks, and dances, in a guise More than enough to turn the head most wise! Her triumph is complete; all eyes are fixed upon her, Though her adorers are but peasants; Her eyes are beaming, Blazing and sparkling, And quite bewitching; No wonder that the sweetheart lads are ravished with her! Then Thomas rose and, on the coquette fixing His ardent eyes, though blushing, In language full of neatness, And tones of lute-like sweetness, This song began to sing: THE SYREN WITH A HEART OF ICE. "Oh, tell us, charming Syren, With heart of ice unmoved, When shall we hear the sound Of bells that ring around, To say that you have loved? Always so free and gay, Those wings of dazzling ray, Are spread to every air-- And all your favour share; Attracted by their light All follow in your flight. But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again? "You've seen how full of joy We've marked the sun arise; Even so each Sunday morn When you, before our eyes, Bring us such sweet surprise. With us new life is born: We love your angel face, Your step so debonnaire, Your mien of maiden grace, Your voice, your lips, your hair, Your eyes of gentle fire, All these we now admire! But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again? "Alas! our groves are dull When widowed of thy sight, And neither hedge nor field Their perfume seem to yield; The blue sky is not bright When you return once more, All that was sad is gone, All nature you restore, We breathe in you alone; We could your rosy fingers cover With kisses of delight all over! But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again? "The dove you lost of late, Might warn you by her flight, She sought in woods her mate, And has forgot you quite; She has become more fair Since love has been her care. 'Tis love makes all things gay, Oh follow where she leads-- When beauteous looks decay, What dreary life succeeds! And ah! believe me, perfect bliss, A joy, where peace and triumph reign, Is when a maiden, loved like this, Has learnt 'tis sweet to love again!" The songster finished, and the ardent crowd Of listeners clapped their hands in praises loud. "Oh! what a lovely song!" they cried. "Who is the poet?" "'Tis Pascal," answered Thomas, "that has made it!" "Bravo! Long live Pascal!" exclaimed the fervent crowd. Nothing said Franconnette; but she rejoiced--was proud-- At having so much love evoked, And in a song so touching, Before this crowd admiring. Then she became more serious as she thought of Pascal; "How brave he is! 'Tis all for him; he has not got his equal! How he paints love! All praise him without doubt; And his sweet song--so touching!" for now by heart she knows it. "But if he loves at last, why does he hide away?" Then turning suddenly, she says-- "Thomas, he is not here, away he stays; I would him compliment; can he not come?" "Oh! now he cannot; but remains at home." Then spoke the jealous Lawrence: "Pascal knows He cannot any other songs compose; Poor fellow! almost ruined quite he is; His father's most infirm--stretched out, and cannot rise; The baker will not give him bread, he is constrained to debts." Then Franconnette grew pale, and said, "And he so very good! Poor lad! how much he suffers; and now he wants his food!" "My faith!" said Lawrence, a heart of goodness aping, "They say that now he goes a-begging!" "You lie!" cried Thomas, "hold thy serpent's tongue! Pascal, 'tis true, is working, yet with harm, Since, for this maiden, he has suffered in his arm; But he is cured; heed not this spiteful knave! He works now all alone, for he is strong and brave." If someone on the girl his eyes had set, He would have seen tears on the cheeks of Franconnette. "Let's 'Hunt the Slipper!"' cried the maids; Round a wide ring they sat, the jades. Slipper was bid by Franconnette, But in a twinkle, Marionette-- "Lawrence, hast thou my slipper?" "No, demoiselle!" "Rise then, and seek it now, ah, well!" Lawrence, exulting in his features, Said, "Franconnette, hast thou my slipper?" "No, sir!" "'Tis false!" It was beneath her seat! "Thou hast it! Rise! Now kiss me as the forfeit!" A finch, just taken in a net, First tries some gap to fly at; So Franconnette, just like a bird, escaped With Lawrence, whom she hated; Incensed he turned to kiss her; He swiftly ran, but in his pursuit warm, The moment she was caught he stumbled, Slipped, fell, and sudden broke his arm. Misfortunes ne'er come single, it is said. The gloomy night was now far spent; But in that fright of frights, quite in a breath, The house-door creaked and ope'd! Was it a wraith? No! but an old man bearded to the waist, And now there stood before the throng the Black Wood Ghaist! "Imprudent youths!" he cried; "I come from gloomy rocks up yonder, Your eyes to ope: I'm filled with wrath and wonder! You all admire this Franconnette; Learn who she is, infatuate! From very cradle she's all evil; Her wretched father, miserable, Passed to the Hugnenots and sold her to the Devil; Her mother died of shame-- And thus the demon plays his game. Now he has bought this woman base, He tracks her in her hiding-place. You see how he has punished Pascal and Lawrence Because they gave her light embrace! Be warned! For who so dares this maid to wed, Amid the brief delight of their first nuptial night, Will sudden hear a thunder-peal o'er head! The demon cometh in his might To snatch the bride away in fright, And leave the ill-starred bridegroom dead!" The Wizard said no more; but angry, fiery rays, From scars his visage bore, seemed suddenly to blaze. Four times he turned his heel upon, Then bade the door stand wide, or ere his foot he stayed; With one long creak the door obeyed, And lo! the bearded ghaist was gone! He left great horror in his wake! None stirred in all the throng; They looked nor left nor right, when he away had gone, They seemed all changed to stone-- Only the stricken maid herself stood brave against her wrong; And in the hope forlorn that all might pass for jest, With tremulous smile, half bright, half pleading, She swept them with her eyes, and two steps forward pressed; But when she saw them all receding, And heard them cry "Avaunt!" then did she know her fate; Then did her saddened eyes dilate With speechless terror more and more, The while her heart beat fast and loud, Till with a cry her head she bowed And sank in swoon upon the floor. Such was the close of Busking night, Though it began so gay and bright; The morrow was the New Year's day, It should have been a time most gay; But now there went abroad a fearful rumour-- It was remembered long time after In every house and cottage home throughout the land-- Though 'twas a fiction and a superstition,-- It was, "The De'il's abroad! He's now a-roaming; How dreadful! He is now for lost souls seeking!" The folks were roused and each one called to mind That some, in times of yore, had heard the sound Of Devil's chains that clanked; How soon the father vanished, The mother, bent in agony, A maniac she died! That then all smiled; they felt nor hurt nor harm, They lived quite happy on their cottage farm, And when the fields were spoilt with hail or rain, Their ground was covered o'er with plums and grain. It was enough; the girls believed it all, Grandmothers, mothers--thoughts did them appal-- Even infants trembled at the demon's name; And when the maiden hung her head in pain,. And went abroad, they scarce would give her passage; They called to her, "Away! Avaunt! thou imp of evil, Behold the crime of dealing with the Devil!" THIRD PART. The Maid at Estanquet--A Bad Dream--The Grandmother's Advice-- Blessed Bread--Satisfaction and Affection--First Thought of Love --Sorrowfulness--The Virgin. Beside a cot at Estanquet, Down by a leafy brooklet, The limpid stream Enshadowed sheen, Lapped o'er the pebbles murmuring. Last summer sat a maid, with gathered flowers, She was engaged in setting, Within her grassy bowers; She sang in joy her notes so thrilling, As made the birds, their sweet songs trilling, Most jealous. Why does she sing no more? midst fields and hedgerows verdant; 'The nightingales that came within her garden, With their loud "jug! jug!" warbling, And their sweet quavers singing; Can she have left her cottage home? No! There's her pretty hat of straw Laid on the bench; but then they saw There was no ribbon round it; The garden all neglected; The rake and wat'ring-pot were down Amongst the jonquils overthrown; The broken-branched roses running riot; The dandelion, groundsell, all about; And the nice walks, laid out with so much taste, Now cover'd with neglected weeds and wanton waste. Oh! what has happened here? Where is the lively maid? The little birds now whispering said; Her home is sparkling there beyond, With tufted branch of hazel round; Let's just peep in, the door is open, We make no noise, but let us listen. Ah! there's grandmother, on her arm-chair, fast asleep! And here, beside the casement deep, The maid of Estanquet, in saddened pain and grief, The tears down-falling on her pretty hand; To whom no joy nor hope can ever give relief! Ah! yes,'twas dark enough! for it is Franconnette, Already you've divined it is our pet! And see her now, poor maiden, Bending beneath the falsest blow, o'erladen; She sobs and weeps alternately-- Her heart is rent and empty, Oft, to console herself, she rises, walks, and walks again; Alas! her trouble is so full of pain-- Awake or sleeping-- she's only soothed by weeping. Daughter of Huguenot accursed, And banished from the Church! Sold to the demon; she's for ever cursed! Grandmother, waking, said, "Child, 'tis not true; It matters not; 'tis but thy father fled, No one can contradict that raving crew; They know not where he is, and could they see him, They would so frightened be, they'd not believe their een!" "How changed things are," said Franconnette, "before I was so happy; Then I was village queen, all followed love in harmony; And all the lads, to please me, Would come barefooted, e'en through serpents' nests, to bless me! But now, to be despised and curst, I, who was once the very first! And Pascal, too, whom once I thought the best, In all my misery shuns me like a pest! Now that he knows my very sad mishaps, He ne'er consoles with me at all--perhaps----" She did deceive herself. Her grief to-day was softened By hearing that Pascal 'gainst slanders her defended; Such magic help, it was a balm Her aching soul to calm; And then, to sweeten all her ill, She thought always of Pascal--did this softened girl. What is that sound? A sudden shriek! Grandmother dreamt--she was now wide awake; The girl sprang to her; she said, "Isn't the house aflame? Ah! twas a dream! Thank God!" her murmur came. "Dear heart," the girl said softly; "what was this dream of thine?" "Oh, love! 'twas night, and loud ferocious men, methought Came lighting fires all round our little cot, And thou did'st cry unto them, daughter mine, To save me, but did'st vainly strive, For here we too must burn alive! The torment that I bore! How shall I cure my fright Come hither, darling, let me hold thee tight!" Then the white-headed dame, in withered arms of love, With yearning tenderness folded the brown-haired girl, who strove, By many a smile, and mute caress, To hearten her, until at length The aged one cried out, her love gave vital strength, "Sold to the Demon, thou? It is a hideous lie! Therefore, dear child, weep not so piteously; Take courage! Be thou brave in heart once more, Thou art more lovely than before-- Take grannie's word for that! Arise! Go forth; who hides from envious eyes Makes wicked people spiteful; I've heard this, my pet; I know full well there's one who loves thee yet-- Marcel would guard thee with his love; Thou lik'st not him? Ah! could he move Thy feelings, he would shield thee, dear, And claim thee for his own. But I am all too feeble grown; Yet stay, my darling, stay! To-morrow's Easter Day, Go thou to Mass, and pray as ne'er before! Then take the blessed bread, if so the good God may The precious favour of his former smile restore, And on thy sweet face, clear as day, Own thou art numbered with his children evermore!" Then such a gleam of hope lit the old face again, Furrowed so deep with years and pain, That, falling on her neck, the maiden promised well, And once more on the white cot silence fell. When, therefore, on the morrow, came the country-side, To hear the Hallelujas in the church of Saint Pierre; Great was the wonderment of those that spied The maiden, Franconnette, silently kneeling there, Telling her beads with downcast eyes of prayer. She needs, poor thing, Heaven's mercy to implore, For ne'er a woman's will she win! But then, beholding her sweet mien, Were Marvel and Pascal, eyeing her fondly o'er; She saw them with her glances, dark as night, Then shrinking back, they left her all alone, Midway of a great circle, as they might Some poor condemned one Bearing some stigma on her brow in sight. This was not all, poor child! It was well known-- The warden, uncle to Marcel, Carried the Blessed Bread; And like a councillor, did swell In long-tailed coat, with pompous tread: But when the trembling maid, making a cross, essayed To take a double portion, as her dear old grandame bade, Right in the view of every eye, The sacred basket he withdrew, and passed her wholly And so, denied her portion of the bread whereby we live, She, on glad Easter, doth receive Dismissal from God's house for aye. The maid, trembling with fear, thought all was lost indeed! But no! she hath a friend at need; 'Twas Pascal, who had seen her all the while-- Pacal, whose young foot walked along the aisle, He made the quest, and nothing loth, In view of uncle and of nephew both, Doth quietly to her present, Upon a silver plate, with flowers fair blossoming, The crown-piece{5} of the Holy Sacrament-- And all the world beholds the pious offering. Oh! moment full of joy; her blood sprang into fleetness; Warmth was in all her frame, her senses thrilled with sweetness; She saw the bread of God arisen Out of its earthly prison, Thus life unto her own was given: But wherefore did her brow quite blushing grow? Because the angel bright of love, I trow, Did with her glowing breath impart Life to the flame long smouldering in her heart. It did become a something strange, and passing all desire As honey sweet, and quick as fire Did her sad soul illuminate With a new being; and, though late, She knew the word for her delight, The fair enigma she could guess. People and priest all vanish'd from her sight, She saw in all the church only one man aright-- He whom she loved at last, with utmost gratefulness. Then from Saint Peter's church the throng widely dispersed, And of the scandal they had seen, now eagerly conversed; But lost not sight of her at all Who bore the Bread of Honour to the ancient dame, ere this, She sitteth now alone, shut in her chamber small, While Franconnette beams brightly with her new-found bliss. On the parched earth, where falls the earliest dew, As shines the sun's first rays, the winter flown-- So love's first spark awakes to life anew, And fills the startled mind with joy unknown. The maiden yielded every thought to this-- The trembling certainty of real bliss; The lightning of a joy before improved, Flash'd in her heart, and told her that she loved. She fled from envy, and from curious eyes, And dreamed, as all have done, their waking dreams, Bidding in thought bright fairy fabrics rise To shrine the loved one in their golden gleams. Alas! the sage is right, 'tis the distrest Who dream the fondest, and who love the best. But when the saddened heart controls us quite, It quickly turns to gall the sweets of our delight. Then she remembered all! The opening heaven turned grey, Dread thought now smites her heavily. Dreams she of love? Why, what is she? Sweet love is not for her! The dreaded sorcerer Hath said she's fore-sold for a price--a murderer! With heart of dev'lish wrath, which whoso dares to brave To lie with her one night, therein shall find his grave. She, to see Pascal perish at her side! "Oh God! have pity on me now!" she cried. So, rent with cruel agonies, And weeping very sore, Fell the poor child upon her knees, Her little shrine before. "Oh, Holy Virgin!"--sighing--"on thee alone relying, I come; I'm all astray! Father and mother too Are dead lang syne, and I accursed! All tongues are crying This hideous tale! Yet save me if't be true; If they have falsely sworn, be it on their souls borne When I shall bring my taper on the fete-day morn{6} Oh! blessed Mother, let me see That I am not denied of thee!" Brief prayer, Though 'tis sincere, To Heaven mounts quickly, Sure to have won a gracious ear; The maid her purpose holds, and ponders momently, And oftentimes grows sick, and cannot speak for fear, But sometimes taketh heart, and sudden hope and strong Shines in her soul, as brightest meteor gleams the sky along. FOURTH PART. The Fete at Notre Dame--Offering to the Virgin--Thunderstroke and Taper Extinguished--The Storm at Roquefort-- Fire at Estanquet--Triumph of Pascal--Fury of Marcel-- Power of a Mother--Bad Head and Good Heart--Conclusion. At last, behold the day she longed for, yet so fearfully, But lo! the sun rose cheerfully; And long, long lines of white-robed village girls From all the country round, walked tow'rds the tinkling bells, And soon, proud Notre Dame appeared in sight, As 'midst a cloud of perfume! 'Twas if the thirty hamlets in their might Were piled together into one. What priests! What candles! Crucifixes! Garlands! What Angels,{7} and what banners! You see there Artigues, Puymiral, Astafort, Saint-Cirq, Cardonnet, Lusignan, Brax, Roquefort, But this year, Roquefort first, o'erleapeth all. What crowds there are of curious people, To watch the girl sold to the Devil! The news has travelled everywhere; They know that she, in silent prayer, Implores the Virgin to protect her there! Her neighbours scoff, and her menace, But saddened friends grieve at her sore disgrace, Love, through their heart, in fervour rills, Each one respects this plaintivest of girls; And many a pitying soul a prayer said, That some great miracle might yet be made In favour of this poor and suppliant maid. She saw, rejoiced, more hope with her abode; Though voice of people is the voice of God! Oh! how her heart beat as the church she neared, 'Twas for the Virgin's indulgence she cared. Mothers with heartaches; young unfortunates; The orphan girls; the women without mates; All knelt before, with tapers waxen, The image of the Virgin; And there the aged priest, in surplice dressed, Placed the crosses at their lips, and afterwards them blessed. No sign of sorrow did on any suppliant fall, But with their happy hearts, their ways went one and all, So Franconnette grew happy too, And most because Pascal prayed fervent in her view; She dared t'raise her eyes to the holy father's face, It seemed to her that love, hymns, lights, and the incense United, cried out, "Grace!" "Grace, grace divine," she sighed, "and love! Let them be mine!" Then stretching out her taper lit, and followed to the shrine, Bearing a garland in her hand; and all about her strove To give a place to her, and bade her forward move. They fixed their eyes upon the sacred priest and her, And scarce a breath was drawn, and not a soul did stir; But when the priest, holding the image of redeeming love, Had laid it on the orphan's lips; before her kiss was given, Burst a terrific thunderpeal, as if 'twould rend the heaven, Blowing her taper out, and all the altar lights above. Oh, what is this? The crashing thunder! Her prayer denied, the lights put out! Good God! she's sold indeed! All, all is true, no doubt, So a long murmur rose of horror and of wonder; For while the maiden breathlessly Cowering like some lost soul, their shuddering glances under, Sudden crept forth, all shrunk away, and let her pass them by. Howbeit, that great peal was the opening blow Of a wild storm and terrible, That straightway upon Roquefort fell, The spire of Saint Pierre{8} lay in ruins low, And, smitten by the sharp scourge of the hail, In all the region round, men could but weep and wail. The angel bands who walked that day In fair procession, hymns to sing, Turned sorrowing, all save one, away, Ora pro nobis chaunting. Yet, in those early times, though not as now, The angry waves to clear; To other jealous towns could Agen show Great bridges three, as she a royal city were; Then she had only barges two, by poles propelled slow, That waited for the minstrels, to bear them to Roquefort, Whose villagers heard rumours of the widespread woe; Ere landing, they were ranged for singing on the shore. At first the tale but half they heed, But soon they see in very deed, Vineyards and happy fields with hopeless ruin smit; Then each let fall his banner fair, And lamentations infinite Bent on all sides the evening air, Till o'er the swelling throng rose deadly clear the cry, "And still we spare this Franconnette!" Then suddenly, As match to powder laid, the words "Set her on fire! That daughter of the Huguenot, Let's burn her up, and let her ashes rot." Then violent cries were heard. Howls of "Ay! Ay! the wretch! Now let her meet her fate! She is the cause of all, 'tis plain! Once she has made us desolate, But she shall never curse again!" And now the crowd grew angrier, wilder too. "Hunt her off face of earth!" one shouts anew; "Hunt her to death! 'Tis meet," a thousand tongues repeat, The tempest in the skies cannot with this compete. Oh, then, to see them as they came, With clenched fists and eyes aflame, Hell did indeed its demons all unchain. And while the storm recedes, the night is growing clear, But poison shoots through every vein Of the possess'd madmen there. Thus goaded they themselves to crime; but where was she, Unhappy Franconnette? To her own cottage driven-- Worshipping her one relic, sad and dreamily, And whispered to the withered flowers Pascal had loving given: "Dear nosegay, when I saw thee first, Methought thy sweetness was divine, And I did drink it, heart athirst; But now thou art not sweet as erst, Because those wicked thoughts of mine Have blighted all thy beauty rare; I'm sold to powers of ill, for Heav'n hath spurned my prayer; My love is deadly love! No hope on earth have I! So, treasure of my heart, flowers of the meadow fair, Because I bless the hand that gathered thee, good-bye! Pascal must not love such as I! He must th' accursed maid forswear, Who yet to God for him doth cry! In wanton merriment last year, Even at love laughed Franconnette; Now is my condemnation clear, Now whom I love, I must forget; Sold to the demon at my birth! My God, how can it be? Have I not faith in Thee? Oh! blessed blossoms of the earth; Let me drive with my cross the evil one from me! And thou, my mother, in the star-lit skies above, And thou, my guardian, oh! mother of our God, Pity me: For I bless Pascal, but part from him I love! Pity the maid accursed, by the rod Sore smitten, to the earth down-trod, Help me, thy Heart Divine to move!" "Franconnette, little one, what means thy plaintive moan?" So spake the hoary dame. "Didst thou not smiling say Our Lady did receive thy offering to-day? But sure, no happy heart should make so sad a groan. Thou hast deceived me? Some new ill," she said, Hath fall'n upon us!" "Nay, not so; be comforted. I--I'm quite happy!" "So my sweetest deary, God grant that some good respite we may have, For your sad sorrow diggeth up my grave; And this hath been a lonesome, fearsome day, and weary; That cruel dream of fire I had some time ago, Howe'er I strove, did always haunt me so! And then, thou know'st the storm; oh, I was terrified, So that, to-night, my dear, I shudder in my fright!" What sudden noise is this outside? "Fire! Fire! Let's burn them in their cot!" Flames shine through all the shutters wide, Then Franconnette springs to the doorway tremblingly, And, gracious Heaven! what doth she see? By light of burning reek, An angry people huddled thick; She hears them shout, "Now, to your fate! Spare ne'er the young one, nor the old, Both work us ruin manifold. Sold to the demon, we must burn you straight!" The girl fell on her knees, before the face Of that most furious populace. She cried, "Grandmother will you kill? Oh, pity, grace!" "Twas of no use, the wretches, blind with fury, In viewing her bareheaded, in their hurry, Saw but a cursed leman, Sold bodily to the demon. The fiercest cried "Avaunt!" While the more savage forward spring, And on the door their feet they plant, With fiery brand in their hand brandishing. "Hold! I implore you!"cried a voice, before unheard; And sudden leapt before the crowd like lightning with the word, A man of stately strength and tall, It was the noble, brave Pascal! "Cowards!" he cried. "What? Will you murder women then, And burn their cot? Children of God! Are you the same? Tigers you are, and cannot then be men; And after all that they have suffered! Shame! Fall back! Fall back! I say; the walls are growing hot!" "Then let her leave us quite, this wretched Huguenot, For she was long since by the devil bought, God smites us 'cause we did not drive her forth before." "Quick! quick!" cried Pascal, "living they will burn! Ye dogs, who moved ye to this awful crime?" "'Twas Marcel," they replied. "See, now he comes in time!" "You lie!" the soldier thundered in his turn; "I love her, boaster, more than thou!" Said Pascal, "How wilt prove thy love, thou of the tender heart?" "I come," the other said, "to save her. I come to take her part. I come, if so she will, to wed her, even now." "And so am I," replied Pascal, and steadfastly Before his rival's eyes, as bound by some great spell. Then to the orphan girl turned he, With worship all unspeakable. "Answer me, Franconnette, and speak the truth alone; Thou'st followed by the wicked with spite and scorn, my own; But we two love thee well, and ready are to brave Death! Yes, or hell, thy precious life to save. Choose which of us thou wilt!" "Nay," she lamented sore, "Dearest, mine is a love that slays! Be happy, then, without me! Forget me! Go thy ways!" "Happy without thee, dear! That can I never more: Nay, were it true, as lying rumour says, An evil spirit ruled you o'er, I'd rather die with you, than live bereaved days!" When life is at its bitterest, The voice of love aye rules us best; Instantly rose the girl above her mortal dread, And on the crowd advancing straight, "Because I love Pascal, alone I'd meet my fate! Howbeit his will is law," she said, "Wherefore together let our souls be sped." Then was Pascal in heav'n, and Marcel in the dust laid low; Then Pascal sought his gallant rival, saying, "I am more blest than thou! Forgive! thou'rt brave, I know, Some squire{9} should follow me to death; then wilt thou not Serve me? I have no other friend!" Marcel seemed dreaming; And now he scowled with wrath, and now his eyes were kindling; Terrible was the battle in his mind; Till his eye fell on Franconnette, serene and beaming, But with no word for him; then pale, but smilingly, "Because it is her will," he said, "I follow thee." Two weeks had passed away, and a strange nuptial train, Adown the verdant hill went slowly to the plain; First came the comely pair we know, in all their bloom, While gathered far and wide, three deep on either side, The ever-curious rustics hied, Shudd'ring at heart o'er Pascal's doom. Marcel conducts their march, but pleasures kindly true, Glows not upon th' unmoving face he lifts to view. And something glances from his eye, That makes men shudder as they pass him by; Yet verily his mien triumphant is, at least Sole master is he of this feast, And gives his rival, for bouquet, A supper and a ball to-day. But at the dance and at the board Alike, scarce one essayed a word; None sung a song, none raised a jest, For dark forebodings everyone oppressed. And the betrothed, by love's deep rapture fascinated, Silent and sweet, though near the fate she sad awaited, No sound their dream dispelled, yet hand in hand did press, Their eyes looked ever in a visioned happiness; And so, at last, the evening fell. But one affrighted woman straightway broke the spell; She fell on Pascal's neck and "Fly, my son!" she cried. "I from the Sorcerer come! Fly, fly from thy false bride The fatal sieve{10} hath turned; thy death decree is spoken! There's sulphur fume in bridal room, and by the same dread token, Enter it not; for if thou liv'st thou'rt lost," she sadly said; "And what were life to me, my son, if thou wert dead?" Then Pascal felt his eyes were wet, And turned away, striving to hide his face, where on The mother shrieked, "Ingrate! but I will save thee yet. Thou wilt not dare!"--falling before her stricken son. "Thou shalt now o'er my body pass, even as thou goest forth! A wife, it seems, is all; and mother nothing worth! Unhappy that I am! "The crowd alas! their heavy tears ran down! "Marcel," the bridegroom said, "her grief is my despair; But love, thou knowest, 's stronger yet; indeed 'tis time to go! Only, should I perish, let my mother be thy care." "I can no more," cried Marcel, "thy mother's conquered here." And then the valiant soldier from his eyelids brushed a tear. "Take courage, Pascal, friend of mine Thy Franconnette is good and pure. That hideous tale was told, of dark design; But give thy mother thanks; but for her coming, sure This night might yet have seen my death and thine." "What say'st thou?" "Hush! now I will tell thee all; Thou knowest that I lov'd this maid, Pascal. For her, like thee, I would have shed my blood; I dreamt that I was loved again; she held me in her thrall. Albeit my prayer was aye withstood; Her elders promised her to me; And so, when other suitors barr'd my way, In spite, Saying, in love or war, one may use strategy, I gave the wizard gold, my rival to affright, Therefore, my chance did everything, insomuch that I said, My treasure is already won and made. But when, in the same breath, we two our suit made known, And when I saw her, without turn of head, Choose thee, to my despair, it was not to be borne. And then I vow'd her death and thine, before the morrow morn! I thought to lead you forth to the bridal bower ere long, And then, the bed beside which I had mined with care, That they might say no prince or power of th' air Is here. That I might burn you for my wrong; Ay, cross yourselves, thought I, for you shall surely die! But thy mother, with her tears, has made my vengeance fly I thought of my own, Pascal, who died so long ago. Care thou for thine! And now fear nought from me, I trow, Eden is coming down to earth for thee, no doubt, But I, whom henceforth men can only hate and flout, Will to the wars away! For in me something saith I may recover from my rout, Better than by a crime! Ay! by a soldier's death!" Thus saying, Marcel vanished, loudly cheered on every side; And then with deepening blushes the twain each other eyed, For now the morning stars in the dark heavens shone But now I lift my pencil suddenly. Colours for strife and pain have I, But for such perfect rapture--none! And so the morning came, with softly-dawning light, No sound, no stir as yet within the cottage white, At Estanquet the people of the hamlets gathered were, To wait the waking of the happy married pair. Marcel had frankly told th' unhappy truth; Nathless, The devil had an awful power, And ignorance was still his dower. Some feared for bride and bridegroom yet; and guess At strange mischance. "In the night cries were heard," Others had seen some shadows on the wall, in wondrous ways. Lives Pascal yet? None dares to dress The spicy broth,{11} to leave beside the nuptial door; And so another hour goes o'er. Then floats a lovely strain of music overhead, A sweet refrain oft heard before, 'Tis the aoubado{12} offered to the newly-wed. So the door opes at last, and the young pair was seen, She blushed before the folk, but friendly hand and mien, The fragments of her garter gives, And every woman two receives; Then winks and words of ruth from eye and lip are passed, And luck of proud Pascal makes envious all at last, For the poor lads, whose hearts are healed but slightly, Of their first fervent pain, When they see Franconnette, blossoming rose-light brightly, All dewy fresh, so sweet and sightly, They cry aloud, "We'll ne'er believe a Sorcerer again!" Endnotes to FRANCONNETTE. {1} Blaise de Montluc, Marshal of France, was one of the bitterest persecutors of the Hugueuots. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, Agen was a centre of Protestantism. The town was taken again and again by the contending religious factions. When Montluc retook the place, in 1562, from Truelle, the Huguenot captain, he found that the inhabitants had fled, and there was no one to butcher (Gascogne et Languedoc, par Paul Joanne, p. 95). Montluc made up for his disappointment by laying waste the country between Fumel and Penne, towns to the north of Agen, and slaying all the Huguenots--men, women, and children--on whom he could lay his hands. He then returned to his castle of Estillac, devoted himself to religious exercises, and "took the sacrament," says Jasmin, "while his hands were dripping with fraternal blood." Montluc died in 1577, and was buried in the garden of Estillac, where a monument, the ruins of which still exist', was erected over his remains. {2} Jour de Dieu! {3} Wehr-wolves, wizard wolves--loup-garou. Superstitions respecting them are known in Brittany and the South of France. {4} Miss Harriett W. Preston, in her article on Jasmin's Franconnette in the Atlantic Monthly for February, 1876, says: "The buscou, or busking, was a kind of bee, at which the young people assembled, bringing the thread of their late spinning, which was divided into skeins of the proper size by a broad thin plate of steel or whalebone called a busc. The same thing, under precisely the same name, figured in the toilets of our grandmothers, and hence, probably, the Scotch use of the verb to busk, or attire." Jamieson (Scottish Dictionary) says: "The term busk is employed in a beautiful proverb which is very commonly used in Scotland, 'A bonny bride is soon busked.'" {5} Miss Preston says this was a custom which prevailed in certain parts of France. It was carried by the French emigrants to Canada, where it flourished in recent times. The Sacramental Bread was crowned by one or more frosted or otherwise ornamented cakes, which were reserved for the family of the Seigneur, or other communicants of distinction. {6} At Notre Dame de Bon Encontre, a church in the suburbs of Agen, celebrated for its legends, its miracles, and the numerous pilgrimages which are usually made to it in the month of May. {7} The Angels walked in procession, and sang the Angelos at the appropriate hours. {8} The ancient parish church of Roquefort, whose ruins only now remain. See text for the effects of the storm. {9} Dounzel is the word used by Jasmin. Miss H. W. Preston says of this passage: "There is something essentially knightly in Pascal's cast of character, and it is singular that, at the supreme crisis of his fate, he assumes, as if unconsciously, the very phraseology of chivalry. 'Some squire (dounzel) should follow me to death,' &c., and we find it altogether natural and burning in the high-hearted smith. There are many places where Jasmin addresses his hearers directly as 'Messieurs,' where the context also makes it evident that the word is emphatic, that he is distinctly conscious of addressing those who are above him in rank, and that the proper translation is 'gentles,' or even 'masters'; yet no poet ever lived who was less of a sycophant." {10} Low sedas (the sieve) is made of raw silk, and is used for sifting flour. It has also a singular use in necromancy. When one desires to know the name of the doer of an act--a theft for instance--the sieve is made to revolve, but woe to him whose name is spoken just as the sieve stops! {11} An ancient practice. Lou Tourrin noubial, a highly-spiced onion soup, was carried by the wedding guests to the bridegroom at a late hour of the night. {12} The aoubado--a song of early morning, corresponding to the serenade or evening song. 
41915	----	Every attempt has been made to replicate the original book as printed. Some typographical errors have been corrected. (A list follows the e-text.) No attempt has been made to modernize the printed accentuation of the Spanish words. (etext transcriber's note) _The Publishers call attention to the following Works for the study of the Spanish Language_:- English-Spanish Grammar, by Hossfeld's New Method, arranged for Classes, Schools, and Private Lessons. Conjugation of Spanish Verbs. English-Spanish Commercial Correspondent. Spanish-English and English-Spanish Dictionary (new Edition). Hossfeld's Spanish Reader. Spanish Commercial Correspondence and Technicalities, by Cornett. Modern Spanish Reader, by O'Doherty. Spanish-English and English-Spanish Idiom and Phrase Book, by Macdonald. Spanish Composition, by Macdonald. Spanish Composition and Idioms, by Yañez. English and Spanish Vocabulary. Engineering Translations in English and Spanish, by Standring. Dictionary of Engineering Terms in English and Spanish, by García and Cornett. Spanish Technological Dictionary, by Ponce de León--Vol. 1. English-Spanish. Vol. 2. Spanish-English. Handbook of Commercial Spanish, by Thomas. HOSSFELD'S POCKET MANUALS. HOSSFELD'S SPANISH DIALOGUES, AND IDIOMATIC PHRASES INDISPENSABLE FOR A RAPID ACQUISITION OF THE =SPANISH LANGUAGE= _New Edition, Entirely Revised and Enlarged_ BY W. N. CORNETT LONDON HIRSCHFELD BROTHERS, LIMITED 263, High Holborn, W.C. 40 & 42, University Avenue, Glasgow 133, North Thirteenth Street, Philadelphia 1915 _Copyright._ _All rights reserved._ PREFACE. The aid of a reliable book of dialogues in the study of a language cannot be overestimated, and it is with a view to further increasing the usefulness in this respect of the present work that it has been thoroughly revised, and a number of important changes made in it. The pages on Spanish pronunciation have been re-written and augmented, as have also those on the verbs, and numerous additions have been made to the vocabularies, several of which have also been rearranged. As in the new editions of the French and other dialogues of the series, idioms and proverbs, alphabetically arranged, have been substituted for less useful matter, and some aids are given to letter-writing, but for a full treatment of this latter subject those interested are referred to special works dealing with it issued by the same publishers. The above changes, together with others of a minor character, but which bring the work right up to date, will, it is felt, be appreciated by all desirous of acquiring a good conversational knowledge of the Spanish language. Wallasey. W. N. CORNETT. CONTENTS. INDICE. _Page_ _Página_ | Chapter on Pronunciation xii | Sobre la Pronunciación xii | PART I. | PRIMERA PARTE. | _Words of Frequent Occurrence._ | _Palabras de Uso Frecuente._ | The Days of the Week 1 | Los Días de la Semana 1 | The Months 2 | Los Meses 2 | Division of Time 2 | División del Tiempo 2 | Seasons and Special Days 4 | Las Estaciones y Días de Fiesta 4 | Man and Relationship 4 | El Hombre y el Parentesco 4 | The State, Dignities, etc. 7 | El Estado, Dignidades, etc. 7 | The Army 10 | El Ejército 10 | The Navy 12 | La Marina 12 | Religion 14 | La Religión 14 | Arts and Sciences 16 | Artes y Ciencias 16 | Commerce 20 | Comercio 20 | Money 24 | Monedas 24 | Professions and Trades 25 | Profesiones y Oficios 25 | Sports, Pastimes, etc. 29 | Deportes, Pasatiempos, etc. 29 | Railways 30 | Ferrocarriles 30 | A Steamship 32 | Un Vapor 32 | A journey 33 | Un Viaje 33 | The Office 34 | La Oficina 34 | Parts of the Body 35 | Partes del Cuerpo 35 | Ailments, Remedies, etc. 38 | Enfermedades, Remedios, etc. 38 | The Senses and Actions 42 | Los Sentidos y las Acciones 42 | Dress 45 | Vestido 45 | Meals 47 | Comidas 47 | Eatables and Drinks 47 | Comestibles y Bebidas 47 | In the Street. Buildings 52 | En la Calle. Edificios 52 | Public Notices 55 | Avisos al Público 55 | Parts of a House 56 | Partes de una Casa 56 | Furniture and Utensils 58 | Muebles y Utensilios 58 | Table Utensils 60 | Servicio de Mesa 60 | Domestic Animals 61 | Animales Domésticos 61 | Wild Animals 62 | Animales Silvestres 62 | Birds 63 | Aves 63 | Fishes 65 | Peces 65 | Insects and Reptiles 67 | Insectos y Reptiles 67 | Flowers 68 | Flores 68 | Fruits, Trees, Vegetables, | Frutas, Arboles, Legumbres, etc. 69 | etc. 69 | Metals and Minerals 74 | Metales y Minerales 74 | Tools, Machinery, etc. 76 | Herramientas, Maquinaria, | etc. 76 | Cardinal Numbers 78 | Números Cardinales 78 | Ordinal Numbers 80 | Números Ordinales 80 | Fractions 81 | Fracciones 81 | Multiples and Collectives 82 | Multíplices y Colectivos 82 | The Earth 83 | La Tierra 83 | The Sky and Air 85 | El Cielo y el Aire 85 | Countries and Nations 87 | Países y Pueblos 87 | Islands and Towns 96 | Islas y Ciudades 96 | Seas, Rivers and Mountains 101 | Mares, Ríos y Montañas 101 | Christian Names 102 | Nombres de Pila 102 | Adjectives in Common use 109 | Adjetivos de Uso Corriente 109 | Verbs. Conjugation of | Verbos. Conjugación de the Auxiliary Verbs 127 | los Verbos Auxiliares 127 | The three Regular | Las tres Conjugaciones Conjugations 138 | Regulares 138 | The Principal Irregular | Los Verbos Irregulares Verbs 141 | Principales 141 | Verbs with their Past | Verbos con sus Participios Participles 158 | Pasivos 158 | | PART II. | SEGUNDA PARTE. | _Useful Phrases._ | _Frases Utiles._ | Titles 167 | Títulos 167 | Asking Questions 167 | Hacer Preguntas 167 | Thanks 172 | Gracias 172 | Asking the Way in | Preguntar por el Camino Town. In the Street 172 | en una Ciudad. En la Calle 172 | Conveyances 175 | Vehículos 175 | Making Enquiries about | Informarse de Alguien 177 Someone 177 | | Enquiries concerning | Preguntas acerca de un a Journey 179 | Viaje 179 By Road 179 | En Diligencia 179 Rail 182 | Por Ferrocarril 182 Sea 185 | Por Mar 185 Motor 186 | En Automóvil 186 | The Custom House 187 | La Aduana 187 | Getting up 188 | Levantarse 188 | The Bath 190 | El Baño 190 | Dressing 191 | Vestirse 191 | Breakfast 192 | El Desayuno. El Almuerzo 192 | Lunch or Dinner 195 | El Almuerzo o la Comida 195 | At a Restaurant 201 | En un Restaurante 201 | The Café 203 | El Café 203 | Tea 204 | El Té 204 | Supper 205 | La Cena 205 | Evening 207 | La Tarde 207 | Going to Bed 208 | Acostarse 208 | A Meeting 212 | Un Encuentro 212 | Salutations 212 | Saludos 212 | A Visit 218 | Una Visita 218 | Departure 222 | Despedirse 222 | Going and Coming 224 | Ir y Venir 224 | Exigencies of Life 229 | Exigencias de la Vida 229 | The Fire 231 | El Fuego 231 | Marketing 233 | Compras 233 | The Walk 236 | El Paseo 236 | In the Garden 242 | En el Jardín 242 | To write a Letter 247 | Escribir una Carta 247 | The Post Office 249 | El Correo 249 | With a Tailor 252 | Con un Sastre 252 " Dressmaker 256 | Con una Modista 256 | At a Hairdresser's or Barber's259 | En una Peluquería o Barbería 259 " Shoemaker's 261 | " Zapatería 261 " Woollen-draper's 262 | " Pañería 262 " Linen-draper's 264 | " Lencería 264 " Perfumer's 266 | " Perfumería 266 " Bookseller's 268 | " Librería 268 " Jeweller's 274 | " Joyería 274 " Watchmaker's 276 | " Relojería 276 " Picture Gallery 280 | " Galería de Pinturas 280 | Chess 284 | Ajedrez 284 | On the Spanish Language 286 | Sobre La Lengua Española 286 | Hiring Apartments 290 | Alquilar Cuartos 290 | Engaging a Man-servant 292 | Ajustar un Criado 292 " a Maid-servant 295 | " una Criada 295 | At the Hotel 297 | En el Hotel 297 | The Money-changer 300 | El Cambista 300 | The Theatre 301 | El Teatro 301 | The Seasons 303 | Las Estaciones 303 | The Weather 306 | El Tiempo 306 | Periods of Time 313 | Períodos de Tiempo 313 | Time and Dates 316 | Horas y Fechas 316 | News 321 | Noticias 321 | Age 324 | Edad 324 | Asking and Giving Advice 326 | Pedir y Dar Consejo 326 | Affirming and Denying 329 | Afirmar y Negar 329 | Expressions of Surprise 332 | Expresiones de Sorpresa 332 " Probability 334 | " Probabilidad 334 " Sorrow 336 | " Sentimiento 336 " Joy 337 | " Alegría 337 " Blame 337 | " Censura 337 " Anger 338 | " Cólera 338 " Antipathy and Aversion 340 | " Antipatía y Aversión 340 " Sympathy and Friendship 342 | " Simpatía y Amistad 342 | Correspondence 344 | Correspondencia 344 | To begin a Letter 344 | Principiar una Carta 344 | To end a Letter 346 | Concluir una Carta 346 | English and Spanish | Expresiones Idiomáticas Idiomatic Expressions | y Refranes Ingleses y and Proverbs 347 | Españoles 347 | Vocabulary of Business | Vocabulario de Términos Words and Expressions | y Expresiones in Everyday | Comerciales de Uso Use 361 | Diario 361 | English, American and | Monedas, Medidas y Spanish Coins, | Pesos Ingleses, Measures and Weights 408 | Americanos y Españoles 408 REMARKS ON PRONUNCIATION. THE SPANISH ALPHABET. The Spanish Alphabet consists of =28= letters: =A a= ah | =J j= [A]hotah | =R r= ereh (or erreh) =B b= beh | =K k= kah | =S s= esseh =C C= theh | =L l= elleh | =T t= teh =Ch ch= cheh | =Ll ll= elyeh | =U u= oo =D d= deh | =M m= emmeh | =V v= veh =E e= eh | =N n= enneh | =X x= ehkis =F f= effeh | =Ñ ñ= enyeh | =Y y= yeh (or ee gree-eh´gah) =G g= [1]heh | =O o= oh | =Z z= thehtah =H h= acheh | =P p= peh | =I i= ee | =Q q= coo | The letter _k_ occurs only in words of foreign origin. The vowels are: _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, _u_. The letter _y_ is a vowel also at the end of a word, as in _rey_, king, and in the conjunction _y_, and. ACCENTS AND SIGNS. The acute accent (´) is the only one now in use in Spanish, and it serves to indicate the syllable on which stress is to be laid. It marks departures from the rule that words of two or more syllables ending in a vowel or _n_ or _s_ are stressed on the last syllable but one, and those ending in a consonant (except _n_ and _s_), on the final syllable. It is used also to distinguish between words of the same spelling but different meanings, and is placed over the preposition _a_, and the conjunctions _e_, _o_ and _u_, when emphasised. The conjunction _o_ must always be accented when used with figures. Formerly, the grave accent (`) and the circumflex (^) were also in use in Spanish, all three accents being used indiscriminately to indicate the stressed syllable. The circumflex was used also on the vowel following _ch_ and _x_ in old Spanish spelling, to indicate that these letters were to be pronounced like _k_ and _ks_ respectively. The diæresis (¨) is placed over the _u_ in the syllables _gue_ and _gui_ when the _u_ is to be pronounced, as in the words _agüero_, omen; _argüir_, to argue. The hyphen (-) is used at the end of a line to connect the syllables of a divided word. It is also used in a few compound words. The tilde (~) is used over the letter _n_ only, and gives that letter a sound very similar to that of _ni_ in the English word _opinion_. It was originally a sign of abbreviation, and indicated the omission of an _m_ or _n_. The interrogation (?) and exclamation (!) marks are used before and after the sentence in Spanish, being inverted (¿ ¡) when preceding. Other punctuation marks are used as in English. PRONUNCIATION OF THE VOWELS. _Note._--Spanish vowels have each one sound only, but this sound is influenced by accent or stress, the emphasised vowel being naturally longer or fuller than the same vowel when not emphasised. =a= is sounded like _a_ in _far_ or in _fat_: _mar_, sea; _sal_, salt; =e= like _a_ in _mate_, or _e_ in _met_: _mesa_, table; _venta_, sale; =i= like _i_ in _marine_ or in _pin_: _mina_, mine; _fin_, end; =o= like _o_ in _note_ or in _not_: _cono_, cone; _con_, with; =u= like _u_ in _rule_ or in _full_: _luna_, moon; _mundo_, world. =y=, as a vowel, has the same sound as _i_: _muy_, very; _ley_, law. COMPOUND VOWELS. These consist of combinations formed with the strong vowels _a_, _e_, _o_, each of which, when they meet, is pronounced as forming a separate syllable: =ae=, =ao=, as in _faena_, task; _nao_, ship. =ea=, =eo=, as in _correa_, strap; _empleo_, employment. =oa=, =oe=, as in _loa_, praise; _poema_, poem. DIPHTHONGS. These are formed by combining one of the strong vowels, _a_, _e_, _o_, with one of the weak vowels, _i_, _u_, or by a combination of the two weak vowels alone. In the former the stress falls on the strong vowel, and in the latter on the second; =ai (ay), au=, as in _aire_, air; _causa_, cause; =ei (ey), eu=, as in _seis_, six; _neutro_, neuter; =ia, ie, io, iu=, as in _diario_, daily; _viuda_, widow; =oi (oy), ou=, as in _boina_, cap; _bou_, fishing-boat; =ua, ue, ui (uy), uo=, as in _agua_, water; _ruido_, noise. TRIPHTHONGS. These are a combination of the two weak vowels with one of the strong ones: =iai, iei=, as in _apreciáis_, ye appreciate; _apreciéis_ (that) ye appreciate; =uai, uei=, as in _averiguáis_, ye verify; _averigüéis,_ (that) ye verify. PRONUNCIATION OF THE CONSONANTS. The following letters are pronounced generally as in English: _b_, _d_, _f_, _k_, _l_, _m_, _n_, _p_, _r_, _s_, _t_, _v_, _x_ and _y_ (consonant). It should, however, be noted that the _b_ is slightly softer than in English, as is also the _d_ at or towards the end of a word; that the _r_ is always trilled, the _s_ always hissed, and the _t_ pronounced close to the teeth. =c= before _a_, _o_, _u_, and before a consonant, is pronounced like _k_: _capa_, cape; _crema_, cream: before _e_ and _i_ it has the sound of _th_ in _bath_: _cera_, wax; _cima_, summit. =ch= is always sounded like _ch_ in _check_: _coche_, carriage; _ocho_, eight. =g= before _a_, _o_, _u_, and before a consonant, is pronounced like _g_ in _go_: _goma_, gum; _grano_, grain: before _e_ and _i_ it is sounded like _h_ strongly aspirated in the throat: _gente_, people; _gitano_, gipsy. The pronunciation of _gua_ is _gwah_: _guante_, glove; _guardia_, guard; and _gue_ and _gui_ are sounded as in _guess_ and _guild_, respectively: _guerra_, war; _guitarra_, guitar; but _güe_ and _güi_ are pronounced _gweh_ and _gwee_: _vergüenza_, shame; _lingüista_, linguist. =h= is always silent: _harina_, flour; _anhelo_, eagerness. =j= has always the same sound as that given to _g_ before _e_ and _i_: _jabón_, soap; _hoja_, leaf. =ll= has a sound very similar to that of _lli_ in _million_: _llave_, key; _tallo_, stalk. =ñ= is sounded like _ni_ in _minion_: _cuña_, wedge; _daño_, damage. =q= is always followed by _u_, the two together being sounded like _k_: _quedo_, quiet; _quinto_, fifth. =z= has the same sound always as that of _c_ before _e_ and _i_: _zarza_, bramble; _zona_, zone. ARTICULATION. In Spanish, every syllable is pronounced, and every stressed or accented syllable is strongly emphasised. Every vowel, also, is given its proper sound, generally, as in the alphabet, a shorter or weaker sound, as when unaccented or unstressed, being the principal variation. The only silent letters in ordinary speech are the consonant _h_, and the vowel _u_ in the combinations _gue_, _gui_, _que_, _qui_; but, colloquially, several other letters are either silent, or nearly so, in certain positions; as, for example, _b_ before _sc_ or _st_; _d_ at or towards the end of a word, especially in the word _usted_ (you); _n_ in _trans_, principally before a consonant; and _p_ before _t_. Spanish articulation is somewhat more emphatic than English, especially towards the end of a sentence. HOSSFELD'S SPANISH | DIÁLOGOS DIALOGUES | ESPAÑOLES PART I. WORDS OF FREQUENT OCCURRENCE. PRIMERA PARTE. PALABRAS DE USO FRECUENTE. ENGLISH. ESPAÑOL. INGLÉS. SPANISH. | | The Days of the_ |_Los Días de la_ | Week._ |_Semana._ | | | Sunday |Domingo | Monday |Lunes | Tuesday |Martes | Wednesday |Miércoles | Thursday |Jueves | Friday |Viernes | Saturday |Sábado | | | | | _The Months._ |_Los Meses._ | | | January |Enero | February |Febrero | March |Marzo | April |Abril | May |Mayo | June |Junio | July |Julio | August |Agosto | September |Setiembre | October |Octubre | November |Noviembre | December |Diciembre | _Division of Time._ |_División del Tiempo._ | | | a century |un siglo | a year |un año | last year |el año pasado | next year |el año próximo | the coming year |el año que viene | leap year |el año bisiesto | a month |un mes | a fortnight |una quincena, quince | |días | a week |una semana, ocho días | last week |la semana pasada | next week |la semana próxima | a day |un día | an hour |una hora | an hour and a half |hora y media[2] | half an hour |media hora | a quarter of an |un cuarto de hora | hour | | a minute |un minuto | a second |un segundo | the morning |la mañana | noon, midday |mediodía | forenoon |mañana | afternoon |tarde | the evening |la tarde | the night |la noche | midnight |medianoche | to-day |hoy | yesterday |ayer | to-morrow |mañana | the day before yesterday |anteayer | the day after to-morrow |pasado mañana | in the morning |por la mañana | in the evening |por la tarde | in olden times |en otros tiempos | in our times |en nuestros días | at all times |en todos los tiempos | time to come |lo futuro, lo venidero | from this time |desde ahora, desde hoy en adelante | from time to time |de cuando en cuando | in good time |a tiempo, a buena hora | _Seasons and Special_ |_Las Estaciones y Días_ | _Days._ |_de Fiesta._ | | | Spring |la primavera | Summer |el verano | Autumn |el otoño | Winter |el invierno | New-year's day |día de año nuevo | Shrove Tuesday |Martes de carnestolendas | Carnival |Carnaval | Ash Wednesday |Miércoles de ceniza | Lent |Cuaresma | Good Friday |Viernes Santo | Easter |Pascua | Whitsuntide |Pentecostés | Midsummer day |día de San Juan | Christmas |Navidad | Bank holiday |día de fiesta. | holidays |las vacaciones | birthday |el cumpleaños | an anniversary |un aniversario | _Man and Relationship_ |_El Hombre y el_ |_Parentesco._ | a man |un hombre a woman |una mujer a boy |un muchacho a girl |una muchacha the children |los niños an old man |un viejo, un anciano an old woman |una vieja, una anciana a young man |un joven a young woman |una joven the young people |los jóvenes a married man |un casado a married woman |una casada a bachelor |un soltero a spinster |una soltera a widower |un viudo a widow |una viuda an orphan |un huérfano, una huérfana birth |el nacimiento death |la muerte infancy |la infancia, la niñez youth |la juventud manhood |la virilidad of age |mayor de edad under age |menor de edad old age |la vejez sex |el sexo the stern sex |el sexo feo the fair sex |el bello sexo matrimony, marriage |el matrimonio the family |la familia the father |el padre the mother |la madre the parents |los padres the relations |los parientes the grandfather |el abuelo the grandmother |la abuela the great-grandfather |el bisabuelo the great-grandmother |la bisabuela the stepfather |el padrastro the stepmother |la madrastra the godfather |el padrino the godmother |la madrina the son |el hijo the daughter |la hija the grandson |el nieto the grand-daughter |la nieta the step-son |el hijastro the step-daughter |la hijastra the godson |el ahijado the god-daughter |la ahijada the brother |el hermano the sister |la hermana the twins |los gemelos the uncle |el tío the aunt |la tía the nephew |el sobrino the niece |la sobrina the cousin |el primo, la prima the first cousin |el primo hermano the husband |el marido, el esposo the wife |la mujer, la esposa a father-in-law |un suegro a mother-in-law |una suegra a son-in-law |un yerno a daughter-in-law |una nuera a brother-in-law |un cuñado a sister-in-law |una cuñada forefathers |los abuelos ancestors |los antepasados offspring |los descendientes | | _The State, Dignities,_ |_El Estado, Dignidades,_ _etc._ |_etc._ | the state |el estado the statesman |el estadista the empire, imperial |el imperio, imperial the kingdom, royal |el reino, real the republic, republican |la república, republicano the principality |el principado the nation |la nación the country |el país the province |la provincia the county |el condado the city, town |la ciudad the ward, district |el barrio the suburb |el arrabal the village |la aldea the emperor |el emperador the empress |la emperatriz the king |el rey the queen |la reina the president |el presidente the prince |el príncipe the princess |la princesa the duke |el duque the duchess |la duquesa the count, earl |el conde the countess |la condesa the viscount |el vizconde the viscountess |la vizcondesa the marquis |el marqués the marchioness |la marquesa the baron |el barón the baroness |la baronesa the viceroy |el virrey the governor |el gobernador the authorities |las autoridades parliament |el parlamento[3] a member of parliament |un miembro del parlamento the government |el gobierno the ministry |el ministerio a minister |un ministro the embassy |la embajada the legation |la legación an ambassador |un embajador the consulate |el consulado a consul |un cónsul the mayor |el alcalde the police |la policía a policeman |un policía, un municipal the inhabitants |los habitantes a citizen |un ciudadano justice |la justicia the court of justice |el tribunal the judge |el juez the jury |el jurado the magistrate |el magistrado the justice of the peace |el juez de paz the laws |las leyes the lawyer |el abogado the trial |el proceso, la causa the lawsuit |el pleito, el proceso the judgment |el fallo, el juicio, the verdict |el veredicto the sentence |la sentencia the prison |la cárcel the prisoner |el preso, el detenido education |la educación, la instrucción study |el estudio the university |la universidad the professor |el profesor, el catedrático the school |la escuela the teacher |el maestro, la maestra the student |el estudiante the scholar |el discípulo business |los negocios the business-house, the firm |la casa de comercio, la firma the merchant |el comerciante the clerk |el dependiente merchandise, goods |las mercancías, los géneros banking |la banca the bank |el banco the banker |el banquero trade |el comercio taxes |los impuestos the custom-house |la aduana customs |los derechos de aduana | | _The Army._ |_El Ejército._ | infantry |la infantería cavalry |la caballería artillery |la artillería the engineers |los ingenieros a division |una división a brigade |una brigada a regiment |un regimiento a battalion |un batallón a company |una compañía a squadron |un escuadrón the commander-in-chief |el generalísimo, el capitán general the general |el general the lieutenant-general |el teniente-general the major-general |el mariscal de campo the colonel |el coronel the lieutenant-colonel |el teniente-coronel the major |el comandante a captain |un capitán a lieutenant |un teniente the adjutant |el ayudante the sergeant-major |el sargento primero a sergeant |un sargento a corporal |un cabo an officer |un oficial a soldier |un soldado the staff |el estado mayor the ranks |las filas a sentinel, sentry |un centinela the colours |la bandera the uniform |el uniforme the arms |las armas a gun |un fusil a bayonet |una bayoneta a sword |una espada a pistol |una pistola a cannon |un cañón a cannon-ball |una bala de cañón a bullet |una bala a cartridge |una cartucha powder |la pólvora a bomb |una bomba war |la guerra peace |la paz the treaty |el tratado the fortress |la fortaleza the garrison |la guarnición the barracks |el cuartel the walls |los muros, las murallas the trenches |las trincheras the battle |la batalla the victory |la victoria | | _The Navy._ |_La Marina._ | the fleet |la flota a vessel |un buque, un navío a man-of-war |un buque de guerra a merchant ship |un buque mercante an ironclad |un acorazado a cruiser |un crucero a gunboat |un cañonero a torpedo-boat |un torpedero a destroyer |un destructor a submarine |un submarino a transport |un transporte a privateer |un corsario the flag |la bandera a steamer |un vapor a tug-boat, steam-tug |un remolcador to tow |remolcar, llevar a remolque to take in tow |tomar a remolque a ferry-boat, river steamer |un bote de pasaje, vapor de río a launch |una lancha a yacht |un yate a barge |una gabarra a boat |un bote a boatman |un botero the oars |los remos the sails |las velas to sail, to set sail |salir; hacerse a la mar (a la vela) the anchor |el ancla the anchorage |el ancladero to anchor |anclar to drop anchor |dar fondo to weigh anchor |levar el ancla on board |a bordo the ship's hold |la bodega the fore-hold |la bodega de proa the after-hold |la bodega de popa a cabin |una cámara water-level |el nivel de agua water-line, load-line |la linea de carga, de flotacíon cargo |la carga (a cargo, _un cargamento_) ballast |el lastre the bill of lading |el conocimiento the charterers, freighters |los fletadores to charter (freight) a vessel |fletar un buque the admiral |el almirante the vice-admiral |el vicealmirante the rear-admiral |el contraalmirante the captain |el capitán the lieutenant |el teniente the ensign |el alférez the midshipman |el guardiamarina the seaman |el marinero the crew |la tripulación a pilot |un práctico a lighthouse |un faro the port |el puerto | | _Religion._ |_La Religión._ | the catholic religion |la religión católica catholicism |el catolicismo protestantism |el protestantismo a catholic |un católico a protestant |un protestante a Jew |un judío the cathedral |la catedral the church |la iglesia the chapel |la capilla the temple |el templo the synagogue |la sinagoga the synod |el sínodo divine service |el culto divino the holy Scriptures |las Sagradas Escrituras the Bible |la Biblia the Pope |el Papa the cardinal |el cardenal the archbishop |el arzobispo the bishop |el obispo the dean |el deán the archdeacon |el archidiácono the canon |el canónigo the priest |el sacerdote, el cura a parish priest |un cura párroco a clergyman |un clérigo a curate |un cura a minister |un ministro a chaplain |un capellán a deacon |un diácono a sexton |un sacristán the mission |la misión the missionary |el misionero the sermon |el sermón the preacher |el predicador the monastery |el monasterio the monk |el monje, el religioso the convent |el convento the nun |la monja, la religiosa the sin |el pecado penance, penitence |la penetencia a saint |un santo, una santa | | _Arts and Sciences._ |_Artes y Ciencias._ | art |el arte an artist |un artista science |la ciencia a scientist |un científico aeronautics |la aeronáutica an aeronaut |un aeronauta an aeroplane |un aeroplano a balloon |un globo an airship |un dirigible analysis |el análisis an analyst |un analista archæology |la arqueología an archæologist |un arqueólogo architecture |la arquitectura an architect |un arquitecto a building |un edificio astronomy |la astronomía an astronomer |un astrónomo the sun |el sol the moon |la luna the stars |las estrellas the sky |el cielo botany |la botánica a botanist |un botánico chemistry |la química a chemist (analytical) |un químico a chemist (pharmaceutical) |un farmacéutico, un boticario a doctor |un médico chemical substances |sustancias químicas engineering |la ingeniería an engineer |un ingeniero geography |la geografía a geographer |un geógrafo geometry |la geometría a geometrician |un geómetra grammar |la gramática a grammarian |un gramático history |la historia a historian |un historiador linguistics |la lingüística a linguist |un lingüista a polyglot |un políglota an interpreter |un intérprete a teacher of languages |un profesor de lenguas the language |la lengua, el idioma literature |la literatura a literary man |un literato an author |un autor a writer |un escritor a work |una obra the classics |los clásicos lithography |la litografía a lithographer |un litógrafo mathematics |las matemáticas a mathematician |un matemático mechanics |la mecánica a mechanician |un mecánico mineralogy |la mineralogía a mineralogist |un mineralogista music |la música a musician |un músico painting |la pintura a painter |un pintor a picture |un cuadro philosophy |la filosofía a philosopher |un filósofo physics |la física a physicist |un físico poetry |la poesía a poet |un poeta printing |la imprenta a printer |un impresor prints |estampas types |tipos prose |la prosa a prose-writer |un prosista sculpture |la escultura a sculptor |un escultor a statue |una estatua the stage |el teatro an actor |un actor an actress |una actriz a comedian |un comediante a comedienne |una comedianta a tragedian |un trágico a tragedienne |una trágica a dancer |un bailarín a danseuse |una bailarina a singer |un cantor, una cantora the theatre |el teatro the comedy |la comedia the drama |el drama the tragedy |la tragedia the opera |la ópera the musical play |la zarzuela the pantomime |la pantomima the ballet |el baile, el bailable the performance |la función, la representación to perform |representar teaching |la enseñanza, la instrucción a teacher |un maestro, una maestra theology |la teología a theologian |un teólogo translation |la traducción a translator |un traductor weaving |el tejido a weaver |un tejedor | | _Commerce._ |_Comercio._[4] | trade |el comercio, los negocios trade-mark |marca de fábrica trade-price |precio de fábrica foreign trade |el comercio exterior home trade |el comercio interior the acceptance |la aceptación the account |la cuenta account books |libros de cuentas account current |cuenta corriente to settle an account |saldar una cuenta an agent |un agente a bank |un banco a banker |un banquero banking |la banca bankruptcy |la bancarrota, la quiebra a bankrupt |un quebrado, un fallido to go bankrupt |quebrar a bill of exchange |una letra de cambio a bill at sight |una letra a la vista at three months' sight |a tres meses vista due date |el vencimiento falling due ... |venci endo ... to accept a bill |aceptar una letra to discount a bill |descontar una letra to draw a bill on someone |girar una letra sobre alguno to endorse a bill |endosar una letra to meet a bill |hacer honor a una letra to protest a bill |protestar una letra a broker |un corredor a buyer |un comprador buying |la compra carriage, forwarding |el transporte, la conducción carriage, freight |el porte, los gastos de transporte carriage free |franco de porte, porte pagado carriage paid |porte pagado charges |los gastos a cheque |un cheque a cheque-book |un libro de cheques, un talonario commission |la comisión a company |una compañía a limited company |una compañía anónima a contract |un contrato credit |el crédito a letter of credit |una carta de crédito a creditor |un acreedor debit |el débito a debt |una deuda a debtor |un deudor Dr. and Cr. |Debe y Haber delivery |la entrega discount |el descuento, la rebaja duty |los derechos to pay duty |pagar derechos expenses |los gastos export, exportation |la exportación to export |exportar an exporter |un exportador failure |la quiebra to fail |quebrar a firm |una casa de comercio freight |el flete to freight a ship |fletar un buque goods |los géneros, las mercancías import, importation |la importación to import |importar an importer |un importador insolvency |la insolvencia insurance |el seguro to insure goods |asegurar los géneros an insurance policy |una póliza de seguro an invoice |una factura to invoice |facturar a letter |una carta to acknowledge receipt of a letter |acusar recibo de una carta to reply to a letter |contestar a una carta the mail |el correo the manager |el gerente a merchant |un comerciante a middleman |un intermediario the office |la oficina, el despacho an order |una orden, un pedido a pattern |una muestra payment |el pago to pay |pagar the post |el correo the price |el precio a purchase |una compra the purchaser |el comprador a receipt |un recibo to receipt |dar recibo, poner el recibí remittance |la remesa retail |al por menor the sale |la venta a seller |un vendedor selling |la venta shares |las acciones a shareholder |un accionista a signature |una firma stocks |los fondos (efectos) públicos a stockbroker |un corredor de cambios a traveller |un viajante a warehouse, store |un almacén, un depósito to warehouse |almacenar a warehouseman |un almacenero, un guardaalmacén wholesale |al por mayor | | _Money._ |_Monedas._ | a guinea |una guinea a sovereign |un soberano a pound (sterling) |una libra (esterlina)[5] a shilling |un chelín a sixpence |un medio chelín a penny |un penique a halfpenny |un medio penique a dollar |un duro, un peso a cent |un centavo a franc |un franco a centime |un céntimo a banknote |un billete de banco the course of exchange |el curso del cambio the rate of exchange |el tipo del cambio the Exchange (of London) |la Bolsa (de Londres) a money changer |un cambista gold coin(s) |moneda de oro silver coin(s) |moneda de plata copper coin(s) |moneda de cobre; calderilla English money |moneda inglesa | | _Professions and_ |_Profesiones y Oficios._ _Trades._ | | an accountant |un contador an actuary |un actuario an advocate |un abogado an agent |un agente an analyst |un analista an architect |un arquitecto an artist |un artista an assayer |un ensayador an attorney |un procurador an auctioneer |un rematador a baker |un panadero a banker |un banquero a barber |un barbero a barrister |un abogado a blacksmith |un herrero a bookbinder |un encuadernador a bookseller |un librero a bootmaker |un zapatero a brewer |un cervecero a broker |un corredor a builder |un maestro de obras a butcher |un carnicero a cabinet-maker |un ebanista a carpenter |un carpintero a carter |un carretero a chemist |un químico; (apothecary) boticario. a clerk |un dependiente a composer |un compositor a compositor |un cajista a confectioner |un confitero a contractor |un contratista a cook |un cocinero a cooper |un tonelero a dentist |un dentista a doctor |un médico a draper |un pañero a draughtsman |un dibujante a dressmaker |una modista, una costurera a druggist |un droguero, un droguista an editor |un redactor an engineer |un ingeniero, un maquinista an engraver |un grabador a farmer |un agricultor a fisherman |un pescador a fishmonger |un pescadero a fruiterer |un frutero a gardener |un jardinero a gasfitter |un instalador de gas a glazier |un vidriero a grocer |un especiero a guide, conductor |un guía a gunsmith |un armero a hairdresser |un peluquero a hatter |un sombrerero a hosier |un mediero, un calcetero an hotel-keeper |un fondista an innkeeper |un posadero an interpreter |un intérprete a jeweller |un joyero a joiner |un ensamblador a journalist |un periodista a laundress |una lavandera a lawyer |un abogado, un letrado a linen-draper |un lencero a locksmith |un cerrajero a mason |un albañil a miller |un molinero a milliner |una modista (de sombreros) a musician |un músico a newsagent |un vendedor de periódicos an oculist |un oculista an optician |un óptico a painter |un pintor a photographer |un fotógrafo a physician |un médico consultor a plumber |un plomero a porter |un mozo (de cordel) a postman |un cartero a poulterer |un pollero a printer |un impresor a professor |un profesor a publisher |un editor a railway official |un empleado del ferrocarril a saddler |un sillero a sculptor |un escultor a seamstress |una costurera a shoemaker |un zapatero a shopkeeper |un tendero a solicitor |un procurador a stationer |un papelero a stockbroker |un corredor de cambios a surgeon |un cirujano a surveyor |un inspector; (land) agrimensor a tailor |un sastre a teacher |un maestro a tinker |un calderero a tobacconist |un estanquero a translator |un traductor a traveller |un viajero, un viajante a tutor |un preceptor an upholsterer |un tapicero a waiter |un mozo (de café) a watchmaker |un relojero | | Sports, Pastimes, etc._ |_Deportes, Pasatiempos, etc._ | angling |la pesca athletics |la atlética bagatelle |la bagatela billiards |el billar bowls |los bolos boxing |el boxeo, el pugilato bull-fight |la corrida de toros cards |los naipes chess |el ajedrez coursing |la caza de liebres cricket |el cricket croquet |el croquet cycling |el paseo en bicicleta dominoes |el dominó draughts |las damas driving |el paseo en coche fencing |la esgrima fives |la pelota football |el football, el balonpié golf |el golf gymnastics |la gimnasia hockey |el hockey hunting |la caza needlework |las labores polo |el polo quoits |el tejo racing |las carreras reading |la lectura riding |el paseo a caballo rowing |el remar skating |el patinar, la patinación swimming |el nadar, la natación tennis |el tennis walking |el paseo whist |el whist wrestling |la lucha yachting |el viajar en yate an Aunt Sally |un pim pam pum a roundabout |un tío vivo a swing |un columpio a switchback |una montaña rusa | | _Railways._ |_Ferrocarriles._ | a railway |un ferrocarril the station |la estación the station-master |el jefe de estación the platform |el andén the waiting-room |la sala de espera the booking-office |el despacho de billetes a time-table |una guía, un indicador the fare |el precio (del billete) a ticket for ... |un billete para ... first, second, third class |de primera, segunda, tercera clase an excursion ticket |un billete de excursión a return ticket |un billete de ida y vuelta a season ticket |un billete de temporada a single ticket |un billete sencillo a through ticket |un billete directo the luggage |el equipaje the porter |el mozo (de equipajes de estación) the cloak-room |el depósito de equipajes the train |el tren an excursion train |un tren de excursión |(de recreo; pop.: tren botijo) an express train |un tren expreso a fast train |un tren rápido a goods train |un tren de mercancías a mail train |un tren correo a mixed train |un tren mixto a passenger train |un tren de viajeros a slow train |un tren ordinario a special train |un tren especial a through train |un tren directo the train starts |el tren sale the train arrives |el tren llega the line |la linea, la vía the rails |los carriles a tunnel |un túnel a viaduct |un viaducto the engine |la locomotora[6] the engine-driver |el maquinista the tender |el ténder the stoker |el fogonero the carriage |el coche, el vagón the door |la portezuela the window |la ventanilla the van |el furgón the guard |el conductor, el jefe de tren a passenger |un viajero, un pasajero | | _A Steamship_ |_Un Vapor._ | a steamer |un vapor a steam-boat |un buque de vapor a steam-packet |un paquebote de vapor the cabin |la cámara, el camarote a private cabin |un camarote a berth |una litera steerage |la proa, el entrepuente on deck |sobre cubierta the boats |los botes a life-boat |un bote salvavidas a life-belt |un chaleco salvavidas a life-buoy |una boya salvavidas the hull |el casco the masts |los mástiles, los palos the yards |las vergas the sails |las velas, el velamen the rigging |el aparejo, la cordelería the bridge |el puente the funnel |la chimenea the engine |la máquina the helm |el timón the compass |la brújula the anchor |el ancla the cable |el cable | | _A Journey._ |_Un Viaje._ | a journey |un viaje a traveller |un viajero baggage |el equipaje a portmanteau |una maleta a trunk |un baúl a passport |un pasaporte to travel from ... to ... |ir de ... a ... customs |la aduana a letter of credit |una carta de crédito a pleasure trip |un viaje de recreo to take a ticket |tomar un billete to take a seat |retener un asiento to change trains at ... |cambiar de tren en ... a cab |un coche (de punto, de plaza) a taxi, a taxi-cab |un taxi (un taxímetro), |un auto (un automóvil) a carriage |un carruaje the diligence, the stage-coach |la diligencia the motor-bus |el ómnibus automóvil the tram, the tram-car |el tranvía, el coche de tranvía the underground railway, the tube |el ferrocarril subterráneo an outside seat |un asiento en la imperial an inside seat |un asiento en el interior | | _The Office._ |_La Oficina._ | letter-paper |papel de cartas note-paper |papel de esquelas fancy paper |papel de fantasía a quire of paper |una mano de papel envelopes |los sobres a pen |una pluma a fountain-pen |una pluma-tintero the inkstand |el tintero ink |la tinta blotting-paper |papel secante a pencil |un lápiz a study |un estudio a writing-desk |un escritorio, un pupitre a roll-top desk |un escritorio de tapa corrediza | (de tapa rodadera) a writing-case |una cartera, una papelera a note-book |un cuaderno, una libreta, | un libro de apuntes writing |la escritura, la letra to write a letter |escribir una carta to dictate a letter |dictar una carta to answer a letter |contestar, responder a una carta to write a good hand |tener buena letra a typewriter |una máquina de escribir a typist |un dactilógrafo, un mecanógrafo a shorthand-writer |un taquígrafo a postage-stamp |un sello a post-card |una tarjeta postal a telegram |un telegrama the telephone |el teléfono mail-day |el día del correo post-paid |franqueado, franco sealing-wax |el lacre | | _Parts of the Body._ |_Partes del Cuerpo._ | the human body |el cuerpo humano the head |la cabeza the hair |los cabellos the skull |el cráneo the brain(s) |el cerebro, los sesos the face |la cara the forehead |la frente the temples |las sienes the eyes |los ojos the eyebrows |las cejas the eyelids |los párpados the eyelashes |las pestañas the ears |las orejas the nose |la nariz the nostrils |las ventanas de la nariz the cheeks |las mejillas the jaw |la quijada, la mandíbula the mouth |la boca the lips |los labios the upper lip |el labio superior the lower lip |el labio inferior the teeth |los dientes the front teeth |los incisivos the back teeth |las muelas, los molares the gums |las encías the tongue |la lengua the chin |la barba the moustache |el bigote the beard |la barba the whiskers |las patillas the neck |el cuello the nape |la nuca the throat |la garganta the shoulders |los hombros the arms |los brazos the armpit |el sobaco the elbow |el codo the wrist |la muñeca the hand |la mano the fist |el puño the fingers |los dedos the thumb |el pulgar the forefinger |el índice the middle finger |el dedo del corazón the ring finger |el dedo anular the little finger |el meñique the nails |las uñas the chest |el pecho the heart |el corazón the lungs |los pulmones the back |la espalda the spine |la espina dorsal the ribs |las costillas the abdomen |el abdomen the stomach |el estómago the liver |el hígado the spleen |el bazo the intestines |los intestinos the bladder |la vejiga the sides |los costados the hips |las caderas the groin |la ingle the legs |las piernas the thigh |el muslo the knee |la rodilla the knee-cap |la rótula the calf |la pantorrilla the ankle |el tobillo the foot |el pie the instep |el empeine the heel |el talón the toes |los dedos del pie the sole (of the foot) |la planta (del pie) the skeleton |el esqueleto the bones |los huesos the joint |la articulación the skin |la piel the flesh |la carne the muscles |los músculos the nerves |los nervios the sinews |los tendones the fat |la grasa, la gordura the blood |la sangre an artery |una arteria a vein |una vena | | _Ailments, Remedies,_ |_Enfermedades, Remedios,_ _etc._ |_etc._ | an abscess |un absceso asthma |el asma a bandage |una venda, un vendaje biliousness |la bilis a boil |un divieso bronchitis |la bronquitis a bruise |una contusión a burn |una quemadura camphor |el alcanfor cancer |el cáncer castor-oil |el aceite de ricino catarrh |el catarro a chap |una grieta a chilblain |un sabañón a chill |un frío cod-liver oil |el aceite de hígado de bacalao a cold |un constipado, un resfriado constipation |el estreñimiento a consultation |una consulta consumption |la tisis a cough |una tos court-plaster |el tafetán inglés cramp |el calambre a crutch |una muleta a cut |una cortadura, una herida diarrhoea |la diarrea diphtheria |la difteria dizziness |un vahído, un vértigo a dose |una dósis dressing |las hilas, los vendajes dropsy |la hidropesía dysentery |la disentería earache |el dolor de oídos an emetic |un emético fever |la fiebre a fit |un accidente, una convulsión a fracture |una fractura a gargle |una gárgara gout |la gota headache |el dolor de cabeza, la jaqueca heart-disease |la enfermedad del corazón hoarseness |la ronquera, la afonía indigestion |una indigestión inflammation |una inflamación influenza |la influenza, el dengue, el trancazo jaundice |la ictericia laudanum |el láudano liniment |el linimento, la untura linseed |la linaza lint |las hilas liver-complaint |la enfermedad del hígado massage |el masaje neuralgia |la neuralgia ointment |el ungüento piles |las almorranas a pill |una píldora a pimple |un grano a plaster |un emplasto pneumonia |la neumonía, la pulmonía a poultice |una cataplasma a prescription |una receta a purgative |un purgante quinine |la quinina quinsy |la angina rheumatism |el reumatismo, el reuma rhubarb |el ruibarbo rupture |una hernia salts (Epsom) |la sal de Epsom, la sal de higuera a scald |una quemadura, una escaldadura a scar |una cicatriz a scratch |un arañazo, un rasguño a sling |un cabestrillo smallpox |las viruelas sore throat |el mal de garganta a splint |una tablilla a sprain |una torcedura stiff-neck |el tortícolis a sting |una picadura stomach-ache |el dolor de estómago a stye |un orzuelo a swelling |una hinchazón a tonic |un tónico toothache |el dolor de muelas a truss |un braguero a tumour |un tumor an ulcer |una úlcera vaccination |la vacunación a wen |un lobanillo a whitlow |un panadizo a wound |una herida | | _The Senses and_ |_Los Sentidos y las_ _Actions._ |_Acciones._ | sensibility |la sensibilidad the five senses |los cinco sentidos sight |la vista to see, seen |ver, visto hearing |el oído to hear, heard |oir, oído smell |el olfato to smell, smelt |oler, olido taste |el gusto to taste, tasted |gustar, gustado touch |el tacto to touch, touched |tocar, tocado a look, glance |una mirada to look, looked |mirar, mirado a sound, noise |un sonido, un ruido to sound, sounded |sonar, sonado scent, smell |el olor to smell (of) |oler (a) savour, taste |el sabor to savour (of) |saber (a) contact, touch |el contacto to bring into contact |poner en contacto appetite |el apetito to eat, eaten |comer, comido breathing |la respiración to breathe, breathed |respirar, respirado a call |una llamada to call, called |llamar, llamado a cry |un grito to cry, cried |gritar, gritado the dance, ball |la danza, el baile to dance, danced |danzar, danzado; bailar, bailado | the digestion |la digestión to digest, digested |digerir, digerido the dream |el sueño, el ensueño to dream, dreamed |soñar, soñado feeling |el sentimiento to feel, felt |sentir, sentido the gesture |el gesto to gesticulate, gesticulated |gesticular, gesticulado the groan |el gemido to groan, groaned |gemir, gemido the hiccough |el hipo to hiccough, hiccoughed |hipar, hipado hunger |el hambre to be hungry |tener hambre the laugh |la risa to laugh, laughed |reir, reído lisping |el ceceo to lisp, lisped |cecear, ceceado the prayer, request |la petición, el ruego, la súplica to ask, asked |pedir, pedido to beg, begged |rogar, rogado to pray, prayed |suplicar, suplicado rest |el descanso to rest, rested |descansar, descansado the sigh |el suspiro to sigh, sighed |suspirar, suspirado sleep |el sueño to sleep, slept |dormir, dormido the smile |la sonrisa to smile, smiled |sonreir, sonreído sneezing |el estornudo to sneeze, sneezed |estornudar, estornudado snoring |el ronquido to snore, snored |roncar, roncado speech |la palabra to speak, spoken |hablar, hablado to make a speech |decir (pronunciar) un discurso stammering |la tartamudez to stammer, stammered |tartamudear, tartamudeado thirst |la sed to be thirsty |tener sed the voice |la voz to utter, uttered |pronunciar, pronunciado the walk |el andar to walk, walked |andar, andado to take a walk |dar un paseo, pasearse to go, gone |ir, ido to run, run |correr, corrido yawning |el bostezo to yawn, yawned |bostezar, bostezado | | _Dress._ |_Vestido._ | a hat |un sombrero a cap |una gorra a bonnet |un sombrero (de señora) a straw hat |un sombrero de paja a suit |un traje a coat |una casaca a morning-coat |un chaqué a frock-coat |una levita a dress-coat |un frac an overcoat |un gabán, un abrigo a jacket |una chaqueta, una americana a vest, a waistcoat |un chaleco trousers |los pantalones a dress |un vestido a bodice |un corpiño, un jubón a blouse |una blusa a skirt |una falda a petticoat |una saya a mantle |un manto a cloak |una capa underlinen |la ropa interior a shirt, chemise |una camisa a night-shirt, night-gown |una camisa de dormir pyjamas, a sleeping-suit |un traje de dormir an under-vest |una camiseta, una elástica drawers |los calzoncillos combinations |las combinaciones stockings |las medias socks |los calcetines a collar[7] |un cuello cuffs |los puños a necktie |una corbata gloves |los guantes a handkerchief |un pañuelo boots |las botas, los zapatos shoes |los zapatos slippers |las zapatillas a stick |un bastón an umbrella |un paraguas a sunshade |una sombrilla a mackintosh |un impermeable | | _Meals._ |_Comidas._ | food |la comida, el alimento to eat |comer breakfast |el desayuno, el almuerzo to breakfast |desayunarse, almorzar lunch |el almuerzo, la merienda to lunch |almorzar, merendar dinner |la comida to dine |comer tea |el té to take tea |tomar el té supper |la cena to sup |cenar | | _Eatables and Drinks._ |_Comestibles y Bebidas._ | bread |el pan butter |la manteca, la mantequilla bread and butter |pan con manteca soup |la sopa bread soup |sopa de pan gravy soup |caldo de sustancia julienne soup |sopa juliana lentil soup |sopa de lentejas ox-tail soup |sopa de rabo de vaca pea soup |sopa de guisantes rice soup |sopa de arroz turtle soup |sopa de tortuga vegetable soup |sopa de menestras vermicelli soup |sopa de fideos broth |el caldo beef |la carne de vaca boiled beef |carne cocida roast beef |carne asada, rosbif stewed beef |carne estofada beefsteak |el biftek well-done |bien cocido under-done |poco cocido mutton |el carnero a chop |una costilla a cutlet |una chuleta pork |la carne de puerco bacon |el tocino ham |el jamón a sausage |una salchicha sauce |la salsa poultry |las aves, la pollería a fowl |un ave a chicken |un pollo, una gallina a duck |un pato a goose |un ganso a pigeon |un pichón a turkey |un pavo game |la caza a hare |una liebre a partridge |una perdiz a pheasant |un faisán a rabbit |un conejo venison |el venado fish |el pescado a carp |una carpa a cod |un bacalao a herring |un arenque a mackerel |un escombro a pike |un sollo a salmon |un salmón a sardine |una sardina a sole |un lenguado a trout |una trucha a turbot |un rodaballo a whiting |una pescadilla oysters |las ostras a crab |un cangrejo a lobster |una langosta vegetables |las legumbres artichoke |la alcachofa asparagus |el espárrago beans |las habichuelas, las habas cabbage |la col carrots |las zanahorias cauliflower |la coliflor peas |los guisantes potatoes |las patatas sprouts |los repollos turnips |los nabos macaroni |los macarrones a salad |una ensalada celery |el apio cresses |los berros cucumber |el pepino endive |la escarola lettuce |la lechuga oil |el aceite onion |la cebolla radish |el rábano tomato |el tomate vinegar |el vinagre pepper |la pimienta salt |la sal mustard |la mostaza pickles |los encurtidos eggs |los huevos boiled eggs |huevos cocidos, pasados por agua fried eggs |huevos fritos, estrellados poached eggs |huevos escalfados scrambled eggs |huevos revueltos, revoltillo (de huevos) an omelet |una tortilla a pudding |un pudín fruit |la fruta an apple |una manzana an apricot |un albaricoque a cherry |una cereza a greengage |una ciruela verdal a melon |un melón an orange |una naranja a peach |un melocotón a pear |una pera a plum |una ciruela a raspberry |una frambuesa a strawberry |una fresa biscuits |los bizcochos, las galletitas cheese |el queso a cup of coffee |una taza de café a cup of tea |una taza de té a cup of chocolate |una jícara de chocolate milk |la leche sugar |el azúcar cream |la crema a glass of beer |un vaso de cerveza a glass of water |un vaso de agua a bottle of wine |una botella de vino a glass of wine |una copa (copita) de vino red wine |el vino tinto white wine |el vino blanco cider |la sidra lemonade |la limonada liqueurs |los licores an ice |un helado | | _In the Street. Buildings._ |_En la Calle. Edificios._ | the street, road |la calle an alley |una callejuela, un callejón an arcade |una arcada an avenue |una avenida a boulevard |un bulevar a court |un callejón a courtyard |un patio a lane |una callejuela a passage |un pasadizo a square |una plaza the sidewalk, the footway |la acera the gutter |el arroyo the carriageway |el adoquinado, el empedrado the conveyance |el vehículo a cab |un coche (de punto, de plaza) the cabman |el cochero the cab-stand |la parada de coches a carriage |un carruaje an omnibus, a 'bus |un ómnibus the driver |el cochero the guard, conductor |el conductor a seat |un asiento inside |el interior outside |la imperial a taxi, a taxi-cab |un taxi (un taxímetro), | un auto (un automóvil) a tram, a tram-car |un tranvía, un coche de tranvía the post |la posta post-horses |los caballos de posta to travel by post |ir en posta the diligence |la diligencia the mail |la mala, el correo the post-office |el correo a letter-box |un buzón a house |una casa a shop |una tienda a church |una iglesia a chapel |una capilla a cathedral |una catedral a hospital |un hospital a poor-house |una casa de caridad a prison |una cárcel a school |una escuela a college |un colegio a university |una universidad the town-hall |la casa del ayuntamiento, | la casa consistorial the exchange |la bolsa a bank |un banco an hotel |una fonda, un hotel an inn |una posada a restaurant |un restaurant a café |un café a public-house |una taberna a theatre |un teatro a music-hall |un teatro de variedades a picture-gallery |una galería de pinturas a museum |un museo a library |una biblioteca a market |un mercado a palace |un palacio a tower |una torre a bridge |un puente the mint |la casa-moneda a lamp |un farol a park |un parque a garden |un jardín a promenade |un paseo a monument |un monumento a fountain |una fuente the wall |el muro, la pared the walls of a town |los muros (las murallas) de una ciudad | | _Public Notices. |Avisos al Público._ | Apartments |Habitaciones furnished |amuebladas unfurnished |sin amueblar Closed on Sundays |Se cierra los domingos Danger |Peligro Entrance |Entrada Exit |Salida Fire alarm |Señal de incendio For sale |De venta Hydrant |Boca de riego Keep to the right. |Guardar la derecha Keep to the left. |Guardar la izquierda Letter-box |Buzón No admittance |No se permite la entrada No smoking allowed |Se prohibe fumar No thoroughfare |Se prohibe el paso. No se pasa Notice |Aviso Please do not touch |Sírvase no tocar Private |Privado Refreshments |Refrescos. Bebidas Road closed |Calle cerrada Stick no bills |Se prohibe fijar carteles To let |Se alquila Way in |Entrada Way out |Salida Wet paint |Pintado. Recién pintado | | _Parts of a House._ |_Partes de una Casa._ | a dwelling |a habitación, una casa the walls |las paredes a partition wall |un tabique the door |la puerta the front door |la puerta de entrada the back door |la puerta trasera a lock |una cerradura a key |una llave a latchkey |un llavín a bolt |un cerrojo a latch |un picaporte the hall |el vestíbulo the staircase |la escalera the stairs |los escalones the balustrade |la baranda, el pasamanos the landing |el descanso a room |un cuarto, una habitación, una pieza a bath-room |un cuarto de baño a bed-room |una alcoba, un dormitorio a dining-room |un comedor a drawing-room |una sala de recibo, |un recibimiento a dressing-room |un tocador a sitting-room |una sala, un gabinete a smoking-room |un cuarto de fumar a cellar |un sótano a garret |una guardilla, una |buhardilla a kitchen |una cocina a library |una librería a study |un estudio the water-closet (w.c.) |el excusado (el número ciento) | the windows |las ventanas a balcony |un balcón the blinds |las persianas, las celosías | the floor |el piso, el suelo first floor |el primer piso the ceiling |el techo the fire-grate |la reja, el fogón the hearth |el hogar the chimney |la chimenea the roof |el tejado the gable |el alero | | _Furniture and_ |_Muebles y Utensilios._ _Utensils._ | | a table |una mesa a dining table |una mesa de comedor a work-table |una mesita de labores a writing-table |una mesa de escribir a chair |una silla an arm-chair |un sillón de brazos an easy-chair |un sillón, una butaca a rocking-chair |una mecedora a sofa |un sofá a piano |un piano pictures |los cuadros a mirror |un espejo a clock |un reloj a vase |un jarrón a book-case |una librería a desk |un pupitre carpets |las alfombras curtains |las cortinas rugs |las alcatifas a door-mat |una estera a screen |una pantalla a coal-box |un cubo de carbón a fender |un guardafuegos a poker |un atizador tongs |las tenazas a shovel |una pala, una badila a bed |una cama bedding |a ropa de cama a blanket |una manta a bolster |un travesero, un almohadón a counterpane |una colcha a coverlet |un cobertor a feather-bed |un colchón de plumas, un plumón a mattress |un colchón a spring-mattress |un colchón de muelles a pillow |una almohada a pillow-case |una funda (de almohada) a sheet |una sábana a wardrobe |un guardarropa, un armario a chest of drawers |una cómoda a dressing-table |un tocador a wash-stand |up lavabo, un palanganero a basin |una palangana a ewer |una jofaina a soap-tray |una jabonera soap |el jabón towels |las toallas electric light |la luz eléctrica gas |el gas a lamp |una lámpara a candle |una vela a candle-stick |un candelero a bell |una campanilla an electric bell |un timbre eléctrico a trunk |un baúl a portmanteau |una maleta a box |una caja | | _Table Utensils._ |_Servicio de Mesa._ | the dining-table |la mesa de comedor tablecloth |el mantel napkin, serviette |la servilleta a dish |una fuente a plate |un plato a knife |un cuchillo a fork |un tenedor a spoon |una cuchara a tea-spoon |una cucharita a glass |un vaso a water-bottle |una botella para agua a wine-bottle |una botella para vino a jug |un jarro the cruet-stand |las vinagreras a cruet |una ampolleta, un pomo salt |la sal salt-cellar |el salero pepper |la pimienta pepper-caster |la pimentera vinegar |el vinagre vinegar-bottle |la vinagrera oil |el aceite oil-bottle |la aceitera mustard |la mostaza mustard-pot |la mostacera sauce |la salsa sauce-boat |la salsera tea |el té tea-pot |la tetera cup |la taza saucer |el platillo a cup of tea |una taza de té coffee |el café coffee-pot |la cafetera a cup of coffee |una taza de café milk |la leche milk-jug |el jarro de la leche sugar |el azúcar sugar-basin |el azucarero sugar-tongs |las tenacillas a toothpick |un mondadientes, un palillo | | _Domestic Animals._ |_Animales Domésticos._ | the ass |el asno, el burro the bull |el toro the bullock |el buey the calf |la ternera the cat |el gato the colt |el potro the cow |la vaca the dog |el perro the ewe |la oveja the goat |la cabra the horse |el caballo the lamb |el cordero the mare |la yegua the mouse |el ratón the mule |la mula the ox |el buey the pig |el puerco the ram |el morueco the rat |la rata the sheep |el carnero the sow |la puerca | | _Wild Animals._ |_Animales Silvestres._ | the badger |el tejón the bear |el oso the beaver |el castor the boar |el jabalí the buffalo |el búfalo the camel |el camello the deer |el corzo the dromedary |el dromedario the elephant |el elefante the ferret |el hurón the fox |el zorro the giraffe |la girafa the hare |la liebre the hedgehog |el erizo the hyena |la hiena the jackal |el chacal the leopard |el leopardo the lion |el león the lioness |la leona the mole |el topo the monkey |el mono the otter |la nutria the panther |la pantera the porcupine |el puerco espín the rabbit |el conejo the rhinoceros |el rinoceronte the seal |la foca the serpent |la serpiente the squirrel |la ardilla the stag |el ciervo the tiger |el tigre the tigress |la tigre the weasel |la comadreja the wolf |el lobo the zebra |la cebra | | _Birds._ |_Aves._ | the bat |el murciélago the blackbird |el mirlo the canary |el canario the cock |el gallo the crane |la grulla the crow |el cuervo the cuckoo |el cuco the dove |la paloma the duck |el pato the eagle |el águila the eaglet |el aguilucho the falcon |el halcón the finch |el pinzón the goose |el ganso the grouse |el gallo silvestre the hawk |el gavilán the hen |la gallina the heron |la garza the jackdaw |el grajo the lark |la alondra the linnet |el jilguero the magpie |la urraca the nightingale |el ruiseñor the ostrich |el avestruz the owl |el búho the parrot |el loro the partridge |la perdiz the peacock |el pavo real the pheasant |el faisán the pigeon |la paloma the quail |la codorniz the raven |el cuervo the robin |el petirrojo the sea-gull |la gaviota the snipe |la agachadiza the sparrow |el gorrión the starling |el estornino the stork |la cigüeña the swallow |la golondrina the swan |el cisne the thrush |el tordo the tomtit |el paro the turkey |el pavo the vulture |el buitre the woodcock |la chocha the wren |el reyezuelo | | _Fishes._ |_Peces._ | the anchovy |la anchoa the bream |el sargo the brill |el mero the carp |la carpa the cockle |la coquina the cod |el bacalao the conger-eel |el congrio the crab |el cangrejo the cuttle-fish |el calamar the dab |la barbada the eel |la anguila the gudgeon |el gobio the haddock |la merlucilla the hake |la merluza the halibut |el hipogloso the herring |el arenque the lobster |la langosta the mackerel |el escombro the mullet |el múgil the mussel |la almeja the oyster |la ostra the perch |la perca the periwinkle |el caracol de mar the pike |el sollo the pilchard |la sardina the plaice |la platija the prawn |el langostín the roach |el escarcho the salmon |el salmón the sardine |la sardina the shad |el sábalo the shark |el tiburón the shrimp |el camarón the skate |la lija the sole |el lenguado the sprat |la sardineta the sturgeon |el esturión the tench |la tenca the trout |la trucha the tunny |el atún the turbot |el rodaballo the whale |la ballena the whiting |la pescadilla | | _Insects and Reptiles._ |_Insectos y Reptiles._ | the adder |la víbora the alligator |el caimán the ant |la hormiga the bee |la abeja the beetle |el escarabajo the boa |la boa the bug |la chinche the butterfly |la mariposa the caterpillar |la oruga the centipede |el ciempies the cockroach |la cucaracha the cricket |el grillo the crocodile |el cocodrilo the earwig |la tijereta the flea |la pulga the fly |la mosca the frog |la rana the gnat |el mosquito the grasshopper |el saltamontes the hornet |el avispón the lizard |el lagarto the locust |la langosta the louse |el piojo the mosquito |el mosquito the moth |la polilla the serpent |la serpiente the snail |el caracol the snake |la culebra the spider |la araña the tadpole |el renacuajo the toad |el sapo the tortoise |la tortuga the viper |la víbora the wasp |la avispa the weevil |el gorgojo the worm |el gusano | | _Flowers._ |_Flores._ | the anemone |la anémona the aster |el áster the blue-bell |la campanilla azul the buttercup |el botón de oro the camellia |la camelia the carnation |el clavel the chrysanthemum |el crisantemo the cornflower |el azulejo the crocus |el azafrán the daffodil |el narciso the dahlia |la dalia the daisy |la margarita the forget-me-not |el nomeolvides the foxglove |la dedalera the geranium |el geranio the gillyflower |el alelí the heart's-ease |el pensamiento the heliotrope |el heliotropo the hollyhock |la malva hortense the honeysuckle |la madreselva the hyacinth |el jacinto the jasmine, jessamine |el jazmín the lilac |la lila the lily |el lirio the lily of the valley |el lirio del valle the marigold |la maravilla the mignonette |la reseda the narcissus |el narciso the nasturtium |la capuchina the pansy |el pensamiento the passion-flower |la pasionaria the pink |el clavel the poppy |la amapola the primrose |la primavera the rhododendron |el rododendro the rose |la rosa the snowdrop |la campanilla blanca the sunflower |el girasol the sweet-pea |el guisante de olor the tulip |el tulipán the violet |la violeta the wall-flower |el alelí | | _Fruits, Trees, |_Frutas, Arboles, Vegetables, etc._ |Legumbres, etc._ | the acorn |la bellota the alder |el aliso the almond |la almendra the almond-tree |el almendro the apple |la manzana the apple-tree |el manzano the apricot |el albaricoque the apricot-tree |el albaricoquero the artichoke |la alcachofa the ash |el fresno the asparagus |el espárrago the aspen |el temblón the banana |la banana, el plátano the barley |la cebada the bean |la habichuela, el haba the beech |el haya the beet(root) |la remolacha the birch |el abedul the blackberry |la zarzamora the blackberry-bush |la zarza the broccoli |el bróculi the cabbage |la col the carrot |la zanahoria the cauliflower |la coliflor the cedar |el cedro the celery |el apio the cherry |la cereza the cherry-tree |el cerezo the chestnut |la castaña the chestnut-tree |el castaño the citron |la cidra the citron-tree |el cidro the cocoanut |el coco the cocoanut-tree |el cocotero the cucumber |el pepino the cumin |el comino the currant |la grosella the currant-bush |el grosellero the date |el dátil the date-palm |la palmera the elderberry |la baya del saúco the elderberry-tree |el saúco the elm |el olmo the endive |la escarola the fig |el higo the fig-tree |la higuera the filbert |la avellana the filbert-tree |el avellano the fir |el abeto the garlic |el ajo the gooseberry |la uva espina the gooseberry-bush |la uva espina the grape |la uva the grape-vine |la cepa the greengage |la ciruela verdal the greengage-tree |el ciruelo verdal the larch |el alerce the laurel |el laurel the leek |el puerro the lentil |la lenteja the lemon |el limón the lemon-tree |el limonero the lettuce |la lechuga the maize |el maíz the maple |el arce the medlar |la níspola the medlar-tree |el níspero the melon |el melón the millet |el mijo the mint |la menta the mulberry |la mora the mulberry-tree |el moral the mushroom |la seta the nut |la nuez the nut-tree |el nogal the nutmeg |la nuez moscada the nutmeg-tree |la mirística the oak |el roble the oat |la avena the olive |la aceituna the olive-tree |el olivo the onion |la cebolla the orange |la naranja the orange-tree |el naranjo the parsley |el perejil the parsnip |la chirivía the pea |el guisante the peach |el melocotón the peach-tree |el melocotonero the pear |la pera the pear-tree |el peral the pine-apple |la piña, la anana the pine(-tree) |el pino the plum |la ciruela the plum-tree |el ciruelo the pomegranate |la granada the pomegranate-tree |el granado the poplar |el álamo the potato |la patata the quince |el membrillo the quince-tree |el membrillero the radish |el rábano the raspberry |la frambuesa the raspberry-bush |el frambueso the rhubarb |el ruibarbo the rice |el arroz the rye |el centeno the sage |la salvia the sprouts (Brussels) |los repollos (de Bruselas) the strawberry |la fresa the strawberry-plant |el fresal the tomato |el tomate the tomato-plant |la tomatera the turnip |el nabo the vegetable-marrow |la médula vegetal the walnut |la nuez the walnut-tree |el nogal the water-cress |el berro the wheat |el trigo the willow |el sauce the yew |el tejo a tree |un árbol a shrub |un arbusto a thicket |un matorral the wood |el bosque timber |la madera | | _Metals and Minerals._ |_Metales y Minerales._ | the alabaster |el alabastro the alloy |la liga, la aleación the alum |el alumbre the aluminium |el aluminio an amethyst |una amatista the arsenic |el arsénico the asphalt |el asfalto the bismuth |el bismuto the bitumen |el betún the brass |el latón the bronze |el bronce the chalk |la greda the clay |la arcilla the coal |el carbón the cobalt |el cobalto the copper |el cobre the copperas |la caparrosa the crystal |el cristal a diamond |un diamante an emerald |una esmeralda the enamel |el esmalte the feldspar |el feldespato the flint |el pedernal a garnet |un granate the glass |el vidrio the gold |el oro the granite |el granito the iron |el hierro cast-iron |el hierro fundido pig-iron |el hierro en lingotes sheet-iron |el hierro en planchas wrought-iron |el hierro forjado the jet |el azabache the lead |el plomo black-lead |el lápiz-plomo, el grafito, la plombajina red-lead |el minio, el azarcón white-lead |el albayalde the lime |la cal the marble |el mármol the mercury |el mercurio the ochre |el ocre an opal |un ópalo the platinum |el platino the porphyry |el pórfido the quartz |el cuarzo the quicksilver |el azogue a ruby |un rubí the saltpetre |el salitre a sapphire |un zafiro the schist |el esquisto the silver |la plata the slate |la pizarra the steel |el acero the stone |la piedra loadstone |el imán sandstone |el asperón the tin |el estaño tin-plate |la hojalata, la hoja de lata a topaz |un topacio a turquoise |una turquesa the verdigris |el cardenillo the vermilion |el bermellón the zinc |el zinc | | _Tools, Machinery, etc._ |_Herramientas, Maquinaria, etc._ | an adze |una azuela an anvil |un yunque an auger |una barrena an awl |una lesna an axe |un hacha the boiler |la caldera a chisel |un cincel, un escoplo the crane |la grúa the cylinder |el cilindro a drill |un taladro the engine |la máquina a steam-engine |una maquina de vapor a file |una lima the forge |la fragua the furnace |el horno a gimlet |una barrena a hammer |un martillo a hatchet |una hachuela a knife |un cuchillo the lathe |el torno the machine |la máquina a sewing-machine |una máquina de coser the machinery |la maquinaria mining machinery |la maquinaria para minas a nail |un clavo a plane |un cepillo the pump |la bomba a rivet |un remache a saw |una sierra the scissors |las tijeras a shovel |una pala a spade |una azada the tongs |las tenazas a tube |un tubo a turbine |una turbina a valve |una válvula a vice |un torno the wheel |la rueda a water-wheel |una turbina, una rueda hidráulica the wire |el alambre iron wire |el alambre de hierro steel wire |el alambre de acero a wrench |una llave inglesa | | _Numbers (cardinal)._ |_Números cardinales._ one |uno, una two |dos three |tres four |cuatro five |cinco six |seis seven |siete eight |ocho nine |nueve ten |diez eleven |once twelve |doce thirteen |trece fourteen |catorce fifteen |quince sixteen |diez y seis (dieciseis) seventeen |diez y siete (diecisiete) eighteen |diez y ocho (dieciocho) nineteen |diez y nueve (diecinueve) twenty |veinte twenty-one |veinte y uno (veintiuno) twenty-two |veinte y dos (veintidós) twenty-three |veinte y tres (veintitrés) twenty-four |veinte y cuatro (veinticuatro) thirty |treinta thirty-one |treinta y uno thirty-two |treinta y dos forty |cuarenta fifty |cincuenta sixty |sesenta seventy |setenta eighty |ochenta ninety |noventa a hundred |ciento[8] a hundred and one |ciento uno a hundred and two |ciento dos a hundred and eleven |ciento once a hundred and twenty-one |ciento veintiuno two hundred |doscientos-as two hundred and one |doscientos uno three hundred |trescientos-as four hundred |cuatrocientos-as five hundred |quinientos-as six hundred |seiscientos-as seven hundred |setecientos-as eight hundred |ochocientos-as nine hundred |novecientos-as a thousand |mil a thousand and one |mil y uno a thousand and ten |mil y diez two thousand |dos mil three thousand |tres mil four thousand |cuatro mil five thousand, etc. |cinco mil, etc. ten thousand |diez mil a hundred thousand |cien mil a million |un millón | | | _Numbers (ordinal)._ |_Números ordinales._ | the first |el primero,[9] la primera the second |el segundo, la segunda the third |el tercero the fourth |el cuarto the fifth |el quinto the sixth |el sexto the seventh |el séptimo or sétimo the eighth |el octavo the ninth |el noveno or nono the tenth |el décimo the eleventh |el undécimo the twelfth |el duodécimo the thirteenth |el décimotercio the fourteenth |el décimocuarto the fifteenth |el décimoquinto the sixteenth |el décimosexto the seventeenth |el décimoséptimo the eighteenth |el décimoctavo the nineteenth |el décimonono the twentieth |el vigésimo the twenty-first |el vigésimo primero the twenty-second |el vigésimo segundo the thirtieth |el trigésimo the fortieth |el cuadragésimo the fiftieth |el quincuagésimo the sixtieth |el sexagésimo the seventieth |el septuagésimo the eightieth |el octogésimo the ninetieth |el nonagésimo the hundredth |el centésimo the hundred and first |el centésimo primero the hundred and second |el centésimo segundo the two hundredth |el ducentésimo the three hundredth |el tricentésimo the four hundredth |el cuadringentésimo the five hundredth |el quingentésimo the six hundredth |el sexcentésimo the seven hundredth |el septingentésimo the eight hundredth |el octingentésimo the nine hundredth |el noningentésimo the thousandth |el milésimo the two thousandth |el dosmilésimo the three thousandth |el tresmilésimo the millionth |el millonésimo the last |el último, el postrero the last but one |el penúltimo | | _Fractions._ |_Fracciones._ | a half |una mitad a third |un tercio two-thirds |dos tercios a fourth |un cuarto three-fourths |tres cuartos a fifth |un quinto four-fifths |cuatro quintos a sixth |un sexto five-sixths |cinco sextos a seventh |un séptimo an eighth |un octavo a ninth |un noveno a tenth |un décimo an eleventh |un onzavo a twelfth |un dozavo a twentieth |un veintavo three-twentieths |tres veintavos a hundredth |un centésimo | | _Multiples and Collectives._ |_Multíplices y Colectivos._ | single |sencillo double |doble treble |triple fourfold |cuádruplo fivefold |quíntuplo sixfold |séxtuplo sevenfold |séptuplo eightfold |óctuplo ninefold |nónuplo tenfold |décuplo hundredfold |céntuplo thousandfold |mílcuplo once |una vez twice |dos veces thrice, three times |tres veces four times |cuatro veces ten times |diez veces a hundred times |cien veces ten times three are thirty |diez veces tres hacen treinta a couple |un par a dozen |una docena half a dozen |media docena a dozen and a half |docena y media a score |una veintena half a score |una decena a score and a half |una treintena a hundred |un centenar a gross |una gruesa | | _The Earth._ |_La Tierra._ | geography |la geografía atmosphere |la atmósfera land |la tierra sea |el mar a continent |un continente the coast |la costa an island |una isla an islet |un islote a peninsula |una península a cape |un cabo a promontory |un promontorio a reef |un arrecife a mountain |una montaña a mountain-chain |una cordillera a volcano |un volcán a hill |una colina a rock |una roca a ravine |una barranca a waterfall |una cascada a valley |un valle a strait |un estrecho an isthmus |un istmo a channel |un canal a river |un río the bank |la orilla, la ribera a sandbank |un banco de arena an estuary |un estuario a gulf |un golfo a bay |una bahía a port, harbour |un puerto a breakwater |un rompeolas the current |la corriente the waves |las olas, las ondas a canal |un canal a stream |una corriente a brook |un arroyo a source, spring |un manantial a lake |un lago a well |un pozo the equator |el ecuador the poles |los polos a meridian |un meridiano latitude |la latitud longitude |la longitud the frigid zone |la zona glacial the temperate zone |la zona templada the torrid zone |la zona tórrida the tropics |los trópicos north |el norte south |el sur east |el este west |el oeste the horizon |el horizonte | | _The Sky and Air._ |_El Cielo y el Aire._ | the world |el mundo the sky |el cielo the stars |las estrellas, los astros the planets |los planetas a comet |un cometa the sun |el sol sunrise |la salida del sol sunset |la puesta del sol it is sunny |hace sol the moon |la luna full moon |la luna llena new moon |la luna nueva first quarter |el cuarto creciente last quarter |el cuarto menguante it is moonlight |hace luna the clouds |las nubes it is cloudy |está nublado the wind |el viento it is windy |hace viento the storm |la tempestad it is stormy |está tempestuoso the rain |la lluvia it rains |llueve the snow |la nieve it snows |nieva the frost |la helada the ice |el hielo it freezes |hiela the fog |la niebla it is foggy |hace niebla the lightning |el relámpago it lightens |relampaguea the thunder |el trueno it thunders |truena the cold |el frío it is cold |hace frío the heat, warmth |el calor it is warm |hace calor the weather |el tiempo it is fine weather |hace buen tiempo it is bad weather |hace mal tiempo the temperature |la temperatura the climate |el clima a rainbow |un arco iris an eclipse |un eclipse dawn |el alba twilight |el crepúsculo | | _Countries and Nations._ |_Países y Pueblos._ | the five parts of the world |las cinco partes del mundo Europe |Europa a European |un Europeo[10] European |europeo,-ea Asia |Asia an Asiatic |un Asiático Asiatic |asiático,-ca Africa |Africa an African |un Africano African |africano,-na America |América an American |un Americano American |americano,-na Australia |Australia an Australian |un Australiano Australian |australiano,-na Great Britain |Gran Bretaña a Briton |un Britano British |británico,-ca England |Inglaterra an Englishman |un Inglés English |inglés,-esa Scotland |Escocia a Scotsman |un Escocés Scottish |escocés,-esa Ireland |Irlanda an Irishman |un Irlandés Irish |irlandés,-esa Wales |Gales, el País de Gales a Welshman |un Galés Welsh |galés, -esa Abyssinia |Abisinia an Abyssinian |un Abisinio Abyssinian |abisinio,-ia Algeria |Argelia an Algerian |un Argelino Algerian |argelino,-na Alsace |Alsacia an Alsatian |un Alsaciano Alsatian |alsaciano,-na Andalusia |Andalucía an Andalusian |un Andaluz Andalusian |andaluz,-za Arabia |Arabia an Arab |un Arabe Arab, Arabian, Arabic |árabe; arábigo,-ga Argentine (Republic) |Argentina (La República) an Argentine |un Argentino Argentine |argentino,-na Armenia |Armenia an Armenian |un Armenio Armenian |armenio,-ia Arragon |Aragón an Arragonese |un Aragonés Arragonese |aragonés,-esa Assyria |Asiria an Assyrian |un Asirio Assyrian |asirio,-ia Austria |Austria an Austrian |un Austríaco Austrian |austríaco,-ca Bavaria |Baviera a Bavarian |un Bávaro Bavarian |bávaro,-ra Belgium |Bélgica a Belgian |un Belga Belgian |belga Bohemia |Bohemia a Bohemian |un Bohemo Bohemian |bohémico,-ca Bolivia |Bolivia a Bolivian |un Boliviano Bolivian |boliviano,-na Bosnia |Bosnia a Bosnian |un Bosnio Bosnian |bosnio,-ia Brazil |Brasil (El) a Brazilian |un Brasileño Brazilian |brasileño,-ña Brittany |Bretaña a Breton |un Bretón Breton |bretón,-ona Bulgaria |Bulgaria a Bulgarian |un Búlgaro Bulgarian |búlgaro,-ra Burgundy |Borgoña a Burgundian |un Borgoñón Burgundian |borgoñón,-ona California |California a Californian |un Californio Californian |califórnico,-ca Canada |Canadá (El) a Canadian |un Canadiense Canadian |canadiense Cape of Good Hope (The) |Cabo de Buena Esperanza (El) Castile |Castilla a Castilian |un Castellano Castilian |castellano,-na Catalonia |Cataluña a Catalonian |un Catalán Catalonian |catalán,-ana Chili |Chile a Chilian |un Chileno Chilian |chileno,-na China |China a Chinaman |un Chino Chinese |chino-na; chinesco,-ca Colombia |Colombia a Colombian |un Colombiano Colombian |colombiano,-na Denmark |Dinamarca a Dane |un Dinamarqués Danish |dinamarqués,-esa Ecuador |Ecuador an Ecuadorian |un Ecuatoriano Ecuadorian |ecuatoriano,-na Egypt |Egipto an Egyptian |un Egipcio Egyptian |egipcio,-ia Finland |Finlandia a Finn, Finlander |un Finlandés Finnish |finlandés,-esa Flanders |Flandes a Fleming |un Flamenco Flemish |flamenco,-ca France |Francia a Frenchman |un Francés French |francés,-esa Germany |Alemania a German |un Alemán German |alemán,-ana Greece |Grecia a Greek |un Griego Greek |griego,-ga Greenland |Groenlandia a Greenlander |un Groenlandés Greenlandic |groenlandés,-esa Hanover |Hanóver a Hanoverian |un Hanoveriano Hanoverian |hanoveriano,-na Holland |Holanda a Dutchman |un Holandés Dutch |holandés,-esa Holy Land (The) |Tierra Santa (La) Hungary |Hungría a Hungarian |un Húngaro Hungarian |húngaro,-ra Iceland |Islandia an Icelander |un Islandés Icelandic |islandés,-esa India |India East India (Indies) |Las Indias Orientales West India (Indies) |Las Indias Occidentales an Indian |un Indio Indian |indio,-ia Italy |Italia an Italian |un Italiano Italian |italiano,-na Japan |Japón (El) a Japanese |un Japonés Japanese |japonés,-esa Jutland |Jutlandia a Jutlander |un Jutlandés Jutlandish |jutlandés,-esa Lapland |Laponia a Laplander |un Lapón Laplandish |lapón,-na Levant (The) |Levante (El) a Levantine |un Levantino Levantine |levantino,-na Lombardy |Lombardía a Lombard |un Lombardo Lombardic |lombardo,-da Lorraine |Lorena a Lorrainer |un Lorenés Lorrainese |lorenés,-esa Mexico |Méjico a Mexican |un Mejicano Mexican |mejicano,-na Moldavia |Moldavia a Moldavian |un Moldavo Moldavian |moldavo,-va Moravia |Moravia a Moravian |un Moravo Moravian |moravo,-va Morocco |Marruecos a Moroccan |un Marroquí(n) Moroccan |marroquí(n),-ina Netherlands (The) |Países Bajos (Los) a Netherlander |un Neerlandés Netherlandish |neerlandés,-esa New South Wales |Nueva Gales del Sur New Zealand |Nueva Zelandia a New Zealander |un Neozelandés New Zealandian |neozelandés,-esa Normandy |Normandia a Norman |un Normando Norman |normando,-da North America |América del Norte a North American |un Norteamericano North American |norteamericano,-na Norway |Noruego a Norwegian |un Noruego Norwegian |noruego,-ga Paraguay |Paraguay (El) a Paraguayan |un Paraguayano Paraguayan |paraguayano,-na Persia |Persia a Persian |un Persa Persian |persa Peru |Perú (El) a Peruvian |un Peruano Peruvian |peruano,-na Poland |Polonia a Pole |un Polaco Polish |polaco,-ca Portugal |Portugal a Portuguese |un Portugués Portuguese |portugués,-esa Prussia |Prusia a Prussian |un Prusiano Prussian |prusiano,-na Roumania |Rumanía a Roumanian |un Rumano Roumanian |rumano,-na Russia |Rusia a Russian |un Ruso Russian |ruso,-sa Savoy |Saboya a Savoyard |un Saboyano Savoyard |saboyano,-na Saxony |Sajonia a Saxon |un Sajón Saxon |sajón,-ona Scandinavia |Escandinavia a Scandinavian |un Escandinavo Scandinavian |escandinavo,-va Servia |Servia a Servian |un Servio Servian |servio,-ia South America |América del Sur a South American |un Sudamericano South American |sudamericano,-na Spain |España a Spaniard |un Español Spanish |español,-la Sweden |Suecia a Swede |un Sueco Swedish |sueco,-ca Switzerland |Suiza a Swiss |un Suizo Swiss |suizo,-za Thessaly |Tesalia a Thessalian |un Tesálico Thessalian |tesálico,-ca Tunis |Túnez a Tunisian |un Tunecino Tunisian |tunecino,-na Turkey |Turquía a Turk |un Turco Turkish |turco,-ca Tuscany |Toscana a Tuscan |un Toscano Tuscan |toscano,-na United Kingdom (The) |Reino Unido (El) United States (The) |Estados Unidos (Los) Uruguay |Uruguay an Uruguayan |un Uruguayo Uruguayan |uruguayo,-ya Venezuela |Venezuela a Venezuelan |un Venezolano Venezuelan |venezolano,-na Würtemberg |Wurtemberg a Würtemberger |un Wurtembergués Würtemberg |wurtembergués,-esa Zealand |Zelandia a Zealander |un Zelandés Zealandian |zelandés,-esa | | _Islands and Towns._ |_Islas y Ciudades._ | Aix-la-Chapelle |Aquisgrán Ajaccio |Ayacio Alexandria |Alejandría Algiers |Argel Angoulême |Angulema Antilles (The) |Antillas (Las) Antwerp |Amberes Athens |Atenas Avignon |Aviñón Azores (The) |Azores (Las) | Barbadoes |Barbada (La) Basle |Basilea Bayonne |Bayona Berlin |Berlín Berne |Berna Bologna |Bolonia Bordeaux |Burdeos Boulogne |Boloña Bremen |Brema Bruges |Brujas Brussels |Bruselas | Cairo |Cairo (El) Calais |Calais Cambridge |Cambrigia Canaries (The) |Canarias (Las) Canterbury |Cantorbery Ceylon |Ceilán Coblentz |Coblenza Cologne |Colonia Constance |Constancia Constantinople |Constantinopla Copenhagen |Copenhague Cordova |Córdoba Corsica |Córcega Corunna |Coruña (La) Cracow |Cracovia Crete |Creta Cyprus |Chipre | Damascus |Damasco Dover |Dovres Dresden |Dresde Dunkirk |Dunquerque | Edinburgh |Edimburgo | Florence |Florencia Flushing |Flesinga Frankfort |Francfort Freiburg |Friburgo | Geneva |Ginebra Genoa |Génova Ghent |Gante Gottenburg |Gotemburgo Guadaloupe |Guadalupe Guernsey |Guernesey | Hague (The) |Haya (La) Hamburg |Hamburgo Havana |Habana (La) Havre |Havre (El) Hayti |Haití | Ionian Islands (The) |Islas Jónicas (Las) Lausanne |Lausana Leghorn |Liorna Leipsic |Leipsic Leyden |Leiden Liege |Lieja Lisbon |Lisboa London |Londres a native of London |un Londinense Lucerne |Lucerna Lyons |Lión | Madeira |Madera Madrid |Madrid a native of Madrid |un Madrileño Majorca |Mallorca Malta |Malta Marseilles |Marsella Martinique |Martinica Mauritius |Mauricia Mayence |Maguncia Mechlin |Malinas Milan |Milán Minorca |Menorca Moscow |Moscou | Naples |Nápoles New York |Nueva York Nice |Niza Nuremberg |Nuremberga Odessa |Odesa Ostend |Ostende | Paris |París Perpignan |Perpiñán Philippines (The) |Filipinas (Las) Porto Rico |Puerto Rico Prague |Praga | Ratisbon |Ratisbona Rhodes |Rodas Rome |Roma Rouen |Ruán | St. Petersburg |San Petersburgo Sardinia |Cerdeña Sicily |Sicilia Smyrna |Esmirna Sparta |Esparta Stockholm |Estocolmo Strasburg |Estrasburgo Syracuse |Siracusa | Tangiers |Tánger Teneriffe |Tenerife Toulon |Tolón Tunis |Túnez | Venice |Venecia Versailles |Versalles Vienna |Viena | Warsaw |Varsovia | Zürich |Zurich | | _Seas, Rivers and Mountains._ |_Mares, Ríos y Montañas._ | the Adriatic |el Adriático the Ægean Sea |el Mar Egeo the Alps |los Alpes the Amazon |el Amazonas, el Marañón the Andes |los Andes the Apennines |los Apeninos the Arctic Ocean |el Océano Artico, el Mar Glacial the Atlantic |el Atlántico the Baltic |el Báltico the Bay of Biscay |el Golfo de Vizcaya, el Mar Cantábrico the Black Sea |el Mar Negro the Bosphorus |el Bósforo the Caribbean Sea |el Mar Caribe the Caspian Sea |el Mar Caspio the Caucasus |el Cáucaso the Channel (English) |la Mancha the Danube |el Danubio the Dardanelles |los Dardanelos the Dead Sea |el Mar Muerto the Douro |el Duero the Downs |las Dunas Etna |el Etna the Garonne |el Garona the German Ocean |el Mar del Norte the Indian Ocean |el Océano Indico, el Mar de las Indias the Irish Sea |el Mar de Irlanda the Mediterranean |el Mediterráneo the Minho |el Miño the Mississippi |el Misisipí the Moselle |el Mosela the Nile |el Nilo the North Sea |el Mar del Norte the Pacific |el Pacífico the Parnassus |el Parnaso the Pyrenees |los Pirineos the Red Sea |el Mar Rojo the Rhine |el Rhin the Rhone |el Ródano the St. Gothard |el San Gotardo the Scheldt |el Escalda the Seine |el Sena the Sound |el Sund the Suez Canal |el Canal de Suez the Tagus |el Tajo the Thames |el Támesis Vesuvius |el Vesubio the Volga |el Volga the White Sea |el Mar Blanco | | _Christian Names._ |_Nombres de Pila._ | Abraham |Abrahán Adam |Adán Adelaide |Adelaida Adolphus |Adolfo Agnes |Inés Albert |Alberto Alexander |Alejandro Alfred |Alfredo Alice |Alicia Alphonso |Alfonso Andrew |Andrés Ann, Anne, Anna |Ana Anthony |Antonio Tony |Toño[11] Archibald |Archibaldo Arthur |Arturo Augustus |Augusto Austin |Agustín | Bartholomew |Bartolomé Bat |Bartolo Beatrice |Beatriz Benjamin |Benjamín Bernard |Bernardo Bertha |Berta Bertram |Beltrán Blanche |Blanca Bridget |Brígida Caroline |Carolina Catharine |Catalina Kate |Catuca, Catuja Charles |Carlos Charlotte |Carlota Christian |Cristiano Christina |Cristina Christopher |Cristóbal Chris |Tobal Cicely |Cecilia Claude |Claudio Clement |Clemente Constance |Constanza Constantine |Constantino Cyril |Cirilo | Daniel |Daniel David |David Dorothy |Dorotea | Edgar |Edgardo Edith |Edita Edmund |Edmundo Edward |Eduardo Eleanor |Leonor Elizabeth |Isabel Bessy, Lizzie |Belita Ellen |Elena Emily |Emilia Ernest |Ernesto Esther |Ester Eugene |Eugenio Eustace |Eustaquio Eve, Eva |Eva | Ferdinand |Fernando Florence |Florencia Frances |Francisca Fanny |Paca Francis |Francisco Frank |Paco Frederic(k) |Federico | Geoffrey |Geofredo George |Jorge Gerald |Geraldo Gerard |Gerardo Gertrude |Gertrudis Gertie |Tula Gilbert |Gilberto Giles |Gil Godfrey |Godofredo Gregory |Gregorio Gustavus |Gustavo Guy |Guido | Hannah |Ana Harold |Haroldo Harriet |Enriqueta Helen |Elena Henry |Enrique Herbert |Herberto Horace |Horacio Hugh |Hugo | Ignatius |Ignacio Isabella |Isabel Bel, Belle |Bela, Belita Isidore |Isidoro, Isidro | Jacob |Jacob James |Jaime, Santiago Jane |Juana Jasper |Gaspar Jeffrey |Geofredo Jeremiah |Jeremías Jerome |Jerónimo Joan |Juana John |Juan Jonathan |Jonatás Joseph |José Joe |Pepe Josephine |Josefina Joshua |Josué Julia |Julia Julius |Julio | Lawrence |Lorenzo Leonard |Leonardo Leopold |Leopoldo Louis |Luís Louisa |Luisa Lucy |Lucía Luke |Lucas | Magdalen |Magdalena Margaret |Margarita Marion |Mariana Mark |Marcos Martha |Marta Mary |María May, Molly |Mariquita, Maruja Matthew |Mateo Michael |Miguel | Nathan |Natán Nathaniel |Nataniel Nicholas |Nicolás | Oliver |Oliverio Osmond |Osmundo | Patrick |Patricio Paul |Pablo Pauline |Paulina Peter |Pedro Pete |Perico Philip |Felipe | Prudence |Prudencia Rachel |Raquel Ralph |Raúl Raymond |Ramón Reginald |Reginaldo Reynold |Reinaldo Richard |Ricardo Robert |Roberto Roderic(k) |Rodrigo Rodolph |Rodolfo Roger |Rogerio Rose, Rosa |Rosa Rosalie |Rosalía Rowland |Rolando Rupert |Ruperto Ruth |Rut | Sampson |Sansón Samuel |Samuel Sarah |Sara Sophia |Sofía Stephen |Esteban Susan |Susana | Theodore |Teodoro Theresa |Teresa Thomas |Tomás Timothy |Timoteo Toby |Tobías | Valentine |Valentín Vincent |Vicente | Walter |Gualterio William |Guillermo Winifred |Winifreda | Zachary |Zacarías Zoe |Zoa | | Adjectives in Common Use. | | Adjetivos de Uso Corriente. | | Absent |Ausente abundant |abundante accurate |exacto active |activo affable |afable alone |solo amusing |divertido ancient |antiguo artful |astuto attentive |atento attractive |atractivo audible |oíble, perceptible avaricious |avaro awful |terrible awkward |torpe azure |azul Bad |Malo bald |calvo beautiful |hermoso, bello big |grande, grueso bitter |amargo black |negro blackish |negruzco blind |ciego blue |azul blueish |azulado bold |atrevido, intrépido brave |valiente brief |breve, corto bright |brillante, claro broad |ancho brown |pardo, moreno brownish |pardusco bulky |abultado, voluminoso busy |ocupado | Calm |Tranquilo, quieto careful |cuidadoso, prudente careless |descuidado, negligente celebrated |célebre central |central, céntrico certain |cierto, seguro charitable |caritativo charming |encantador cheap |barato chief |principal choice |escogido clean |limpio clear |claro, evidente clement |clemente clever |hábil cloudy |nublado coarse |basto, ordinario cold |frío collective |colectivo common |común complete |completo complicated |complicado conditional |condicional conservative |conservativo considerable |considerable constant |constante contemporary |contemporáneo content |contento, satisfecho continual |continuo contrary |contrario, opuesto convenient |conveniente, oportuno cool |fresco costly |costoso courageous |valiente cowardly |cobarde crimson |carmesí crippled |estropeado cross |enojado, enfadado crotchety |excéntrico, chiflado crude |crudo, tosco cruel |cruel curious |curioso, singular customary |acostumbrado, usual | Daily |Diario, cotidiano damp |húmedo dangerous |peligroso daring |atrevido, intrépido dark |oscuro; (_complexion_) moreno dead |muerto, difunto deadly |mortal deaf |sordo dear |querido; (_costly_) caro deceased |muerto, difunto deceitful |engañoso, falso deep |profundo delicate |delicado delicious |delicioso dense |denso, compacto desirous |deseoso desolate |desolado, solitario desperate |desesperado, furioso detestable |detestable, aborrecible dexterous |diestro, hábil different |diferente, distinto difficult |difícil, dificultoso diligent |diligente, aplicado dirty |sucio disagreeable |desagradable discontented |descontento disdainful |desdeñoso disgraceful |vergonzoso disobedient |desobediente dissatisfied |descontento dissolute |disoluto distant |distante, lejano distinct |distinto divine |divino docile |dócil double |doble doubtful |dudoso, incierto doubtless |indubitable dreadful |terrible, espantoso dreary |triste, lúgubre drinkable |potable dry |seco dull |estúpido, pesado, triste; (_dark_) oscuro | dumb |mudo | Earthly |Terrestre eastern |oriental easy |fácil eatable |comestible economical |económico effective |efectivo, eficaz efficient |eficiente, eficaz electric |eléctrico empty |vacío energetic |enérgico, vigoroso enough |bastante, suficiente equal |igual equitable |equitativo even |llano; (_not odd_) par evil |malo experienced |experimentado, experto extensive |extensivo, espacioso exterior |exterior, externo external |externo, exterior extraordinary |extraordinario, singular extravagant |extravagante, pródigo | Faint |Lánguido; (_dim_) indistinto, tenue fair |justo; (_complexion_) rubio faithful |fiel faithless |infiel false |falso familiar |familiar famous |famoso far |lejano, distante fast |rápido; (_secure_) firme fat |gordo, grueso favourable |favorable feeble |débil female |femenino ferocious |feroz, fiero fertile |fértil, fecundo fierce |feroz, fiero final |final, último fine |fino; (_elegant_) bello, hermoso, elegante firm |firme, sólido fit |propio, conveniente flat |llano, plano flexible |flexible flimsy |débil fluid |fluido foggy |nebuloso foreign |extranjero foremost |delantero formal |formal, ceremonioso former |anterior, primero fortunate |afortunado, dichoso forward |adelantado, delantero frank |franco free |libre fresh |fresco friendly |amigable, amigo full |lleno, completo | Gaudy |Llamativo gay |alegre, vivo general |general, público generous |generoso, magnánimo gentle |suave, dócil genuine |genuino, legítimo glad |alegre, contento, gozoso golden |áureo, de oro good |bueno graceful |gracioso, agraciado gracious |benigno, benévolo grateful |agradecido, reconocido gratuitous |gratuito great |grande green |verde greenish |verduzco grey |gris; (_of hair_) cano, encanecido greyish |gríseo guiltless |inocente guilty |culpable | Handsome |Hermoso, guapo happy |feliz, dichoso hard |duro, sólido; (_not easy_) difícil haughty |altanero, altivo healthy |sano, saludable heavenly |celeste, celestial heavy |pesado high |alto holy |santo honest |honrado hostile |hostil, enemigo hot |caliente hourly |por horas, frecuente human |humano humble |humilde hungry |hambriento | Icy |Helado, frío idle |ocioso, perezoso, holgazán ignorant |ignorante ill |enfermo, malo immediate |inmediato immodest |inmodesto immoral |inmoral immortal |inmortal importunate |importuno, molesto imprudent |imprudente incapable |incapaz incidental |incidental, casual inconstant |inconstante inconvenient |inconveniente, incómodo incorrect |incorrecto, inexacto incredulous |incrédulo indefatigable |infatigable indifferent |indiferente indocile |indócil inhabitable |habitable inhuman |inhumano injurious |dañoso, perjudicial inland |interior inner |interior, interno innocent |inocente inside |interior, interno insolent |insolente insolvent |insolvente instantaneous |instantáneo instructive |instructivo interior |interior, interno internal |interno, interior invalid |inválido invaluable |inestimable invariable |invariable inventive |inventivo invisible |invisible irksome |tedioso, fastidioso irresponsible |irresponsable | Jolly |Alegre, vivo joyful |alegre judicious |juicioso just |justo | Kind |Benévolo, amable, bondadoso known |conocido, sabido | Lame |Cojo large |grande, vasto, espacioso last |último lavish |pródigo lawful |legal, legítimo lazy |perezoso, holgazán leaden |plomizo, de plomo; (_heavy_) pesado | lean |delgado, flaco learned |docto, sabio left |izquierdo, dejado legal |legal, legítimo level |plano, llano, nivelado liberal |liberal, generoso light |ligero; (_colour_) claro like |semejante, parecido likely |probable, verosímil liquid |líquido little |pequeño lofty |alto; (_proud_) altivo long |largo loose |suelto, flojo loud |alto, ruidoso lovely |amable low |bajo lowly |humilde, sumiso lucky |afortunado, feliz, dichoso lying |mentiroso | Mad |Loco male |masculino melancholy |melancólico mental |mental, intelectual mercantile |mercantil, comercial merciful |misericordioso, compasivo, clemente merciless |cruel, inhumano, desapiadado merry |alegre middle |medio, central mighty |fuerte, poderoso mild |suave, apacible, indulgente miserable |miserable, desdichado misty |nebuloso, brumoso modest |modesto, humilde monthly |mensual more |más mortal |mortal mysterious |misterioso | Narrow |Estrecho, angosto neat |elegante, limpio necessary |necesario needless |supérfluo, inútil needy |indigente, pobre negligent |negligente, descuidado new |nuevo, reciente, moderno next |próximo, inmediato nice |bonito, delicado nimble |ágil noisy |ruidoso, clamoroso, estrepitoso northern |septentrional numberless |innumerable numerous |numeroso | Obscure |Oscuro obstinate |obstinado, porfiado odd |singular, excéntrico; (_not even_) impar, | non | odorous |oloroso, fragante old |viejo, anciano, antiguo ordinary |ordinario, usual oriental |oriental other |otro outer |exterior, externo outside |exterior, externo own |propio | Painful |Doloroso pale |pálido, claro past |pasado patient |paciente peaceable |tranquilo, sosegado peaceful |tranquilo, quieto perfect |perfecto, acabado perpetual |perpetuo pink |rosado pious |piadoso plain |sencillo, liso, claro pleasant |agradable, placentero polite |cortés, atento poor |pobre popular |popular powerful |poderoso practical |práctico pretty |bonito, lindo prior |anterior, antecedente, precedente private |privado, particular profane |profano proper |propio, conveniente proud |orgulloso, soberbio, altivo prudent |prudente pure |puro | Quarrelsome |Pendenciero quick |vivo, rápido, veloz quiet |quieto, tranquilo | Rainy |Lluvioso rapid |rápido, veloz raw |crudo ready |listo, pronto real |real, verdadero, genuino reasonable |razonable red |rojo, encarnado reddish |rojizo respectable |respetable respected |respetado responsible |responsable rich |rico right |derecho; recto, justo rightful |legítimo rough |áspero, duro round |redondo | Sad |Triste, melancólico safe |seguro, salvo same |mismo satisfactory |satisfactorio satisfied |satisfecho secret |secreto self |mismo separate |separado, distinto serious |serio, formal, grave several |varios, diversos shallow |somero, superficial shameless |desvergonzado short |corto, breve, sucinto shrewd |astuto, sagaz shy |tímido, miedoso sickly |achacoso, enfermizo silly |necio, tonto, bobo simple |sencillo, simple sincere |sincero single |sencillo, solo, único skilful |hábil slender |delgado, flaco slow |lento, tardío small |pequeño, chico, menudo smart |activo, vivo, elegante smooth |liso, suave sober |sobrio soft |blando, suave sorry |triste, pobre sour |ágrio, ácido, avinagrado southern |meridional square |cuadrado steady |firme, seguro, constante stern |severo, duro stiff |tieso stormy |tempestuoso straight |recto, derecho strong |fuerte, robusto stubborn |terco, obstinado successful |próspero, feliz such |tal, semejante sure |seguro, cierto sweet |dulce | Tall |Alto, grande tame |domesticado, manso tedious |fastidioso, enojoso tempting |tentador tender |tierno terrible |terrible thankful |agradecido, reconocido thankless |desagradecido, ingrato thick |espeso, grueso thin |delgado, flaco thirsty |sediento tight |apretado, estrecho timid |tímido timorous |medroso true |verdadero, cierto twisted |torcido | Ugly |Feo ultimate |último, final unfair |injusto unfaithful |infiel unfortunate |desgraciado, desafortunado ungrateful |ingrato unhappy |infeliz unjust |injusto, inicuo unkind |malo, duro unknown |desconocido unpleasant |desagradable unvarying |invariable unusual |raro, extraordinario useful |útil useless |inútil usual |usual, acostumbrado | Various |Varios, diversos vast |vasto, extenso venturesome |osado, atrevido vermilion |bermejo vexatious |molesto, enfadoso vexed |enfadado, enojado vicious |vicioso vindictive |vengativo violet |morado virtuous |virtuoso visible |visible vulgar |vulgar, común | Warm |Caliente weak |débil, flojo wealthy |rico, opulento well |bueno wet |húmedo, mojado whimsical |caprichoso white |blanco whitish |blanquecino whole |entero wholesome |sano, saludable wicked |malo, malvado, ruín wide |ancho, vasto wise |sabio, docto wonderful |admirable, maravilloso worthless |indigno, inútil, despreciable worthy |digno, apreciable wretched |miserable wrong |falso, errado, malo | Yearly |Anual yellow |amarillo yellowish |amarillento young |joven youthful |juvenil, joven | Zealous |celoso, entusiasta =Verbs.= _Conjugation of the Auxiliary Verbs._ =Verbos.= _Conjugación de los Verbos Auxiliares._ TO HAVE. | HABER. | _Present Participle_, | _Gerundio_, | having. | habiendo. | _Past Participle_, | _Participio Pasivo_, | had. | habido. | _Present Indicative._ | _Presente de Indicativo_. | I have | yo he thou hast | tú has he, she (it) has | él, ella ha we have | nosotros,-as hemos you (ye) have | vosotros,-as habéis they have | ellos,-as han | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | I had | yo había thou hadst | tú habías he had | él había we had | nosotros habíamos you had | vosotros habíais they had | ellos habían | _Past Definite._ | _Definido._ | I had | yo hube thou hadst | tú hubiste he had | él hubo we had | nosotros hubimos you had | vosotros hubisteis they had | ellos hubieron | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | I shall have | yo habré thou wilt have | tú habrás he will have | él habrá we shall have | nosotros habremos you will have | vosotros habréis they will have | ellos habrán | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | I should have | yo habría thou wouldst have | tú habrías he would have | él habría we should have | nosotros habríamos you would have | vosotros habríais they would have | ellos habrían | _Present Subjunctive._ | _Presente de Subjuntivo._ | that I have | que haya that thou have | que hayas that he have | que haya that we have | que hayamos that you have | que hayáis that they have | que hayan | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | that I had | que hubiese that thou hadst | que hubieses that he had | que hubiese that we had | que hubiésemos that you had | que hubieseis that they had | que hubiesen | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | that I shall have | que hubiere that thou wilt have | que hubieres that he will have | que hubiere that we shall have | que hubiéremos that you will have | que hubiereis that they will have | que hubieren | _Conditional_. | _Condicional_. | that I should have | que hubiera that thou wouldst have| que hubieras that he would have | que hubiera that we should have | que hubiéramos that you would have | que hubierais that they would have | que hubieran TO HAVE (possess). | TENER. | _Present Participle_, | _Gerundio_, | having. | teniendo. | _Past Participle_, | _Participio Pasivo_, | had. | tenido. | _Present Indicative_. | _Presente de Indicativo_. | I have | tengo thou hast | tienes he, she (it) has | tiene we have | tenemos you (ye) have | tenéis they have | tienen | _Imperfect_. | _Imperfecto_. | I had | tenía thou hadst | tenías he had | tenía we had | teníamos you had | teníais they had | tenían | _Past Definite._ | _Definido._ | I had | tuve thou hadst | tuviste he had | tuvo we had | tuvimos you had | tuvisteis they had | tuvieron | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | I shall have | tendré thou wilt have | tendrás he will have | tendrá we shall have | tendremos you will have | tendréis they will have | tendrán | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | I should have | tendría thou wouldst have | tendrías he would have | tendría we should have | tendríamos you would have | tendríais they would have | tendrían | _Imperative._ | _Imperativo._ | have thou | ten let him have | tenga let us have | tengamos have ye | tened let them have | tengan | _Present Subjunctive._| _Presente de Subjuntivo._ | that I have | que tenga that thou have | que tengas that he have | que tenga that we have | que tengamos that you have | que tengáis that they have | que tengan | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | that I had | que tuviese that thou hadst | que tuvieses that he had | que tuviese that we had | que tuviésemos that you had | que tuvieseis that they had | que tuviesen | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | that I shall have | que tuviere that thou wilt have | que tuvieres that he will have | que tuviere that we shall have | que tuviéremos that you will have | que tuviereis that they will | que tuvieren | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | that I should have | que tuviera that thou wouldst have| que tuvieras that he would have | que tuviera that we should have | que tuviéramos that you would have | que tuvierais that they would have | que tuvieran TO BE (permanently). | SER. | _Present Participle_, | _Gerundio_, | being. | siendo. | _Past Participle_, | _Participio Pasivo_, | been. | sido. | _Present Indicative._ | _Presente de Indicativo._ | I am | soy thou art | eres he, she (it) is | es we are | somos you (ye) are | sois they are | son | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | I was | era thou wast | eras he was | era we were | éramos you were | erais they were | eran | _Past Definite._ | _Definido._ | I was | fuí thou wast | fuiste he was | fué we were | fuimos you were | fuisteis they were | fueron | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | I shall be | seré thou wilt be | serás he will be | será we shall be | seremos you will be | seréis they will be | serán | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | I should be | sería thou wouldst be | serías he would be | sería we should be | seríamos you would be | seríais they would be | serían | _Imperative._ | _Imperativo._ | be thou | sé let him be | sea let us be | seamos be ye | sed let them be | sean | _Present Subjunctive._ | _Presente de Subjuntivo._ | that I be | que sea that thou be | que seas that he be | que sea that we be | que seamos that you be | que seáis that they be | que sean | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | that I were | que fuese that thou wert | que fueses that he were | que fuese that we were | que fuésemos that you were | que fueseis that they were | que fuesen | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | that I shall be | que fuere that thou wilt be | que fueres that he will be | que fuere that we shall be | que fuéremos that you will be | que fuereis that they will be | que fueren | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | that I should be | que fuera that thou wouldst be | que fueras that he would be | que fuera that we should be | que fuéramos that you would be | que fuerais that they would be | que fueran TO BE (temporarily). | ESTAR. | _Present Participle_, | _Gerundio_, | being. | estando. | _Past Participle_, | _Participio Pasivo_, | been. | estado. | _Present Indicative._ | _Presente de Indicativo._ | I am | estoy thou art | estás he, she (it) is | está we are | estamos you (ye) are | estáis they are | están | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | I was | estaba thou wast | estabas he was | estaba we were | estábamos you were | estabais they were | estaban | _Past Definite._ | _Definido._ | I was | estuve thou wast | estuviste he was | estuvo we were | estuvimos you were | estuvisteis they were | estuvieron | _Future._ | _Futuro._ | I shall be | estaré thou wilt be | estarás he will be | estará we shall be | estaremos you will be | estaréis they will be | estarán | _Conditional._ | _Condicional._ | I should be | estaría thou wouldst be | estarías he would be | estaría we should be | estaríamos you would be | estaríais they would be | estarían | _Imperative._ | _Imperativo._ | be thou | está let him be | esté let us be | estemos be ye | estad let them be | estén | _Present Subjunctive._ | _Presente de Subjuntivo._ | that I be | que esté that thou be | que estés that he be | que esté that we be | que estemos that you be | que estéis that they be | que estén | _Imperfect._ | _Imperfecto._ | that I were | que estuviese that thou wert | que estuvieses that he were | que estuviese that we were | que estuviésemos that you were | que estuvieseis that they were | que estuviesen ENGLISH. SPANISH. _Future._ _Futuro._ that I shall be que estuviere that thou wilt be que estuvieres that he will be que estuviere that we shall be que estuviéremos that you will be que estuviereis that they will be que estuvieren _Conditional._ _Condicional._ that I should be que estuviera that thou wouldst be que estuvieras that he would be que estuviera that we should be que estuviéramos that you would be que estuvierais that they would be que estuvieran _The three Regular Conjugations._ _Las tres Conjugaciones Regulares._ 1st in AR. 2nd in ER. 3rd in IR. _To speak,_ _To drink,_ _To divide,_ HABLAR. BEBER. PARTIR. _Present Participle._ hablando bebiendo partiendo _Past Participle._ hablado bebido partido Present Indicative. hablo bebo parto hablas bebes partes habla bebe parte hablamos bebemos partimos habláis bebéis partís hablan beben parten Imperfect. hablaba bebía partía hablabas bebías partías hablaba bebía partía hablábamos bebíamos partíamos hablabais bebíais partíais hablaban bebían partían Past Definite. hablé bebí partí hablaste bebiste partiste habló bebió partió hablamos bebimos partimos hablasteis bebisteis partisteis hablaron bebieron partieron Future. hablaré beberé partiré hablarás beberás partirás hablará beberá partirá hablaremos beberemos partiremos hablaréis beberéis partiréis hablarán beberán partirán _Conditional._ hablaría | bebería | partiría hablarías | beberías | partirías hablaría | bebería | partiría hablaríamos | beberíamos | partiríamos hablaríais | beberíais | partiríais hablarían | beberían | partirían _Imperative._ habla | bebe | parte hable | beba | parta hablemos | bebamos | partamos hablad | bebed | partid hablen | beban | partan _Present Subjunctive._ hable | beba | parta hables | bebas | partas hable | beba | parta hablemos | bebamos | partamos habléis | bebáis | partáis hablen | beban | partan _Imperfect._ hablase | bebiese | partiese hablases | bebieses | partieses hablase | bebiese | partiese hablásemos | bebiésemos | partiésemos hablaseis | bebieseis | partieseis hablasen | bebiesen | partiesen _Future._ hablare | bebiere | partiere hablares | bebieres | partieres hablare | bebiere | partiere habláremos | bebiéremos | partiéremos hablareis | bebiereis | partiereis hablaren | bebieren | partieren _Conditional._ hablara | bebiera | partiera hablaras | bebieras | partieras hablara | bebiera | partiera habláramos | bebiéramos | partiéramos hablarais | bebierais | partierais hablaran | bebieran | partieran THE PRINCIPAL IRREGULAR VERBS. _Los Verbos Irregulares Principales._ TO ACQUIRE, ADQUIRIR: _acquiring_, adquiriendo; _acquired_, adquirido. PRES. IND.[12]: _I acquire_, _etc._: adquiero, adquieres, adquiere, adquirimos, adquirís, adquieren. IMPERATIVE: _acquire_: adquiere, adquiera, adquiramos, adquirid, adquieran. PRES. SUB.: _that I acquire_, _etc._: que adquiera, adquieras, adquiera, adquiramos, adquiráis, adquieran. TO AGREE, ACORDAR: _agreeing_, acordando; _agreed_, acordado. PRES. IND.: _I agree_, _etc._: acuerdo, acuerdas, acuerda, acordamos, acordáis, acuerdan. IMPERATIVE: _agree_: acuerda, acuerde, acordemos, acordad, acuerden. PRES. SUB.: _that I agree_, _etc._: que acuerde, acuerdes, acuerde, acordemos, acordéis, acuerden. * * * * * TO ASK, DEMAND, PEDIR: _asking_, pidiendo; _asked_, pedido. PRES. IND.: _I ask_, _etc._: pido, pides, pide, pedimos, pedís, piden. PAST DEF.: _I asked_, _etc._: pedí, pediste, pidió, pedimos, pedisteis, pidieron. IMPERATIVE: _ask_: pide, pida, pidamos, pedid, pidan. PRES. SUB.: _that I ask_, _etc._: que pida, pidas, pida, pidamos, pidáis, pidan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I asked_, _etc._: que pidiese, pidieses, pidiese, pidiésemos, pidieseis, pidiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall ask_, _etc._: que pidiere, pidieres, pidiere, pidiéremos, pidiereis, pidieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should ask_, _etc._: que pidiera, pidieras, pidiera, pidiéramos, pidierais, pidieran. TO BE ABLE, PODER: _being able_, pudiendo; _been able_, podido. PRES. IND.: _I am able (can)_, _etc._: puedo, puedes, puede, podemos, podéis, pueden. PAST DEF.: _I was able (could)_, _etc._: pude, pudiste, pudo, pudimos, pudisteis, pudieron. FUTURE: _I shall be able_, _etc._: podré, podrás, podrá, podremos, podréis, podrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should be able_, _etc._: podría, podrías, podría, podríamos, podríais, podrían. PRES. SUB.: _that I be able_, _etc._: que pueda, puedas, pueda, podamos, podáis, puedan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I were able_, _etc._: que pudiese, pudieses, pudiese, pudiésemos, pudieseis, pudiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall be able_, _etc._: que pudiere, pudieres, pudiere, pudiéremos, pudiereis, pudieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should be able_, _etc._: que pudiera, pudieras, pudiera, pudiéramos, pudierais, pudieran. * * * * * TO BEGIN, EMPEZAR: _beginning_, empezando; _begun_, empezado. PRES. IND.: _I begin_, _etc._: empiezo, empiezas, empieza, empezamos, empezáis, empiezan. empecemos, empezad, empiecen. PRES SUB.: _that I begin_, _etc._: que empiece, empieces, empiece, empecemos, empecéis, empiecen. * * * * * TO BRING, TRAER: _bringing_, trayendo; _brought_, traído. PRES. IND.: _I bring_, _etc._: traigo, traes, trae, traemos, traéis, traen. PAST DEF.: _I brought_, _etc._: traje, trajiste, trajo, trajimos, trajisteis, trajeron. IMPERATIVE: _bring_: trae, traiga, traigamos, traed, traigan. PRES. SUB.: _that I bring_, _etc._: que traiga, traigas, traiga, traigamos, traigáis, traigan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I brought_, _etc._: que trajese, trajeses, trajese, trajésemos, trajeseis, trajesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall bring_, _etc._: que trajere, trajeres, trajere, trajéremos, trajereis, trajeren. COND. SUB.: _that I should bring_, _etc._: que trajera, trajeras, trajera, trajéramos, trajerais, trajeran. * * * * * TO COME, VENIR: _coming_, viniendo; _come_, venido. PRES. IND.: _I come_, _etc._: vengo, vienes, viene, venimos, venís, vienen. vinimos, vinisteis, vinieron. FUTURE: _I shall come_, _etc._: vendré, vendrás, vendrá, vendremos, vendréis, vendrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should come_, _etc._: vendría, vendrías, vendría, vendríamos, vendríais, vendrían. IMPERATIVE: _come_: ven, venga, vengamos, venid, vengan. PRES. SUB.: _that I come_, _etc._: que venga, vengas, venga, vengamos, vengáis, vengan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I came_, _etc._: que viniese, vinieses, viniese, viniésemos, vinieseis, viniesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall come_, _etc._: que viniere, vinieres, viniere, viniéremos, viniereis, vinieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should come_, _etc._: que viniera, vinieras, viniera, viniéramos, vinierais, vinieran. * * * * * TO COMMENCE, COMENZAR: _commencing_, comenzando; _commenced_, comenzado. PRES. IND.: _I commence_, _etc._: comienzo, comienzas, comienza, comenzamos, comenzáis, comienzan. IMPERATIVE: _commence_: comienza, comience, comencemos, comenzad, comiencen. PRES. SUB.: _that I commence_, _etc._: que comience, comiences, comience, comencemos, comencéis, comiencen. * * * * * TO DO, MAKE, HACER: _doing_, haciendo; _done_, hecho. PRES. IND.: _I do_, _etc._: hago, haces, hace, hacemos, hacéis, hacen. PAST DEF.: _I did_, _etc._: hice, hiciste, hizo, hicimos, hicisteis, hicieron. FUTURE: _I shall do_, _etc._: haré, harás, hará, haremos, haréis, harán. CONDITIONAL: _I should do_, _etc._: haría, harías, haría, haríamos, haríais, harían. IMPERATIVE: _do_: haz, haga, hagamos, haced, hagan. PRES. SUB.: _that I do_, _etc._: que haga, hagas, haga, hagamos, hagáis, hagan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I did_, _etc._: que hiciese, hicieses, hiciese, hiciésemos, hicieseis, hiciesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall do_, _etc._: que hiciere, hicieres, hiciere, hiciéremos, hiciereis, hicieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should do_, _etc._: que hiciera, hicieras, hiciera, hiciéramos, hicierais, hicieran. TO FALL, CAER: _falling_, cayendo; _fallen_, caído. PRES. IND.: _I fall_, _etc._: caigo, caes, cae, caemos, caéis, caen. IMPERATIVE: _fall_: cae, caiga, caigamos, caed, caigan. PRES. SUB.: _that I fall_, _etc._: que caiga, caigas, caiga, caigamos, caigáis, caigan. * * * * * TO FEEL, SENTIR: _feeling_, sintiendo; _felt_, sentido. PRES. IND.: _I feel_, _etc._: siento, sientes, siente, sentimos, sentís, sienten. PAST DEF.: _I felt_, _etc._: sentí, sentiste, sintió, sentimos, sentisteis, sintieron. IMPERATIVE: _feel_: siente, sienta, sintamos, sentid, sientan. PRES. SUB.: _that I feel_, _etc._: que sienta, sientas, sienta, sintamos, sintáis, sientan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I felt_, _etc._: que sintiese, sintieses, sintiese, sintiésemos, sintieseis, sintiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall feel_, _etc._: que sintiere, sintieres, sintiere, sintiéremos, sintiereis, sintieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should feel_, _etc._: que sintiera, sintieras, sintiera, sintiéramos, sintierais, sintieran. TO FOLLOW, SEGUIR: _following_, siguiendo; _followed_, seguido. PRES. IND.: _I follow_, _etc._: sigo, sigues, sigue, seguimos, seguís, siguen. PAST DEF.: _I followed_, _etc._: seguí, seguiste, siguió, seguimos, seguisteis, siguieron. IMPERATIVE: _follow_: sigue, siga, sigamos, seguid, sigan. PRES. SUB.: _that I follow_, _etc._: que siga, sigas, siga, sigamos, sigáis, sigan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I followed_, _etc._: que siguiese, siguieses, siguiese, siguiésemos, siguieseis, siguiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall follow_, _etc._: que siguiere, siguieres, siguiere, siguiéremos siguiereis, siguieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should follow_, _etc._: que siguiera, siguieras, siguiera, siguiéramos, siguierais, siguieran. * * * * * TO GIVE, DAR: _giving_, dando; _given_, dado. PRES. IND.: _I give_, _etc._: doy, das, da, damos, dais, dan. PAST DEF.: _I gave_, _etc._: di, diste, dió, dimos, disteis, dieron. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I gave_, _etc._: que diese, dieses, diese, diésemos, dieseis, diesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall give_, _etc._: que diere, dieres, diere, diéremos, diereis, dieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should give_, _etc._: que diera, dieras, diera, diéramos, dierais, dieran. * * * * * TO GO, IR: _going_, yendo; _gone_, ido. PRES. IND.: _I go_, _etc._: voy, vas, va, vamos, vais, van. IMPERFECT: _I used to go_, _etc._: iba, ibas, iba, íbamos, ibais, iban. PAST DEF.: _I went_, _etc._: fuí, fuiste, fué, fuimos, fuisteis, fueron. IMPERATIVE: _go_: ve, vaya, vamos (vayamos), id, vayan. PRES. SUB.: _that I go_, _etc._: que vaya, vayas, vaya, vayamos, vayáis, vayan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I went_, _etc._: que fuese, fueses, fuese, fuésemos, fueseis, fuesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall go_, _etc._: que fuere, fueres, fuere, fuéremos, fuereis, fueren. COND. SUB.: _that I should go_, _etc._: que fuera, fueras, fuera, fuéramos, fuerais, fueran. * * * * * TO GO OUT, SALIR: _going out_, saliendo; _gone out_, salido. PRES. IND.: _I go out_, _etc._: salgo, sales, sale, salimos, salís, salen. FUTURE: _I shall go out_, _etc._: saldré, saldrás, saldrá, saldremos, saldréis, saldrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should go out_, _etc._: saldría, saldrías, saldría, saldríamos, saldríais, saldrían. IMPERATIVE: _go out_: sal, salga, salgamos, salid, salgan. PRES. SUB.: _that I go out_, _etc._: que salga, salgas, salga, salgamos, salgáis, salgan. * * * * * TO GUESS, ACERTAR: _guessing_, acertando; _guessed_, acertado. PRES. IND.: _I guess_, _etc._: acierto, aciertas, acierta, acertamos, acertáis, aciertan. IMPERATIVE: _guess_: acierta, acierte, acertemos, acertad, acierten. PRES. SUB.: _that I guess_, _etc._: que acierte, aciertes, acierte, acertemos, acertéis, acierten. * * * * * TO HEAR, OIR: _hearing_, oyendo; _heard_, oído. PRES. IND.: _I hear_, _etc._: oigo, oyes, oye, oímos, oís, oyen. IMPERATIVE: _hear_: oye, oiga, oigamos, oíd, oigan. PRES. SUB.: _that I hear_, _etc._: que oiga, oigas, oiga, oigamos, oigáis, oigan. * * * * * TO KNOW, BE ACQUAINTED WITH, CONOCER: _knowing_, conociendo; _known_, conocido. PRES. IND.: _I know_, _etc._: conozco, conoces, conoce, conocemos, conocéis, conocen. IMPERATIVE: _know_: conoce, conozca, conozcamos, conoced, conozcan. PRES. SUB.: _that I know_, _etc._: que conozca, conozcas, conozca, conozcamos, conozcáis, conozcan. * * * * * TO KNOW, BE AWARE, SABER: _knowing_, sabiendo; _known_, sabido. PRES. IND.: _I know_, _etc._: sé, sabes, sabe, sabemos, sabéis, saben. PAST DEF.: _I knew_, _etc._: supe, supiste, supo, supimos, supisteis, supieron. FUTURE: _I shall know_, _etc._: sabré, sabrás, sabrá, sabremos, sabréis, sabrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should know_, _etc._: sabría, sabrías, sabría, sabríamos, sabríais, sabrían. IMPERATIVE: _know_: sabe, sepa, sepamos, sabed, sepan. PRES. SUB.: _that I know_, _etc._: que sepa, sepas, sepa, sepamos, sepáis, sepan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I knew_, _etc._: que supiese, supieses, supiese, supiésemos, supieseis, supiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall know_, _etc._: que supiere, supieres, supiere, supiéremos, supiereis, supieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should know_, _etc._: que supiera, supieras, supiera, supiéramos, supierais, supieran. TO LOSE, PERDER: _losing_, perdiendo; _lost_, perdido. PRES. IND.: _I lose_, _etc._: pierdo, pierdes, pierde, perdemos, perdéis, pierden. IMPERATIVE: _lose_: pierde, pierda, perdamos, perded, pierdan. PRES. SUB.: _that I lose_, _etc._: que pierda, pierdas, pierda, perdamos, perdáis, pierdan. * * * * * TO MEET, ENCONTRAR: _meeting_, encontrando; _met_, encontrado. PRES. IND.: _I meet_, _etc._: encuentro, encuentras, encuentra, encontramos, encontráis, encuentran. IMPERATIVE: _meet_: encuentra, encuentre, encontremos, encontrad, encuentren. PRES. SUB.: _that I meet_, _etc._: que encuentre, encuentres, encuentre, encontremos, encontréis, encuentren. * * * * * TO PLAY, JUGAR: _playing_, jugando; _played_, jugado. PRES. IND.: _I play_, _etc._: juego, juegas, juega, jugamos, jugáis, juegan. IMPERATIVE: _play_: juega, juegue, juguemos, jugad, jueguen. PRES. SUB.: _that I play_, _etc._: que juegue, juegues, juegue, juguemos, juguéis, jueguen. * * * * * TO PUT, PONER: _putting_, poniendo; _put_, puesto. PRES. IND.: _I put_, _etc._: pongo, pones, pone, ponemos, ponéis, ponen. PAST DEF.: _I put_, _etc._: puse, pusiste, puso, pusimos, pusisteis, pusieron. FUTURE: _I shall put_, _etc._: pondré, pondrás, pondrá, pondremos, pondréis, pondrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should put_, _etc._: pondría, pondrías, pondría, pondríamos, pondríais, pondrían. IMPERATIVE: _put_: pon, ponga, pongamos, poned, pongan. PRES. SUB.: _that I put_, _etc._: que ponga, pongas, ponga, pongamos, pongáis, pongan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I put_, _etc._: que pusiese, pusieses, pusiese, pusiésemos, pusieseis, pusiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall put_, _etc._: que pusiere, pusieres, pusiere, pusiéremos, pusiereis, pusieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should put_, _etc._: que pusiera, pusieras, pusiera, pusiéramos, pusierais, pusieran. * * * * * TO RETURN, VOLVER: _returning_, volviendo; _returned_, vuelto. PRES. IND.: _I return_, _etc._: vuelvo, vuelves, vuelve, volvemos, volvéis, vuelven. IMPERATIVE: _return_: vuelve, vuelva, volvamos, volved, vuelvan. _Pres. Sub._: _that I return_, _etc._: que vuelva, vuelvas, vuelva, volvamos, volváis, vuelvan. * * * * * TO SAY, TELL, DECIR: _saying_, diciendo; _said_, dicho. PRES. IND.: _I say_, _etc._: digo, dices, dice, decimos, decís, dicen. PAST DEF.: _I said_, _etc._: dije, dijiste, dijo, dijimos, dijisteis, dijeron. FUTURE: _I shall say_, _etc._: diré, dirás, dirá, diremos, diréis, dirán. CONDITIONAL: _I should say_, _etc._: diría, dirías, diría, diríamos, diríais, dirían. IMPERATIVE: _say_: dí, diga, digamos, decid, digan. PRES. SUB.: _that I say_, _etc._: que diga, digas, diga, digamos, digáis, digan. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I said_, _etc._: que dijese, dijeses, dijese, dijésemos, dijeseis, dijesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall say_, _etc._: que dijere, dijeres, dijere, dijéremos, dijereis, dijeren. COND. SUB.: _that I should say_, _etc._: que dijera, dijeras, dijera, dijéramos, dijerais, dijeran. * * * * * TO SEE, VER: _seeing_, viendo; _seen_, visto. PRES. IND.: _I see_, _etc._: veo, ves, ve, vemos, veis, ven. IMPERFECT: _I used to see_, _etc._: veía, veías, veía, veíamos, veíais, veían. IMPERATIVE: _see_: ve, vea, veamos, ved, vean. PRES. SUB.: _that I see_, _etc._: que vea, veas, vea, veamos, veáis, vean. * * * * * TO SLEEP, DORMIR: _sleeping_, durmiendo; _slept_, dormido. PRES. IND.: _I sleep_, _etc._: duermo, duermes, duerme, dormimos, dormís, duermen. PAST DEF.: _I slept_, _etc._: dormí, dormiste, durmió, dormimos, dormisteis, durmieron. IMPERATIVE: _sleep_: duerme, duerma, durmamos, dormid, duerman. PRES. SUB.: _that I sleep_, _etc._: que duerma, duermas, duerma, durmamos, durmáis, duerman. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I slept_, _etc._: que durmiese, durmieses, durmiese, durmiésemos, durmieseis, durmiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall sleep_, _etc._: que durmiere, durmieres, durmiere, durmiéremos, durmiereis, durmieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should sleep_, _etc._: que durmiera, durmieras, durmiera, durmiéramos, durmierais, durmieran. * * * * * TO THANK, AGRADECER: _thanking_, agradeciendo, _thanked_, agradecido. PRES. IND.: _I thank_, _etc._: agradezco, agradeces, agradece, agradecemos, agradecéis, agradecen. IMPERATIVE: _thank_: agradece, agradezca, agradezcamos, agradeced, agradezcan. PRES. SUB.: _that I thank_, _etc._: que agradezca, agradezcas, agradezca, agradezcamos, agradezcáis, agradezcan. * * * * * TO THINK, PENSAR: _thinking_, pensando; _thought_, pensado. PRES. IND.: _I think_, _etc._: pienso, piensas, piensa, pensamos, pensáis, piensan. IMPERATIVE: _think_: piensa, piense, pensemos pensad, piensen. PRES. SUB.: _that I think_, _etc._: que piense, pienses, piense, pensemos, penséis, piensen. * * * * * TO WALK, ANDAR: _walking_, andando; _walked_, andado. PAST DEF.: _I walked_, _etc._: anduve, anduviste, anduvo, anduvimos, anduvisteis, anduvieron. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I walked_, _etc._: que anduviese, anduvieses, anduviese, anduviésemos, anduvieseis, anduviesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall walk_, _etc._: que anduviere, anduvieres, anduviere, anduviéremos, anduviereis, anduvieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should walk_, _etc._: que anduviera, anduvieras, anduviera, anduviéramos, anduvierais, anduvieran. * * * * * TO WISH, LIKE, QUERER: _wishing_, queriendo; _wished_, querido. PRES. IND.: _I wish_, _etc._: quiero, quieres, quiere, queremos, queréis, quieren. PAST DEF.: _I wished_, _etc._: quise, quisiste, quiso, quisimos, quisisteis, quisieron. FUTURE: _I shall wish_, _etc._: querré, querrás, querrá, querremos, querréis, querrán. CONDITIONAL: _I should wish_, _etc._: querría, querrías, querría, querríamos, querríais, querrían. IMPERATIVE: _wish_: quiere, quiera, queramos, quered, quieran. PRES. SUB.: _that I wish_, _etc._: que quiera, quieras, quiera, queramos, queráis, quieran. IMPERF. SUB.: _that I wished_, _etc._: que quisiese, quisieses, quisiese, quisiésemos, quisieseis, quisiesen. FUT. SUB.: _that I shall wish_, _etc._: que quisiere, quisieres, quisiere, quisiéremos, quisiereis, quisieren. COND. SUB.: _that I should wish_, _etc._: que quisiera, quisieras, quisiera, quisiéramos, quisierais, quisieran. VERBOS WITH THEIR PAST PARTICIPLES. _Verbos con sus Participios Pasivos._ ENGLISH. | SPANISH. | to accept, accepted | aceptar, aceptado to accompany, accompanied | acompañar, acompañado to admire, admired | admirar, admirado to amuse, amused | divertir, divertido to answer, answered | contestar, contestado; responder, respondido to arrive, arrived | llegar, llegado to ask, asked | preguntar, preguntado; pedir, pedido to assure, assured | asegurar, asegurado to attend, attended | atender, atendido to avoid, avoided | evitar, evitado to await, awaited | esperar, esperado; aguardar, aguardado to bathe, bathed | bañar, bañado to be, been | ser, sido; estar, estado to be able, been able | poder, podido to begin, begun | empezar, empezado; comenzar, comenzado to believe, believed | creer, creído to bite, bitten | morder, mordido to bring, brought | traer, traído to brush, brushed | cepillar, cepillado to build, built | construir, construído; edificar, edificado to buy, bought | comprar, comprado to call, called | llamar, llamado to carry, carried | llevar, llevado to catch, caught | coger, cogido to change, changed | cambiar, cambiado to charge, charged | cargar, cargado to choose, chosen | escoger, escogido to clean, cleaned | limpiar, limpiado to come, come | venir, venido to come back, come back | volver, vuelto to condemn, condemned | condenar, condenado to confirm, confirmed | confirmar, confirmado to consent, consented | consentir, consentido to conserve, conserved | conservar, conservado to cook, cooked | cocer, cocido to copy, copied | copiar, copiado to cough, coughed | toser, tosido to cover, covered | cubrir, cubierto to cross, crossed | cruzar, cruzado to cry, cried | llorar, llorado to cut, cut | cortar, cortado to dance, danced | bailar, bailado; danzar, danzado to deny, denied | negar, negado to despise, despised | despreciar, despreciado to destroy, destroyed | destruir, destruido to die, died | morir, muerto to differ, differed | diferir, diferido to dine, dined | comer, comido to discover, discovered | descubrir, descubierto to do, done | hacer, hecho to doubt, doubted | dudar, dudado to dress, dressed | vestir, vestido to drink, drunk | beber, bebido to eat, eaten | comer, comido to employ, employed | emplear, empleado to enjoy, enjoyed | gozar, gozado; disfrutar, disfrutado to enquire, enquired | preguntar, preguntado to enter, entered | entrar, entrado to err, erred | errar, errado to esteem, esteemed | estimar, estimado to examine, examined | examinar, examinado to exclaim, exclaimed | exclamar, exclamado to expect, expected | esperar, esperado to fall, fallen | caer, caído to fear, feared | temer, temido to feel, felt | sentir, sentido to fill, filled | llenar, llenado to find, found | hallar, hallado; encontrar, encontrado to finish, finished | acabar, acabado to follow, followed | seguir, seguido to forget, forgotten | olvidar, olvidado to forward, forwarded | expedir, expedido to give, given | dar, dado to go, gone | ir, ido to grant, granted | conceder, concedido to greet, greeted | saludar, saludado to guess, guessed | adivinar, adivinado to hate, hated | odiar, odiado to have, had | tener, tenido; haber, habido to hear, heard | oír, oído to help, helped | ayudar, ayudado to hope, hoped | esperar, esperado to insist, insisted | insistir, insistido to invite, invited | invitar, invitado; convidar convidado to judge, judged | juzgar, juzgado to jump, jumped | saltar, saltado to keep, kept | guardar, guardado to kill, killed | matar, matado (muerto) to kiss, kissed | besar, besado to know, known | conocer, conocido; saber, sabido to laugh, laughed | reír, reído to learn, learned | aprender, aprendido to lend, lent | prestar, prestado to lift, lifted | levantar, levantado to listen, listened | escuchar, escuchado to live, lived | vivir, vivido to lock, locked | cerrar, cerrado to look, looked | mirar, mirado to lose, lost | perder, perdido to love, loved | amar, amado to make, made | hacer, hecho to marry, married | casar, casado to mention, mentioned | mencionar, mencionado to milk, milked | ordeñar, ordeñado to mix, mixed | mezclar, mezclado to move, moved | mover, movido to obey, obeyed | obedecer, obedecido to oblige, obliged | obligar, obligado to observe, observed | observar, observado to obtain, obtained | obtener, obtenido to occupy, occupied | ocupar, ocupado to offer, offered | ofrecer, ofrecido to open, opened | abrir, abierto to order, ordered | ordenar, ordenado; mandar, mandado to paint, painted | pintar, pintado to pass, passed | pasar, pasado to pay, paid | pagar, pagado to place, placed | colocar, colocado; poner, puesto to plant, planted | plantar, plantado to praise, praised | alabar, alabado to pray, prayed | orar, orado; rogar, rogado to prefer, preferred | preferir, preferido to prepare, prepared | preparar, preparado to preserve, preserved | preservar, preservado; conservar, conservado to prevent, prevented | impedir, impedido to print, printed | imprimir, impreso to produce, produced | producir, producido to promise, promised | prometer, prometido to propose, proposed | proponer, propuesto to prove, proved | probar, probado to pull, pulled | tirar, tirado to punish, punished | castigar, castigado to push, pushed | empujar, empujado to put, put | poner, puesto to quarrel, quarrelled | reñir, reñido to read, read | leer, leído to receive, received | recibir, recibido to refuse, refused | rehusar, rehusado to reign, reigned | reinar, reinado to relate, related | relatar, relatado; contar, contado to remain, remained | quedar, quedado to remember, remembered | recordar, recordado to repair, repaired | reparar, reparado to repeat, repeated | repetir, repetido to require, required | necesitar, necesitado to resolve, resolved | resolver, resuelto to rest, rested | descansar, descansado to return, returned | volver, vuelto to reward, rewarded | recompensar, recompensado to rob, robbed | robar, robado to row, rowed | remar, remado to rub, rubbed | frotar, frotado to run, run | correr, corrido to salute, saluted | saludar, saludado to satisfy, satisfied | satisfacer, satisfecho to save, saved | salvar, salvado to say, said | decir, dicho to scratch, scratched | rascar, rascado; arañar, arañado to see, seen | ver, visto to seek, sought | buscar, buscado to seem, seemed | parecer, parecido to sell, sold | vender, vendido to send, sent | enviar, enviado; mandar, mandado to separate, separated | separar, separado to serve, served | servir, servido to sew, sewn | coser, cosido to shake, shaken | sacudir, sacudido to show, shown | mostrar, mostrado to shut, shut | cerrar, cerrado to sing, sung | cantar, cantado to sleep, slept | dormir, dormido to smile, smiled | sonreir, sonreído to smoke, smoked | fumar, fumado to speak, spoken | hablar, hablado to spend, spent | gastar, gastado to squander, squandered | malgastar, malgastado to start, started | salir, salido to stay, stayed | quedar(se), quedado to steal, stolen | robar, robado to study, studied | estudiar, estudiado to suffer, suffered | sufrir, sufrido to suffice, sufficed | bastar, bastado to sup, supped | cenar, cenado to suppose, supposed | suponer, supuesto to suspect, suspected | sospechar, sospechado to swallow, swallowed | tragar, tragado to take, taken | tomar, tomado to talk, talked | charlar, charlado to taste, tasted | probar, probado to teach, taught | enseñar, enseñado to tell, told | decir, dicho to thank, thanked | agradecer, agradecido to think, thought | pensar, pensado to tire, tired | cansar, cansado to touch, touched | tocar, tocado to travel, travelled | viajar, viajado to try, tried | probar, probado; procurar, procurado to understand, understood | entender, entendido; comprender, comprendido to use, used | usar, usado to visit, visited | visitar, visitado to walk, walked | andar, andado to want, wanted | necesitar, necesitado to warm, warmed | calentar, calentado to wash, washed | lavar, lavado to win, won | ganar, ganado to wish, wished | desear, deseado; querer, querido to work, worked | trabajar, trabajado to write, written | escribir, escrito PART II. USEFUL PHRASES. SEGUNDA PARTE. FRASES ÚTILES. ENGLISH. |SPANISH. | _Titles._ |_Títulos._ | Sir, or gentleman |Señor, caballero | Sirs, or gentlemen |Señores, caballeros | Madam |Señora | Miss |Señorita | A lady |Una señora | Ladies |Señoras | Some ladies |Unas (Algunas) señoras | A young lady |Una señorita | Young ladies |Señoritas | Some young ladies |Unas (Algunas) señoritas | | _Asking Questions._ |_Hacer Preguntas._ | What is that? |¿Qué es eso? | What is this? |¿Qué es esto? | What is it? |¿Que es? | What do you call that? |¿Cómo (le) llama V. a eso? | What is the name of this? |¿Cómo se llama esto? | This is called.... |Esto se llama.... | What is the Spanish |¿Cómo se dice en for...? |español...? | Tell me the Spanish |Dígame V. como se for this word. |dice esta palabra |en español. | May I ask you if...? |¿Me permite V. que |le pregunte si...? | May I take the liberty |¿Puedo permitirme of asking you |preguntarle si...? if...? | | May I trouble you |¿Me hace V. el favor to...? |de...? | What do you want? |¿Qué quiere V.? |¿Qué pide V.? | What do you wish to |¿Qué desea V.? ¿Qué have? |se le ofrece a V.? | Do you hear me? |¿Me oye V.? | Do you understand |¿Comprende V. lo que what I say? |le digo? | Yes, Sir (I do) |Sí, Señor (comprendo). | No, Sir (I do not) |No, Señor (no comprendo). | Will you have the |¿Quiere V. tener la goodness to say it |bondad de repetirlo? again? | | What do you say? |¿Qué dice V.? | What do you mean? |¿Qué quiere V. decir? | What do you say to |¿Qué dice V. de ello? it? |¿Qué le parece a |V.? | Does she understand |¿Comprende ella lo what we say? |que decimos? | Did you speak to me? |¿Me habló V. a mí? | Why do you not answer? |¿Por qué no responde |V.? | What did they answer? |¿Qué respondieron ellos? | When did you hear |¿Cuándo oyó V. eso? that? | | Are you sure of that? |¿Está V. seguro de |eso? | Who told you so? |¿Quién se lo ha dicho |a V.? | What does it mean? |¿Qué quiere decir eso? | What is the matter? |¿Qué hay? ¿Qué pasa? | What are you doing? |¿Qué hace V.? | What are you asking |¿Qué pide V.? for? | | Whom do you ask |¿Por quién pregunta for? |V.? | What do you think |¿Qué piensa V. de of it? |ello? | What are you thinking |¿En qué está V. pensando? of? | | Where are you going? |¿A dónde va V.? | Are you going there? |¿Va V. allá? | Are you going home? |¿Va V. a casa? | How far do you go? |¿Hasta dónde va V.? | Where do you wish to go? |¿Dónde quiere V. ir? | Which way shall we go? |¿Por dónde iremos? | Has he gone? |¿Se marchó? | Where do you come from? |¿De dónde viene V.? | Will you come with me? |¿Quiere V. venir conmigo? | Will you be at home |¿Estará V. en casa to-night? |esta noche? | When will you come? |¿Cuándo vendrá V.? | When do you leave |¿Cuándo se marcha V. for England? |para Inglaterra? | Whose stick is this? |¿De quién es este bastón? | Will you have it? |¿Lo quiere V.? | Whose books are these? |¿De quién son estos libros? | Will you send them to me? |¿Quiere V. enviármelos? | How much will you give? |¿Cuánto quiere V. dar (pagar)? | How much do you want? |¿Cuánto pide V.? | How much do I owe you? |¿Cuánto le debo a V.? | What shall we do? |¿Qué haremos? | I do not know what |No sé qué hacer. to do. | | What would you advise |¿Qué me aconseja V. me to do? |que haga? | What is to be done? |¿Qué hacer? ¿Que se |ha de hacer? | What is the news? |¿Qué noticias hay? | Is there any news? |¿Hay noticias? | Have you seen the |¿Ha visto V. los newspapers? |periódicos? | Where is it? |¿Dónde está? | Where are they? |¿Dónde están? | What is the use of that? |¿Para qué sirve eso? | For whom is it? |¿Para quién es? | What do you want me for? |¿Para qué me quiere V.? | Is the door open? |¿Está abierta la puerta? | Are the windows shut? |¿Están cerradas las ventanas? | Will you allow me? |¿Me permite V.? | Will you do me a |¿Me hace V. un favour? |favor? | Will you do me the |¿Quiere V. hacerme el favour of...? |favor de...? | Will you be kind |¿Quiere V. tener la enough to...? |bondad de...? | I have a favour to ask |Tengo que pedirle a of you. |V. un favor. | Will you render me a |¿Quiere V. prestarme service? |un servicio? | | _Thanks._ |_Gracias._ | Thank you. Thanks. |Doy a V. las gracias. Gracias. | Many thanks. Thank |Muchas gracias. Muchísimas you very much. |gracias. |Mil gracias. Un |millón de gracias. | I am very much |Estoy muy agradecido obliged to you. |(reconocido) a V. | I am giving you a |Doy a V. mucho trabajo great deal of |(mucha molestia). trouble. | | I am sorry to trouble |Siento molestarle tanto. you (give you so |Siento darle much trouble). |(causarle) tanta |molestia. | No trouble at all. |Molestia, ninguna. | Do not mention it. |No hay de qué. | | _Asking the Way in_ |_Preguntar por el_ _Town._ _In the Street._ |_Camino en una Ciudad._ |_En la Calle._ | Is this the way to...? |¿Es éste el camino de...? | Is this the way to go |¿Es éste el camino to...? |para ir a...? | Is this the road that |¿Es éste el camino que leads to...? |conduce a...? | Does this road lead |¿Conduce este camino to...? |a...? | Which is the way |¿Por dónde se va a...? to...? | | You are going the |Va V. bien. right way. | | You are going the |Va V. mal. No va V. wrong way. |bien. | How far is it from |¿Cuánto hay de aquí here to...? |a...? | Is it far from here |¿Está lejos de aquí to...? |el...? | Is it very far from |¿Está muy lejos de here to...? |aquí el...? | No, it is not far. |No, no está lejos. | It is scarcely two |Hay apenas dos millas. miles. | | It is only two steps |Sólo está a dos pasos from here. |de aquí. | It is only a short |Está a poca distancia distance away. |(a corto trecho). | One Spanish league. |Una legua española. | One English mile. |Una milla inglesa. | Three miles are one |Tres millas hacen una league (5 kilometres). |legua (5 kilómetros). | It is about one mile. |Hay cosa de una milla. | It is quite a mile from |Hay una buena milla here to.... |de aquí a.... | It is not quite a mile. |Hay apenas una milla. | Which way am I to go? |¿Qué camino debo seguir? | Which way must I go? |¿Por dónde debo ir? | Go straight on. |Vaya V. todo derecho. | Turn to the right. |Tome V. a la derecha. | Go to the left. |Tome V. a la izquierda. | You will turn to the |En la primera esquina right at the first |tomará V. a la corner, then to |derecha, luego a the left, and then |la izquierda, y keep straight on. |después irá V. |todo derecho. | You are going a |Hace V. un rodeo. Va round-about way. |V. descaminado |(fuera de camino). | Pardon me, Sir, can |V. dispense, Caballero, you direct me to |¿podría V. enseñarme the hotel "Four |el camino Nations?" |de la fonda "Cuatro |Naciones?" | Sir, would you have |Señor, ¿tendría V. la the kindness to |bondad de enseñarme show me the way |el camino to ... Street? |de la calle...? | I have lost my way. |Me he extraviado. He |errado el camino. | I have lost myself in |Me he perdido (extraviado) these narrow |en estas streets. |calles estrechas. | Do you know which |¿Sabe V. cuál es el is the way to the |camino del Teatro Theatre Royal? |Real? | I am very sorry, Sir, |Siento mucho, Señor, I do not know, |no saberlo, pero but this policeman |este municipal podrá here will be |decírselo. able to tell you. | | How far is it from |¿Cuánto hay de aquí here to the Southern |a la Estación del Railway Station? |Ferrocarril del |Sur? | Where can I find a |¿Dónde encontraré un cab? |coche? | Is there a 'bus from |¿Hay algún ómnibus here to the Zoological |de aquí al Jardín Gardens? |Zoológico? | Yes, Sir, there is the |Sí, Señor, hay el green 'bus which |ómnibus verde runs along the |que pasa por los embankment. |muelles. | There is a tramway. |Hay tranvía. | How much is the |¿Cuánto se cobra? fare? |¿Cuánto es? | Is there a museum in |¿Hay algún museo en this town? |esta ciudad? | Can you tell me where |¿Puede V. decirme the Picture Gallery |dónde se halla la is? |Galería de Pinturas? | Could you show me |¿Podría V. enseñarme the way to the |el camino de la Royal Square? |Plaza Real? | Is it far to the theatre |¿Está lejos de aquí el from here? |teatro? | Will you have the |¿Quiere V. tener la kindness to tell |bondad de decirme me in which part |en qué parte de of the town is the |la ciudad se encuentra Royal Palace? |el Palacio |Real? | If you follow this |Si sigue V. por esta street until you |calle hasta llegar come to the |a la catedral, verá Cathedral, you |V. el palacio a su will see the palace |derecha. on the right. | | The theatre is on your |El teatro está a su left, about fifty |izquierda de V., a paces from here. |unos cincuenta |pasos de aquí. | Where is the post-office? |¿Donde está el correo? | It is not far from here; |No está lejos de aquí; you will get there |siguiendo el tranvía, in five minutes, |llegará V. if you follow the |allí dentro de tram-lines. |cinco minutos. | Cabman, drive me |Cochero, lléveme a to the Northern |la Estación del Station; hurry up. |Norte; despache |V. | Drive faster. |Apriete V. el paso. | Drive me to the |Lléveme V. a la Fonda Victoria Hotel. |Victoria. | I engage you by the |Le tomaré por hora(s) hour (by distance). |(por carrera). | Take me first to |Lléveme primero a la St. John Street, |calle San Juan, number four. |número cuatro. | And now I want to go |Y ahora quiero ir al to the Botanical |Jardín Botánico. Gardens. | | How much is your |¿Cuánto lleva V.? fare? |¿Cuánto es? | Three pesetas, if you |Tres pesetas, si V. please. |gusta. | | _Making Enquiries_ |_Informarse de Alguien._ _about Someone._ | | Will you have the |¿Quiere V. tener la goodness to tell |bondad de decirme...? me...? | | Will you tell me, if |¿Me hace V. el favor you please...? |de decirme...? | Where does Mr. B. live? |¿Dónde vive el señor B.? | Do you know Mr. B.? |¿Conoce V. al señor B.? | No, Sir. |No, Señor. | No, Sir, I do not. |No, Señor, no le conozco. | I do not know anybody |No conozco a nadie body of that name |aquí que así se here. |llame. | Yes, Sir, I know him. |Sí, Señor, le conozco. | I know him very well. |Le conozco muy bien. | I have the honour of |Tengo el honor de his acquaintance. |conocerle. | Will you favour me |¿Tiene V. la bondad with his address? |de darme sus señas? | In what street does he |¿En qué calle vive? live? | | He lives near.... |Vive cerca de... | Is it far from here? |¿Está lejos de aquí? | It is only a stone's throw. |Está a tiro de piedra. | Can you direct me to |¿Puede V. dirigirme his house? |a su casa? | I am going that way |Voy yo mismo por ese myself. |camino. | I will show you his house. |Le enseñaré su casa. | It is very far from here. |Está muy lejos de aquí. | In that case I will take |En ese caso tomaré un a cab. |coche. | Call a cab. |Llame V. un coche. | Drive me to No. 4, ... |Lléveme V. a la calle Street. |..., número cuatro. | Stop at this house. |Pare V. en esta casa. | On the right side going |Subiendo, a la derecha. up. | | On the left side going |Bajando, a la izquierda. down. | | At that brick house. |En esa casa de ladrillos. | At that marble house. |En esa casa de mármol. | | _Enquiries concerning_ |_Preguntas acerca de_ _a Journey._ |_un Viaje._ | I want to go to ... |Quiero ir a ... | Is the road good? |¿Es bueno el camino? | It is not very bad. |No es muy malo. | It is shocking in |En invierno está malísimo. winter. | | It is pretty good at |En esta estación está this season. |bastante bueno. | Is the road sandy? |¿Es arenoso el camino? | The road is wide. |El camino es ancho. | I am going to book |Voy al paradero de my seat at the |diligencias para coach office. |tomar mi asiento. | I prefer going by the |Prefiero ir en el correo. mail. | | I do not like the |No me gusta el vapor. steamboat. | | How much is the fare? |¿Cuál es el precio del billete? | Three pesetas. |Tres pesetas. | How many miles is it |¿Cuántas millas hay from here to B.? |de aquí a B.? | I did not think it was |No creía que estuviese so far. |tan lejos. | When shall we start? |¿Cuándo saldremos? | To-morrow morning |Mañana por la mañana at six o'clock. |a las seis. | And at what o'clock |¿Y a qué hora llegaremos shall we reach |a B.? B.? | | At eight in the evening. |A las ocho de la noche. | Where are we to |¿Dónde almorzamos? breakfast? | | Where shall we dine? |¿Dónde comeremos? | Where shall we have tea? |¿Dónde tomaremos el té? | All the passengers |Todos los pasajeros are here. |están aquí. | Let us start then. |Pues, vamos. | Driver, what prevents |Cochero, ¿por qué se you from starting? |demora? | At last we have started. |Por fin estamos en camino. | Shut the door. |Cierre V. la portezuela. | Where are we? |¿Dónde estamos? | What is the name of |¿Cómo se llama esta this village? |aldea? | Does the coach stop |¿Se para aquí la here? |diligencia? | Yes, Sir, to change |Sí, Señor, para cambiar the horses. |de tiro. | Shall we have time for |¿Tendremos tiempo refreshments? |para tomar algún |refresco? | At what hotel does the |¿En qué hotel se para coach put up? |la diligencia? | At the United States |En el Hotel de los Hotel. |Estados Unidos. | We have arrived at |Por fin hemos llegado. last. | | Have you any baggage |Señor, ¿tiene V. algún to carry, |equipaje que llevar? Sir? | | Yes, take this trunk. |Sí, tome V. este baúl. | Yes, take this portmanteau. |Sí, tome V. esta maleta. | I want a single bedded room. |Necesito un cuarto con cama para uno. | At what o'clock shall |¿A qué hora cenaremos? we have supper? | | At half-past eight. |A las ocho y media. | I shall go to bed early. |Me acostaré temprano. | I am very tired. |Estoy muy cansado. | The road was very bad. |El camino estaba muy malo. | Why did you not |¿Por qué no tomó V. choose the steamboat? |el vapor? | One travels by it |Por vapor se viaja con much more comfortably. |mucha más comodidad. | I think I shall go by it |Creo que otra vez lo another time. |tomaré. | Where is the railway |¿Dónde está la estación station? |del ferrocarril? | Show me the booking |Enséñeme V. el despacho office. |de billetes. | I want a ticket to Paris. |Un billete para París. | What class? |¿Qué clase? | 1st cl., 2nd cl., 3rd cl. |Primera, segunda, tercera clase. | Single or return? |¿Sencillo o de ida y vuelta? | Is there a through |¿Hay tren directo para...? train to...? | | May I break my |¿Puedo pararme en...? journey at...? | | Is there a ladies' compartment? |¿Hay coche para señoras? | Is there a smoking |¿Hay coche para fumadores? compartment?[13] | | Is there a lavatory? |¿Hay retrete? | Can I get a seat reserved |¿Puedo hacerme reservar in advance |un asiento from Calais? |anticipadamente |desde Calais? | Certainly; what seat |Seguramente; ¿qué would you like? |asiento quiere V.? | A corner seat facing |Un asiento junto a la the engine. |ventanilla (Un rincón), |de cara a la máquina. | My friend wants the |Mi amigo quiere el seat opposite, |asiento de enfrente, with back to the |de espaldas engine. |a la máquina. | There is an extra |Hay un recargo (un charge of 2/- a |suplemento) que seat to pay. |pagar de 2 chelines |por asiento. | Where is the luggage-office? |¿Dónde está el despacho |de equipajes? | My luggage is in the |Mi equipaje está en el cloak-room. |depósito de equipajes. | Have you the luggage-ticket? |¿Tiene V. el talón? | Can I have my luggage |¿Puedo hacer facturar registered |mi equipaje directamente through to...? |para...? | What is the charge? |¿Cuánto se abona? | What luggage does |¿A cuánto equipaje my ticket entitle |tengo derecho con me to take free? |este billete? | When does the train |¿A qué hora sale el to Dover start? |tren para Dovres? | From which platform? |¿De qué andén? | Which is the departure |¿Cual es el andén platform? |de salida? | The arrival platform. |El andén de llegada. | Take your seats! |¡Señores viajeros al tren! | Tickets, please. |Los billetes, Señores. | Do you object to my |¿Permite V. que abra opening the window? |la ventanilla? | Is there a restaurant-car |¿Hay vagón-restaurant attached to |en este tren? this train? | | Can I get sleeping-car |¿Puedo hacerme reservar accommodation |un sitio en reserved from |el coche-cama Paris? |desde París? | What extra is there to |¿Qué recargo hay que pay? |pagar? | I hope I am not in the |Espero que no haya wrong train. |errado de tren. | Where must I change |¿Dónde tendré que to get a train |cambiar de tren for...? |para ir a...? | How long does the |¿Cuánto tiempo se train stop here? |para aquí el tren? | Is there a refreshment-room? |¿Hay fonda? | All change here! |¡Cambio, Señores! | Porter, take my luggage |Mozo, lleve V. mi to the |equipaje al vapor. steamer. | | Carry it down to the |Póngalo en el salón first-class saloon. |de primera clase. | I shall remain on deck. |Voy a quedarme sobre cubierta. | The sea is somewhat |El mar está un poco rough. |agitado. | Are you a good sailor? |¿Tiene V. pie marino? | I have never been sea-sick, |Nunca me he mareado, but I must |pero debo decir say I have always |que siempre que crossed when the |he hecho la travesía sea was calm. |el mar ha |estado tranquilo. | There is Calais. |Allí está Calais. | What do you intend |¿Qué piensa V. hacer doing in Paris? |en París? | I shall see the sights |Visitaré los puntos de of the town. |interés de la |ciudad. | Shall we hire a motor |¿Tomaremos un automóvil car for sight-seeing? |para visitar |la ciudad? | Where can we hire a |¿Dónde podemos alquilar motor car? |un automóvil? | There are several |Hay varios garajes large garages |importantes donde where motor cars |se pueden alquilar can be had by the |automóviles por day or week. |día o por semana. | What is the horsepower |¿De cuántos caballos of this |es este automóvil? car? | | What is your charge |¿Cuánto lleva V. for a day or a |(cobra V.) para un week? |día o para una |semana? | Does this price include |¿Incluye este precio the driver's |los gastos del expenses? |chauffeur? | What is the average |¿Cual es el promedio number of kilometres |de kilómetros (millas) (miles) |que se puede that can be done |recorrer en un in a day? |día? | What make is this |¿De qué fábrica es car? |este automóvil? | Is it in good condition? |¿Está en buena condición? | Do you guarantee that |¿Garantiza V. que no it will not break |se descompondrá down en route? |en camino? | Is your driver reliable |¿Es su chauffeur de and experienced? |V. de toda confianza |y experiencia? | | _The Custom House._ |_La Aduana._ | Where does the customs' |¿Dónde se efectúa la examination |revisión de equipaje? take place? | | Must I be present at |¿Debo estar presente the customs' |cuando se registra examination? |(se visita) el equipaje? | Must we open our |¿Tendremos que abrir luggage at the |el equipaje en la customs? |aduana? | Have you anything to |¿Tiene V. algo que declare? |declarar? | No, nothing. |No, nada. | I have nothing but |No llevo sino efectos personal effects. |de mi uso personal. | Would you like to see |¿Quiere V. verlo por for yourself? |sí mismo? | These are my things. |Estas son mis cosas. | Here are the keys. |Aquí están las llaves. | Must I open this? |¿Debo abrir esto? | Do you want to |¿Desea V. examinar examine this? |esto? | All these things are for |Todas estas cosas son my own use. |de mi propio uso. | Have you anything |¿Lleva V. algo de liable to duty? |pago? | Have you any tobacco? |¿Tiene V. algún tabaco? | I have some (a few) |Tengo algunos (unos cigars and cigarettes. |pocos) cigarros y |cigarrillos. | What does the duty |¿Cuánto importan los amount to? |derechos? | Will this be refunded |¿Me reembolsarán esto on my return? |a mi vuelta? | You can close your |Puede V. cerrar ya las boxes. |maletas. | | _Getting up._ |_Levantarse._ | Are you up already? |¿Está V. ya levantado? | At what time do you |¿A qué hora se get up? |levanta V.? | I get up at six o'clock. |Me levanto a las seis. | It is too early. |Es demasiado temprano. | You get up very early. |Se levanta V. muy temprano. | I like to get up early. |Me gusta levantarme temprano. | It is a very good habit. |Es muy buena costumbre. | It is very good for the |Es muy bueno para la health. |salud. | Get up! |Levántese V. | You have been called |Le han llamado a V. twice. |dos veces. | How sleepy you are! |¡Qué sueño tiene V.! | You go to bed too |Se acuesta V. demasiado late. |tarde. | Let me sleep. |Déjeme V. dormir. | It is too early to get |Es demasiado temprano up yet. |todavía para |levantarse. | Too early? |¿Demasiado temprano? | Do you know the time? |¿Sabe V. qué hora es? | It cannot be late. |No puede ser tarde. | It may be five o'clock. |Las cinco, tal vez. | Five o'clock? It is |¿Las cinco? Son las half past eight. |ocho y media. | I did not think it was |No creía que fuese so late. |tan tarde. | I am going to get up |Voy a levantarme directly. |ahora mismo. | Make haste and dress |Vístase V. pronto. yourself. | | I shall not be long. |No tardaré mucho. | How did you sleep last |¿Cómo ha pasado V. night? |la noche? | I slept well. |He dormido bien. | I never woke all |No he despertado en night. |toda la noche. | I did not sleep well. |No he dormido bien. | I could not sleep. |No he podido dormir. | Let us go for a little |Vamos a dar una walk. |pequeña vuelta. | Shall we have time |¿Tendremos tiempo before breakfast? |antes de almorzar? | We shall have a good |Tendremos lo menos hour. |una hora. | | _The Bath._ |_El Baño._ | Tell me, waiter, is |Dígame, mozo, ¿se there a bath to be |puede tomar aquí had here? |un baño? | Yes, Sir, we have |Sí, Señor, tenemos a cold and warm |baño frío y caliente, bath, and a |y también shower-bath. |ducha. | I want another towel |Necesito otra toalla y and a piece of |un pedazo de soap. |jabón. | See that the water is |Vea V. que el agua not too hot. |no esté demasiado |caliente. | Waiter, a little more |Mozo, un poco más de hot water. |agua caliente. | Enough! Thanks. |¡Basta! Gracias. | | _Dressing._ |_Vestirse._ | Give me my stockings. |Deme V. mis medias. | Bring me my shoes. |Tráigame V. mis zapatos. | Clean them better; |Límpielos V. mejor; they are not properly |no están bien cleaned. |limpiados. | My linen is damp; air |Mi ropa está húmeda; it a little. |séquela V. un |poco al fuego. | Has the washerwoman |¿Ha traído la lavandera brought my linen? |mi ropa? | Pay her bill. |Páguele V. su cuenta. | Give me some warm |Deme V. un poco de (cold) water. |agua caliente |(fría). | Where is the soap? |¿Dónde está el jabón? | Go and fetch me a |Vaya V. a buscarme towel. |una toalla. | Bring me my razors. |Tráigame V. mis navajas. | Do you want a pin? |¿Necesita V. un alfiler? | Give me a needle. |Deme V. una aguja. | Give me a collar and |Deme V. un cuello y a necktie. |una corbata. | Where are my gloves? |¿Dónde están mis guantes? | I cannot find them. |No puedo encontrarlos. | They cannot be lost. |No pueden haberse perdido. | Brush my hat. |Cepílleme V. el sombrero. | | _Breakfast._ |_El Desayuno._ _El_ |_Almuerzo._[14] | Have you had your |¿Ha almorzado V. ya? breakfast? | | Not yet. |Todavía no. | You come just in time. |V. llega precisamente a tiempo. | You will breakfast |Almorzará V. con with us. |nosotros. | Is breakfast ready? |¿Está pronto el almuerzo? | It will soon be ready. |Estará pronto de aquí a poco. | Everybody is up. |Todos están levantados. | They are only waiting |Sólo esperan a V. for you. | | I am coming down directly. |Bajo en seguida. | I beg your pardon for |Perdone V. el haberle having kept you |hecho esperar. waiting. | | Do you drink tea or |¿Toma V. té o café? coffee ? | | Here is coffee. |Aquí tiene V. café. | There is tea. |Ahí tiene V. té. | You have your chocolate |Tiene V. ahí cerca su near you. |chocolate. | What do you prefer? |¿Qué prefiere V.? | What do you like best? |¿Qué le gusta a V. más? | I prefer coffee. |Prefiero el café. | Will you give me |¿Quiere V. darme some chocolate? |chocolate? | Is your coffee sweet |¿Tiene bastante azúcar enough? |su café de V.? | It is excellent. |Es excelente. | There are rolls. |Ahí tiene V. panecillos. | There is toast. |Ahí tiene V. tostadas. | Would you mind passing |¿Me hace V. el favor me the butter? |de la manteca?[15] | Pass me the bread, if |Hágame V. el favor you please. |de pasarme el pan. | The tea is rather weak. |El té está un poco flojo. | I like it strong. |Me gusta fuerte. | I drink it without sugar. |Lo tomo sin azúcar. | What may I offer you? |¿Qué puedo ofrecerle? | Nothing more, thank you. |Nada más, gracias. | Do you take cream |¿Toma V. crema con with coffee? |el café? | There are some fresh |Ahí tiene V. huevos eggs; allow me to |frescos; permítame give you one. |V. que le |ofrezca uno. | Will you have some |¿Quiere V. un poco cold meat? |(un trocito) de |carne fiambre? | Will you have a sausage? |¿Quiere V. una salchicha? | I have made an excellent |He almorzado muy breakfast. |bien. | What do you prefer--tea |¿Cuál prefiere V.--té or coffee? |o café? | Will you be kind |¿Tiene V. la bondad enough to give |de darme una taza me a cup of tea? |de té? | Is it to your liking? |¿Está a su gusto de V.? | I should like a little |Quisiera un poco más more sugar. |de azúcar. | What will you take--ham |¿Qué quiere V. tomar--jamón, or a piece |o un of roast chicken? |poco de pollo |asado? | May I offer you a cup |¿Puedo ofrecerle una of coffee with |taza de café con milk? |leche? | Thanks, but I prefer |Gracias, prefiero el my coffee without |café sin leche. milk. | | Please help yourself |Sírvase V. tomar un to a little more. |poco más. | No, thank you, I have |No, mil gracias, he made a very good |almorzado muy breakfast. |bien. | | _Lunch or Dinner._ |_El Almuerzo_[16] _o la_ |_Comida_. | It will soon be two |Pronto serán las dos. o'clock. | | It is almost two o'clock. |Son casi las dos. | It is nearly two o'clock. |Son cerca de las dos. | It is half past one. |Es la una y media. | Let us return home. |Volvamos a casa. | What time shall we |¿A qué hora almorzaremos have lunch (dinner) |(comeremos) to-day? |hoy? | The cloth will be laid |La mesa se pondrá presently. |luego. | Lunch is on the table. |El almuerzo está ya en la mesa. | Let us sit down. |Sentémonos. | No, not yet. |No, todavía no. | Do you expect company? |¿Espera V. gente? | I expect Mr. and Mrs. B. |Espero al señor y la señora B. | Have you ordered dinner? |¿Ha dado V. órdenes para la comida? | What have you ordered? |¿Qué ha pedido V. ? | What shall we have |¿Qué tendremos para for dinner? |la comida? | Shall we have any fish? |¿Tendremos pescado? | There was no fish in |No había pescado en the market. |el mercado. | Mr. and Mrs. B. will |El señor y la señora not come. |B. no vendrán. | Let us begin lunch. |Empecemos el almuerzo. | What may I offer you? |¿Qué puedo ofrecerle a V.? | Will you have some soup? |¿Quiere V. sopa? | Will you take some soup? |¿Quiere V. tomar sopa? | If you please. |Si V. gusta. | Thank you. |Gracias. | Kindly pass me a little |Hágame V. el favor beef. |de pasarme un |poco de carne. | It looks very nice. |Parece muy buena. | This fowl is delicious. |Este polio es delicioso. | Will you have a wing? |¿Quiere V. un alón? | If you please. |Si V. gusta. | I will thank you for |Le agradecería a V. some gravy. |un poco de salsa. | Shall I give you some |¿Quiere V. que le vegetables? |sirva legumbres? | Will you have some salad? |¿Quiere V. ensalada? | I will take some salad. |Tomaré ensalada. | Will you have a little |¿Quiere V. un poco sauce? |de salsa? | May I offer you a |¿Le daré a V. un piece of this roast |pedacito de esta beef? |carne asada? | I will take a small |Tomaré un poquito. piece. | | Will you have it well |¿Lo quiere V. bien done? |asado? | Will you have it |¿Lo quiere V. poco underdone? |asado? | Rather well done. |Bien asado. | I like it underdone. |Lo prefiero poco asado. | Did I help you to your |¿Le he servido a V. liking? |a su gusto? | It is excellent. |Es excelente. | It is as tender as a |Es tan tierna como un chicken. |pollo. | Gentlemen, allow me |Señores, permítanme to drink your |Vs. que beba a su health. |salud. | This claret is delicious. |Este clarete es delicioso. | Let us have a bottle |Tomemos una botella of champagne. |de champaña. | How do you like it? |¿Cómo le gusta a V.? | It has a very pleasant |Tiene un gusto muy flavour. |agradable. | Have you any good |¿Tiene V. buen queso? cheese? | | Give me a small piece |Deme V. un pedacito of cheese. |de queso. | Which will you have? |¿Cuál quiere (prefiere) V.? | English cheese. |El queso inglés. | You are giving me |Me da V. demasiado. too much. | | Give me only half of it. |Deme V. sólamente la mitad. | Cut that in two. |Corte V. eso en dos. | Bring the dessert. |Traiga V. los postres. | We have had a good lunch. |Hemos almorzado muy bien. | Let us taste these |Probemos estos melocotones. peaches. | | | These pears are delicious. |Estas peras son deliciosas. | You may clear the table. |Puede V. levantar la mesa. | Bring us some wine. |Traiga V. vino. | Lunch is over. |Se acabó el almuerzo. | Dinner is announced |Señores, nos avisan gentlemen; let us |que la comida está go into the |servida; pasemos dining-room. |al comedor. | A little more soup, Sir? |¿Un poco más de sopa, Señor? | I will take a little |Tomaré un poco más, more if you |si V. gusta. please. | | What wine would you |¿Cuál vino prefiere V., like, claret or |clarete o vino de port? |Oporto? | Your health, Sir. |A la salud de V., Señor. | Yours, Sir. |A la de V. | Do you care for this |¿Le gusta a V. este wine? |vino? | I like this wine very |Este vino me gusta much. |mucho. | Allow me to help you |Permítame V. que le to a little of this |sirva un poco de shoulder of lamb. |esta espalda de |cordero. | And what can I help |¿Y qué puedo ofrecerle you to? |a V.? | I will take a little |Tomaré un poco de beef, it looks very |vaca, parece muy good. |buena. | Will you kindly pass |¿Tiene V. la bondad me the cruet? |de pasarme las |vinagreras? | A potato, if you please. |Una patata, si V. gusta. | Which part of this |¿De qué parte de este duck may I help |pato quiere V. you to? |que le sirva? | I will take a leg, |Tomaré una pierna, si please. |V. gusta. | Will you kindly pass |¿Me hace V. el favor the mustard? |de pasarme la |mostaza? | With much pleasure. |Con mucho gusto. | I shall be delighted. |Con el mayor placer. | Madam, allow me to |Señora, permítame V. help you to some |que le sirva un of this whiting. |poco de esta |pescadilla. | Madam, permit your |Señora, permita a su servant to drink |servidor de V. your health. |brindar a su salud. | Yours, my friend. |A la de V., amigo. | Which cheese do you |¿Cuál queso prefiere like best? |V.? | Give me a little bread |Deme V. un poco de and butter. |pan con manteca |(mantequilla). | Do you like grapes, |¿Le gustan a V. las or would you |uvas, o prefiere prefer an apple? |V. una manzana? | These oranges are |Estas naranjas son very sweet. |muy dulces. | Let me offer you a |Permítame V. ofrecerle cigar. Do you |un cigarro prefer Havanas or |(un tabaco, un Manillas? |puro). ¿Prefiere |V. habanos o filipinos? | This is an excellent |Este cigarro es excelente. cigar. | | Take another. |Tome V. otro. | Waiter, the bill of |Mozo,[17] tráiganos V. fare, please. |la lista (denos V. |la carta). | Here it is, Sir. What |Aquí está, Señor. would you like, |¿Qué desean Vs. gentlemen? |tomar? | What time is table |¿A qué hora es la d'hôte? |mesa redonda? | Have you dinners at |¿Tienen Vs. comidas fixed price? |a precio fijo? | We will dine at fixed |Comeremos por cubierto. price. | | We are going to order |Vamos a pedir a la from the bill of |carta. fare. | | Have you a table free |¿Hay vacante alguna near the window? |mesa cerca de la |ventana? | This is the only one |Esta es la única que disengaged. |no se ha tomado. | What soup have you? |¿Qué sopa tiene V.? | Bring us some vegetable |Tráiganos sopa de soup. |menestras (de |yerbas). | Is there any fish |¿Hay listo algún pescado? ready? | | Let us have some leg |Tráiganos espalda de of mutton, with |carnero con patatas fried potatoes and |fritas y cauliflower for |coliflor para dos, two, and half a |y media ave con fowl with boiled |patatas cocidas. potatoes. | | Waiter, a bottle of |Mozo, una botella de English beer. |cerveza inglesa. | I am very sorry, Sir, |Siento mucho, Señor, we haven't any |no tenemos cerveza, beer, but we have |pero tenemos splendid wine. |muy buen |vino. | Well then, a bottle |Pues entonces, una of claret. |botella de clarete. | Waiter, two coffees. |Mozo, dos cafés. | Black coffee. White |Café solo. Café con coffee. |leche. | A cognac. |Un coñac. Una copita |de coñac. | Nothing more for me. |Para mí, nada más. | Have you any good |¿Tienen Vs. buenos cigars? |cigarros? | Yes, Sir, we have |Sí, Señor, tenemos superior Havanas. |habanos superiores. | I don't care for these; |No me gustan éstos; they are too |son demasiado strong (too mild). |fuertes (demasiado |flojos). | Let us have some |Tráiganos cigarrillos. cigarettes. | | The matches, please. |Haga V. el favor de |las cerillas. | You have forgotten to |Se ha olvidado V. de bring the sugar. |traernos el azúcar. | Waiter, the bill. |Mozo, la cuenta. | Here it is, Sir. |Aquí la tiene V., Señor. | How much have we to pay? |¿Cuánto tenemos que pagar? | Here is your account, |Aquí tiene V. su Sir. |cuenta, Señor. | You may keep the change. |Guárdese V. la vuelta. | | _Tea._ |_El Té_[18]. | It is five o'clock. |Son las cinco. | Tea will be ready in a |El té estará pronto al moment. |instante. | Do you hear the bell? |¿Oye V. la campanilla? | Let us go down. |Bajemos. | Sit down, Gentlemen. |Siéntense Vs., Señores. | I like tea without sugar. |Me gusta el té sin azúcar. | And I without cream. |Y a mí sin crema. | I like my tea strong. |Me gusta el té fuerte (cargado). | I prefer it weak. |Yo lo prefiero flojo (claro). | Allow me to give you |Permítame V. darle another cup. |otra taza. | I never take more |Nunca tomo más que than one cup. |una taza. | Will you have some milk? |¿Quiere V. leche? | Bring some more boiling |Traiga V. más agua water. |hirviente. | This water is not hot |Esta agua no está enough. |bastante caliente. | There is fresh butter. |Ahí tiene V. manteca fresca. | This bread is good. |Este pan es bueno. | I will willingly take |Tomaré con gusto half a cup more. |media taza más. | Will you have some |¿Quiere V. tostada? toast? | | I shall come and take |Mañana iré a tomar el tea to-morrow at |té en su casa de your house. |V. | I shall be very glad |Me alegraré mucho de to see you. |verle a V. | We take tea exactly |Tomamos el té a las at five. |cinco en punto. | | _Supper._ |_La Cena._ | Will you stay and sup |¿Quiere V. quedarse with us? |a cenar con nosotros? | Have supper with us |Cene V. con nosotros without ceremony. |sin ceremonia. | Bring a plate, and a |Traiga V. un plato y knife and fork for |un cubierto para this gentleman. |este señor. | No, really. |No, de veras. No, |muchas gracias. | I never take supper. |Nunca ceno. | Well, sit near the |Bueno, pues siéntese table. |V. junto a la |mesa. | We will talk. |Hablaremos. Conversaremos. |Charlaremos. | You will take a glass |¿V. tomará, por supuesto, of wine, will you |una copa not? |de vino? | You cannot refuse that. |Eso no lo puede V. rehusar. | Do you like oysters? |¿Le gustan a V. las ostras? | I am very fond of them. |Me gustan mucho. | I will take a few. |Tomaré algunas. | How do you like them? |¿Cómo le gustan a V.? | They are good and |Son buenas y muy very fresh. |frescas. | Will you take a slice |¿Quiere V. un poco de of cold turkey? |pavo frío? | No, thank you. |No, gracias. | I am satisfied with |Me contento con un my piece of bread |poco de pan con and butter. |manteca. | Will you take a glass |¿Quiere V. tomar un of beer? |vaso de cerveza? | Willingly; I do not |De buena gana; no me like tea. |gusta el té. | In England the beer |En Inglaterra la cerveza is excellent. |es excelente. | I like beer. |Me gusta la cerveza. | It is an agreeable and |Es una bedida agradable wholesome drink. |y sana. | | _Evening._ |_La Tarde._ | It is getting late. |Se hace tarde. | It is almost time to |Es casi hora de acostarse. go to bed. | | Mr. A. has not come |El señor A. no ha home yet. |vuelto todavía. | Will he be late? |¿Tardará en volver? | He generally comes |Generalmente vuelve home early. |temprano. | I hear a knock. |Oigo llamar. | Very likely it is he. |Es él, probablemente. | Go and see. |Vaya V. a ver. | Yes, it is he. |Sí, es él. | I hope I have not kept |Espero que no le haya you waiting. |hecho esperar. | Not in the least. |Ni un momento. | It is only ten o'clock. |Son sólamente las diez. | We never go to bed |Nunca nos acostamos before half-past |antes de las diez ten. |y media. | How did you like your |¿Cómo le ha gustado a walk this evening? |V. su paseo de esta tarde? | Very much. |Muchísimo. | It is a charming evening. |Es una tarde deliciosa. | Are you not tired? |¿No está V. cansado? | Not very. |No mucho. | Will you not rest a |¿No quiere V. descansar little? |un poco? | No, thank you. |No, gracias. | I am going to bed. |Voy a acostarme. | Are you going already? |¿Se marcha V. ya? | It is not late. |No es tarde. | It is early yet. |Es temprano todavía. | It is time to go to bed. |Ya es hora de acostarse. | I do not like to go to |No me gusta acostarme bed late. |tarde. | I like to go to bed |Me gusta acostarme temprano. early. | | I wish you good night. |Le deseo a V. muy |buenas noches. | I wish you a good |Deseo que pase V. night's rest. |bien la noche (que |descanse V. bien, |que duerma V. bien). | | _Going to Bed._ |_Acostarse._ | Let me see the room |Déjeme V. ver el I am to sleep in. |cuarto donde voy a dormir. | Will you show me my |¿Quiere V. mostrarme bed-room? |mi cuarto? | I should like a room |Quisiera un cuarto en on the first floor. |el primer piso. | Give me a quiet room. |Deme V. un cuarto quieto. | Your room is quite ready. |Su cuarto de V. está listo. | Well, show me the |Bueno, enséñeme V. way; I will follow |el camino; yo le you. |seguiré. | Nobody sleeps above you. |Nadie duerme en el cuarto encima. | Close the window-shutters. |Cierre V. los postigos. | Bring my baggage up |Suba V. mi equipaje a to my room. |mi cuarto. | Where have you put |¿Dónde ha puesto V. our things? |nuestras cosas? | Are the beds well aired? |¿Están las camas bien secadas? | These sheets feel damp. |Estas sábanas parcem húmedas. | I must have others. |Quiero otras. | Warm my bed. |Caliente V. mi cama. | It is very cold. |Hace mucho frío. | I shall want another |Necesitaré otra manta. blanket. | | This is too light. |Esta es demasiado ligera. | Give me another pillow. |Deme V. otra almohada. | Put some water in my basin. |Eche V. agua en mi palangana. | Will you have a nightlight? |¿Quiere V. una lamparilla? | No, that would prevent |No, no me dejaría my sleeping. |dormir. | Take away the candle. |Lleve V. la vela. | I will put it out myself. |La apagaré yo mismo. | Before you go, draw |Antes de marcharse, the curtains. |corra V. las cortinas. | Is there a bell in this |¿Hay campanilla en room? |este cuarto? | At what time do you |¿A qué hora quiere V. wish to get up tomorrow? |levantarse mañana? | When am I to call |¿A qué hora quiere V. you? |que le llame? | Exactly at six. |A las seis en punto. | I must set off early. |Tengo que marcharme temprano. | I will not fail to come |No dejaré de venir a and wake you. |despertarle. | You may rely upon me. |V. puede contar conmigo. | I should like to have |Quiero mi cuenta. my bill. | | It is ready. |Está pronta. Está hecha. | Tell your master to |Diga V. a su amo que send me the bill. |me mande la cuenta. | I will settle with him |Arreglaré con él esta to-night. |noche. | What have I to pay? |¿Cuánto tengo que pagar? | What do I owe you? |¿Cuánto le debo a V.? |¿Cuánto debo? | I have brought your bill. |He traído su cuenta. | It amounts to ten pesetas. |Sube a diez pesetas. | It is very high. |Es mucho. | Here is your money |Aquí tiene V. su dinero. | It is all right. |Está bien. | Now I am going to sleep. |Ahora quiero dormir. | Does the door shut properly? |¿Cierra bien la puerta? | Is there a lock? |¿Hay cerradura? | Where is the key? |¿Dónde está la llave? | Is there a bolt? |¿Hay cerrojo? | Sir, I wish you a good |Señor, deseo que pase night's rest. |V. bien la noche. | This bed is very hard. |Esta cama está muy dura. | I don't think I shall |No creo que pueda be able to sleep. |dormir. | | _A Meeting._ |_Un Encuentro._ | Good morning, Sir. |Buenos días,[19] Señor. | Good afternoon, Madam. |Buenas tardes, Señora. | Good evening. |Buenas tardes. | Good night. |Buenas noches. | I wish you good morning. |Le deseo a V. muy buenos días. | How are you? How |¿Cómo está V.? ¿Cómo do you do? |lo pasa V.? |(Fam.: ¿Qué tal?) | Are you well? |¿Está V. bien? | I am very well, thank |Estoy muy bien, gracias, you, and you? |¿y V.? | Quite well. |Muy bien. Sin novedad. |Perfectamente. | I am glad to find you |Me alegro de verle a in good health. |V. en buena salud. | How is your mother? |¿Cómo está su madre de V.? | How is your family? |¿Cómo está su familia de V.? | They are all well. |Todos están bien. | You look very well. |V. tiene muy buena cara. | You have never |Nunca ha tenido V. looked better. |mejor cara (aspecto, |semblante). | You do not look well. |V. no parece estar bueno. | You look ill. |V. parece enfermo. | Are you unwell? |¿Está V. malo? | I am not very well. |No estoy muy bien. | I feel indisposed. |Me siento indispuesto. | I suffer a great deal. |Padezco mucho. | I have been obliged |He tenido que guardar to keep my bed. |cama. | I have had a bad cold. |He tenido un fuerte constipado. | I have a very bad cough. |Tengo mucha tos. | I have the toothache. |Tengo dolor de muelas. | I have a headache. |Tengo dolor de cabeza. | I have a sore throat. |Tengo mal de garganta. | I did not sleep a wink |No he cerrado los ojos (all night). |(en toda la noche). | I feel greatly relieved. |Me siento muy aliviado. | I am a little better this |Estoy un poco mejor morning. |esta mañana. | I hope it will be nothing. |Espero que no será nada. | I am very sorry to |Siento mucho saberlo. hear it. | | I am sorry, but I hope |Lo siento, pero espero it will not have |que no tenga consecuencias serious consequences. |graves. | What! is it you? |¡Cómo! ¿es V.? | Is it really you? |¿Es V., de veras? | You quite surprise me. |V. me sorprende mucho. | I did not expect to |No esperaba encontrarle meet you here. |a V. aquí. | I am very glad to see |Me alegro mucho de you. |verle a V. | When did you return? |¿Cuándo volvió V.? | I thought you were in... |Yo creía que V. estaba en... | I came home last night. |Volví anoche. | How did you come? |¿Cómo vino V.? | I came by the express. |Vine por el expreso. | You came rather unexpectedly. |V. vino un poco antes |de lo que se le |esperaba. | I thought I would |Pensaba quedarme todo stay all the summer |el verano en... at... | | What made you return |¿Qué le ha hecho a so soon? |V. volver tan |pronto? | Business called me |Tuve que volver para here. |los negocios. | How did you like your |¿Cómo le ha gustado journey? |a V. el viaje? | I liked it very well. |Me ha gustado mucho. | I have had a very |He hecho un viaje pleasant journey. |muy agradable. | When shall I have the |¿Cuándo tendré el pleasure of seeing |gusto de verle a you at my house? |V. en mi casa? | When will you come |¿Cuándo vendrá V. a and dine with us? |comer con nosotros? | I cannot say. |No puedo decírselo. | I will come one of |Vendré un día de estos. these days. | | Come to-day. |Venga V. hoy. | I cannot. |No puedo. | I have some business |Tengo que hacer. to do. | | I will call on you. |Iré a verle a V. | I will call on you |Iré a verle a V. mañana. some time to-morrow. | | We shall be very |Tendremos mucho pleased to see |gusto en verle a you. |V. | Good morning, Sir. |Buenos días, Señor. | I hope you are well, |Espero encontrarle a Madam. |V. bien, Señora. | Very well, thank you, |Muy bien, gracias, ¿y and how are you, |V., Señor, cómo Sir? |está? | I am very well, thank |Estoy muy bien, gracias. you. | | Be seated. |Siéntese V. | Please take a seat. |Sírvase V. sentarse. | Take a seat. |Tome V. asiento. | I have not been very |No he estado muy well lately, but I |bien últimamente, feel better now. |pero ahora estoy |mejor. | I have caught cold to-day. |Me he resfriado hoy. | I hope you will soon |Espero que pronto se be better. |pondrá V. bueno. | I am much obliged |Le agradezco mucho to you for your |su amabilidad. kindness. | | Ah, here is Mr. C.; |¡Ah! aquí viene el I am very glad to |señor C.; me alegro see you. |de verle a V. | Allow me to introduce |Permítame V. que le Mr. C. to you. |presente al señor |C. | I am delighted to |Me alegro de conocer make your acquaintance, |a V., Señor. Sir. | | Pleased to meet you. |Mucho gusto en conocer a V. | How is your brother? |¿Cómo está su hermano |de V.? | He enjoys excellent |Goza de muy buena health, and does |salud, y no sabe not know what |lo que es el estar sickness is. |enfermo. | Yes, doubtless; but he |Sí, sin duda; pero must take care of |debe cuidarse. himself. We don't |Sólo apreciamos know the value of |la buena salud health till we have |cuando la hemos lost it. |perdido. | He has not been well |Hace una semana que for a week, and |no está bien, y no was not able to |ha podido salir go out all that |durante todo ese time. |tiempo. | I hope he is not seriously |Espero que su enfermedad ill. |no sea |grave. | I hope your father is |Espero que su padre well. I have not |de V. se encuentre had the pleasure |bien. No he tenido of seeing him |el gusto de since his return |verle desde su from London. |vuelta de Londres. | He is first-rate. I |Está admirablemente. think he will be |Creo que estará here directly. |aquí dentro de |poco. | How do you like my |¿Cómo le gustan a V. new rooms? |mis nuevos cuartos? | I think you very fortunate |Creo que V. ha tenido in having |suerte en encontrar found such a |tan hermosa splendid house. |casa. | What are you going |¿Qué piensa V. hacer to do this evening? |esta tarde? | I have to take my sister |Tengo que acompañar to the theatre. |a mi hermana al Are you coming |teatro. ¿Vendrá too? |V. también? | There is nothing I |No hay nada que me should enjoy more. |gustaría más. | Very well, good-bye |Muy bien, pues hasta till then. |entonces. | Good-bye. |Adiós. | | _A Visit._ |_Una Visita._ | There is someone |Alguien llama. knocking. | | Go and see who it is. |Vaya V. a ver quien es. | Go and open the door. |Vaya V. a abrir la puerta. | It is Mr. B. |Es el señor B. | Good morning, Madam, |Buenos días, Señora; how do you do? |¿cómo está V.? | Very well, thank you, |Muy bien, gracias, ¿y and you? |V.? | All right, thank you. |Sin novedad, gracias. | I have not seen you |Hace mucho que no for a long time. |le veo. | You are quite a |Se vende V. muy caro. stranger. | | Will you stay and dine |¿Quiere V. quedarse with us? |a comer con nosotros? | No, thank you, I cannot |¿No, gracias, no puedo stay; I only |quedarme; he venido came down to |sólamente know how you |para saber cómo were. |estaba V. | How is Mrs. B.? |¿Cómo está la señora B.? | Thank you very much, |Muchas gracias, Señora; Madam; Mrs. B. |la señora B. is quite well, and |está muy bien, y she would certainly |me habría acompañado, have accompanied |por cierto, me if |to, si su hermana her sister had not |no hubiera venido come from Paris |de París para hacerle to pay her a short |una corta visit. |visita. | I am sorry she did not |Siento que no le haya accompany you; |acompañado; hubiera I should have |tenido mucho been very pleased |gusto en conocer to make Miss S's |a la señorita S. acquaintance. | | Miss S. was very tired |La señorita S. estaba after her journey, |muy cansada después but she will not |de su viaje; leave ... without |pero no saldrá de coming to see |... sin venir a you. |verle a V. | Tell her how pleased |Dígale V. que tendré I shall be to see |mucho gusto en her; I am generally |verla; generalmente at home |estoy en every day after |casa todos los four o'clock, except |días después de Thursdays, |las cuatro de la and never go out |tarde, excepto los in the evening. |jueves,[20] y nunca Have you been in |salgo de noche. the country with |¿Ha estado V. en your family? |el campo con su |familia? | Yes, Madam; we only |Sí, Señora; sólo hace returned a fortnight |una quincena que ago. |estamos de vuelta. | How was the weather |¿Qué tiempo ha hecho while you were |durante su estancia away? |allí? | We were very fortunate; |Hemos tenido mucha during |suerte; durante the three weeks |las tres semanas we remained at |que hemos estado X. the weather |en X. ha hecho was extremely fine. |un tiempo hermosísimo. | Have you heard from |¿Ha tenido V. noticias your brother lately? |de su hermano |últimamente? | Yes, I had a letter |Sí, ayer recibí carta from him yesterday. |de él. | Have you seen the |¿Ha visto V. el last number of |último número the _Illustrated_ |del _Mundo Ilustrado_?[21] _World_? | | Yes, Madam; I am |Si, Señora; estoy a subscriber to |abonado a esa that illustrated paper. |ilustración. | Is there anything |¿Hay algo de interés specially interesting |especial en este in this number? |número? | There are very good |Hay muy buenos dibujos sketches from the |del corresponsal correspondent at |en el teatro the seat of war. |de la guerra. | I must go. |Tengo que marcharme. | Are you going already? |¿Se marcha V. ya? | You are in a great hurry. |V. tiene mucha prisa. | Why are you in such |¿Por qué tiene V. tanta a hurry? |prisa? | I have a great many |Tengo muchas cosas things to do. |que hacer. | Surely you can stay |V. puede quedarse un a little longer. |poco más, seguramente. | I am very sorry I cannot |Siento no poder quedarme stay any |más; tengo longer; I must |cita con el señor meet Mr. T. at |T. para las cuatro half-past four; |y media ; me quedaré but I will stay |más otra vez longer another time. |(en otra ocasión). | I thank you for your |Gracias por su visita. visit. | | | _Departure._ |_Despedirse._ | It is time to go. |Es hora de marcharme. | I must leave you. |Tengo que dejarle a V. | We must part. |Debemos separarnos. | I must take leave of you. |Es preciso que me despida de V. | Shall I have the pleasure |¿Tendré el gusto de of seeing you |volver a verle a again? |V. ? | Shall we meet again? |¿Nos volveremos a ver? | Good-bye. |Adiós. (Fam.: Abur). | Good-bye. |Que V. siga bien. | Till we meet again. |Hasta la vista. Hasta más ver. | Good-bye for the present. |Hasta luego. | Your servant, Sir. |Servidor de V., Señor. | Your servant, Madam. |Servidor de V., Señora. | Your humble servant. |Beso a V. la mano, |Caballero. A los |pies de V., Señora.[22] | I wish you good morning. |Le deseo a V. muy |buenos días. | I wish you good evening. |Le deseo a V. muy |buenas tardes. | I wish you good |Le deseo a V. muy night. |buenas noches. | My compliments to |Muchas cosas a su your brother. |hermano de V. | Give my kind regards |Dé V. memorias de mi to your sister. |parte a su hermana. | Present my respects |Presente V. mis respetos to your mother. |a su señora |madre. | Present my respects |Muchos recuerdos a to your aunt. |su señora tía. | Give my kind regards |Dé V. mis recuerdos to your wife. |a su señora. | Remember me to all |Recuerdos (Memorias, at home. |Expresiones) a todos |en casa. | I will not fail to do so. |No faltaré. | | _Going and Coming._ |_Ir y Venir._ | Where are you going? |¿A dónde va V.? | I am going home. |Voy a casa. | I am coming from |Vengo de casa de V. your house. | | I came from him. |Venía de casa de é1. | I am going to his house. |Voy a casa de él. | I shall be at home. |Estaré en casa. | You will find him at |Le encontrara V. en his house. |casa. | I came from your |Venia de casa de su father's. |padre de V. | I shall go to-morrow |Mañana iré a casa de to my friend's. |mi amigo. | Where do you come from? |¿De dónde viene V.? | I come from Mr. B's. |Vengo de casa del señor B. | I was to go to Paris. |Debía ir a París. | I shall perhaps go to |Iré tal vez a España. Spain. | | I am going away; it |Me voy; ya es hora. is time. | | I am going to take a |Voy a dar un paseo. walk. | | I was going to church. |Iba a la iglesia. | Will you come with me? |¿Quiere V. venir conmigo? | Where do you wish to go? |¿A dónde quiere V. ir? | Where shall we go? |¿A dónde iremos? | We will go for a walk. |Iremos a pasear. | Let us call on Mrs. F. |Vamos a ver a la señora F. | Let us rather go to |Vamos antes al Museo. the Museum. | | Let us go this way. |Vamos por aquí. | Give me your arm. |Deme V. el brazo. | Let us cross the road. |Atrevesemos la calle. |Pasemos a la otra |acera. | Mind the motor-cars. |Cuidado con los automóviles. | Which way shall we go? |¿Por dónde iremos? | Any way you please. |Por donde V. quiera. | Let us go for a walk. |Vamos a dar un paseo. | I have no objection. |No me opongo. | Let us call on your |Tomemos de paso a brother on our |su hermano de V. way. | | Is Mr. B. at home? |¿Está en casa el señor B.? | Is Mrs. C. at home? |¿Está en casa la |señora C.? La |señora C. ¿está? | She has just gone out. |Acaba de salir. | He has gone out. |Ha salido. | He is not at home. |No está en casa. | Can you tell me where |¿Puede V. decirme a he has gone? |dónde ha ido? | I cannot tell you exactly. |No puedo decírselo precisamente. | I think he has gone |Creo que ha ido a ver to see his sister. |a su hermana. | Do you know when |¿Sabe V. cuando volverá? he will return? | | No, Sir, he did not |No, Señor, no dijo say anything |nada al salir. when he went | out. | | He may be back soon. |Es posible que vuelva pronto. | Tell him to come and see me. |Dígale V. que venga a verme. | I will come again to-morrow. |Volveré mañana. | When must I call again |¿Cuándo debo volver to find him |para encontrarle in? |en casa? | Call again at four o'clock. |Vuelva V. a las cuatro. | Did you return late? |¿Volvió V. tarde? | They have returned from... |Han vuelto de... | How long will it be |¿Cuánto (tiempo) tardará before you come |V. en volver ? back? | | I shall come back at |Volveré a las diez lo ten o'clock at the |más tarde. latest. | | Will you come back again? |¿Volverá V.? | What will you gain by it? |¿Qué provecho sacará V. de ello? | You will get nothing by it. |V. no sacará nada de ello. | When did you return |¿Cuándo volvió V. from the country? |del campo? | Come back as soon |Vuelva V. tan pronto as you can. |como pueda. | Come back quickly. |Vuelva V. pronto. | How much does that |¿A cuánto sube eso? come to? |¿Cuánto importa? | I shall see you on my |Le veré a V. a mi return. |vuelta. | When I had returned |Cuándo había vuelto home... |a casa... | I must return home. |Debo volver a casa. | I shall go to ... tomorrow. |Mañana iré a... | I will not fail to go |No dejaré de ir allá. there. | | I will go with you. |Le acompañaré. | You go too fast. |V. anda con demasiada |prisa. | I will go the first |Iré en la primera opportunity. |oportunidad. | So far so good. |Hasta ahora, todo va bien. | How far shall we go? |¿Hasta dónde iremos? | Go in front. |Vaya V. delante. | I will go there from |Iré allá de cuando en time to time. |cuando. | Do you believe that |¿Cree V. que irá allá? he will go there? | | I intend going there. |Pienso ir allá. | I go there twice a week. |Voy allá dos veces a la semana. | Will he go with you? |¿Irá con V.? | I believe he has gone |Creo que ha ido a casa. home. | | All goes well. |Todo va bien. | I am going away. |Me voy. | I went there twice. |Fuí allá dos veces. | She has gone into |Ella ha ido al campo. the country. | | Are you going to...? |¿Va V. a...? | It will soon be time |Pronto será hora de to start. |partir. | He has been gone an hour. |Hace una hora que se marchó. | Come up here quickly. |Suba V. pronto. | Come as early as you |Venga V. tan pronto please. |como quiera. | Do not fail to go there. |No deje V. de ir allá. | I shall come and see |Vendré a verle a V. you to-morrow |mañana sin falta. for certain. | | | _Exigencies of Life._ |_Exigencias de la Vida._ | I am (feel) hungry. |Tengo hambre. | I am very hungry. |Tengo mucha hambre. | I am dying with hunger. |Me muero de hambre. | I am thirsty. |Tengo sed. | I am very thirsty. |Tengo mucha sed. | I am dying with thirst. |Me muero de sed. | I could drink with |Bebería con gusto. pleasure. | | Give me something |Deme V. algo que to drink. |beber. | Give me a glass of water. |Deme V. un vaso de agua. | I am very tired. |Estoy muy cansado. | I am very much fatigued. |Estoy muy fatigado. | I am cold. |Tengo frío. | My hands are cold. |Tengo las manos frías. | I am warm. |Tengo calor. | I am sleepy. |Tengo sueño. | I think I shall sleep |Creo que dormiré bien. well. | | I am overcome with |Me estoy cayendo sleep. |(cayendo muerto) |de sueño. | I wish I were in bed. |Quisiera estar en la cama. | I have slept well. |He dormido bien. | I have slept badly. |He dormido mal. | I could not get to sleep. |No he podido dormir. | I have not been able |No he podido cerrar to close my eyes |los ojos en toda all night. |la noche. | | _The Fire._ |_El Fuego._ | What a poor fire! |¡Qué mal fuego! | You have not taken |V. no ha cuidado del care of the fire. |fuego. | You have not kept |V. no ha sostenido el the fire up. |fuego. | You have let the fire |V. ha dejado apagarse out. |el fuego. | It is not quite out. |No está del todo apagado. | It must be lighted |Es preciso encenderlo again. |de nuevo. | Come and make up |Venga V. a arreglar the fire. |el fuego. | What are you looking for? |¿Qué busca V.? | I am looking for the |Busco las tenazas. tongs. | | Here they are in the |Aquí están en el corner. |rincón. | Where are the bellows? |¿Dónde está el fuelle? | Go and fetch the bellows. |Vaya V. a buscar el fuelle. | Blow the fire. |Sople V. el fuego. | Do not blow so hard. |No sople V. tan fuerte. | Put a few shavings under. |Ponga V. debajo algunas virutas. | Now put on two or |Ahora ponga V. dos three pieces of |o tres pedazos de wood. |leña. | It will soon draw. |Pronto prenderá (arderá). | Is there any coal in |¿Hay carbón en el the scuttle? |cubo? | Take the shovel and |Tome V. la pala y put some coal on |ponga carbón en the fire. |el fuego. | Do not put on too |No ponga V. demasiado much at a time. |de una vez. | If you put on too |Si pone V. demasiado, much, you will |apagará el fuego. put the fire out. | | You have almost |Casi ha apagado V. smothered the |el fuego. fire. | | Raise it up with the |Levántelo V. con el poker. |atizador. | It will give it a little |Eso le dará un poco air. |de aire. | The fire begins to |El fuego principia a blaze. |arder. | Now the fire is very |Ahora tenemos un good. |buen fuego. | You have made it up |Lo ha arreglado V. again very well. |muy bien. | Which do you prefer--a |¿Cuál prefiere V.--un coal fire, or a |fuego de carbón o wood fire? |un fuego de leña? | I prefer a wood fire. |Prefiero un fuego de leña. | I prefer a coal fire. |Yo prefiero un fuego de carbón. | A wood fire does not |Un fuego de leña no give so much heat. |da tanto calor. | It is some trouble to |Da también algún trabajo keep up too. |para conservarlo. | Do you burn your |¿Quema V. su carbón coal in a grate? |en una reja? | No, in a stove. |No, en una estufa. | I do not like stoves. |No me gustan las estufas. | I like to see the blaze. |Me gusta ver las llamas. | | _Marketing._ |_Compras._ | I must go to market. |Es preciso que vaya yo al mercado. | I shall buy some chickens. |Compraré pollos. | Perhaps a pair of ducks. |Tal vez un par de patos. | Here is a couple of |Aquí hay un par de nice ducks. |patos buenos. | Have you fresh eggs? |¿Tiene V. huevos frescos? | How many pounds of |¿Cuántas libras de butter do you |manteca quiere want? |V.? | I have left something |He dejado algo en at home. |casa. | I must go back. |Tengo que volver. | Mary, you will finish |Maria, tú[23] acabarás marketing. |las compras. | Get three pounds of |Compra tres libras de butter, if it is |manteca, si es good. |buena. | As you come back, |Al volver, pasa por la call at the butcher's. |carnicería. | What meat shall I |¿Qué carne quiere V. order? |que encargue? | Tell him to send a |Dile que mande un sirloin for to-day. |lomo para hoy. | For to-morrow two or |Para mañana dos o three ribs of beef. |tres costillas de vaca. | And for the day after, |Y para pasado mañana a leg of mutton. |una pierna de carnero. | I should like to have |Quisiera un pecho de a breast of veal. |ternera. | If there is none, take |Si no lo hay, toma un a loin of veal. |lomo de ternera. | Do not forget a |No olivides un cuarto quarter of lamb. |de cordero. | A leg of mutton. |Una pierna de carnero. | A calf's head. |Una cabeza de ternera. | A neck of mutton. |Un pescuezo de carnero. | Ask him for a good |Pídele una buena molleja. sweet-bread. | | See whether he has |Ve si tiene una buena a nice ox-tongue. |lengua de buey. | Tell him to send all |Dile que mande todo at once. |en seguida. | Tell him to send the |Dile que mande la bill with it. |cuenta al mismo |tiempo. | Do you wish me to |¿Quiere V. que compre buy any fish? |pescado? | Yes, I forgot to mention it. |Si, olvidé decírtelo. | Is there any fish at the |¿Hay pescado en el market? |mercado? | There is plenty of fish. |Hay mucho pescado. | There is scarcely any fish. |No hay casi ningún pescado. | What fish is there? |¿Qué pescado hay? | There are herrings |Hay arenques y escombros. and mackerel. | | Buy a plaice. |Compra una platija. | Will you have a salmon? |¿Quiere V. un salmón? | I prefer fresh cod. |Prefiero el bacalao fresco. | I have seen a fine turbot. |He visto un rodaballo hermoso. | What is the price of |¿A cómo se venden soles? |los lenguados? | Two shillings a pound. |A dos chelines la libra. | Is there any shell-fish? |¿Hay mariscos? | Shell-fish are now in |Los mariscos están season. |ahora en sazón. | Buy also a dozen |Compra también una eggs. |docena de huevos. | | _The Walk._ |_El Paseo._ | Shall we take a little |¿Quiere V. que demos walk? |una pequeña vuelta? | With pleasure. |Con mucho gusto. | Allow me to go and |Permítame V. ir a fetch my hat. |buscar mi sombrero. | I will be with you in |Estaré con V. al a minute. |instante. | I am at your service. |Estoy a las ordenes de V. | We will go when you like. |Iremos cuando V. quiera. | The weather is very |Hace un tiempo muy fine at present, |hermoso en este and I think it will |momento, y creo remain so all day. |que lo hará durante |todo el día. | Which way shall we go? |¿Por donde iremos? | Let us go across the |Atravesemos los campos. fields. | | I do not like walking |No me gusta pasearme on the high |en el camino real. road. | | There is always a |Hay siempre mucho great deal of |polvo. dust. | | The rain has laid the |La lluvia ha batido un dust a little. |poco el polvo. | Let us cross the meadow. |Atravesemos el prado. | It is a very pleasant |Es un camino muy way. |agradable. | Under this large oak |Bajo esta encina we shall be sheltered |grande estaremos from the |abrigados del sol. sun. | | Shall we cross this |¿Quiere V. que atravesemos field? |este campo? | Is there a thoroughfare |¿Se puede atravesar across this |este campo? field? |¿Hay vía pública |a través de este |campo? | Let us take this path. |Vamos por esta senda. | Is this the nearest |¿Es éste el camino way (to go) |más corto para home? |(ir a) casa? | It is not late. |No es tarde. | Let us walk a little |Paseémonos un poco longer. |más. | I should like to be |Quisiera volver a home early. |casa temprano. | We are not far from |No estamos lejos de the house. |la casa. | We shall be there in |Estaremos allá en less than half an |menos de media hour. |hora. | We shall be back at |Estaremos de vuelta a seven. |las siete. | Are you going to |¿Va V. a quedarse en stay indoors all |casa todo el día? day? | | No, my friend, I was |No, amigo, pensaba just thinking of |(estaba pensando) having a walk in |en dar una vuelta the park. |en el parque. | Will you come with me? |¿Quiere V. venir conmigo? | With pleasure. |Con mucho gusto. | We are having beautiful |Hace un tiempo delicioso, weather, and |y no hay there is no doubt |duda que toda la that all the fashionable |gente de buen people will be assembled |tono se encontrará there. |allí. | Let us go. |Vamos. | Well, then, let us go. |Pues entonces vamos (vámonos). | Let us be off, then. |Pues, andando. | Is this gentleman an |Este señor que le ha acquaintance of |saludado a V., ¿es yours--the one |conocido suyo? who took off his | hat? | | Oh, yes, he is a friend |Ah, sí, es amigo mío; of mine; I will |le presentaré a V. introduce him to |con mucho gusto. you with pleasure. | | Your friend is a very |Su amigo de V. es un agreeable man. |hombre muy agradable. | Yes, I like him very |Sí, le quiero mucho; much; he knows |conoce a todo el everybody and |mundo y ha viajado has travelled in |por todas all parts of Europe. |partes de Europa. | Then your friend |Entonces su amigo de must know several |V. debe saber foreign languages. |varias lenguas |extranjeras. | He is reported to |Se dice que habla speak half a |media docena de dozen languages. |lenguas. | What a fortunate |¡Qué hombre tan man! I should be |feliz! Estaría muy very pleased if I |contento si pudiera could speak half |hablar la mitad as many. |de ellas. | Do you know this lady? |¿Conoce V. a esta señora? | I much regret I do not. |Siento mucho que no. | Yes. she is a friend |Sí, es una amiga de of my younger |mi hermana menor. sister. | | That is fortunate. |¡Qué suerte! Señor Mr. B. I am |B., me alegro de happy to see you. |verle. Espero se I trust you are |encuentre bien. well. | | Where have you been |¿Dónde ha estado V. all this time? |todo este tiempo? | When did you arrive? |¿Cuándo llegó V.? | I arrived yesterday, |Llegué ayer, después after a few weeks' |de un viaje de travelling in |algunas semanas Spain. |en España. | When will you be |¿Cuándo estará V. de back? |vuelta? ¿Cuándo |volverá V.? | In a few weeks. |Dentro de pocas semanas. | Don't forget to look |No olvide V. venir a me up. |verme. | I shall have much |Lo haré con mucho pleasure in doing |gusto. so. | | Have you been away? |¿Ha estado V. ausente? | Only for a few days; |Algunos días sólamente; I was in Madrid. |he estado en Madrid. | And how have you |¿Y cómo lo ha pasado been getting on? |V.? | Very well; I met |Muy bien; encontré some friends. |algunos amigos. | I must go and see |Debo ir a ver a mi my uncle to-night. |tío esta noche. | Pardon me, I have |Dispense V., quiero a few words to |decir una palabra say to my friend |a este amigo. here. | | Will you be kind |¿Quiere V. tener la enough to give |bondad de saludar my compliments |de mi parte al to Mr. D.? |señor D.? | With the greatest |Con el mayor placer. pleasure. I am |Voy a casa para going home to |comer. dinner. | | Adieu, till we meet again. |Adiós, hasta la vista. | Good-bye. |Adiós. | | _In the Garden._ |_En el Jardín._[24] | Would you like to |¿Quiere V. dar una take a walk in |vuelta en el jardín? the garden? | | With great pleasure. |Con mucho gusto. | I like gardens very much. |Me gustan mucho los jardines. | Let us go into the |Pasemos primero al fruit-garden first. |huerto. | There is a fine show |Hay abundancia de of plums this |ciruelas este año. year. | | What a quantity of |¡Qué de manzanas apples there will |habrá! be! | | Yes, if one may judge |Si, a juzgar por las by the blossom. |flores. | The apricots will be |Los albaricoques serán very fine this |muy buenos year. |este año. | These peaches look well. |Estos melocotones parecen buenos. | You will have plenty |Tendrá V. muchas of apples. |manzanas. | Cherries and strawberries |Las cerezas y las are now |fresas están ahora in their prime. |en su mejor punto. | They will soon be over. |Pronto se pasarán. | These grapes are quite ripe. |Estas uvas están enteramente maduras. | These pears are very juicy. |Estas peras son muy jugosas. | All fruit is very early |Toda la fruta es muy this season. |tempranera este |año (en la estación |actual). | The espaliers especially. |Especialmente las de las espalderas. | And how are the trees |¿Y cómo están los in your orchard? |árboles de su |huerto? | They are laden with fruit. |Están cargados de fruta. | Now let us go into |Vamos ahora al the flower-garden. |jardín. | You have not yet |V. no ha visto todavía seen my flowers. |mis flores. | Come and see my |Venga V. a ver mis flowers, they are |flores, son hermosas. beautiful. | | The garden begins to |El jardín principia a look pleasant. |presentar buen aspecto. | The flowers come in |Las flores vienen en abundance. |abundancia. | The tulips have been |Hace ya algún tiempo in blossom some |que los tulipanes time. |están en flor. | The narcissus will |Los narcisos estarán soon come out. |pronto en flor. | What a fine bed you |¡Qué hermoso cuadro have of them ! |de ellos tiene V.! | The hyacinths are |Los jacintos están ya nearly over. |casi pasados. | What do you call this |¿Cómo llama V. a esta flower? |flor? | What a beautiful |¡Qué hermosa dalia double dahlia! |doble! | Here is a fine cactus. |Aquí tiene V. un hermoso cacto. | Are you fond of carnations? |¿Le gustan a V. los |claveles (claveles |dobles)? | Yes, but I do not like |Sí, pero no me gusta the smell. |el olor. | Here are some very |Aquí tiene V. unos fine ones. |muy buenos. | I like the odour of the |Me gusta el olor de violet. |la violeta. | I prefer the scent of |Prefiero el olor de las roses. |rosas. | You have not seen |V. no ha visto mis my sweet peas. |guisantes de olor. | They are astonishingly |Son hermosísimos. beautiful. | | You have a very fine |V. tiene una hermosa collection of |colección de flores. flowers. | | You keep your garden |V. tiene su jardín muy very neat. |bien arreglado. | Your garden is perfectly |Su jardín de V. está well kept. |en muy buen estado. | Let us see your |Vamos a ver su huerta kitchen-garden. |de V. | How everything grows! |¡Cómo brota todo! | The rain has done a |La lluvia ha hecho great deal of |mucho bien. good. | | There was a great |Hacía mucha falta. need of it. | | We need more. |Nos hace falta más. | What a quantity of |¡Qué cantidad de coles! cabbages! | | What fine cauliflowers! |¡Qué hermosas coliflores! | Here is a fine bed of |¡Tiene V. aquí un hermoso asparagus. |plantel de |espárragos. | I am very fond of it. |Me gustan mucho. | I like artichokes nearly |Me gustan casi tanto as well. |las alcachofas. | These peas are in |Estos guisantes están blossom already. |ya en flor. | I have some in pod |Tengo algunos en in another place. |cáscara en otro |sitio. | Have you planted any |¿Ha plantado V. habas? beans? | | You will have some |Las tendrá V. muy very early. |temprano. | What are these? |¿Qué son éstos? | They are carrots and |Son zanahorias y nabos. turnips. | | What have you there? |¿Que tiene V. allí? | They are truffles. |Son trufas. | I had never seen any |No las había visto before. |hasta ahora. | Are these onions? |¿Son éstas cebollas? | No, they are leeks. |No, son puerros. | They are very much |Se parecen mucho a like onions. |las cebollas. | I see you have all |Veo que tiene V. toda sorts of salad. |clase de ensalada. | Here is lettuce. |Aquí tiene V. lechuga. | This is endive. |Esta es escarola. | I do not see any celery. |No veo apio. | It is in another part |Está en otra parte de of the garden. |la huerta. | I think your garden is |Su huerta de V. me very well stocked. |parece muy bien |surtida. | You have plenty of |Tiene V. de todo en everything. |abundancia. | It is better to have |Mejor es tener demasiado too much than |que no bastante, too little, for |pues lo que store is no sore. |abunda no daña.[25] | | _To write a Letter._ |_Escribir una Carta._ | I have a letter to |Tengo que escribir write to-day. |una carta hoy. | Is it for the mail? |¿Es para el correo? | Yes, it must leave |Sí, es preciso que to-night. |vaya esta noche. | You have no time to |V. no tiene tiempo write, it is very |para escribir, es late already. |ya muy tarde. | I shall not be long. |No tardaré mucho. | Do you want any |¿Necesita V. papel de note-paper? |cartas? | I have a whole quire. |Tengo una mano entera. | Lend me a sheet if |Hágame V. el favor you please. |de prestarme una |hoja. | Be good enough to |Tenga V. la bondad bring me some |de traerme sobres, envelopes, ink, |tinta, plumas y pens and sealing-wax. |lacre. | Here they are. Do |Aquí están. ¿Necesita you require any |V. sellos? stamps? | | I shall want a shilling's |Necesitaré por valor de worth of |un chelín en sellos half-penny |de medio penique stamps to send |para poder mandar some circular letters |algunas cartas to my friends |circulares a mis on the continent; |amigos del continente; twelve penny |doce de ones, and four two |un penique, y pence half-penny |cuatro de dos ones, as I shall |peniques y medio, have to write to |porque tendré que my brothers in |escribir a mis hermanos Spain. |en España. | I also want some |Necesito también algunas post-cards and |tarjetas two envelopes for |postales y dos registered letters. |sobres para cartas |certificadas. | What is the day of |¿A cuántos estamos the month? |del mes? ¿Qué |fecha somos? | It is the third. |Estamos a tres, |Hoy es día tres. | Now, I have only the |Ahora sólo tengo que address to write. |escribir la dirección. | When does the mail |¿Cuándo sale el correo? start? | | The letters must be |Las cartas se deben posted before |echar en el buzón half-past five, if |antes de las cinco you want them |y media, si quiere to go by the |V. que vayan por evening mail. |el correo de la |tarde. | Do you not think |¿No le parece a V. this letter is too |que esta carta heavy? |es demasiado pesada? | I do not think so. |Me parece que no. | Shall I get you the |¿Quiere V. que le procure Post Office Order |el Giro you mentioned |Postal de que last night? |me habló anoche? | Yes, please. |Sí, hágame V. el favor. | What amount do you |¿Qué suma quiere V. want to send? |mandar? | Two hundred and |Doscientas treinta y thirty-two pesetas |dos pesetas y twenty-five centimos. |veinticinco céntimos. I am just |Salgo ahora going out and |mismo y tomaré shall get the |el dinero en casa money at my |de mi banquero. banker's. | | Do you know whether |¿Sabe V. si se emiten Post Office Orders |(se expiden) Giros are issued |Postales después after five o'clock? |de las cinco? | Take this letter to the |Lleve V. esta carta al Post Office, and |correo, y franquéela. pay the postage. | | Get it registered. |Hágala certificar. | The mail was just going. |El correo estaba para salir. | Will my letter go off |¿Irá mi carta esta to-night? |noche? | Yes, I arrived in time. |Sí, llegué a tiempo. | Your letter will be |Su carta de V. se delivered to-morrow |entregará mañana morning. |por la mañana. | When does the mail |¿Cuándo sale el correo for England |para Inglaterra? leave? | | It goes at six o'clock. |Sale a las seis. | How much is the postage |¿Cuánto es el porte de for letters to |las cartas para England? |Inglaterra? | Twenty-five centimos |Veinticinco céntimos for every fifteen |por cada quince grammes. |gramos. | Can you tell me when |¿Puede V. decirme these letters will |cuándo llegarán arrive at their |estas cartas a su destination ? |destino? | They ought to arrive |Deben llegar dentro within three days, |de tres días, Señor. Sir. | | This letter is too |Esta carta es demasiado heavy, the postage |pesada, el will be fifty |porte será cincuenta centimos. |céntimos. | I am expecting a letter |Espero una carta hoy from X... today, |de X..., hágame do me the |V. el favor de favour to send to |enviar al correo the Post Office to |a preguntar si hay enquire if there |cartas para mí. are any letters for | me. | | Here is my card. Will |Aquí tiene V. mi tarjeta. you please tell me |¿Quiere V. if there are any |decirme si hay letters for me |cartas para mí de from Paris? |París? | Must I seal the registered |¿Debo sellar la carta letter? |certificada? | No, Sir, it is not |No, Señor, no es necessary. |necesario. | Take this letter to |Lleve V. esta carta a Madam E. and |la señora E., y espere wait for the |la respuesta. answer. | | These envelopes are |Estos sobres son inferiores, inferior, I want |los quiero better ones. |mejores. | Get me a dozen |Cómpreme V. una docena stamps of twenty-five |de sellos[26] de centimos, |veinticinco céntimos, and two foreign |y dos tarjetas post-cards. |postales para |el extranjero. | Very good, Sir. |Muy bien, Señor. | | _With a Tailor._ |_Con un Sastre._ | Somebody is asking for you. |Preguntan por V. | Who is it ? Who |¿Quién es? ¿Quién wants to speak to |quiere hablarme? me. | | It is the tailor. |Es el sastre. | Tell him to come up. |Dígale V. que suba. | I have brought your |Traigo su levita de V., coat, Sir. |Senor. | I am glad you have |Me alegro que V. come this morning. |haya venido esta |mañana. | I began to be impatient. |Principiaba a impacientarme. | I have just finished it. |La he acabado ahora mismo. | I hope you will be |Espero que le gustará pleased with it. |a V. | Let me try it on. |Déjeme V. ensayarla |(probarla). | Let me see whether it |Veamos si me sienta fits me. |bien. | It fits you like a |Le viene a V. como glove. |anillo al dedo. | It fits me very well. |Me viene muy bien. | Are not the sleeves |¿No son las mangas too long and too |demasiado largas wide? |y anchas? | They are worn so now. |Así se llevan ahora. | It is too tight. |Es demasiado estrecha. | It will stretch. |Se ensanchará. | I think it is too long. |Me parece demasiado larga. | It cuts me under the |Me aprieta en el arms. |sobaco. | I do not see what |No veo ningún cambio alterations there |que hacer. are to make. | | It could not fit you |No podría sentarle better. |mejor. | Look in the glass. |Mírese V. en el espejo. | What is your charge |¿Cuánto me pide V. for this coat? |por esta levita? | It is rather dear. |Es un poco cara. | Is there no reduction? |¿No se rebaja nada? | This coat is out of |Esta levita está fuera fashion. |de moda. | The waistcoat is not |El chaleco no está well made. |bien hecho. | The waistcoat must |Será preciso arreglar be altered. |el chaleco. | It is too short. |Es demasiado corto. | It is rather long. |Es algo largo. | I want another coat. |Necesito otra levita. | I want a suit of |Quiero un traje. clothes. | | Will you take my |¿Quiere V. tomarme measure(ments)? |la medida? | How will you have it |¿Cómo quiere V. que made? |se haga? | As now worn. |Como ahora se estila. | In the latest fashion. |A la última moda. | I like to be neatly and |Me gusta estar aseada plainly dressed. |y sencillamente |vestido. | I want a waistcoat |Necesito un chaleco y and a pair of |un pantalón. trousers. | | Will you show me |¿Quiere V. mostrarme some patterns? |unas muestras? | Have you brought |¿Ha traído V. algunas? some with you? | | I have a great variety. |Tengo un gran surtido. | Let me see them. |Déjeme V. verlas. | I like this fine blue |Me gusta bastante este pretty well. |azul fino. | It is a very fashionable |Es un color muy a la colour. |moda. | Blue will become you |El azul le vendrá a V. very well. |muy bien. | What do you think |¿Qué le parece a V. of this blue? |de este azul? | This colour will soon |Este color perderá fade. |pronto. | What sort of buttons |¿Qué clase de botones will you have ? |quiere V.? | Will you have covered |¿Quiere V. botones buttons ? |forrados. | Do you wear your |¿Lleva V. el pantalón trousers very |muy alto? high? | | Not very. |No mucho. | Neither too high nor |Ni muy alto ni muy too low. |bajo. | Let them come up |Hágalo V. subir hasta about so high. |aquí. | I like them very low. |Me gusta muy bajo. | It is the fashion to |Es moda llevarlos muy wear them very |bajos. low. | | I do not like them too |No me gustan demasiado low. |bajos. | I must have everything |Necesito todo para the day |pasado mañana. after to-morrow. | | I shall be punctual. |Seré puntual. | When will they be |¿Cuando estarán listos? ready? | | You will have them |Los tendrá V. el lunes next Monday. |que viene. | At what time must I |¿A qué hora quiere V. call, Sir? |que venga, Señor? | At about ten. |A eso de las diez. | Between ten and eleven. |Entre diez y once. | | _With a Dressmaker._ |_Con una Modista._ | Madam, I have |Señora, traigo sus brought your |vestidos de V. gowns. | | Ah! Miss A..., is it |¡Ah! Señorita A..., you? |¿es V.? | I was impatient to see you. |Estaba impaciente de verla. | You have made me |V. me ha hecho esperar wait a long while. |mucho. | How many dresses |¿Cuántos vestidos me have you brought? |trae V.? | Are they of different |¿Son de hechuras diferentes? styles? | | This dress fits me well. |Este vestido me sienta bien. | This one appears very |Este me parece muy short. |corto. | Morning gowns are |Las batas se hacen así now made so. |ahora. | I do not like them so |No me gustan tan short. |cortas. | Let me try this on. |Déjeme V. probar ésta. | Here is a French cambric |Aquí tiene V. un dress to try |vestido de batista on. |para probar. | Here is a muslin one, |Aquí tiene V. uno de and a cambric |muselina, y otro one. |de batista. | Take that pin out. |Quite V. ese alfiler. | Is all that sewn carefully? |¿Todo se ha cosido con cuidado? | What trimmings will |¿Qué guarniciones va you put on this |V. a poner en evening dress? |este vestido de |etiqueta? | Is this trimming fashionable? |¿Es de moda esta guarnición? | They are much worn now. |Se usan mucho actualmente. | Trim it with lace. |Adórnelo con encaje. | Is not this gown too |¿No es este vestido demasiado full at the bottom? |ancho abajo? | I think it is; I can |Creo que sí; puedo easily remedy it. |remediarlo fácilmente. | The sleeves are too tight. |Las mangas son demasiado estrechas. | The sleeves are too wide. |Las mangas son demasiado anchas. | The waist is too long. |La cintura es demasiado larga. | The waist is too short. |La cintura es demasiado corta. | The gown is not wide enough. |El vestido no es bastante ancho. | The plaits do not fall |Los pliegues no caen gracefully. |con gracia. | The last fits the best. |El último me sienta mejor. | It fits my waist exactly. |Me sienta perfectamente |en la |cintura. | Take it for a pattern, |Tómelo V. por modelo, and all the others |y todos los demás will fit well. |me sentarán bien. | Remember, I expect |No olvide V. que my things in a |necesito estos few days. |vestidos dentro de |pocos días. | I will pay you when |Le pagaré a V. you bring everything |cuando me traiga you have to |todo lo que tiene make for me. |que hacerme. | Be very punctual, |Sírvase V. ser muy please. |puntual. | Madam, you shall |Señora, tendrá V. have everything |todo mañana por to-morrow morning. |la mañana. | You will oblige me. |Me hará V. un favor. | | _At a Hairdresser's_ |_En una Peluquería_ _or Barber's._ |_o Barbería._ | I want to be shaved |Quiero que me afeite as quickly as |V. tan pronto possible. |como posible. | Very good, Sir; will |Muy bien, Señor; sírvase you kindly take |V. sentarse this seat |aquí. | Ah, you have cut me! |¡Ah! me ha cortado V. | I beg your pardon, it |Perdone V., no es is not much, only |mucho, es sólamente a pimple I have |un granillo taken off. |que he levantado. | Shall I cut your hair |¿Quiere V. que le a little? |corte un poco el |pelo (el cabello)? | No thanks, it does |No, gracias, no es not require cutting |necesario todavía. yet. | | Yes please. |Sí, haga V. el favor. | Do you want it very short? |¿Lo quiere V. muy corto? | Not too short. |No mucho. | Take off a little only. |Iguálelo V. sólamente. | Quite short. |Al rape. | Middling. A trim. |A media melena. | Give me a shampoo. |Láveme V. la cabeza. |Deme V. un |champú. | Part it on the left. |Hágame V. la raya al |lado izquierdo. | Would you like a little |¿Quiere V. un poco de pomade? |pomada? | No, but you may put |No, pero puede V. on a little brilliantine. |ponerme un poco |de brillantina. | Let me have a looking-glass. |Deme V. un espejo. | | _At a Shoemaker's._ |_En una Zapatería._ | Have you shoes ready-made? |¿Tiene V. zapatos hechos ? | Show me some of different |Muéstreme V. algunos sizes.[27] |de varios tamaños. | I will try these. |Probaré éstos. | Give me the shoe-horn. |Deme V. el calzador. | They hurt me. |Me lastiman. | I cannot walk. |No puedo andar. | They are too low. |Son demasiado bajos. | They are too high. |Son demasiado altos. | They are too large. |Son demasiado grandes. | They are too small. |Son demasiado pequeños. | The heels are too wide. |Los tacones son demasiado anchos. | You had better make |Será mejor que me me a pair to measure. |haga V. un par a |medida. | Let me see some boots. |Muéstreme V. algunas botas. | These are too narrow. |Estas son demasiado estrechas. | I think these will fit |Creo que éstas le you very well. |vendrán muy bien. | The boot is narrow, |La bota es estrecha, but it will not |pero no le hará hurt you. |daño. | In fact, they fit me |En efecto, me vienen very well. |muy bien. | Give me the boot-jack |Deme V. el sacabotas to pull them off. |para quitarlas. | Make me also a pair |Hágame V. también of slippers. |un par de zapatillas. | What colour? |¿De qué color? | Make them very wide. |Hágalas muy anchas. | Do not make the soles |No haga V. las suelas too thin. |demasiado delgadas. | Take care that the |Cuidado que las viras welts be well |sean bien cosidas. sewn. | | | _At a Woollen-draper's._ |_En una Pañería._ | I want to buy some |Quiero comprar paño. cloth. | | What sort of cloth do |¿Qué clase de paño you want? |quiere V.? | Show me the best you |Enséñeme V. lo mejor have. |que tiene. | What colour do you |¿Qué color prefiere prefer? |V.? | I like this colour |Este color me gusta pretty well. |bastante. | Is it fashionable? |¿Es de moda? | Blue and black are always |El azul y el negro fashionable. |están siempre en |moda. | Show me some others. |Enséñeme V. otros. | Here are patterns of |Aquí tiene V. muestras all the superfine |de todos los paños cloth I have in |finos que tengo en my shop. |la tienda. | This colour will soon |Este color perderá fade. |pronto (durará |poco). | Excuse me, Sir, it |Perdone V., Señor, will last very well. |durará mucho. | This cloth is very thin. |Este paño es muy delgado. | Here is another piece. |Aquí tiene V. otra pieza. | It feels very soft. |Me parece muy suave. | It is substantial. |Es fuerte. | This will do. |Este me conviene. | How much do you ask |¿Cuanto pide V. por for it? |él? | How much a yard is it? |¿A cómo se vende la vara? | Five pesetas. |A cinco pesetas. | Is that the lowest price? |¿Es ése el último precio? | Cut me three yards. |Córteme V. tres varas. | Here is your money. |Aquí tiene V. su dinero. | | _At a Linen-draper's._ |_En una Lencería._ | Will you show me |Sírvase V. mostrarme some Irish linen |tela de Irlanda de of the best |la mejor calidad. quality. | | Here are several pieces. |Aquí tiene V. varias piezas. | Do you prefer it to |¿La prefiere V. a tela fine Holland? |fina de Holanda? | I will show you some. |Le mostraré a V. alguna. | It will cost you more. |Le costará a V. más. | Yes, but it is wider. |Sí, pero es más ancha. | Here is a piece at |Aquí tiene V. una one peseta, one |pieza a peseta, at one and a half, |otra a peseta y and another at |media, y esta otra two pesetas. |a dos pesetas. | This is rather fine. |Esta es un poco delgada. | I will unfold this |Abriré esta pieza. piece. | | I think you will find |Creo que la encontrará it fine. |V. fina. | This is a fine white. |Esta es de un blanco fino. | What is the price of it? |¿Cuál es el precio? | That cloth seems to |Esa tela me parece me very dear. |muy cara. | It will wear well. |Durará mucho. | Give me these two pieces. |Deme V. estas dos piezas. | Do you want any |¿Necesita V. alguna French cambric? |batista? | I have some fine |Tengo alguna batista French cambric |fina que no es which is not dear. |cara. | How many yards do |¿Cuántas varas necesita you want? |V.? | Allow me to show you |Permítame V. mostrarle some fine tablecloths |algunos and napkins. |manteles finos y |servilletas. | They are of a new pattern. |Son de un diseño nuevo. | They are indeed very |Son en efecto muy handsome. |hermosos. | But I do not want any. |Pero no necesito ningunos. | Have you any good |¿Tiene V. pañuelos de French cambric |batista de buena pocket-handkerchiefs? |calidad? | Yes, Sir, and I am |Sí, Señor, y estoy sure they will |seguro que le please you. |gustarán a V. | I will take four dozen. |Tomaré cuatro docenas. | Have them marked |Mándelos V. marcar with my initials, |con mis iniciales, and send me |y envíeme todo everything to-morrow. |mañana. | | _At a Perfumer's._ |_En una Perfumería._ | Your shop has been |Su tienda de V. me ha recommended to |sido recomendada me by Mrs. B. |por la señora B. | Have you a good assortment |¿Tiene V. buen surtido of perfumery? |de perfumes? | What articles do you |¿Qué artículos vende keep? |V.? | I have everything you |Tengo todo lo que can desire. |pueda V. desear. | My stock is as complete |Tengo un surtido tan as it can be. |completo como posible. | I want some powder. |Necesito polvos. | Will you have it scented? |¿Los quiere V. perfumados? | Yes; show me some jessamine. |Sí; enséñeme V. los de jazmín. | The scent is not very strong. |El olor no es muy fuerte. | It will suit me. |Me conviene. | I have also violet, |Los tengo también rose, and orange-flower. |de violeta, de |rosa, y de azahar. | I want also some lavender-water |Quiero también aguas and some eau de |de lavanda y de Cologne. |Colonia. | Have you any essential oils? |¿Tiene V. aceites esenciales? | Yes, Madam, several sorts. |Sí, Señora, de varias calidades. | This is of a superior quality. |Este es de una calidad superior. | How much do you sell |¿A cómo vende V. this oil of roses |este aceite de for? |rosas? | That is very dear. |Es muy caro. | It is too dear. |Es demasiado caro. | It is excessively dear. |Es carísimo. | I can buy some elsewhere |Puedo comprarlo más for less. |barato en otra parte. | It is the usual price. |Es el precio de costumbre. | It is a fixed price. |Es precio fijo. | Let me have a bottle |Necesito una botella of orange-flower |de agua de azahar. water. | | I have now all I want. |Tengo ahora todo lo que necesito. | Give me my account. |Deme V. mi cuenta. | It amounts to... |Sube a... | Here is your money |Aquí tiene V. su and my address. |dinero y mi dirección. | Send me all these |Envíeme V. todos estos articles. |artículos. | | _At a Bookseller's._ |_En una Librería._ | Have you any new books? |¿Tiene V. obras nuevas? | I should like to see |Quisiera ver los libros the books you |que V. acaba de have just received. |recibir. | With great pleasure, |Con mucho gusto, Señor; Sir; they were unpacked |acaban de just now. |desempaquetarlos. | They are books of history, |Son libros de historia, mathematics, |matemáticas, filosofía, philosophy, |teología, divinity, physics |física y derecho. and law. | | Are all these new books? |¿Son todas obras nuevas? | No, Sir, some are |No, Señor, hay nuevas new, some are old |y viejas. publications. | | I hope you will find |Espero que encontrará some to suit your |V. algunas de su taste. |gusto. | Here is a list of the |Aquí tiene V. la lista books I wish to |de los libros que have. |deseo tener. | Have you now the |¿Tiene V. ahora el Mariana that I |Mariana que le asked you for? |pedí? | I have only the 18mo. |Sólo tengo la edición edition. |en dieciochavo. | It is embellished with |Está adornada con coloured plates. |láminas de color. | Show me some volumes |Enséñeme V. algunas of Quevedo. |de las obras de |Quevedo. | They will bring you |Le traerán algunas en some immediately. |seguida. | Here are some. |Aquí tiene V. algunas. | This size suits me |Este tamaño me gusta pretty well. |bastante. | I should like to have |Las quiero encuadernadas. them bound. | | I will have them |Deseo que sean encuadernadas bound in calf, |en becerrillo, y rotuladas. and lettered. | | I wish to have the |Deseo que el canto sea edges marbled. |jaspeado. | Show me some of |Enséñeme V. algunos your most handsome |de sus libros más books |hermosos encuadernados bound in Russian |en cuero leather. |de Rusia. | Here are the best we |Estos son los mejores have at present. |que tenemos al |momento. | I like this pattern |Este diseño me gusta exceedingly. |muchísimo. | I wish this Virgil to |Quiero que este Virgilio be bound in morocco. |sea encuadernado |en tafilete. | Is the price the same |¿Es igual el precio for all colours? |para todos los |colores? | Exactly the same. |Precisamente igual. | Then I will have it |Entonces quiero que bound in green. |sea encuadernado |en verde. | What is the cost for |¿Cuál es el coste para each volume? |(¿Cuánto cuesta) |cada volumen? | Have you Moratin's |¿Tiene V. las obras works complete? |completas de Moratín? | We have the best |Tenemos la mejor edición. edition. | | I wish to have the |Quiero el Viaje del Travels of young |joven Anacarsis. Anacharsis. | | I have one in octavo, |Tengo un ejemplar en but it is only in |octavo, pero encartonado. boards. | | I will take it, but you |Lo tomaré, pero tendrá must have it |V. que mandarlo bound in Russia |encuadernar en leather. |cuero de Rusia. | Here is a fine edition |Aquí tiene V. una hermosa of Cervantes. |edición de |Cervantes. | I see in your catalogue |Veo en su catálogo de a great |V. un gran número many splendid |de ediciones editions at a very |magníficas a precios high price. |muy elevados |(altos, subidos). | Have you a Guevara |¿Tiene V. un Guevara in small size? |de tamaño pequeño? | I have the stereotype |Tengo la edición edition, on four |estereotípica, en different kinds of |cuatro clases diferentes paper. |de papel. | This edition on large |Esta edición en papel vellum paper is |vitela grande está beautifully bound. |hermosamente encuadernada. | I think I had better |Creo que haré bien en take the large |tomar el ejemplar vellum paper. |en papel vitela |grande. | Here is a very pretty |Aquí tiene V. un copy. |ejemplar muy bonito. | It is bound in green |Está encuadernado en morocco, with |tafilete verde, con gilt edges. |canto dorado. | I have romances and |Tengo romances y novelas, novels, plays, reviews, |obras teatrales, etc. |revistas, |etc. | Oh! I will not have any. |¡Oh! de ésos no quiero. | Sir, do you want anything |Señor, ¿necesita V. else? |algo más? | I want a copy of |Quiero un ejemplar de Solis; but I do |Solís; pero no veo not see one. |ninguno. | I have several, but |Tengo varies, pero they are in sheets. |están en hojas. | What sort of binding |¿Qué clase de encuadernación do you prefer? |prefiere V.? | Will you have it in |¿Lo quiere V. en calf or sheepskin? |becerrillo o en |badana? | Half-binding will do; |Bastará la media pasta; but it must be |pero quiero que lettered like that |sea rotulado como Mariana. |ese Mariana. | I will take care that |Tendré cuidado de it is done as you |mandarlo hacer wish. |como V. desea. | I also want Hossfeld's |Necesito también la English-Spanish |Gramática Inglesa-Española Grammar, as well |de Hossfeld, así como as Hossfeld's |la Gramática Spanish-English |Española-Inglesa. Grammar. | | I also require Hossfeld's |Quiero también el Libro Spanish |de Lectura Española Reader. |de Hossfeld. | Do you want anything else? |¿Necesita V. alguna cosa más? | Have you a map of Madrid? |¿Tiene V. un plano de Madrid? | I wish to have the |Quiero tener el mejor best and the most |y el más exacto correct that is |que se haya publicado. published. | | Send me everything to-day. |Envíeme V. todo hoy. | I intend to leave |Pienso salir de Madrid Madrid to-morrow |mañana por la morning. |mañana. | | _At a Jeweller's._ |_En una Joyería._ | Will you show me |¿Quiere V. mostrarme some rings? |algunas sortijas? | Are these set with |¿Están éstas engastadas fine stones? |con piedras |finas (piedras |preciosas)? | What is the price of |¿Cuál es el precio de this ring. |esta sortija? | It is much too dear. |Es demasiado cara. | That diamond has a |Ese diamante tiene beautiful lustre. |mucho brillo. | I like that ring very |Esa sortija me gusta much. |mucho. | I think it is rather too |Creo que es demasiado large for me. |grande para mí. | Show me some others. |Enséñeme V. otras. | This fits me well. |Esta me viene bien. | Is it firmly mounted? |¿Es fuerte el engaste? | What do you ask for it? |¿Cuánto pide V. por ella? | I prefer the first. |Prefiero la primera. | Can you make it smaller? |¿Puede V. achicarla? | Very easily, and without |Muy fácilmente, y sin injuring the |dañar el engaste. mounting. | | I want a gold chain. |Quiero una cadena de oro. | Mine is no longer in |La mía ya no es de fashion. |moda (ya no está en moda). | I can take it in exchange. |Puedo tomarla en cambio. | What will you allow |¿Cuánto me dará V. me for mine? |por la mía? | I will weigh it. |La pesaré. | If I exchange my |Si cambio mi cadena, chain, I must exchange |tendré que cambiar my seal |mi sello también. too. | | Here are several seals |Aquí tiene V. varios of the newest |sellos de la última fashion. |moda. | I will take these two. |Tomaré estos dos. | I should like to have |Quiero que se graben my initials engraved |mis iniciales en on this seal. |este sello. | Will you get it engraved? |¿Quiere V. mandarlo grabar? | I will give it to the |Lo daré al grabador most skilful engraver |más hábil que we have. |tenemos. | Show me some earrings. |Enséñeme V. algunos pendientes. | Here are some of exquisite |Aquí tiene V. algunos workmanship. |de una hechura exquisita. | Here is a splendid |Hay aquí un collar necklace. |magnífico. | It is not for sale. |No es para vender. | I have just sold it to |Acabo de venderlo a a lady. |una señora. | These bracelets are |Estas pulseras son for the same lady. |para la misma |señora. | What is the price of |¿Cuál es el precio de this pin? |este alfiler? | Are these pins of the |¿Son estos alfileres de latest fashion? |la última moda? | This topaz surrounded |Me gusta mucho más with pearls I |este topacio cercado like much better. |de perlas. | It is very beautiful. |Es muy hermoso. | I think it is stronger. |Me parece más fuerte. | I have something else |Tengo otra cosa que to show you. |enseñarle a V. | No, thank you; I |No, gracias; volveré will come another day. |otro día. | | _At a Watchmaker's._ |_En una Relojería._ | I am not pleased with |No me gusta el reloj the watch you |que V. me vendió. sold me. | | Yet I took it on your |Sin embargo, lo tomé word. |bajo su palabra. | It does not go well. |No va bien. | It gains. |Adelanta. | It loses. |Atrasa. | I cannot regulate it. |No puedo arreglarlo. | It is a new watch. |Es un reloj nuevo. | It will require some |Hará falta algún tiempo time to regulate it. |para arreglarlo. | I think so. |Así creo. | If you are not satisfied, |Si V. no está satisfecho, I will change |lo cambiaré. it. | | Here is a very good |Aquí tiene V. un reloj watch. |muy bueno. | It also shows the day |Indica también el día of the month. |del mes. | I do not like |No me gustan relojes such complicated |tan complicados. watches. | | They are often out of |Se descomponen a menudo. order. | | I want a good repeater. |Necesito un buen reloj |de repetición. | I have an excellent one. |Tengo uno excelente. | Do you warrant it? |¿Lo garantiza V.? | Will you let me have |¿Me lo da V. a it on trial? |prueba? | I will only take it on |Lo tomo sólamente those terms. |bajo esa condición. | I agree to it with |Convengo en ello con pleasure. |gusto. | I will let you have it |Se lo doy a prueba. on trial. | | Since I had it, it has |Después que lo tengo, not varied one |no ha variado ni minute. |un minuto. | You will be pleased |V. estará contento con with it. |él. | I can warrant it. |Puedo garantizarlo. | How much do you |¿Cuánto pide V. por want for it? |él? | I have a watch at |Tengo un reloj en casa home which |que necesita limpiarse. wants cleaning. | | It is an old watch. |Es un reloj viejo. | It has not gone for |Hace una quincena a fortnight. |que no anda. | I let it fall. |Lo dejé caer. | I think the mainspring |Creo que se ha roto is broken. |el muelle real. | I will send it to you |Se lo enviaré a V. hoy. to-day. | | I must keep it a few |Tendré que guardarlo days. |algunos días. | When will you return it? |¿Cuándo me lo devolverá V.? | I cannot promise it |No puedo prometérselo you before a fortnight. |para antes de una |quincena. | It is a long time. |Es mucho tiempo. | If there is nothing |Si no se ha roto nada, broken you shall |lo tendrá V. mañana. have it to-morrow. | | Do not disappoint me. |No falte V. | You may rely on its |Puede V. contar con being ready at |que estará listo that time. |para entonces. | Here are very beautiful |Aquí tiene V. relojes clocks. |muy hermosos. | I want one. |Necesito uno. | You can select which |Puede V. escoger el you like. |que quiera. | Not to-day. |Hoy no. | We will speak of it |Hablaremos de ello en another time. |otra ocasión. | Do you sell spectacles? |¿Vende V. anteojos? | I want an opera-glass. |Necesito gemelos de teatro. | Do you keep microscopes? |¿Tiene V. microscopios? | This glass magnifies |Este vidrio aumenta too much. |demasiado. | That does not magnify |Ese no aumenta bastante. enough. | | That opera-glass is |Esos gemelos no son not good. |buenos. | I want a better one. |Los quiero mejores. | | _At a Picture Gallery._ |_En una Galería de_ |_Pinturas._ | Is there any collection |¿Hay alguna colección of paintings in |de pinturas en this town? |esta ciudad? | Is there an annual |¿Hay exposición anual exhibition of |de pinturas en paintings in this |este lugar? place? | | Yes, Sir; I hope you |Si, Señor; espero que will be pleased |le gustará a V. with it. | | When will the exhibition |¿Cuándo tendrá lugar take place? |la exposición? | It is open now. |Está abierta ahora. | Let us go there. |Vamos allá. | I have a passion for |Soy apasionado por pictures. |(muy aficionado a) |las pinturas. | That painting is a |Esa pintura es una copy from Raphael. |copia de Rafael. | This is from Poussin. |Esta es de Poussin. | This is a copy from |Esta es una copia de Titian. |Ticiano. | Titian excelled in |Ticiano sobresalió en colouring. |el colorido. | And in drawing likewise. |Y también en el dibujo. | There is a fine blending |Hay una excelente of colours in |distribución de that picture. |colores en esa |pintura. | Its composition is fine. |Su composición es excelente. | This is an historical |Este es un cuadro picture. |histórico. | This is a well executed |Esta es una pintura painting. |bien ejecutada. | The passions are well |Las pasiones están portrayed. |bien representadas. | How do you like the |¿Qué le parece a V. foreground? |del primer plano? | That picture requires |Ese cuadro es preciso to be seen in its |verlo en buena proper light. |luz. | It is not in a good |Este no es su punto light (situation). |de vista. No le |da bien la luz. No |está bien colocado. | That picture is deficient |A esa pintura le falta in colouring. |color. | That painter draws |Ese pintor dibuja mejor better than he |que colora. colours. | | Those colours are too |Esos colores son demasiado gaudy. |vivos. | They should have |Debían haber sido suavizados. been subdued. | | There are fine tones |Hay hermosos matices of colour in that |en esa pintura. picture. | | This valuable picture |Este cuadro precioso is in fine preservation. |está bien conservado. | How well the lights |¡Qué bien distribuídos and shades are |están los claros y distributed! |oscuros! | That painter thoroughly |Ese pintor entiende understands |perfectamente la the disposition |distribución de los of the |claros (de las lights. |luces). | It is in the style of |Es del estilo de Rembrandt. Rembrandt. | | That great master |Ese gran maestro formed a style |formó un estilo adapted to great |adaptado a los effects. |grandes efectos. | A landscape forms the |Un paisaje forma el background to |fondo de las figuras the figures in that |en ese cuadro. picture. | | This is a watercolour. |Esta es una acuarela (una aguada). | That drawing is from |Ese dibujo es del natural. nature. | | That artist understands |Ese artista entiende very well |muy bien el efecto the effect of light |del claroscuro. and shade. | | These figures are |Estas figuras están painted in half |pintadas a media tone. |tinta. | | That painter succeeds |Ese pintor tiene más better in portrait |éxito con los retratos than in historical |que con los painting. |cuadros históricos. | Have you seen that |¿Ha visto V. aquel pencil-sketch? |bosquejo al lápiz? | No, I was examining |No, estaba examinando this drawing |este dibujo in Indian ink. |de tinta china. | I like oil-painting |Me gusta más la pintura better. |al oleo. | There are two very |Cerca de la ventana beautiful sea-pieces |hay dos marinas near the |muy hermosas. window. | | The reflections in the |Los reflejos en el agua water are admirable. |son admirables. | See those clouds, how |Vea V. esas nubes, skilfully the lights |¡qué bien se han are managed? |manejado las luces! | I am delighted with |Estoy muy contento all I have seen. |con todo lo que he |visto. | I think we have seen |Creo que hemos visto everything. |todo. | Let us go. |Vámonos. | We will come again |Volveremos mañana. to-morrow. | | | _Chess._ |_Ajedrez._ | Let us play a game |Juguemos una partida at chess. |de ajedrez. | I like it better than |Me gusta más que el whist, or even |whist, o el piquete. piquet. | | I do not know the |No conozco bien el game well. |juego. | Where is the chess-board. |¿Dónde está el tablero? | Here it is, with the |Aquí está, con las chess men. |piezas. | I want a bishop. |Me falta un alfil. | Your queen is not in |Su reina de V. no está its proper place. |en su casilla. | Who begins? |¿Quién sale? | Let us draw lots. |Echemos suertes. | I have the first move. |Yo soy mano. | It is a great advantage. |Es una gran ventaja. | I will move this man. |Adelantaré esta pieza. | Your pieces are well |Sus piezas de V. están supported. |bien apoyadas. | I am afraid I must |Temo que tendré que exchange pieces. |cambiar de piezas. | I have lost a knight. |He perdido un caballo. | I must castle. |Tengo que enrocar. | You cannot castle |V. no puede enrocar after having |después de haber moved your king. |movido el rey. | Check to the king. |Jaque al rey. | I will cover this check |Cubriré este jaque con with my castle. |la torre. | I take it. |La tomo. | I cannot win. |No puedo ganar. | It is a drawn game. |Son tablas. | I was in hopes you |Esperaba que V. me would have given |diese mate (jaquemate). me checkmate. | | I cannot play with you. |No puedo jugar con V. | What odds will you |¿Qué ventaja me da give me? |V.? | If you will give me a |Si V. quiere darme castle, I will try |una torre, probaré another game. |otra partida. | It is more than I |Es más de lo que debo ought to give, but |darle, pero lo haré I will do it with |con gusto. pleasure. | | | _On the Spanish_ |_Sobre la Lengua_ _Language._ |_Española._ | Do you speak Spanish? |¿Habla V. español? | I speak it a little. |Lo hablo un poco. | I speak it just enough |Lo hablo bastante to make myself |para hacerme entender. understood. | | He speaks Spanish |Habla español bastante fairly well. |bien. | Speak Spanish to me. |Hábleme V. en español. | You pronounce it well. |V. lo pronuncia bien. | What book are you |¿Qué libro traduce translating? |V.? | I have translated P.'s |He traducido las Fables. |Fábulas de P. | Now I am translating |Ahora estoy traduciendo the extracts in |los extractos Hossfeld's Spanish |en el libro de Composition |Composición y and Idioms. |Modismos Españoles |de Hossfeld. | I afterwards compare |Después comparo mi my work with the |trabajo con la translation in the |traducción dada key. |en la clave. | In order to know a |Para saber a fondo language thoroughly, |una lengua, la grammar |gramática es absolutamente is absolutely necessary. |necesaria. | In order to speak a |Para hablar bien una language well, |lengua, es preciso you must learn |aprender la phraseology. |fraseología. | One may be able to |Se puede leer y escribir read and write a |una lengua language and yet |sin poder hablarla. be unable to | speak it. | | In Spanish the written |En español la lengua language does |escrita no difiere not differ much |mucho de la lengua from the spoken |hablada. language. | | What grammar do you use? |¿Qué gramática usa V.? | I am using Hossfeld's |Estoy estudiando la Grammar, and I |Gramática de find it invaluable, |Hossfeld y la especially for |encuentro excelente, commercial purposes. |especialmente |para fines |comerciales. | How long have you |¿Cuánto tiempo hace been learning |que aprende V. Spanish? |el español? | About ten months. |Unos diez meses. | You have made a |V. ha hecho mucho great deal of progress. |progreso. | I would advise you |Le aconsejo a V. que to continue to |continúe aplicándose. apply yourself to | it. | | Spanish is a very important |El español es una language; |lengua muy importante; it is spoken not |se habla only in Spain, |no sólo en España, but also in parts |sino también of Africa, in |en partes de Africa, Mexico, Central |en Méjico, and South America, |Centro y Sud the West |América, las Indias Indies, and in the |Occidentales, y Philippine Islands. |en las Islas Filipinas. | English and Spanish |El inglés y el español are two of the |son dos de las most useful languages |lenguas más útiles that one |que se pueden can learn. |aprender. | English is a language |El inglés es una lengua of great commercial |de gran valor value. |comercial. | I learnt Spanish at |Aprendí el español en school; I took |la escuela; tomé many lessons in |muchas lecciones classes and privately; |en clase y privadamente; I know |sé bastante my grammar |bien la gramática, pretty well, and |y comprendo understand nearly |casi todo everything I read, |lo que leo, pero no but cannot say |puedo decir dos two words in an |palabras de una intelligible manner. |manera inteligible. What ought |¿Qué debo I to do? |hacer? | Hear Spanish spoken; |Oír hablar español; have a master |tener un profesor who speaks to |que le hable en you in Spanish--very |español--muy lentamente slowly at |al principio, first, and then |y después more quickly,--on |más de prisa,--sobre subjects which |asuntos que are familiar to |le sean a V. familiares. you. | | Is it then more useful |¿Es, pues, más útil oír to listen, and |y tratar de comprender to try to understand |lo que se what is |dice en una lengua, said in a language, |que tratar de than to try to |hablarla por sí speak it one's |mismo? self? | | Both are useful and |Las dos cosas son útiles necessary. |y necesarias. | Read aloud as much |Lea V. en alta voz as you can. |cuanto pueda. | | _Hiring Apartments._ |_Alquilar Cuartos._ | Can you tell me if |¿Puede V. decirme si there are any |hay cuartos desalquilados apartments to be |en esta had in this street? |calle? | Yes, Sir, there are |Si, Señor, hay varios, several, in this |en esta calle y en street and in the |las contiguas. adjoining ones. | | I have seen from |He visto por su anuncio your advertisement |en el periódico in the newspaper |que tiene V. that you |cuartos que alquilar. have some rooms |¿Puedo to let. Can I see |verlos ? them? | | Certainly, Sir. |Seguramente, Señor. | On which floor are they? |¿En qué piso están? | I have a sitting-room |Tengo en el primer and a bedroom |piso una sala y un on the first floor, |dormitorio (una and a bedroom on |alcoba), y en the second. |el segundo un |dormitorio. | These two rooms will |Estos dos cuartos espero suit you, I hope. |que le convendrán |a V. | They are well furnished |Están bien amueblados and decorated. |y decorados. | How much do you |¿Cuánto pide V. por want for these |estos cuartos? rooms? | | Fifteen pesetas a |Quince pesetas por week, including |semana, incluso el attendance. |servicio. | Could I have my |¿Podría comer aquí? meals here? I |Necesitaría tomar should want breakfast, |el almuerzo y a and sometimes |veces la comida dinner too. |también. | Yes, Sir, I shall be |Si, Señor, tendré mucho happy to supply |gusto en servirle the meals you |las comidas require, and have |que necesite, y no no doubt you will |dudo que estará be satisfied with |V. contento con our table. |nuestra mesa. | How much do you |¿Cuánto pide V. por charge for breakfast |el almuerzo y la and dinner? |comida? | Two pesetas for |Dos pesetas por el almuerzo, breakfast, and |y tres three for dinner. |por la comida. | Shall I have to pay |¿Tendré algo que pagar any extras? |aparte? | No, Sir, none except |No, Señor, nada excepto the gas, which is |el gas, que half a peseta a |cuesta medía peseta week. |por semana. | I suppose you require |Supongo que necesita some references. |V. referencias. | Yes, Sir, it is usual |Si, Señor, es nuestra with us to require |costumbre pedir y and to give references. |dar referencias. | Very good, Madam; |Muy bien, Señora; here are my references; |aquí tiene V. mis can I |referencias; ¿podré come in to-morrow? |entrar mañana? | Certainly, Sir; I shall |Ciertamente, Señor; have everything |tendré todo preparado ready for you. |para V. | Very well, here is my |Muy bien, aquí tiene rent for the first |V. el alquiler para month. My name |el primer mes. Me is... |llamo... | I thank you very |Muchas gracias; hasta much, Sir; I shall |mañana. see you to-morrow. | | | _Engaging a Man-servant._ |_Ajustar un Criado._ | Sir, I have heard you |Señor, se me ha dicho want a servant. |que necesita V. un |criado. | Yes, who sent you to me? |Sí, ¿quién le mandó a V. aquí? | By whom are you recommended? |¿Por quién viene V. recomendado? | By Mr. B., with whom |Por el señor B., con I have travelled. |quien he viajado. | I know him very well. |Le conozco muy bien. | On his recommendation |Con su recomendación, I shall not |no tengo inconveniente hesitate to engage |en tomarle you. |a V. a mi |servicio. | I suppose you possess |Supongo que V. tiene the qualifications |las calidades necesarias. I want. | | I shall stay in this |Me quedaré en esta town a fortnight |ciudad quince días longer. |más. | Where have you travelled? |¿Dónde ha viajado V.? | I have travelled in |He viajado en Alemania Germany and Italy. |e Italia. | Will you accompany |¿Quiere V. acompañarme me to Switzerland? |a Suiza? | Have you performed |¿Ha hecho V. ese viaje that journey before? |antes? | Sir, I am a Swiss. |Señor, soy Suizo. | How old are you? |¿Cuántos años tiene V.? | Are you a married man? |¿Es V. casado? | Have you been long |¿Ha estado V. mucho in Germany? |tiempo en Alemania? | Have you travelled |¿Ha viajado V. mucho much in France? |en Francia? | Can you ride a horse? |¿Sabe V. montar a caballo? | Can you write? |¿Sabe V. escribir? | Yes, Sir. |Sí, Señor. | What languages do |¿Qué lenguas sabe you know? |(posee) V.? | I understand German |Entiendo el alemán y and Italian. |el italiano. | I likewise know the |Conozco también las coins, weights |monedas, pesos y and measures of |medidas de los the countries in |países en que he which I have travelled. |viajado. | You may be very |V. puede serme muy useful to me. |útil. | What wages do you ask? |¿Qué salario pide V.? | I have always had |He tenido siempre £20 a year and |veinte libras al my board. |año y la comida. | I will give you the same. |Le daré lo mismo. | I will give you £3 a |Le daré tres libras al month, without |mes, sin comida. board. | | When we travel, I |Cuando viejemos, yo will pay your expenses. |pagaré sus gastos. | You must give me |Me dará V. todas las every evening an |noches cuenta exacta exact account of |de todo lo everything you |que haya gastado have laid out for |por cuenta mía. me. | | I will pay you immediately. |Le pagaré a V. en |seguida. | I will call on your |Voy a ver a su último former master. |amo. | | _Engaging a Maid-servant._ |_Ajustar una Criada._ | Have you been long |¿Hace mucho que in service? |sirve V.? | What was the last |¿Cuál ha sido su place you were at? |último empleo? | Do you understand |¿Entiende V. de cocina? cooking? | | Are you acquainted |¿Entiende V. del manejo with the management |de una casa? of a house? | | How old are you? |¿Cuantos años tiene V.? | You seem very young. |Parece V. muy joven. | I am twenty-two. |Tengo veintidós. | Do you understand |¿Entiende V. de costura? needlework? | | Are you a good |¿Es V. buena costurera? needlewoman? | | Can you wash fine linen? |¿Sabe V. lavar ropa fina? | Could you occasionally |¿Podría V. reemplazar replace my |de cuando en housemaid? |cuando a mi criada |de mano? | Have you been in |¿Ha servido V. en many families? |muchas casas? | Whose house have |¿Cuál es la casa que you just left? |V. acaba de dejar? | Why did you leave |¿Por qué dejó V. su your place? |empleo? | How long did you remain |¿Cuánto tiempo estuvo with her? |V. con ella? | Will Mrs. L. give you |¿Le dará a V. la a character? |señora L. una recomendación |(un testimonio)? | I have a written |Tengo una recomendación character from |por escrito Mrs. L. |de la señora L. | Let me see it; I know |Déjeme V. verla; conozco her handwriting. |su letra. | Do you like children? |¿Le gustan a V. los niños? | What wages do you expect? |¿Qué salario pide V.? | Mrs. L. gave me fifty |La señora L. me daba pesetas a month. |cincuenta pesetas |al mes. | It is a great deal. |Es mucho. | But I think you will |Pero creo que V. me suit me. |convendrá. | I engage you from |Le tomo a V. desde this moment. |ahora mismo. | You may come to-morrow. |Podrá V. venir mañana. | | _At the Hotel._ |_En el Hotel._ | We require two rooms |Necesitamos dos cuartos with good beds. |con buenas |camas. | Very well, Sir; will |Muy bien, Señor; you have the |¿quiere V. tener kindness to follow |la bondad de seguirme? me? | | On which floor have |¿En qué piso tiene V. you rooms disengaged? |cuartos desocupados? | There are some on the |Hay algunos en el segundo, second, consisting |que consisten of a drawing |en una sala and a bedroom. |y un dormitorio. | I have two splendid |Tengo dos cuartos rooms on the |magníficos en el third floor. |tercer piso. | Is there a lift? |¿Hay ascensor? | Waiter, have a room |Mozo, prepáreme V. with a good bed |un cuarto con una got ready for me. |buena cama. | See that the bed is |Vea V. que la cama well aired. |esté bien aireada. | Be careful that they |Cuidado que se pongan put clean sheets |sábanas limpias. on. | | The sheets are damp, |Las sábanas están I want some |húmedas, quiero others. |otras. | I should also like another |Quisiera también otra blanket. |manta. | I don't mind much |Poco me importa el what sort of room |cuarto que se me I have, but I |dé, con tal que want a good bed, |tenga buena cama and to be able to |y pueda dormir sleep quietly. |tranquilamente. | Have a drawing and |Prepárenos una sala y a bedroom with |un dormitorio con two beds made |dos camas; enciéndanos ready for us; |también have a fire lighted, |un fuego tan too, as quickly |pronto como posible. as possible. | | I shall take a warm |Tomaré después un bath afterwards. |baño caliente. Where is the |¿Dónde está el bath-room? |cuarto de baño? | On the same floor as |En el mismo piso que your room. |su cuarto de V. | Please have a cold |Mande V. preparar bath made ready |en seguida un at once. |baño frío. | Let my luggage be |Haga V. subir mi brought up, and |equipaje, y no don't forget the |olvide las toallas. towels. | | We want dinner at six |Queremos comer a las o'clock. |seis. | Will you dine at table |¿Quiere V. comer en d'hôte at seven, |la mesa redonda Sir? |a las siete? | No, I shall dine with |No, comeré con algunos some friends in |amigos en town and return |la cuidad y volveré late. |tarde. | It is very warm in this |Hace mucho calor en country. Have |este país. ¿Tiene you any cooling |V. algunos refrescos? drinks? | | Please reserve us two |Sírvase V. reservarnos good seats at |dos buenos asientos table d'hôte. |en la mesa |redonda. | There is a bell at the |Hay campanilla al side of the chimney-piece. |lado de la chimenea. | Is there no electric bell? |¿No hay timbre eléctrico? | No, Sir, but we have |No, Señor, pero tenemos electric light in |luz eléctrica all the rooms. |en todos los cuartos. | I notice that there is |Veo que no hay ni neither soap nor |jabón ni agua fresh water. |fresca. | The servant will put |La criada pondrá todo everything in order |en orden inmediatamente. directly. | | Please let me have my bill. |Hágame V. el favor de la cuenta. | Here is your account, Sir. |Aquí tiene V. su cuenta, Señor. | Very well, please receipt it. |Muy bien, sírvase V. poner el recibí. | Waiter here is something for you. |Mozo, aquí tiene V. para sí. | | _The Money-changer._ |_El Cambista._ | Where could I get my |¿Donde podría cambiar money changed? |mi dinero? | Where is the nearest |¿Donde está la casa money-changer's? |de cambio más |próxima? | Is there a money-changer's |¿Hay algún cambista close |cerca de aquí? by? | | I wish to change some |Quiero cambiar algún English money. |dinero inglés. | What do you give for |¿A cómo paga V. la a sovereign? |libra esterlina? | Can you change me a |¿Puede V. cambiarme five-pound note? |un billete de |banco de cinco |libras? | What is the rate of |¿A qué tipo está hoy exchange to-day? |el cambio? | I will take half in |Tomaré la mitad en silver. |plata. | I should like a peseta's |Quisiera una peseta worth of coppers. |en calderilla. | Could you cash me |¿Podría V. hacerme this cheque on |efectivo este cheque London? |sobre Londres? | | _The Theatre._ |_El Teatro._ | Is there a good theatre |¿Hay en ésta un buen (music-hall, |teatro (teatro de picture-house) here? |variedades, cine)? | Which is the best |¿Cual es el mejor theatre? |teatro? | Is there a performance |¿Hay función esta noche? to-night? | | What are they playing? |¿Qué representan? | What time does the |¿A qué hora principia performance begin? |(es) la función? | What time is the |¿A qué hora acaba performance over? |(termina) la función? | Is there a good orchestra? |¿Hay buena orquesta? | What are the prices? |¿Cuáles son los precios |(de las localidades)? | The boxes, the stalls, |Los palcos, las butacas, the circle, the |el anfiteatro, gallery (the gods). |la galería (el paraíso). | What time does the |¿A qué hora se abre la box-office open? |taquilla? | A ticket, a pass, a |Un billete, un billete pass-out check. |de favor, una contraseña. | Let me have a programme, |Hágame V. el favor please, |de un programa, and the book of |y el libreto. words. | | Can I hire a pair of |¿Puedo alquilar unos opera glasses? |gemelos? | The interval. |El entreacto. | The curtain. |El telón. | | _The Seasons._ |_Las Estaciones._ | Winter is over at last. |Al fin se acabó el invierno. | Do you like winter? |¿Le gusta a V. el invierno? | I like it as much as |Me gusta tanto como summer. |el verano. | You are perhaps the |V. será tal vez el only one of that |único de esa opinión. opinion. | | In winter one is not |En invierno no se está comfortable except |bien sino al lado by the fireside. |del fuego. | Can you skate? |¿Sabe V. patinar? | Yes, a little. |Sí, un poco. | Have you skated this |¿Ha patinado V. este winter? |invierno? | The winter has been |El invierno ha sido very severe this |muy riguroso este year. |año. | I am glad to see the |Me alegro de ver la spring. |primavera. | It is the season I like |Es la estación que me best. |gusta más. | It is the most pleasant |Es la más agradable of all seasons. |de todas las estaciones. | The season is very |La estación está muy backward. |atrasada. | I fear we shall have |Temo que tendremos a very hot summer. |un verano muy |caluroso. | One would think that |Se diría que las estaciones the order of the |están todas seasons had been |trastornadas. reversed. | | Summer is the season |El verano es la estación of the harvest. |de la cosecha. | Summer is over. |Ya pasó el verano. | After summer comes |Después del verano the autumn. |viene el otoño. | Autumn is the season |El otoño es la estación of vintages. |de las vendimias. | Towards the middle |Hacia mediados del of autumn the |otoño las mañanas mornings and |y las tardes evenings are cool. |son frescas. | Which season do you |¿Cuál estación le like best, Sir? |gusta a V. más, |Señor? | Unquestionably, I like |Sin duda alguna, me the spring best. |gusta más la |primavera. | Is it as hot in England |¿Hace tanto calor en as in Spain |Inglaterra como in the summer? |en España en el verano? | Never. It is not too |Nunca. No hace demasiado warm in summer |calor en nor too cold in |el verano ni demasiado winter. |frío en el |invierno. | The winter in the |En el norte de España north of Spain is |el invierno almost as cold as |es casi tan frío in England. |como en Inglaterra. | No doubt, but for my |Sin duda, pero por mi part I should prefer |parte preferiría el the winter of |invierno del norte Northern Spain |de España al de to that of England, |Inglaterra, especialmente especially |al de London, as it is |Londres, pues allí very foggy there. |hace mucha niebla. | You are right; it must |V. tiene razón; se be mentioned, |debe mencionar, however, that the |sin embargo, que fog is not so |la niebla no se much due to the |debe tanto al climate of that |clima de aquel country as to |país como al enorme the immense |consumo de quantities of coal |carbón que tiene consumed daily in |lugar todos los the dwellings and |días en las casas numerous |particulares y manufactories. |y en las muchas fábricas. | I have read that as |He leído que tan pronto soon as a means of |como se haya inventado consuming the smoke |un modo de consumir is invented, London |el humo, Londres will have a very |tendrá un clima agreeable climate. |muy agradable. | Let us hope that this |Esperemos que will soon be the |que sea case. |pronto. | | _The Weather._ |_El Tiempo._ | How is the weather? |¿Cómo está el tiempo? | What sort of weather is it? |¿Qué tiempo hace? | Is it fine? |¿Hace buen tiempo? | Yes, it is fine. |Sí, hace buen tiempo, | It is beautiful weather. |Hace un tiempo hermoso. | It is charming weather. |Hace un tiempo magnífico. | It is most delightful weather. |Hace un tiempo delicioso. | The weather is settled. |El tiempo se ha com puesto. | | The weather is unsettled |El tiempo está variable (changeable). |(inconstante, inseguro, tornadizo). | The weather is very close. |El tiempo está muv pesado (bochornoso). | It is getting cloudy. |El cielo se encapota. | It is cloudy. |Está nublado. | It is bad weather. |Hace mal tiempo. | It is very bad weather. |Hace muy mal tiempo. | It is windy. |Hace viento. | It is very windy. |Hace mucho viento. | The wind drops. |Cede el viento. | It is foggy. |Hace niebla. | It is very foggy. |Hace mucha niebla. | It is mild. |Está templado. | It is cool. |Hace fresco. | It is warm. |Hace calor. | It is cold. |Hace frío. | It is very-hot. |Hace mucho calor. | It is very cold |Hace mucho frío. | It is piercingly cold. |Hace un frío penetrante. | It is dry. |Está seco. | It is damp. |Está húmedo. | It is going to rain. |Va a llover. | I feel drops of rain. |Siento gotas de lluvia. | It rains. It is raining. |Llueve. Está lloviendo. | It rains (is raining) |Llueve muy fuerte. very fast (very hard). | It pours. It is pouring. |Llueve a cántaros. | It is only a shower. |No es más que un chubasco. | It does not rain. |No llueve. It is not raining. | | The weather is stormy. |El tiempo está tempestuoso (borrascoso). | We shall have a storm. |Tendremos tempestad. | Do you hear the thunder? |¿Oye V. los truenos? | It thunders. It is |Truena. Está tronando. thundering. | | The thunder roars. |Suenan los truenos. | It lightens. |Relampaguea. Está relampagueando. It is lightening. | | It has thundered and |Ha tronado y relampagueado toda la noche. lightened all night. | The weather is |El tiempo se está aclarando. clearing up. | It freezes. |Hiela. It is freezing. | It freezes (is freezing) |Hiela muy fuerte. very hard. | | The river is frozen. |El río está helado. | We shall have snow. |Tendremos nieve. | There is much snow. |Hay mucha nieve. | It hails. It is hailing. |Graniza. Está granizando. | It thaws. It is thawing. |Deshiela, Está deshelando. | It is dusty. |Hace polvo. | It is very dusty. |Hace mucho polvo. | It snows. It is snowing. |Nieva. Está nevando. | I am very glad of it. |Me alegro de ello. | We shall go sleighing. |Iremos a pasear en trineo. | Have you a sleigh. |¿Tiene V. trineo? | It is good sleighing to-day. |Hoy es buen día para pasear en trineo. | The rain has laid the dust. |La lluvia ha abatido el polvo. | The pavement is slippery. |La acera está resbaladiza. | It is very bad walking. |Se anda con dificultad. | It is daylight. |Es de día. | It is night. |Es de noche. | It is dark. |Está oscuro. | It is very dark. |Está muy oscuro. | It is moonlight. |Hace luna. | It is starlight. |Está estrellado. | The days are drawing in. |Los días disminuyen. | The days begin to get |Los días principian a shorter. |disminuir. | The days are very short. |Los días son muy cortos. | The days are lengthening. |Los días aumentan. | I am warm. |Tengo calor. | I am cold. |Tengo frío. | It is very cold. |Hace mucho frío. | Are you warm? |¿Tiene V. calor? | Are you cold? |¿Tiene V. frío? | Are you not warm? |¿No tiene V. calor? | Are you not cold? |¿No tiene V. frío? | I am quite wet. |Estoy calado. | I am wet through. |Estoy calado hasta los huesos. | Dry your clothes. |Seque V. su ropa. | We shall have a fine day. |Tendremos buen día. | The sun shines. |Hace sol. | Look at that beautiful |¡Vea V. ese hermoso rainbow! |arco iris! | What is the weather |¿Qué tiempo hace like to-day? |hoy? | It is clear. |Está claro. | It is very nice to-day. |Está muy bueno hoy. | What do you think of |Como hace tan buen a walk in the |tiempo, ¿qué piensa fields, the weather |V. de un paseo being so fine? |en los campos? | It seems to me rather |El tiempo me parece uncertain. |un poco incierto |(inseguro). | What sort of weather |¿Qué tal estaba el had you in London |tiempo ayer en yesterday |Londres cuando when you left |salió V. de allá? there? | | It was very foggy, as |Hacía mucha niebla, is usual during |como de ordinario this month. |en este mes. | Is it true that in England |¿Es verdad que en the sun is |Inglaterra no se invisible during a |ve el sol durante quarter of the |la cuarta parte year? |del año? | It is not so bad as |No es tan malo como that, but there are |eso, pero hay días, days, especially in |especialmente en November and |noviembre y febrero, February, when |en que, con la we cannot see the |niebla, no podemos sun, nor even the |ver el sol, ni lamps in the |tampoco los mismos streets for the |faroles de las fog. |calles. | Is it possible? |¿Es posible? | I hope we shall not |Espero que no tendremos have bad weather |mal tiempo to-morrow. |mañana. | It rained the whole |Llovía todo el día que day when we |fuimos al campo. went into the | country. | | It does not rain now, |Ya no llueve, volvamos let us hurry back. |de prisa. | Has much snow fallen? |¿Ha caído mucha nieve? | Yes, the roads are |Sí, los caminos están covered with |cubiertos de nieve. snow. | | Snow has been falling |Ha nevado toda la during the whole |noche. night. | | There was no snow at |El invierno pasado no all last winter. |cayó ninguna nieve. | Did you hear the thunder |¿Oyó V. anoche los last night? |truenos? | Yes, it was a terrible |Sí, era una tempestad storm, and it |terrible, y llovía a rained in torrents. |mares. | Do you think the river |¿Cree V. que el río se will soon freeze |helará pronto? over? | | I have no doubt that |No dudo que podremos we shall be able |patinar mañana to skate to-morrow |si continúa if this frost |esta helada. lasts. | | Oh, yes, if it does not |Ah, sí, si entretanto thaw meanwhile. |no deshiela. | | _Periods of Time._ |_Períodos de Tiempo._ | Come to-day. |Venga V. hoy. | Go there on Christmas-day. |Vaya V. allá el día |de Navidad. | It is broad day-light. |Está muy entrado el día. | The day you are coming. |El día que V. venga. | To-day will be fine. |Hará buen tiempo hoy. | I rise in the morning |Me levanto a las seis at six o'clock. |de la mañana. | Send it to me this |Envíemelo V. esta mañana. morning. | | Come and spend the |Venga V. a pasar la evening at my |tarde en mi casa. house. | | I did it in the fore-noon. |Lo hice antes de mediodía. | I will do it to-morrow |Lo haré mañana por morning. |la mañana. | I shall see you this |Le veré a V. esta afternoon. |tarde. | I shall go and see him |Iré a verle pasado the day after to-morrow. |mañana. | I was there yesterday. |Estuve allí ayer. | He sent it to me two |Me lo envió dos días days after. |después. | The next day I went there. |Fuí allá al día siguiente. | The next day I saw him. |Le ví el día siguiente. | Two days ago. |Hace dos días. | A fortnight ago. |Hace quince días. | It is three weeks since. |Ya hace tres semanas. | About that time. |Hacia aquel tiempo. | Last month. |El mes pasado. | Next month. |El mes que viene. | Last year. |El año pasado. | Next year. |El año próximo. El año que viene. | The year one thousand |El año mil novecientos nine hundred and |quince. fifteen. | | I shall see you at Easter. |Le veré a V. por Pascua. | I shall move at mid-summer. |Mudaré de casa el día de San Juan. | At Michaelmas. |El día de San Miguel. | The quarter is ended. |Ha terminado el trimestre. | The next quarter. |El próximo trimestre. | The first of next month. |El primero del mes que viene. | The second of last month. |El dos del mes pasado. | The fourth of the |El cuatro del mes present month. |actual. | The last day of the month. |El último día del mes. | At the end of the month. |Al fin del mes. | At the end of the week. |Al fin de la semana. | Towards the middle of |Hacia mediados del the month. |mes. | Last week. |La semana pasada. | Next week. |La semana que viene. | In a week. |En una semana. | In a fortnight. |En quince días. | This day week (time to come). |De hoy en ocho. | This day fortnight |De hoy en quince. (time to come). | | This day week (time |Hace una semana. past). |Hace ocho días. | This day fortnight |Hace una quincena. (time past). |Hace quince días. | It will soon be a week |Hará pronto una semana since ... |que... | We shall go there some day. |Iremos allá algún día. | One of these days. |Un día de estos. | He says he will pay |Dice que le pagará a you some day or |V. algún día. other. | | I do it daily. |Lo hago todos los días. | Every day. |Todos los días. Cada día. | Every other day. |Cada tercer día. Un día sí y otro no. | A weekly paper. |Un semanal. | A daily paper. |Un diario. | | _Time and Dates._ |_Horas y Fechas._ | Do you know what time it is? |¿Sabe V. qué hora es? | What time is it? |¿Qué hora es? | I do not know. |No sé. No lo sé. | Could you tell me the time? |¿Podría V. decirme la hora que es? | I cannot tell you exactly. |No puedo decírselo exactamente. | Yes, Sir; it is half-past six. |Sí, Señor; son las seis y media. | Will you kindly tell me |¿Tiene V. la bondad the time? |de decirme qué |hora es? | What is the time by |¿Qué hora es por su your watch? |reloj de V.? |¿Qué hora tiene |V.? | It is one o'clock. |Es la una. | It is nearly two o'clock. |Son cerca de las dos. | It is about two o'clock. |Son las dos próximamente. | It is half-past two. |Son las dos y media. | It is on the stroke of |Van a dar las tres. three. |Las tres están al |caer. | It is ten minutes past |Son las cinco y diez. five. | | It is a quarter past |Son las siete y cuarto. seven. | | It is twenty minutes |Son las ocho y veinte. past eight. | | It is a quarter to |Son las once menos eleven. |cuarto. | It has just struck |Acaban de dar las twelve. |doce. | It is noon. |Es mediodía. | It is midnight. |Es medianoche. | It is early. |Es temprano. | It is late. |Es tarde. | It is very late. |Es muy tarde. | Come about nine |Venga V. a eso de las o'clock. |nueve. | Is your watch right? |¿Va bien su reloj de V.? | My watch is right. |Mi reloj va bien. | My watch is not right. |Mi reloj no va bien. | My watch is too fast. |Mi reloj adelanta. | My watch is too slow. |Mi reloj atrasa. | It gains a quarter of |Adelanta un cuarto de an hour every day. |hora todos los días. | It loses half-an-hour |Atrasa media hora todos every day. |los días. | It has stopped. |Se ha parado. | It stops now and then. |Se para de cuando en cuando. | It does not go. |No anda. | Look at your watch. |Mire V. su reloj. | It is not wound up. |No tiene cuerda. | I forgot to wind it up. |He olvidado darle cuerda. | It is out of order. |Está desarreglado (descompuesto). | Something is broken |Se le ha roto algo. in it. | | The mainspring is |Se ha roto el muelle broken. |real. | I think the chain is |Creo que se ha roto broken. |la cadena. | Have it mended. |Mándelo V. componer. | I am going to send |Voy a mandarlo al it to the watch-maker. |relojero. | Send it to ... |Mándelo a... | He is a good watch-maker. |Es buen relojero. | Yes, but he charges |Sí, pero cobra demasiado. too much. | | It is true, but you can |Es verdad, pero se rely on what he |puede fiar en lo does. |que hace. | I bought this watch |Compré este reloj en in Switzerland. |Suiza. | Tell me the time the |Dígame V. a qué hora train for ... is going |saldrá el tren para... to start. | It will start at half-past |Saldrá a la una y one. |media. | I must leave at three |Tendré que marcharme o'clock in the |a las tres de la afternoon. |tarde. | My friend will arrive |Mi amigo llegará por by the Northern |el ferrocarril del Railway at four |Norte mañana por o'clock to-morrow |la mañana a las morning. |cuatro. | What is the date of |¿Cuál es la fecha de the letter you |(¿De qué fecha es) have in your |la carta que tiene hand? |V. en la mano? | How is the letter |¿Qué fecha tiene la dated which you |carta que ha recibido have received |V. de su from your brother |hermano en...? in...? | | His letter bears the |Su carta tiene la fecha date fifth of January, |de 5 de enero de 1915. |1915. | What is the date to-day? |¿A cuántos estamos hoy? | What day of the |¿A cuántos estamos month is it? |del mes? | What day of the |¿A cuántos del mes month is this? |estamos hoy? | It is the fifteenth of |Estamos a quince de March. |marzo. | To-day is the sixteenth. |Hoy estamos a dieciseis. | To-day is the nineteenth |Hoy es día diecinueve of February. |de febrero. | Is it the first of the |¿Es el primero del month? |mes? | No, it is the second. |No, es el dos. | I think it is the fifth. |Creo que estamos a cinco. | When will the races |¿Cuándo tendrán lugar take place--in the |las carreras--por morning or in the |la mañana o evening? |por la tarde? | At noon. |A mediodía. | When do you expect |¿Cuando espera V. to return from |volver de su your journey? |viaje? | I shall return by the |Volveré por el vapor steamer "Queen" |"Reina," que deberá which is due on |llegar el the first of April. |primero de abril. | | _News._ |_Noticias._ | Is there any news to-day? |¿Hay noticias hoy? | Is there anything new? |¿Hay algo de nuevo? | Do you know anything new? |¿Sabe V. algo de nuevo? | What is the news? |¿Qué hay de nuevo? | What news is there? |¿Qué noticias hay? | What news do you |¿Que noticias nos trae bring us? |V.? | Have you not got anything |¿No tiene V. nada de fresh to tell us? |nuevo que decirnos? | Have you not heard |¿No ha oído V. nada of anything new? |de nuevo? | What do they talk |¿Qué se dice en la about in the town? |ciudad? | What is the news in |¿Qué se dice en su your neighbourhood? |localidad de V.? | I know nothing new. |No sé nada de nuevo. | There is nothing new. |No hay nada de nuevo. | There is no news. |No hay noticias. | I have not heard of |No he oído nada. anything. | | There is nothing fresh |No se dice nada de talked about. |nuevo. | There is good news. |Hay buenas noticias. | The news is good. |La noticias son buenas. | There is bad news. |Hay malas noticias. | The news is very bad. |Las noticias son muy malas. | This is good news. |Esta noticia es buena. | This is bad news. |Esta noticia es mala. | I have heard that... |He oído decir que... | I did not hear of that. |No he oído hablar de eso. | Did you read the papers? |¿Ha leído V. los periódicos? | What do the papers say? |¿Qué dicen los periódicos? | I have not read the |No he leído los periódicos papers to-day. |hoy. | Did you see that in |¿Ha visto V. eso en any paper? |algún periódico? | It is only mentioned |Se hace mención de in a private letter. |ello sólamente en |una carta particular. | Do they say who received |¿Se dice quién recibió the letter? |la carta? | This news wants |Esta noticia necesita confirmation. |confirmación. | From whom have you |¿De quién tiene V. had that news? |esa noticia? | How do you know that? |¿Cómo sabe V. eso? | I have it on good |Lo sé de buena tinta. authority. | | That news has not |Esa noticia no se ha been confirmed. |confirmado. | That report has |Ese rumor resulta ser proved false. |falso. | That is no longer |Ya no se habla más talked of. |de eso. | Do they still talk of |Se habla todavía de war? |guerra? | Do they think we |¿Se cree que tendremos shall have peace? |paz? | It is not likely. |No es probable. | Have you heard from |¿Ha recibido V. noticias your brother? |de su hermano? | Have you heard lately |¿Ha recibido V. últimamente from your |noticias friend? |de su amigo? | Is it long since he |¿Hace mucho (tiempo) wrote to you? |que no le escribe |a V.? | I have not heard from |Hace dos meses que him for two |no tengo noticias months. |de él. | He has not written |Hace tres semanas for these three |que no me escribe. weeks. | | I expect to hear from |Espero noticias de él. him. | | | What does he say to |¿Que le dice a V. de you about Madrid? |Madrid? | He gives me a description |Me da una descripción of most |de la mayor of the curiosities |parte de las of that city. |curiosidades de |esa ciudad. | Is he pleased with |¿Le gusta Madrid? Madrid? | | He is enjoying himself |Tanto se divierte allí self so much there |que no dice nada that he does not |de volver. speak of returning. | | | _Age._ |_Edad._ | How old are you? |¿Cuántos años tiene V.? | What is your age? |¿Qué edad tiene V. ? | What may be his age? |¿Qué edad tendrá él? | How old may he be? |¿Cuántos años tendrá él? | He will be twelve the |Tendrá doce años el fifteenth of next |quince del mes month. |que viene. | I shall soon be ten. |Tendrá pronto diez |años. | I am twenty-five. |Tengo veinticinco |años. | How old is your father? |¿Cuántos años tiene su padre de V.? | What is your |¿Qué edad tiene su brother's age? |hermano de V.? | How old is your |¿Cuántos años tiene brother? |su hermano de V.? | He is not yet twenty. |No ha cumplido todavía los veinte. | He is not yet of age. |No es todavía mayor de edad. | He is still under age. |Aun es menor. | How old may that child be? |¿Cuántos años tendrá ese niño? | He is only six years old. |Tiene sólamente seis años. | He is tall for his age. |Es alto para su edad. | How old is your sister? |¿Cuantos años tiene su hermana de V.? | She is more than seven. |Tiene más de siete años. | She is almost eight. |Tiene casi ocho años. | She is twenty. |Tiene veinte años. | She is in the flower of |Está en la flor de su her youth. |juventud. | Your uncle must be |Se tío de V. debe de very nearly forty |tener cerca de years old. |cuarenta años. | He is in his forty-second |Ha entrado en los cuarenta year. |y dos años. | He is in the prime of |Está en la flor de la life. |edad. | Your grandfather |Su abuelo de V. looks very aged. |parece muy viejo. | How old do you think |¿Cuántos años le parece he is? |a V. que tiene? | How old would you |¿Cuántos años le echaría take him to be? |V.? | He cannot be more |No puede tener más than eighty. |que ochenta años. | He is eighty-four. |Tiene ochenta y cuatro años. | He is older than I. |Tiene más años que yo. | I did not think him so |No le creía tan viejo. old. | | He carries his age well. |No representa su edad. | Is your father still |¿Vive todavía su padre living? |de V.? | He must be very old. |Debe ser muy viejo. | He is just entering |Acaba de entrar en los his hundredth year. |cien años. | He has become quite |Se ha vuelto niño. childish. | | | _Asking and Giving_ |_Pedir y Dar Consejo._ _Advice._ | | What shall we do? |¿Qué haremos? | What must we do? |¿Qué debemos hacer? | What are we to do? |¿Qué hemos de hacer? | What remains for us |¿Qué nos queda que to do? |hacer? | What is to be done? |¿Qué se ha de hacer? | We must decide something. |Tendremos que tomar |alguna resolución. | I am quite puzzled. |Estoy muy perplejo. | I do not know what to do. |No sé qué hacer. | I am greatly embarrassed. |Estoy en el mayor embarazo. | We are very much |Estamos muy perplejos. perplexed. | | If I were you. |Si fuera V. Yo que V. | If I were in your |Si estuviera en su place. |lugar de V. | I advise you to... |Le aconsejo a V. que... | I am of opinion that |Soy de opinión que V. you should go |debe ir allá. there. | | If you will take my |Si quiere V. seguir mi advice you will |consejo, lo hará. do it. | | An idea strikes me. |Se me ocurre una idea. | I have been thinking |He pensado en eso. of that. | | A thought has struck me. |Me ha ocurrido una idea. | Let me alone. |Déjeme V. en paz. | Let us do one thing. |Hagamos una cosa. | I have changed my mind. |He mudado de opinión. | Let us do something else. |Hagamos otra cosa. | We must go another |Tendremos que emprenderlo way to work. |de otro modo. | What do you say |¿Qué dice V. de ello? about it? |¿Qué le parece a V.? | What do you think of it? |¿Qué piensa V. (opina V.) de ello? | I think as you do. |Opino como V. | It is very well thought |Está muy bien pensado. out. | | It is very well imagined. |Está muy bien concebido. | It is a good idea. |Es buena idea. | It is a very good idea. |Es muy buena idea. | I am of your opinion. |Soy de la opinión de V. | It is the best way. |Es el mejor modo. | Would it not be better...? |¿No sería mejor...? | It is the best we can do. |Es lo mejor que podemos hacer. | It is the only thing |Es la única cosa que we have to do. |nos queda que hacer. | That is the only |Ese es el único partido course we can take. |que podemos tomar. | | _Affirming and_ |_Afirmar y Negar._ _Denying._ | | I am going to tell you |Voy a decirle a V. that... |que... | I assure you that... |Le aseguro a V. que... | That I assure you. |Eso se lo aseguro a V. | That I can assure you. |Eso se lo puedo asegurar a V. | You may rely upon |Puede V. fiarse en lo what I tell you. |que le digo. | There is no doubt about it. |No cabe duda. | You are right. |Tiene V. razón. | You are quite right. |Está V. muy en lo cierto. | Yes. No. |Sí. No. | I say it is. |Digo que sí. | I say it is not. |Digo que no. | I maintain that it is so. |Sostengo que es así. | I maintain that it is |Sostengo que no es not so. |así. | I suppose so. |Supongo que sí. | I suppose not. |Supongo que no. | I should say so. |Me parece que sí. | Certainly. |Cierto que sí. | Certainly not. |Cierto que no. | You may well think that... |Bien puede V. pensar que... | You may easily think |V. puede fácilmente that... |creer que... | Do you think so? |¿Lo cree V.? ¿Lo |cree V. así? | I think so. |Lo creo. Así lo creo. | I think so too. |Yo lo creo también. | I should think so! |¡Ya lo creo! | I think not. |Creo que no. | I do not think so. |No lo creo. | I should think not indeed! |¡Eso sí que no! | You must know that... |V. debe saber que... | I must tell you... |Debo decirle a V.... | I am inclined to think... |Me inclino a creer... | I dare say it is so. |No dudo que será así. | What do you mean? |¿Qué quiere V. decir? | I do not know what |No sé lo que V. quiere you mean. |decir. | Is it certain that...? |¿Es cierto que...? | Is it true that...? |¿Es verdad que...? | Yes, it is true. |Sí, es verdad. | It is quite true. |Es muy verdad. | It is positive. |Es positivo. | It is only too true. |Es demasiado cierto. | It is a fact. |Es un hecho. | It is an absolute fact. |Es un hecho positivo. | Are you sure of what |¿Está V. seguro de lo you say? |que dice? | Would you believe that...? |¿Querrá V. creer que...? | I could believe it. |Podría creerlo. | Do you believe it? |¿Lo cree V.? | I believe it. |Lo creo. | I believe so too. |Yo lo creo también. | That I believe. |Eso lo creo yo. | Do not believe it. |No lo crea V. | I do not believe it. |No lo creo. | I do not believe a |No creo ni una palabra word of it. |de ello. | I emphatically deny it. |Lo niego rotundamente. | No such thing. |No hay tal cosa. | Are you quite sure of it? |¿Está V. seguro de ello? | Nothing is more certain. |Nada hay más cierto. | I answer for it. |Respondo de ello. | I could not answer for it. |No podría responder de ello. | You may believe it. |Puede V. creerlo. | It cannot be true. |No puede ser verdad. | You are mistaken. |Se engaña V. Se equivoca V. | It is not true. |No es verdad. | It is a fib. |Es mentira (cuento, historia). | It is a pure invention. |Es pura invención. | There is nothing more |Nada hay más falso. untrue. | | I affirm that.... |Afirmo que... | I give you my word |Doy a V. mi palabra. for it. | | Upon my honour. |Palabra de honor. | Upon my word of honour. |Bajo mi palabra de honor. | Is it really true? |¿Es eso verdad? | I can hardly believe it. |Apenas si puedo creerlo. | I heard it said. |Lo he oído decir. | Everybody says so. |Todo el mundo lo dice. | We must not always |No se debe creer give credit to all |siempre todo lo we hear people |se dice. say. | | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Surprise._ |_Sorpresa._ | What! |¡Cómo! | Truly! |¡En verdad! | Really! |¡De veras! | Is it possible! |¡Es posible! | Could it be possible! |¡Será posible! | Is it really possible! |¡Pero es posible! | How can that be! |¡Cómo puede ser eso! | How is that possible! |¡Cómo es posible eso! | That is impossible! |¡Eso es imposible! | It is not possible! |¡No es posible! | That cannot be! |¡Eso no puede ser! | I cannot think how...! |¡No puedo figurarme cómo...! | I am surprised! |¡Me extraño! | I am quite astonished! |¡Me extraño mucho! | That surprises me! |¡Eso me extraña! | You surprise me! |¡V. me sorprende! | You astonish me! |¡V. me asombra! | This is what surprises me! |¡Esto es lo que me sorprende! | That quite astonishes me! |¡Eso me sorprende mucho! | I wonder at it! |¡Me admiro de ello! | This is quite astonishing! |¡Esto es muy sorprendente! | It is incredible | (inconceivable)! |¡Es increíble (inconcebible)! | It is a thing not to |¡Es cosa que no se be conceived! |puede concebir! | That is unheard of! |¡Eso es inaudito! | It is a thing unheard of! |¡Es cosa inaudita! | It is strange! |¡Es extraño! ¡Es raro! | That is very strange! |¡Eso es muy extraño! | That is a strange sort |¡Es por cierto cosa of business indeed! |bastante extraña! | How strange! |¡Qué raro! | What a strange (an |¡Qué cosa más rara extraordinary) |(tan extraordinaria)! thing! | | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Probability._ |_Probabilidad._ | That is probable. |Eso es probable. | That is very likely. |Eso es muy verosímil. | It is likely enough. |Es bastante verosímil. | That is not unlikely. |Eso no es inverosímil. | That is hardly probable. |Eso no es muy probable. | That is not probable. |Eso no es probable. | That is very probable. |Eso es muy probable. | That is more than probable. |Eso es más que probable. | It is very possible. |Es muy posible. | There is nothing impossible |Nada tiene de imposible. in it. | | That is not impossible. |Eso no es imposible. | I see nothing impossible |No veo en ello nada in it. |de imposible. | Perhaps. |Tal vez. | Perhaps so. |Puede que sí. | That may be. |Eso puede ser. | That might be so. |Eso podría ser. | I do not wonder at it. |No me admiro de ello. | I am not surprised at it. |No me causa extrañeza. | That does not astonish me. |Eso no me asombra. | That does not surprise |Eso no me sorprende. me. | | It is not astonishing. |No es asombroso. | It is not surprising. |No es sorprendente. | There is nothing surprising |Nada hay de sorprendente in it. |en ello. | You do not surprise me. |V. no me sorprende. | I should not wonder at it. |No me causaría extrañeza. | That would not surprise me. |Eso no me sorprendería. | There would be nothing |Nada tendría de particular. extraordinary | about it. | | It is quite natural. |Es muy natural. | Of course. |Naturalmente. Por de contado. | No wonder. |No hay que extrañar. | It is a matter of course. |Es cosa natural. Es de cajón. | That is understood. |Eso se entiende. | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Sorrow._ |_Sentimiento._ | I am sorry for it. |Lo siento. | I am very sorry for it. |Lo siento mucho. | I am extremely sorry |Lo siento muchísimo for it. |(infinito). | How sorry I am for it! |¡Cuánto lo siento! | I am inconsolable. |Estoy inconsolable. | It makes me quite unhappy. |Me causa mucho pesar. | It vexes me beyond |Me contraria más de expression. |lo podría decir. | It is a pity. |Es lástima. | It is a great pity. |Es una gran lástima. | It is a real pity. |Es una verdadera lástima. | What a pity! |¡Qué lástima! | It is a sad thing. |Es cosa triste. | It is a painful case. |Es un caso doloroso. | That is very vexing. |Eso es muy molesto. | That is very disagreeable. |Eso es muy desagradable. | It is very sad. |Es muy triste. | It is a cruel case. |Es un caso cruel. | That is very hard. |Eso es muy duro. | This is shocking. |Esto es espantoso. | That is very unfortunate. |Eso es muy desgraciado. | It is a great misfortune. |Es una gran desgracia. | It is very regrettable. |Es muy sensible. | It is dreadful. |Es horrible. | It is terrible. |Es terrible. | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Joy._ |_Alegría._ | I am very pleased. |Estoy satisfechísimo (contentísimo). | I am very glad. |Me alegro mucho. | I am very happy. |Estoy muy contento. | I am delighted. |Estoy encantado. | I am extremely happy |Me alegro mucho de to hear it. |saberlo. | They are very glad of it. |Se alegran mucho de ello. | We congratulate you |Felicitamos a V. por on it. |ello. | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Blame._ |_Censura._ | Shame! |¡Vergüenza! | Are you not ashamed? |¿No tiene V. vergüenza? | Are you not ashamed |¿No se avergüenza of yourself? |V.? | You ought to be ashamed. |Debiera V. avergonzarse. | I am ashamed of you. |Tengo vergüenza de V. | What a shame! |¡Qué vergüenza! | It is shameful. |Es vergonzoso. | It is a shameful thing. |Es cosa vergonzosa. | It is very bad. |Es muy malo. | How naughty that is! |¡Qué feo es eso! | That is very wicked. |Eso es muy perverso. | It is abominable. |Es abominable. | How can you be so wicked? |¿Cómo puede V. ser tan malvado? | How could you do so? |¿Cómo ha podido V. hacer eso? | How came you to do so? |¿Cómo ha llegado V. a hacerlo? | You are very wicked. |V. es muy malo. | Why did you do that? |¿Por qué ha hecho V. eso? | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Anger._ |_Cólera._ | I am very angry. |Estoy muy enfadado. | I am not in a good humour. |No estoy de buen humor. | He is very cross. |Está muy enojado. | I am cross with you. |Estoy enfadado con V. | I am offended. |Estoy ofendido. | I am exasperated. |Estoy exasperado. | I am beside myself. |Estoy fuera de mí. | You see me in a terrible |V. me ve que estoy passion. |muy encolerizado. | It makes me quite mad. |Me pone furioso. | That is very wrong of you. |Eso está muy mal en V. | You are very much to |V. tiene mucha culpa. blame. | | You are quite wrong. |V. está muy equivocado. | How did you dare to |¿Cómo se ha atrevido do so? |V. a hacerlo? | I am not satisfied with |No estoy contento con you. |V. | I am quite displeased |Estoy muy descontento with you. |con V. | I shall be very angry. |Estaré muy enfadado. | Be quiet. |Estése V. quieto. | Will you soon have done? |¿Acabará V. pronto? | Can you not be quiet? |¿No puede V. estarse quieto? | I tell you beforehand |Le prevengo a V. that.... |que... | I warn you that.... |Le advierto a V. que... | I warn you of it. |Se lo advierto a V. | Pay attention to what |Atienda V. a lo que I say. |le digo. | Mind what I have |Tenga V. presente lo told you. |que le he dicho. | I will not have that. |No quiero eso. | I will not suffer that. |No permitiré eso. | I will have it so. |Lo quiero así. | I insist upon it. |Insisto en ello. | Mind it does not happen |Cuidado que no pase again. |otra vez. | Do not do so any more. |No vuelva V. a hacerlo más. | Don't be impertinent. |No sea V. impertinente. | Silence! hold your tongue. |¡Silencio! cállese V. | Will you hold your tongue? |¿Quiere V. callarse? | No arguing. |Nada de razones. | Don't answer. |No responda V. | Get out quickly. |Váyase V. pronto. | I will see you no more. |No quiero verle a V. más. | Your conduct is inexcusable. |Su conducta de V. es inexcusable. | This is not the first |Esta no es la primera time you have |vez que V. me ha annoyed me. |contrariado. | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Antipathy and Aversion._ |_Antipatía y Aversión._ | I do not like that man. |No me gusta aquel hombre. | I detest that man. |Detesto a ese hombre. | I cannot bear him. |No puedo sufrirle. | His manners are repellent. |Sus modales son repugnantes. | He has not a pleasing |No tiene cara agradable. countenance. | | His looks are not |Su semblante no es prepossessing. |simpático. | There is something |Hay algo de repugnante displeasing in his |en sus modales. manners. | | I cannot restrain the |No puedo reprimir la aversion I feel for |aversión que siento him. |para él. | He has no notion of |No tiene idea de la propriety. |delicadeza. | He has no regard for |No tiene respeto para anybody. |nadie. | That makes him hated. |Eso le hace odioso. | He is hated by everybody. |Todo el mundo le aborrece. | I avoid him as much |Le huyo cuanto puedo. as I can. | | He bores me much. |Me aburre mucho. | His language is offensive. |Su lenguaje es ofensivo. | He talks most extravagantly. |Habla con mucha extravagancia. | He likes to dictate |Le gusta mandar a to everyone. |todo el mundo. | What an insupportable being! |¡Qué hombre tan insoportable! | What a tiresome person! |¡Qué sujeto tan molesto! | Shall we never be able |¿No podremos deshacernos to get rid of him? |nunca de él? | I wish he would go. |Quisiera que se fuese. | At last he has gone. |Por fin se ha marchado. | I would rather have |Antes aceptaría la palabra the word of an |de un hombre honest man than |honrado que el his oath. |juramento de ése. | The hatred of that |El odio de ese hombre man is less |es menos peligroso dangerous than |de lo que you think. |V. piensa. | | _Expressions of_ |_Expresiones de_ _Sympathy and Friendship._ |_Simpatía y Amistad._ | He is my friend. |Es mi amigo. | He is a friend of mine. |Es amigo mío. | He is my best friend. |Es mi mejor amigo. | He is my intimate friend. |Es mi amigo íntimo. | We are intimate friends. |Somos amigos íntimos. | I am sincerely attached |Le quiero sinceramente. to him. | | Our friendship is |Nuestra amistad es reciprocal. |recíproca. | Our dispositions are |Somos del mismo alike. |carácter. | We are closely united. |Somos estrechamente unidos. | We agree perfectly well. |Nos entendemos perfectamente. | He has given me |Me ha dado muchas many proofs of |pruebas de su his friendship. |amistad. | I hope we shall never |Espero que jamás nos part. |separaremos. | I felt an attachment |He simpatizado con for him the first |él desde la primera time I met him. |vez que le vi. | We love each other |Nos queremos como like brothers. |hermanos. | There is no secret |No nos ocultamos nada. between us. | | We have no secrets |No tenemos secretos from each other. |el uno para el otro. | I would do anything |Haría cualquier cosa for him. |por él. | He is very attentive |Es muy obsequioso to me. |para conmigo. | Nobody esteems you |Nadie le aprecia a V. more than I do. |más que yo. | He is the best of my |Es el mejor de mis friends. |amigos. | | _Correspondence._ |_Correspondencia._ | Mr. (or Esq.) |Sr. (or Sr. D. before a |Christian name or |its initial). | Messrs. |Sres. (Sres. D. is seldom used). | Mrs. |Sra. (or Sra. Da. as above). | Miss |Srta. (or Srta. Da.). | Sir, Dear Sir, |Muy Sr. mío: Muy Sr. nuestro: | Dear Sirs, Gentlemen, |Muy Sres. míos: Muy Sres. nuestros: | Madam, Dear Madam, |Muy Sra. mía: Muy Srta. mía: | My dear Sir, |Muy Sr. mío y amigo: | Dear father, |Querido padre: | Dear mother, |Querida madre: | My dear friend, |Mi querido amigo: Mi querida amiga. | | _To begin a Letter._ |_Principiar una Carta._ | I beg to inform you ... |Tengo el honor de informarle(s)... | We take the liberty of |Nos tomamos la libertad informing you ... |de informarle(s)... | I hasten to ... |Me apresuro a... | We beg to acknowledge |Tenemos el honor de receipt of |acusarle(s) recibo your letter of ... |de su carta de... | I regret to... |Siento (tener que)... | Your favour of the |Oportunamente nos 15th inst. duly |favoreció su grata reached us. |15 de actual. | We enclose herewith... |Adjunto remitimos... | Confirming our letter |Confirmándole(s) nuestra of the 29th ult.... |carta de |29 del ppdo.... | I have just received |Acabo de recibir su your letter of the |carta del 10 corriente. 10th inst. | | I am exceedingly |Agredezco a V. muchísimo... obliged to you for... | | I was very sorry to |He sentido mucho saber... hear... | | I thank you for your |Agradezco a V. su kind letter of... |amable carta de... | I had the honour of |Tuve el honor de writing to you on |escribirle a V. el the 12th ult. |12 del mes ppdo. | The person who will |El dador (portador) hand you this letter |de la presente es is Mr. X. who |el Sr. X., quien lives in the same |vive en la misma town as I. |ciudad que yo. | Dear friend, I cannot |Amigo mío: No puedo make out |comprender su silencio; your silence; what |¿qué ha sido has become of you? |de V.? | | _To end a Letter._ |_Concluir una Carta._ | I am, dear Sir, yours |Soy de V. atento S. truly, |S.[28] Q.B.S.M.[29] | We remain, dear Sirs, |Quedamos de Vs. Yours faithfully, |atentos S.S. Q.B.S.M. | Without further, I remain, |Sin más, me repito de Yours truly, |V. atto. S.S. etc. | Awaiting your reply, |En espera de su contestación, I remain, Yours |quedo faithfully, |de V. afmo. S.S. | Always at your service, |Siempre a las órdenes I remain,... |de V. me repito |suyo afmo. S.S. | Yours very truly, |De V. muy atto. y S.S. | Sincerely yours, |Suyo afmo. S.S. y amigo | Your sincere friend, |Su amigo que le aprecia | Your affectionate son, |Su hijo que le ama | We beg to subscribe |Tenemos el honor de ourselves, Gentlemen, |suscribirnos de your |Vs. sus más atentos most obedient |y S.S. Q.B.S.M. servants, | | | =English and Spanish Idiomatic | Expressions and Proverbs.= | | * * * * * | | Expresiones Idiomáticas y | Refranes Ingleses y Españoles. | | * * * * * | | ENGLISH. |SPANISH. | He was caught in the |Fué cogido infraganti very act. |(en flagrante delito). | Much ado about nothing. |Mucho ruído y pocas nueces. | Without more ado. |Sin más ni más. | To be on the alert. |Estar alerta. Estar sobre aviso. | After all. |Al fin y al cabo. | Grasp all, lose all. |Quien mucho abarca, |poco aprieta. La |codicia rompe el |saco. | Once for all. |De una vez para siempre. | When all comes to all. |Con todo eso. | I have an appointment |Tengo cita con él. with him. | | Make an appointment |Deme V. hora para with me. |verle. | Arm in arm. |Del brazo. De bracete. | On good authority. |De buena tinta. | Be it as it may. |Sea como fuere. | As you make your |Quien mala cama hace, bed so you must |en ella se yace. lie on it. | | Early to bed, and |Si quieres buena fama, early to rise, |no te dé el sol en makes a man |la cama. healthy, wealthy | and wise. | | The beginning is the |El primer paso es el difficulty. |que cuesta. | Well begun is half |Obra empezada, medio done. |acabada. | He betrayed himself. |Se vendió. | Between you and me. |Para entre los dos. | Birds of a feather |Dios los cría y ellos flock together. |se juntan. | A bird in the hand is |Más vale pájaro en worth two in the |mano que buitre bush. |volando. | To kill two birds with |Matar dos pájaros de one stone. |un tiro. | A little bird told me. |Me lo ha dicho un pajarito. | To come to blows. |Venir a las manos. | Without striking a |Sin dar un golpe. blow. | | We are in the same |Nos hallamos en el boat. |mismo trance. | To blow out one's |Levantarse la tapa de brains. |los sesos. | A bone of contention. |Una manzana de discordia. | What is bred in the |La cabra tira al monte. bone will never |Genio y figura come out of the |hasta la sepultura. flesh. | | To bribe someone. |Untarle a alguno las manos. | New brooms sweep |Escoba nueva barre clean. |bien. | He does not beat |No se anda por las about the bush. |ramas. | To put the cart before |Tomar el rábano por fore the horse. |las hojas. | They lead a cat and |Viven como perros y dog life. |gatos. | Changes are pleasant. |En la variedad está el gusto. | Charity begins at |La caridad bien ordenada home. |empieza |por sí (por uno |propio). | A burnt child dreads |El gato escaldado del fire. |agua fría huye. | Spare the rod and |Ese te quiere bien spoil the child. |que te hace llorar. | He is a chip off the |De tal palo, tal astilla. old block. | | To carry coals to |Llevar hierro a Vizcaya. Newcastle. | | Cut your coat according |Cual el año tal el jarro. to your cloth. | | It is not the coat that |El hábito no hace al makes the man. |monje. | First come, first |Primer venido, primer served. |servido. | Tell me your company, |Dime con quien andas, and I will tell |y te diré quien you your character. |eres. | Too many cooks spoil |Barco que mandan the broth. |muchos pilotos, pronto |se va a pique. | To pluck up courage. |Hacer de tripas corazón. | Much cry and little |Mucho ruido y pocas wool. |nueces. | There is many a slip |De la mano a la boca, 'twixt the cup |se pierde la sopa. and the lip. | | To be at daggers drawn. |Comerse unos a otros. | To look daggers. |Comerse a uno con la |vista (con los ojos). | The better the day, |En buen día, buenas the better the deed. |obras. | None so deaf as those |No hay peor sordo who won't hear. |que el que no |quiere oír. | To make ducks and drakes |Derrochar el dinero. with one's money. | | To put all one's eggs |Poner toda la carne in one basket. |en el asador. | He is out of his element. |Está fuera de su centro. | They find it very hard |Encuentran mucha dificultad to make both |en redondear ends meet. |sus rentas. | He had a narrow escape. |De buena se ha librado. | Even or odd. |Pares o nones. | At all events. |En todo caso. | Coming events cast |Por las vísperas se their shadows before. |conocen los santos. | Don't get excited. |No se altere V. No se sofoque V. | Like father, like son. |De tal padre, tal hijo. | Fine feathers make |Una buena capa todo fine birds. |lo tapa. | It makes my flesh |Me pone carne de creep. |gallina. | To take French leave. |Despedirse a la francesa. | Out of the frying-pan |Saltar de la sartén y into the fire. |dar en las brasas. | She has the gift of |Ella tiene mucho pico. the gab. | | Ill-gotten gain never |Lo ajeno no hace prospers. |heredero. | The game is not |Gastamos la pólvora worth the candle. |en salvos. | To make game of someone. |Mofarse de alguno. | God helps those who |A quien madruga, Dios help themselves. |le ayuda. | All is not gold that |No es oro todo lo que glitters. |reluce. | To kill the goose that |Matar la gallina que lays the golden |pone el huevo de eggs. |oro. | To bring grist to the |Llevar el agua a su mill. |molino. | Habit is second nature. |La costumbre es otra |naturaleza. | It makes one's hair |Le pone a uno los stand on end. |pelos de punta. | To go halves. |Ir a medias. | As if nothing had |Como si nada hubiera happened. |pasado. Como si |tal cosa. | To be hard up. |Hallarse en apuros. | The more haste, the |Vísteme despacio que less speed. |estoy de prisa. | Make hay while the |Al hierro caliente batir sun shines. |de repente. | Head or tail. |Cara o cruz. | I cannot make head |Esto no tiene pies ni or tail of this. |cabeza. | They are over head |Están empeñados hasta and ears in debt. |los ojos. | Two heads are better |Más ven cuatro ojos than one. |que dos. | You need not take it |No hay que tomarlo to heart. |a pecho. | To take to one's heels. |Apretar los talones. | Honesty is the best |Peso y medida quitan policy. |al hombre fatiga. | Look not a gift horse |A caballo regalado no in the mouth. |hay que mirarle el |diente. | Spare hours. |Horas de recreo (de ocio). | A man's house is his |Mientras en mi casa castle. |estoy, rey soy. | Hunger is the best |La mejor salsa es el sauce. |hambre. | There is no hurry. |No corre prisa. | Idleness is the root |La ociosidad es madre of all evil. |de los vicios. | Joking apart. |Chanzas aparte. | Better late than never. |Más vale tarde que nunca. | He is as thin as a lath. |Está hecho una espátula. | They laugh best who |Al freír será el reír. laugh last. |Al fin se canta la |gloria. | He is laughing in his |Se ríe para sí. sleeve. | | Lightly come, lightly go |Los dineros del sacristán, |cantando se |vienen y cantando |se van. | Listeners never hear |Quien escucha, su mal good of themselves. |oye. | Literally. |Al pie de la letra. | Every little helps. |Algo es algo. | Many a little makes a |Muchos pocos hacen mickle. |un mucho. | Look before you leap. |Antes que te cases, |mira lo que haces. | To cast lots. |Echar suertes. | He has left me in the |Me ha dejado plantado. lurch. | | Man proposes, God |El hombre propone y disposes. |Dios dispone. | One man's meat is |Lo que es bueno para another man's |el hígado es malo poison. |para el bazo. | I do not like his manners. |No me gustan sus modales. | He has no manners. |No tiene crianza. | Tell that to the marines. |A otro perro con ese hueso. | To hit the mark. |Dar en el blanco. | To miss the mark. |Errar el blanco. | Like master, like man. |Tal amo, tal criado. | As a matter of fact. |En efecto. | It is a matter of taste. |Es cuestión de gustos. | He does not mince matters. |No se para en repulgos. | So many men, so |Tantas cabezas, tantas many minds. |sentencias. | You are in a nice |En buena se ha metido mess now. |V. ahora. | They are in a mess. |Están en un brete. | In the very middle. |Justamente en medio. | It is no use crying |A lo hecho pecho. over spilt milk. | | He changed his mind. |Ha mudado de parecer. | I gave him a piece of |Le he dicho unas my mind. |claridades. | To be bent on mischief |Estar para hacer de las suyas. | Spare moments. |Ratos de ocio. | Money begets money. |Dinero llama dinero. | Money makes the |Por dinero baila el mare to go. |perro (y por pan |si se lo dan). | He owes money to |Debe hasta el aire que everybody. |respira. | To make a mountain |Hacer de una pulga out of a molehill. |un camello (un |elefante). | There is some mystery |Aquí hay gato encerrado. here. | | To hit the nail on the |Dar en el clavo. head. | | Necessity knows no law. |La necesidad carece de ley. | To look for a needle |Buscar una aguja en in a bundle of hay. |un pajar. | A sleepless night. |Una noche toledana. | Nothing venture, nothing |Quien no se aventura, win. |no pasa la mar. | They gave him notice. |Le han despachado. | Now or never. |Ahora o nunca. | He looks after number |Se ata bien el dedo. one. | | As old as the hills. |Más viejo que el andar a gatas. | Opportunity makes |La ocasión hace al the thief. |ladrón. | Patience works wonders. |Con paciencia y saliva |un elefante se tragó |a una hormiga. | To buy a pig in a poke. |Comprar gato en saco. | To be on pins and |Estar en ascuas (en needles. |brasas). | The pitcher goes so |Tantas veces va el often to the well |cántaro a la that it is broken |fuente que al fin at last. |se quiebra. | Let us return to the |Volvamos al asunto. point. | | The pot calls the |Dijo la sartén a la kettle black. |caldera, quítate |allá ojinegra. | Poverty is no crime. |Pobreza no es vileza. | Practice makes perfect. |El ejercicio hace maestro. | The pros and cons. |El pro y el contra. | There are two sides |Preciso es oír los dos to every question. |cantares. | He is quick-tempered. |Es de genio vivo. Es una pólvora. | It never rains but it |Un mal llama a otro. pours. | | Short reckonings |Cuentas claras, amigos make long friends. |viejos. | Without rhyme or reason. |Sin ton ni son. | Right or wrong. |Con razón o sin ella. | It served him right. |Ha llevado su merecido. | Rome was not built |No se ganó Zamora in a day. |en una hora. | To rough it. |Pasar trabajos. | To run away. |Tomar soleta. Apretar los talones. | It is not worth a rush. |No vale un ardite. | Safe and sound. |Sano y salvo. | Everyone knows |Cada uno sabe donde where the shoe |le aprieta el zapato. pinches. | | Out of sight, out of |A espaldas vueltas, mind. |memorias muertas. | Silence gives consent. |Quien calla otorga. | He saved his skin. |Sacó a salvo la piel. | To sleep over it. |Consultar con la almohada. | No song, no supper. |No hay dinero, no hay pandero. | Sooner or later. |Tarde o temprano. | To call a spade a spade. |Llamar al pan, pan, y al vino, vino. | To keep step. |Andar a compás. | A stitch in time saves |Lo hecho a tiempo nine. |vale un ciento. | Store is no sore. |Lo que abunda no daña. | He does not care a |No se da un ardite de straw about it. |ello. | Little strokes fell |Poco a poco hila la great oaks. |vieja el copo. | He is in a brown study. |Está en Babia. | Better to be sure than |Más vale un por si sorry. |acaso que un |quien pensara. | One swallow does not |Una golondrina no make a summer. |hace verano. | He is a swell. |Es un elegante. | There is no accounting |Contra gustos no hay for tastes. |disputa. | He will never set the |No ha inventado la Thames on fire. |pólvora. | On second thoughts. |Después de repensarlo. |Reflexión |hecha. | I am tired of it. |Eso me aburre. | To give tit for tat. |Amor con amor se |paga. Donde las |dan las toman. | A slip of the tongue. |Un desliz de la lengua. | To sleep like a top. |Dormir como un tronco. | One good turn deserves |Una mano lava la another. |otra (y las dos la |cara). | Up-to-date. |Al día. | To make a virtue of |Hacer de la necesidad necessity. |virtud. | To have a voice in the |Tener voz en capítulo. matter. | | Everything comes to |Con paciencia se gana him who waits. |el cielo. | To fish in troubled |Pescar en río revuelto. waters. | | Still waters run deep. |Del agua mansa me |libre Dios, que de |la brava me guardaré |yo. | On the way. |De camino. | She does not know |Ella no sabe a dónde which way to |volver la cabeza. turn. | | Ill weeds grow apace. |La mala yerba siempre crece. | All's well that ends |El fin corona la obra. well. | | They are well off. |Tienen un buen pasar. | It's an ill wind that |No hay mal que por blows nobody |bien no venga. good. | | Good wine needs no |El buen paño en el bush. |arca se vende. | A word to the wise |Al buen entendedor is sufficient. |pocas palabras |bastan. | He is at his wits' end. |No sabe qué decir |(ni qué hacer). Se |halla en un abismo. Vocabulary of Business Words and Expressions in Everyday Use. Vocabulario de Términos y Expresiones Comerciales de Uso Diario. ENGLISH. |SPANISH. | Abandonment. |Abandono. | Abatement. |Rebaja. | Abeyance, in. |En suspenso. | Above mentioned. |Antedicho, susodicho. | Abstract of account. |Extracto de cuenta. | Accelerated train. |Tren acelerado, rápido. | Acceptance of goods. |Aceptación de mercancías. | Accommodation bill. |Letra de cortesía, de deferencia. | Account. |Cuenta. | Account current. |Cuenta corriente. | Account sales. |Cuenta de venta. | Accountant. |Contador. | Accumulation of goods. |Acumulación de mercancías. | Acknowledgment of receipt. |Acuse de recibo. | Act of God. |Fuerza mayor. | Action. |Acción, pleito, proceso. | Additional freight. |Flete adicional. | Address. |Dirección, señas. | Addressee. |Destinatario. | Addressor. |Remitente. | Administration. |Administración. | Advance. |Avance, anticipo; alza, subida. | Advertisement. |Anuncio. | Advice. |Aviso; consejo. | Advice note. |Carta de aviso. | Affidavit. |Atestación. | Agency. |Agencia. | Agent. |Agente. | Agreement. |Convenio, contrato. | Allotment. |Repartición. | Allowance for tare. |Rebaja por tara. | Amalgamation. |Amalgamación, fusión. | Ambulance carriage. |Coche de ambulancia. | Ambulance train. |Tren de ambulancia. | Amount of property. |Total de los bienes. | Anchorage. |Anclaje, fondeadero. | Announcement. |Anuncio. | Annual account. |Cuenta anual. | Annual balance. |Balance anual. | Answer. |Respuesta, contestación. | Appeal. |Apelación. | Application. |Demanda, solicitud. | Appointment. |Cita; nombramiento. | Appraisement. |Tasación. | Appraiser. |Tasador. | Apprentice. |Aprendiz. | Apprentice's indenture. |Contrato de aprendizaje. | Apprenticeship. |Aprendizaje. | Approval. |Aprobación. | Appurtenances. |Accesorios. | Arbitration. |Arbitraje. | Arbitrator. |Arbitro. | Arrangement. |Arreglo. | Arrears. |Atrasos. | Arrival. |Llegada. | Arrival platform. |Andén de llegada. | Article. |Artículo. | Ascent. |Subida, ascensión. | Ascent (slope). |Cuesta, pendiente. | Assets. |Activo. | Assignee. |Cesionario. | Assigner. |Cedente. | Assignment. |Cesión. | Association. |Asociación. | Assortment. |Surtido. | Astray, to go. |Extraviarse. | At par. |Al par. | At sight. |A la vista. | Attention. |Atención. | Auction. |Subasta. | Auctioneer. |Rematador. | Auditor. |Auditor, revisor. | Authority. |Autoridad; autorización. | Average number. |Número medio. | Average price. |Precio medio. | Average sum. |Suma media. | Average value. |Valor medio. | Award. |Laudo. | | Backwardation. |Deporte. | Bag. |Saco. | Baggage (luggage). |Equipaje. | Bail. |Caución, fianza. | Balance. |Balance, saldo. | Balance sheet. |Balance. | Bale. |Fardo. | Ballast. |Lastre. | Bank. |Banco. | Banker. |Banquero. | Banking. |Banca. | Banking business. |Negocios bancarios. | Banking expenses. |Gastos de banca. | Banknote. |Billete de banco. | Bankrupt. |Fallido, quebrado. | Bankrupt's certificate. |Concordato. | Bankrupt's estate. |Masa. | Bankruptcy. |Quiebra, bancarrota. | Bar (gold or silver). |Barra (de oro o de plata). | Bargain. |Ganga. | Barratry. |Baratería. | Barrel. |Barril. | Barter (exchange). |Trueque. | Basin (dock). |Dársena, dique. | Basin (port). |Fondeadero. | Bay. |Bahía. | Beacon. |Faro, fanal. | Bear. |Bajista. | Bearer. |Portador. | Berth. |Litera; sitio; empleo. | Between deck (steerage). |Entrepuente. | Bid. |Oferta, puja. | Bidder, highest. |Mejor postor. | Bill. |Letra; cuenta. | Bill book. |Libro de letras. | Bill broker. |Corredor de cambios. | Bill holder. |Portador de una letra. | Bill of exchange. |Letra de cambio. | Bill of health. |Patente de sanidad. | Bill of lading. |Conocimiento. | Bill of sale. |Carta de venta. | Bill stamp. |Sello de letras. | Blank endorsement. |Endoso en blanco. | Board of administration. |Consejo de administración. | Boatman. |Botero. | Boatswain. |Contramaestre. | Boiler. |Caldera. | Bond. |Bono; obligación; fianza. | Bonded goods. |Mercancías en depósito. | Bondholder. |Bonista, obligacionista. | Bonus. |Prima. | Book debt. |Deuda activa. | Book-keeper. |Tenedor de libros. | Book-keeping. |Teneduría de libros. | Boom. |Alza; actividad. | Bottomry bond. |Contrato a la gruesa. | Bowsprit. |Bauprés. | Box. |Cajita. | Brake. |Freno. | Branch. |Sucursal. | Branch line (railway). |Ramal; vía secundaria. | Breach of contract. |Infracción de contrato. | Breakage. |Rotura. | Brig. |Bergantín. | Broad gauge. |Vía ancha. | Broadside. |Andanada. | Broker (goods). |Corredor (de comercio). | Brokerage. |Corretaje. | Buffer. |Tope. | Bull. |Alcista. | Bullion. |Metálico, numerario. | Bundle. |Atado, lío. | Buoy. |Boya. | Business connections. |Relaciones comerciales. | Business expenses. |Gastos de comercio. | Business for own account. |Negocios de cuenta propia. | Buyer. |Comprador. | | Cabin. |Cámara. | Cable. |Cable. | Cablegram. |Cablegrama. | Calculation. |Cálculo. | Calculation of freight. |Cálculo del flete. | Calking. |Calafateo. | Call. |Llamada; (port) escala. | Cancelling. |Anulación, cancelación. | Capital. |Capital. | Capitalist. |Capitalista. | Captain. |Capitán. | Cargo. |Carga. | Carriage. |Porte. | Carrier (carter). |Carretero. | Cartage. |Acarreo, carretaje, camionaje. | Case. |Caja. | Case, skeleton. |Caja-jaula. | Cash. |Dinero contante; al contado. | Cash account. |Cuenta de caja. | Cash balance. |Dinero en caja. | Cash book. |Libro de caja. | Cash box. |Caja. | Cash office. |Caja. | Cashier. |Cajero. | Cask. |Casco. | Catalogue. |Catálogo. | Cattle truck. |Vagón para ganado. | Caution. |Advertencia. | Cereals. |Cereales. | Certificate. |Certificado. | Cession. |Cesión. | Chairman. |Presidente. | Chamber of Commerce. |Cámara de Comercio. | Change of carriages. |Cambio de coches. | Charges for collecting. |Gastos de cobro. | Charges for reloading. |Gastos de reembarque. | Charter party. |Póliza de fletamento. | Chemicals. |Productos químicos. | Cheque. |Cheque. | Cheque book. |Libro de cheques; talonario. | Chief custom-house. |Aduana principal. | Chief office. |Oficina principal, casa matriz. | Chief station. |Estación principal. | Choice goods. |Géneros escogidos. | Circular letter. |Carta circular. | Circular note. |Nota circular. | Circular railway. |Ferrocarril de circunvalación. | Circulation. |Circulación. | Claim. |Reclamación. | Claim (debt). |Crédito. | Clause. |Cláusula. | Clear, to. |Despachar. | Clerk. |Dependiente. | Client. |Cliente. | Coaster (vessel). |Buque de cabotaje, vapor costero. | Collecting station. |Estación central. | Collection (of drafts). |Cobro. | Collector of customs. |Recaudador de aduanas. | Colonial trade. |Comercio colonial. | Commerce. |Comercio. | Commercial affairs. |Asuntos comerciales. | Commercial agent. |Agente comercial. | Commercial house. |Casa de comercio. | Commercial intercourse. |Relaciones comerciales. | Commercial law. |Derecho comercial. | Commercial school. |Escuela de comercio. | Commercial style. |Estilo comercial. | Commercial traveller. |Viajante comercial. | Commercial treaty. |Tratado de comercio. | Commission. |Comisión. | Commission agent. |Comisionista. | Commission business. |Negocios de comisión. | Commission merchant. |Comisionista. | Committee. |Comité. | Company. |Compañía. | Compartment for non-smokers. |Departamento para no fumadores. | Compensation. |Bonificación, indemnización. | Competent judge. |Juez competente. | Competition. |Competencia, concurrencia. | Competitor. |Competidor, concurrente. | Complaint book. |Libro de quejas. | Composition. |Arreglo, acuerdo. | Compound interest. |Interés compuesto. | Compromise. |Compromiso. | Compulsory prepayment |Pago adelantado obligatorio of freight. |del flete. | Concern. |Asunto. | Concession. |Concesión. | Condition. |Condición, estado. | Condition of forwarding. |Condición de expedición. | Conditionally. |Condicionalmente. | Conductor (of a train). |Conductor. | Confirmation. |Confirmación. | Confiscation. |Confiscación, comiso. | Conformably to tariff. |Con arreglo a la tarifa. | Connecting line. |Linea de empalme. | Connection. |Relación; clientela; combinación. | Consignee. |Consignatario. | Consignment. |Consignación, envío. | Consignment against |Consignación contra cash on delivery. |pago a la entrega. | Consignment of piece |Consignación de géneros goods. |en pieza. | Consignment prepaid. |Consignación porte pagado. | Consignor. |Expedidor, remitente. | Consols. |Consolidados. | Consul. |Cónsul. | Consular agent. |Agente consular. | Consular invoice. |Factura consular. | Consulate. |Consulado. | Consumer. |Consumidor. | Contango. |Reporte. | Contents unknown. |Se ignora el contenido. | Contract for delivery. |Contrato de entrega. | Contracting parties. |Partes contratantes. | Contractor. |Contratante. | Convenience. |Conveniencia, comodidad. | Convention. |Convención. | Conversion. |Conversión. | Conveyance. |Transporte, camionaje; vehículo. | Cooperage. |Tonelería. | Copy (of a book). |Ejemplar. | Copy (of a letter). |Copia. | Copying book. |Copiador. | Copyright. |Propiedad literaria. | Correspondence. |Correspondencia. | Correspondent. |Corresponsal. | Cost price. |Precio de coste. | Cotton mill. |Fábrica de algodón. | Counsel. |Abogado. | Counter. |Mostrador. | Countercharge. |Recriminación. | Counterfoil. |Talón. | Countermand. |Contraorden. | Counteroffer. |Contraoferta. | Countersignature. |Refrendata. | Counter-weight. |Contrapeso. | Counting house. |Oficina, escritorio. | Coupon. |Cupón. | Court of Admiralty. |Comandancia de Marina. | Covered platform. |Plataforma cubierta; (railway) andén | cubierto. | | Cranage. |Derechos de grúa. | Crane. |Grúa. | Crate. |Huacal. | Credit. |Crédito. | Credit note. |Nota de crédito. | Creditor. |Acreedor. | Crew. |Tripulación. | Crisis. |Crisis. | Crossing. |Travesía. | Cruise. |Viaje por mar. | Cruiser. |Crucero. | Cubic contents. |Contenido cúbico. | Cubic measure. |Medida cúbica. | Currency. |Circulación. | Current money. |Moneda corriente. | Curve. |Curva. | Custom. |Costumbre. | Custom-house. |Aduana. | Custom-house duty. |Derechos de aduana. | Custom-house officer. |Aduanero. | Customs warehouse. |Depósito de la aduana. | Customer. |Cliente, parroquiano. | Cutter. |Cúter. | | Damage. |Avería. | Damaged by sea water. |Averiado por agua de mar. | Damages. |Daños y perjuicios; indemnización. | Danger signal. |Señal de peligro. | Date. |Fecha. | Day-book. |Diario. | Day of delivery. |Día de entrega. | Days of demurrage. |Días de estadía. | Days of grace. |Días de cortesía. | Dealer. |Comerciante, negociante, tratante. | Debenture. |Obligación, vale. | Debit. |Débito. | Debit note. |Nota de débito. | Debt. |Deuda. | Debt of honour. |Deuda de honor. | Debtor. |Deudor. | Deck. |Cubierta. | Declaration. |Declaración. | Declaration of value. |Declaración del valor. | Declaration of weight. |Declaración del peso. | Declared value. |Valor declarado. | Decline. |Baja. | Deduction. |Deducción, rebaja. | Deed. |Escritura. | Defaulter. |Insolvente. | Defendant. |Demandado. | Deficiency in weight. |Falta de peso. | Deficit. |Déficit. | Degree of latitude. |Grado de latitud. | Degree of longitude. |Grado de longitud. | Delay of a train. |Demora de un tren. | Delivery of goods. |Entrega de mercancías. | Delivery of luggage. |Entrega de equipaje. | Delivery order. |Orden de entrega. | Demand. |Demanda. | Demurrage. |Demora, estadía. | Dented wheel. |Rueda dentada. | Department. |Departamento; ramo. | Departure of a train. |Salida de un tren. | Departure platform. |Andén de salida. | Deposit. |Depósito. | Depositing of luggage. |Depósito (consignación) de equipajes. | Depot. |Depósito. | Depreciation. |Depreciación. | Depression. |Abatimiento. | Derailment. |Descarrilamiento. | Desk. |Bufete, escritorio, pupitre. | Despatch. |Despacho. | Destination. |Destino. | Details. |Detalles. | Deterioration. |Deterioro. | Development. |Desarrollo. | Differential duty. |Derecho diferencial. | Dimension. |Dimensión, medida, tamaño. | Diminution. |Diminución. | Direct communication. |Comunicación directa. | Direction. |Dirección. | Director. |Director. | Directory. |Directorio, anuario. | Disaster. |Desastre, siniestro. | Disbursement. |Desembolso. | Discharging. |Descarga. | Discharging expenses. |Gastos de descarga. | Discount. |Descuento. | Discount bank. |Banco de descuento. | Disorder. |Desorden. | Disposition. |Disposición. | Dividend. |Dividendo. | Dock. |Dique. | Document. |Documento. | Domiciled bill. |Letra domiciliada. | Double track. |Doble vía. | Down the river. |Río abajo. | Draft. |Letra; (of a vessel) calado. | Drawback. |Devolución de derechos. | Drawee. |Librado. | Drawer. |Librador. | Drum. |Tambor. | Dry dock. |Dique seco. | Dry goods. |Géneros finos. | Dues. |Derechos. | Duplicate. |Duplicado. | Duty. |Derechos, impuesto. | Duty free. |Libre de derechos. | | Emission. |Emisión. | Emission of bank notes. |Emisión de billetes de banco. | Employment. |Empleo. | Enclosed. |Adjunto, incluso. | Enclosure. |Inclusa. | Endeavours. |Esfuerzos. | Endorsement. |Endoso. | Engine. |Máquina. | Engineer. |Ingeniero; maquinista. | Engineering establishment. |Fábrica de máquinas. | Enjoyment of interest. |Usufructo de los intereses. | Enquiry office. |Oficina de informes. | Enterprise. |Empresa. | Entrance duty. |Derecho de entrada. | Entry at the custom-house. |Declaración de aduana. | Equipment. |Equipo. | Error. |Error. | Establishment. |Establecimiento, casa. | Esteem. |Estimación, estima. | Estimate. |Cómputo, presupuesto. | Examination. |Examen. | Exchange. |Cambio; bolsa. | Exchange office. |Casa de cambio. | Exchequer bills. |Vales de la tesorería. | Excise. |Sisa. | Execution. |Ejecución. | Exemption. |Exención, franquicia. | Exhibition. |Exposición. | Exhibitor. |Expositor. | Expectation. |Expectativa. | Expense. |Gasto. | Experiment. |Ensayo, tentativa. | Expert. |Perito. | Expiration of term. |Expiración, vencimiento del plazo. | Expiration of ticket. |Terminación del billete. | Expiration of time of |Vencimiento del plazo delivery. |para la entrega. | Export duty. |Derechos de exportación. | Export goods. |Géneros de exportación. | Export trade. |Comercio de exportación. | Exporter. |Exportador. | Expostulatory letter. |Carta de queja. | Express train. |Tren expreso. | Extract of account. |Extracto de cuenta. | Factor. |Factor, agente, comisionista. | Factory price. |Precio de fábrica. | Failure. |Quiebra. | Fall. |Baja. | Falsification of documents. |Falsificación de documentos. | Fancy articles, fancy goods. |Artículos de capricho (de fantasía). | Fancy goods shop. |Almacén de efectos de capricho (de fantasía). | | Fashionable. |De moda. | Fast train. |Tren rápido, acelerado. | Fee. |Honorario. | Final balance. |Balance final. | Fine. |Multa. | Finish. |Acabado. | Fire insurance. |Seguro contra incendios. | Firm. |Casa. | Fixed price. |Precio fijo. | Flag. |Bandera. | Floating debt. |Deuda flotante. | Flotsam. |Objetos flotantes. | Flotsam rights. |Derechos litorales. | Fluctuation. |Fluctuación. | Foot-board. |Estribo, marchapié. | Forced (compulsory) loan. |Empréstito forzoso. | Foreign securities. |Valores extranjeros. | Foremast. |Palo de trinquete. | Forgery. |Falsificación. | Form. |Formulario, modelo. | Forwarding. |Expedición. | Forwarding agent. |Expedidor. | Forwarding business. |Comercio de expedición. | Forwarding of luggage. |Expedición del equipaje. | Fraud. |Fraude. | Fraudulent declaration. |Declaración fraudulenta. | Free luggage. |Equipaje libre, gratis. | Free passage. |Pasaje gratuito. | Free port. |Puerto libre, franco. | Free trade. |Libre cambio. | Freight. |Flete. | Freight list. |Sobordo. | Freighter. |Fletador. | Frigate. |Fragata. | Full power of attorney. |Poder general. | Fund. |Fondo. | Gain. |Ganancia. | Gauge, to. |Medir, arquear. | Gauger's fee. |Medición, arqueaje. | Gold standard. |Ley del oro. | Goods station. |Estación de mercancías. | Goods tariff. |Tarifa de mercancías. | Goods train. |Tren de mercancías. | Goods traffic. |Tráfico de mercancías. | Goods truck. |Vagón de mercancías. | Goodwill. |Clientela, parroquia. | Government. |Gobierno. | Gratuity. |Gratificación. | Grease. |Grasa. | Grocer. |Especiero. | Gross weight. |Peso bruto. | Guarantee. |Garantía, fianza. | Guarantor. |Garante, fiador. | Guard. |Guardia; conductor. | Guard ship. |Buque de guardia. | Guidance, for your. |Para su gobierno. | Harbour. |Puerto. | Hardware. |Quincallería. | Hawker. |Buhonero; vendedor ambulante. | Head office. |Oficina principal, casa matriz. | Head storekeeper. |Jefe del almacén. | Heavy goods. |Mercancías pesadas (de peso). | Heavy sea. |Mar gruesa. | Helm. |Timón. | Helmsman. |Timonel. | High pressure. |Alta presión. | High road. |Camino real. | High sea. |Alta mar. | Highest rate. |Tipo más alto. | Hogshead. |Bocoy. | Hold (of a ship). |Bodega. | Holder. |Portador. | Holiday. |Día de fiesta. | Home market. |Mercado interior. | Hoop. |Fleje; aro, cerco. | Horse-power. |Fuerza de caballos. | Hot air heating. |Calefacción de aire. | House. |Casa. | Hull (of a ship). |Casco. | Immovables. |Bienes raíces. | Import duty. |Derechos de importación. | Import goods. |Géneros de importación. | Import trade. |Comercio de importación. | Importer. |Importador. | Improvement. |Mejora. | Inadvertence. |Inadvertencia. | Inclined plane. |Plano inclinado. | Income tax. |Impuesto sobre la renta. | Increase. |Aumento. | Increased freight. |Flete aumentado. | Indemnification. |Indemnización. | Indemnity. |Indemnidad. | Indictment. |Denuncia. | Industrial exhibition. |Exposición industrial. | Industry. |Industria. | Inflammable goods. |Mercancías inflamables. | Information. |Informe. | Infringement. |Infracción. | Insolvency. |Insolvencia. | Instalments. |Plazos. | Instant. |Actual, corriente. | Insurance. |Seguro. | Interest. |Interés. | Interest coupon. |Cupón de interés. | Interested parties. |Interesados, partes interesadas. | Intermediate station. |Estación intermedia (intermediaria). | Interruption of traffic. |Interrupción del tráfico. | Intervention. |Intervención. | Interview. |Entrevista. | Introduction. |Introducción. | Invention. |Invención. | Inventor. |Inventor. | Inventory. |Inventario. | Investigation. |Investigación. | Investment. |Colocación, empleo. | Invoice book. |Libro de facturas. | Issue. |Emisión. | Item. |Artículo, asiento, partida. | Jetsam. |Echazón. | Joint account. |Cuenta en participación. | Joint enterprise. |Empresa en participación. | Joint manager. |Cogerente. | Joint proprietor. |Copropietario. | Joint stock company. |Sociedad por acciones. | Journal. |Diario. | Journey. |Viaje. | Judgment. |Juicio. | Junction. |Empalme. | Junction railway. |Ramal. | Jury. |Jurado. | Jury mast. |Bandola. | Keel. |Quilla. | Kilogramme. |Kilogramo. | Kilometre. |Kilómetro. | Knowledge. |Conocimiento. | Label. |Etiqueta, rótulo. | Labour. |Trabajo. | Lading. |Embarque. | Land tax. |Contribución territorial. | Landed proprietor. |Propietario territorial. | Landing place. |Desembarcadero. | Launch. |Lancha; botadura. | Law. |Ley. | Lawsuit. |Causa, pleito. | Lawyer. |Abogado. | Lay-day. |Día de estadía. | Layer. |Capa. | Lead covering. |Emplomaje. | Leakage. |Derrame, merma. | Lease. |Contrato de arriendo. | Leaseholder. |Arrendatario. | Ledger. |Libro mayor. | Legacy. |Legado. | Legal aid. |Amparo judicial. | Legal means. |Medios legales. | Legalisation. |Legalización. | Lender. |Prestador. | Letter. |Carta. | Letter of advice. |Carta de aviso. | Letter of credit. |Carta de crédito. | Letter of marque. |Patente de corso. | Lever. |Palanca. | Liabilities. |Pasivo. | Liability. |Responsabilidad. | License. |Licencia, permiso. | Life annuity. |Renta vitalicia. | Light goods. |Mercancías ligeras (de medida). | Light weight. |Peso ligero. | Light-ship. |Buque fanal. | Lighter. |Lancha, gabarra. | Lighterage. |Gabarraje. | Lighthouse. |Faro, fanal. | Limited company. |Sociedad anónima. | Liquidation. |Liquidación. | Liquidator. |Liquidador, síndico. | Load. |Carga. | Loan. |Empréstito. | Local bill. |Letra sobre la plaza. | Local business. |Transacciones de la plaza. | Local custom. |Costumbre local (de la plaza). | Local expenses. |Gastos de plaza. | Local price. |Precio de la plaza (del lugar). | Local railway. |Ferrocarril local. | Local trade. |Comercio local. | Loss of interest. |Pérdida de interés. | Loss on exchange. |Pérdida en el cambio. | Low pressure. |Baja presión. | Lowest freight. |Flete más bajo. | Luggage. |Equipaje. | Luggage freight. |Flete del equipaje. | Luggage office. |Despacho del equipaje. | Luggage ticket. |Talón de equipaje. | Luggage wagon. |Furgón de equipajes. | | Mail. |Correo. | Maintenance. |Manutención. | Maker. |Fabricante. | Man-of-war. |Buque de guerra. | Management. |Dirección, gerencia. | Manager. |Director, gerente. | Manifest. |Manifiesto. | Manufactory. |Fábrica. | Manufacture. |Manufactura, fabricación | Manufacturer. |Manufacturero, fabricante. | Margin. |Margen. | Marine (navy). |Marina. | Maritime course. |Rumbo, derrota. | Maritime insurance. |Seguro marítimo. | Maritime intercourse. |Relaciones marítimas. | Mark. |Marca; (coin) marco. | Market. |Mercado, plaza. | Mast. |Mástil, palo. | Master. |Capitán, patrón. | Mate. |Piloto. | Maturity. |Vencimiento. | Means. |Medios. | Means of transport. |Medio de transporte. | Measure. |Medida. | Measures of capacity. |Medidas de capacidad. | Measures of length. |Medidas lineales. | Mechanical work. |Trabajo mecánico. | Meeting. |Reunión. | Memorandum. |Memorándum, nota. | Mercantile agency. |Agencia comercial. | Merchandise. |Mercancías, géneros. | Merchant. |Comerciante. | Merchantman. |Buque mercante. | Message. |Mensaje. | Messenger. |Mensajero. | Middleman. |Intermediario. | Mine. |Mina. | Mistake. |Error. | Misunderstanding. |Mala inteligencia. | Mixed train. |Tren mixto. | Mizzen mast. |Palo de mesana. | Model. |Modelo. | Monetary matters. |Asuntos monetarios. | Monetary system. |Sistema monetario. | Money. |Dinero, moneda. | Monopoly. |Monopolio. | Month. |Mes. | Monthly balance. |Balance mensual. | Mortgage. |Hipoteca. | Mortgagee. |Acreedor hipotecario. | Mortgager. |Deudor hipotecario. | Motion. |Movimiento; proposición. | Mountain railway. |Ferrocarril de montaña. | Mouth of a river. |Embocadura de un río. | Movables. |Bienes muebles. | | Name. |Nombre. | Narrow gauge. |Vía estrecha. | National bank. |Banco nacional. | National debt. |Deuda pública (nacional). | Naval affairs. |Asuntos marítimos. | Navigable water. |Aguas navegables. | Navigation. |Navegación. | Navigation by towboats. |Navegación a remolque. | Navigator. |Navegador, navegante, marino. | Navy. |Marina. | Negotiation. |Negociación. | Net for small parcels. |Red, rejilla. | Net price. |Precio neto. | Net profit. |Ganancia neta. | Net receipts. |Entrada neta. | Net weight. |Peso neto. | Network of railways. |Red de ferrocarriles. | Night express. |Expreso de noche. | Night train. |Tren de noche. | Nominal value. |Valor nominal. | Normal freight. |Flete normal. | Normal track. |Vía normal. | Notary public. |Escribano público. | Note. |Nota. | Notice, to give. |Dar aviso. | Notice, to take. |Tomar nota. | Novelty. |Novedad. | Number. |Número. | | Offer. |Oferta. | Office. |Oficina. | Officer. |Oficial. | Opening of a railway |Inauguración de una section. |sección de ferrocarril. | Option. |Opción. | Order book. |Libro de órdenes. | Outbidding. |Puja; mayor postura. | Output. |Producción. | Outstanding debts. |Deudas activas. | Overcharge, to. |Cobrar demasiado; sobrecargar. | Overdue. |Atrasado; vencido. | Overfreight, to. |Sobrecargar. | Overland mail for India. |Correo por tierra para las Indias. | Overload, to. |Sobrecargar. | Overstocked (the market). |Sobrecargado, abrumado. | Overweight, excess |Sobrepeso; exceso de weight. |peso. | Owner. |Dueño, propietario; (of ships) armador. | | Pack-cloth. |Arpillera. | Package. |Bulto. | Packet. |Paquete. | Packing. |Embalaje. | Parapet. |Parapeto. | Parcels post. |Correo de paquetes. | Partner. |Socio. | Partnership. |Asociación, sociedad. | Passage down river. |Travesía río abajo. | Passage out and home. |Viaje de ida y vuelta. | Passenger. |Pasajero, viajero. | Passenger carriage. |Coche de viajeros. | Passenger steamer. |Vapor de pasaje. | Passengers' luggage. |Equipaje. | Passenger traffic. |Tráfico de viajeros. | Passenger train. |Tren de viajeros. | Passport. |Pasaporte. | Patent. |Patente, privilegio (de invención). | Patentee. |Privilegiado. | Patron. |Protector. | Pattern. |Muestra. | Pawn, to. |Empeñar. | Pawnbroker. |Prendero. | Pay-day. |Día de pago. | Payable to bearer. |Pagadero al portador. | Payable to order. |Pagadero a la orden. | Payment in advance. |Pago adelantado. | Payment of duty. |Pago de derechos. | Payment of interest. |Pago de interés. | Payment received. |Pago recibido. | Pennant. |Banderola. | Percentage. |Porcentaje; tanto por ciento. | Permit. |Permiso. | Perusal. |Lectura. | Petition. |Súplica, petición, memorial. | Petty expenses. |Gastos menores. | Piece. |Pieza. | Pier. |Muelle. | Pilot. |Práctico. | Pilotage. |Practicaje. | Place. |Lugar. | Plaintiff. |Demandante. | Plan. |Plan, proyecto; plano. | Pledge. |Empeño, prenda. | Policy of insurance. |Póliza de seguro. | Pontoon. |Pontón. | Port. |Puerto; (larboard) babor. | Port dues. |Derechos de puerto. | Port of exportation. |Puerto de exportación. | Porter. |Mozo. | Porterage. |Conducción. | Position. |Posición, situación. | Post, by return of. |A vuelta de correo. | Post-card. |Tarjeta postal. | Postage book. |Libro de portes de cartas. | Postdate. |Posfecha. | Postscript. |Posdata. | Predecessor. |Predecesor, antecesor. | Prejudice. |Perjuicio. | Premises. |Local. | Premium. |Prima, premio. | Prepaid. |Franqueado; porte pagado. | Preparatory work. |Trabajo preparatorio. | Prepayment. |Pago adelantado, anticipado. | Prerogative. |Prerrogativa , privilegio. | Previous calculation. |Previo cálculo. | Price. |Precio. | Price-list. |Lista de precios, precio corriente. | Primage. |Capa. | Principal station. |Estación principal. | Principal track. |Vía principal. | Principle. |Principio. | Priority bonds. |Vales de prioridad. | Private account. |Cuenta particular. | Private and confidential. |Particular, privado, reservado. | Private carriage. |Coche particular. | Privateer. |Corsario. | Privately. |Privadamente, reservadamente. | Proceeds. |Producto, producido. | Procuration. |Poder. | Produce. |Productos. | Product. |Producto. | Profit. |Ganancia. | Profitableness. |Utilidad. | Proforma account. |Cuenta simulada. | Prohibition of export. |Prohibición de la exportación. | Promissory note. |Pagaré. | Promoter. |Promotor. | Property. |Propiedad. | Proportion of alloy |Cantidad de liga (en (in money). |la moneda). | Proposal. |Proposición, propuesta. | Proprietor. |Propietario. | Prospectus. |Prospecto. | Protection. |Protección, acogida. | Protest. |Protesto. | Protest charges. |Gastos de protesto. | Provision dealer. |Comerciante de víveres. | Proxy. |Apoderado. | Public funds. |Fondos públicos. | Pulley. |Polea. | Purchase book. |Libro de compras. | Purchaser. |Comprador. | Purveyor to the court. |Proveedor de la Familia Real. | | Qualifications. |Calidades, prendas. | Quality. |Calidad. | Quantity. |Cantidad. | Quarantine. |Cuarentena. | Quarter. |Trimestre. | Quarterly. |Trimestral(mente). | Quay. |Muelle. | Question. |Cuestión. | Quotation. |Cotización. | | Rack railway. |Ferrocarril de cremallera. | Rail. |Carril, rail. | Railway carriage. |Coche de ferrocarril. | Railway line. |Linea de ferrocarril. | Railway loan. |Empréstito de ferrocarril. | Railway share. |Acción de ferrocarril. | Railway station. |Estación de ferrocarril. | Railway store. |Almacén de ferrocarril. | Railway tariff. |Tarifa de ferrocarril. | Railway time-table. |Indicador (de ferrocarriles); horario. | Rate. |Tipo. | Raw material. |Primera materia. | Rebate. |Rebaja. | Receipt. |Recibo. | Receipt in full. |Finiquito. | Receipts. |Entradas, ingresos. | Receipts of a day. |Entradas de un día. | Receiver. |Receptor. | Receiving office. |Despacho de equipajes. | Reckless selling. |Ventas al acaso. | Rectification. |Rectificación. | Redemption. |Reembolso, amortización. | Reduction. |Rebaja, reducción. | Reduction of freight. |Reducción del flete. | Reduction of passage money. |Reducción del pasaje. | Reduction of price. |Reducción del precio. | Reduction of taxes. |Reducción de los impuestos. | Reduction of value. |Reducción del valor. | Re-exportation. |Reexportación. | Reference. |Referencia. | Refunding of duty. |Devolución de derechos. | Refusal of goods. |Rechazo de mercancías. | Refusal of payment. |Resistencia al pago. | Refuse. |Desechos. | Reimbursement. |Reembolso. | Reimbursement of freight. |Reembolso del flete. | Reimportation. |Reimportación. | Release. |Liberación, exención. | Reloading. |Reembarque. | Remainder. |Resto. | Remittance. |Remesa. | Remitter. |Remitente. | Rent. |Alquiler. | Repairs. |Reparaciones. | Reply. |Respuesta, contestación. | Report. |Informe. | Reputation. |Reputación. | Request. |Ruego. | Reserve. |Reserva. | Resources. |Recursos. | Respite for payment of freight. |Plazo para el pago del flete. | Responsibility. |Responsabilidad. | Result. |Resultado. | Retail. |Al por menor. | Retail dealer. |Comerciante al por menor. | Retail sale. |Venta al por menor. | Retail trade. |Comercio al por menor. | Retailer. |Detallista. | Retirement. |Retirada. | Return freight. |Flete de vuelta. | Return passage. |Pasaje de regreso. | Return ticket. |Billete de ida y vuelta. | Revenue. |Renta. | Rider. |Añadido. | Rigging. |Aparejo. | Right of retention. |Derecho de retención. | Right of search. |Derecho de visita. | Rise. |Alza, subida. | Risk. |Riesgo. | Rival railway. |Ferrocarril competidor. | River freight. |Flete fluvial. | Rolling stock. |Material rodante. | Rudder. |Timón. | Ruinous prices. |Precios ruinosos. | Running account. |Cuenta corriente. | | Safe. |Caja fuerte. | Safety signal. |Señal de seguridad. | Safety valve. |Válvula de seguridad. | Sail. |Vela. | Sail-yard. |Verga. | Sailing vessel. |Buque de vela. | Salary. |Salario, sueldo. | Sale. |Venta. | Sales book. |Libro de ventas. | Salvage. |Salvamento. | Sample. |Muestra. | Sample-book. |Muestrario. | Sample depot. |Depósito de muestras. | Saving. |Ahorro, economía. | Scarcity. |Escasez. | Scheme. |Plan, proyecto. | Schooner. |Goleta. | Screw steamer. |Vapor de hélice. | Scrip. |Vales. | Sea. |Mar. | Sea damage. |Avería. | Sea freight. |Flete. | Seaport. |Puerto del mar. | Seaworthiness. |Navegabilidad. | Seaworthy. |Marinero. | Section of a railway. |Sección de un ferrocarril. | Securities. |Valores. | Security. |Garantía, caución. | Seizure. |Embargo. | Selection. |Surtido. | Seller. |Vendedor. | Selling off. |Liquidación. | Selling price. |Precio de venta. | Sender. |Remitente. | Service. |Servicio. | Settlement. |Arreglo, ajuste, liquidación | Settling day. |Día de liquidación. | Shaft. |Arbol, eje. | Shallow. |Bajío. | Share. |Acción. | Share of freight. |Parte del flete. | Shareholder. |Accionista. | Shed. |Tinglado. | Sheet anchor. |Ancla de la esperanza. | Ship. |Buque. | Ship-broker. |Corredor de buques. | Ship's course. |Rumbo, derrota. | Shipment. |Embarque. | Shipper. |Embarcador, cargador, remitente. | Shipping. |Buques. | Shipping expenses. |Gastos de embarque. | Shipwreck. |Naufragio. | Shorthand. |Taquigrafía. | Shorthand-writer. |Taquígrafo. | Sight. |Vista. | Signal of departure. |Señal de salida. | Signature. |Firma. | Signer. |Firmante. | Single ticket. |Billete sencillo. | Single track. |Vía única. | Sinking fund. |Caja de amortización. | Situation. |Situación, posición; colocación, puesto. | Slide valve. |Válvula de corredera. | Slope. |Declive, cuesta. | Slow train. |Tren ordinario. | Sluice, lock. |Esclusa. | Smoking compartment |Departamento para fumadores. | Sole bill of exchange. |Sola de cambio. | Solicitor. |Abogado. | Solvency. |Solvencia. | Spare time. |Ratos de ocio. | Special train. |Tren especial. | Specie. |Metálico. | Specification. |Especificación. | Specimen. |Muestra. | Speculation. |Especulación. | Speculator. |Especulador. | Spring tide. |Marea viva. | Square measure. |Medida cuadrada. | Staff. |Personal. | Stamp. |Sello, timbre, estampilla. | Stamp duty. |Derecho de timbre. | Standard. |Tipo, patrón. | Starboard. |Estribor. | Statement. |Estado de cuenta. | Station. |Estación. | Steam engine. |Máquina de vapor. | Steam navigation line. |Linea de vapores. | Steam power. |Fuerza de vapor. | Stem. |Proa, roda, tajamar. | Stern. |Popa. | Stevedore. |Estivador. | Stock. |Existencias. | Stock-broker. |Corredor de cambios. | Stock-holder. |Accionista. | Stock-jobbing. |Agiotaje. | Stock on hand. |Existencias; mercancías en almacén. | Store. |Almacén. | Store book. |Libro de almacén. | Storing of goods. |Almacenaje. | Stowage. |Estiva. | Straits, difficulties. |Dificultades. | Stranding. |Encalladura. | Strike. |Huelga. | Striker. |Huelguista. | Subject to duty. |Sujeto a derechos. | Submarine. |Submarino. | Subscriber. |Suscritor, abonado. | Successor. |Sucesor. | Suggestion. |Sugestión. | Suit (at law). |Pleito, causa. | Sum. |Suma. | Summary. |Sumario, resumen. | Superannuation. |Jubilación. | Supercargo. |Sobrecargo. | Superior power. |Fuerza mayor. | Supertax. |Sobretasa. | Supplementary tickets. |Billetes suplementarios. | Supplier. |Abastecedor. | Supply. |Surtido, provisión. | Surcharge |Recargo. | Surety. |Fiador; fianza. | Surplus. |Sobrante. | Surtax. |Sobretasa. | Survey. |Inspección. | Surveyor. |Inspector. | Suspension of payment. |Suspensión de pagos. | Sweater. |Explotador. | Swindler. |Estafador. | System. |Sistema. | | Table. |Cuadro; mesa. | Tare. |Tara. | Tariff. |Tarifa; (customs) arancel. | Tax. |Impuesto, contribución. | Taxation. |Imposición de contribuciones. | Telegram. |Telegrama. | Telegraph. |Telégrafo. | Telephone. |Teléfono. | Temporary bridge. |Puente provisorio. | Temporary railway. |Ferrocarril provisorio. | Tender. |Ténder; oferta. | Terms. |Condiciones. | Terminus. |Estación terminal. | Ticket. |Billete. | Ticket office. |Despacho de billetes. | Timber. |Madera. | Time of departure. |Hora de salida (partida). | Time limit. |Plazo. | Tin-lined. |Forrado de hoja de lata. | Tonnage. |Tonelaje. | Tonnage duty. |Derechos de tonelaje. | Total receipts. |Entradas totales, ingresos totales. | Total weight. |Peso total. | Towage. |Remolque. | Track (railway). |Vía. | Traction power. |Fuerza de tracción. | Trade. |Comercio. | Trade mark. |Marca de fábrica. | Trade winds; monsoon. |Vientos generales; monzón. | Tradesman. |Comerciante, mercader. | Traffic. |Tráfico. | Train. |Tren. | Tramway. |Tranvía. | Transaction. |Transacción, operación. | Transfer. |Traspaso. | Transit. |Tránsito. | Transit bond. |Certificado de tránsito. | Transit duty. |Derechos de tránsito. | Transit freight. |Flete de tránsito. | Transit goods. |Mercancías de tránsito. | Transit pass. |Certificado de tránsito. | Transit tariff. |Tarifa de tránsito. | Translation. |Traducción. | Transport insurance. |Seguro de transporte. | Travelling expenses. |Gastos de viaje. | Travelling trunk. |Maleta. | Trial. |Ensayo, prueba. | Trouble. |Molestia. | Truck. |Carretilla, furgón. | Truss. |Fardito. | Trust. |Confianza; combinación. | Trustee. |Síndico. | Tug. |Remolcador. | Turnbridge. |Puente giratorio. | Turntable. |Placa giratoria. | Typist. |Dactilógrafo, mecanógrafo. | Typewriter. |Máquina de escribir. | | Unclaimed luggage. |Equipaje no reclamado. | Underground railway, tube. |Ferrocarril subterráneo. | Undersigned. |Infrascrito; abajo firmado. | Understanding. |Acuerdo, arreglo. | Undertaking. |Empresa. | Underwriter. |Asegurador. | Unsaleable. |Invendible. | Unseaworthy. |Innavegable. | Up the river. |Río arriba. | Urgent. |Urgente. | Usance. |Uso, usanza. | | Vacancy. |Vacante. | Valuation. |Avalúo, valuación. | Value. |Valor. | Valve. |Válvula. | Verdict. |Veredicto, sentencia. | Vessel. |Buque. | Viaduct. |Viaducto. | Victualling (of a ship). |Abastecimiento. | Voucher. |Comprobante. | | Wages. |Jornales, sueldo. | Wagon-load. |Carretada. | Waiting-room. |Sala de espera. | Warehouse. |Almacén. | Warehouse rent. |Almacenaje. | Warrant. |Certificado, resguardo. | Waste-book. |Borrador. | Water-line. |Linea de flotación. | Water-mark. |Nivel del agua; (in paper) filigrana. | Way-bill. |Boleta de expedición. | Week. |Semana. | Weekly. |Semanal(mente). | Weighing of luggage. |Pesada del equipaje. | Weight and standard |Peso y tipo normales of coins. |de monedas. | Wharf. |Muelle. | Wharfage. |Derechos de muelle. | Wholesale. |Al por mayor. | Wholesale business. |Negocios al por mayor. | Wholesale dealer. |Comerciante al por mayor. | Wide gauge. |Vía ancha. | Winch crank. |Manivela. | Wire-rope railway. |Ferrocarril funicular. | Withdrawal. |Retirada. | Witness. |Testigo. | Working expenses. |Gastos de explotación. | Workmanship. |Hechura. | Workshop. |Taller. | Wreck. |Naufragio. | Wreckage. |Restos de naufragio. | | Yard (of a ship). |Verga. | Year. |Año. | Yearly. |Anual(mente). | Yield. |Producto, rendimiento. ENGLISH, AMERICAN AND SPANISH COINS, MEASURES AND WEIGHTS. * * * * * MONEDAS, MEDIDAS Y PESOS INGLESES, AMERICANOS Y ESPAÑOLES. COINS. |MONEDAS. | £1, a pound. |Una libra (25 pesetas[30]). | 10/-, a half-sovereign. |Media libra (12.50 pesetas). | 5/-, a crown. |Una corona (6.25 pesetas). | 2/6, a half-crown. |Media corona (3.13 pesetas). | 2/-, a florin. |Un florín (2.50 pesetas). | 1/-, a shilling. |Un chelín (1.25 pesetas). | 6d., a sixpence. |Medio chelín (60 céntimos). | 3d., a threepenny piece. |Pieza de tres peniques (30 céntimos). | 1d., a penny. |Un penique (10 céntimos). | 1/2d., a halfpenny. |Medio penique (5 céntimos). | $1, a dollar. |Un duro (5 pesetas). | 1c., a cent. |Un centavo (5 céntimos). | 25-peseta piece (£1). |Un centén. | 1 dollar (4/-). |Un duro. | 1 peseta (9-1/2d.). |Una peseta. | 1/2 peseta (5d.). |Media peseta. | 10 céntimos (1d.). |Diez céntimos.[31] | 5 céntimos (1/2d.). |Cinco céntimos. * * * * * | MEASURES. |MEDIDAS. | 1 mile (1760 yards). |Una milla (1609.31 metros). | 1 yard. |Una yarda (91.44 centímetros) | 1 foot. |Un pie (30.48 centímetros) | 1 inch. |Una pulgada (2.54 centímetros). | 1 cubic foot. |Un pie cúbico | (28.315 decímetros cúbicos). | 1 square foot. |Un pie cuadrado | (929 centímetros cuadrados). | 1 kilometre (1093.63 yards). |Un kilómetro. | 1 metre (1.094 yards). |Un metro. | 1 centimetre (0.393 inch). |Un centímetro. | 1 millimetre (0.039 inch). |Un milímetro. | 1 cubic metre (35.3 cubic feet). |Un metro cúbico. | 1 square metre (1.196 square yards). |Un metro cuadrado. * * * * * WEIGHTS. | PESOS. | 1 ton. |Una tonelada (1016.048 kilogramos). | 1 hundredweight. |Un quintal inglés (50.80 kilogramos.) | 1 pound. |Una libra (0.45 kilogramo). | 1 ounce. |Una onza (28.35 gramos). | 1 kilogramme (2.205 lbs.). |Un kilogramo. | 1 gramme (0.002 lb.). |Un gramo. | 1 metrical ton (0.98 English ton). |Una tonelada métrica. * * * * * | TROY WEIGHTS. |PESOS MEDICINALES, ETC. | 1 pound (16 oz.) |Una libra (373.238 gramos). | 1 ounce. |Una onza (31.103 gramos). | 1 grain. |Un grano (0.065 gramo). | 1 gramme (15.43 grains). |Un gramo. * * * * * | LIQUID MEASURES. |MEDIDAS PARA LIQUIDOS. | 1 gallon. |Un galón (4.54 litros). | 1 quart. |Un cuarto de galón (1.14 litros). | 1 pint. |Una pinta (0.57 litro). | 1 litre (1.76 pints). |Un litro. * * * * * | LAND MEASURES. |MEDIDAS AGRARIAS. | 1 acre. |Un acre (0.405 hectárea). | 1 hectare (2.471 acres). |Una hectárea. * * * * * THE BEST BOOKS TO LEARN SPANISH HOSSFELD'S NEW PRACTICAL METHOD FOR LEARNING THE SPANISH LANGUAGE BY TOMÁS ENRIQUE GURRIN _Revised and Enlarged by_ FERNANDO DE ARTEAGA, HON. 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Schuyler, S.T.L. net 2 6 Charity of Christ. ditto net 2 6 Obedience of Christ. ditto net 2 6 * * * * * HIRSCHFELD BROTHERS, LTD., PUBLISHERS, 263, HIGH HOLBORN, LONDON, W.C. 40 & 42, UNIVERSITY AVENUE, GLASGOW. 133, NORTH THIRTEENTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA. * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: Multíciples=> Multíplices {pg viii} el football, el balonpie=> el football, el balonpie {pg 29} un taximetro=> un taxímetro {pg 33} un vahido, un vértigo=> un vahido, un vértigo {pg 39} el buho=> el búho {pg 64} diez y neuve (diecinueve)=> diez y nueve (diecinueve) {pg 78} viente y dos (veintidós) viente y tres (veintitrés)=> veinte y dos (veintidós) veinte y tres (veintitrés) {pg 78} flúido=> fluido {pg 115} indigno, inútil, desapreciable=> indigno, inútil, despreciable {pg 127} destruir, destruído=> destruir, destruido {pg 160} Si, Señor, hay=> Sí, Señor, hay {pg 175} Tráiga V. más agua=> Traiga V. más agua {pg 204} Atrevesmos los campos.=> Atravesemos los campos. {pg 237} Atrevesemos el prado.=> Atravesemos el prado. {pg 237} he is a friend of mind=> he is a friend of mine {pg 239} All fruit it very early=> All fruit is very early {pg 243} bound in Russia=> bound in Russian {pg 270} ejempler muy bonito=> ejemplar muy bonito {pg 272} En una Joyeria.=> En una Joyería. {pg 274} Ese diamente=> Ese diamante {pg 274} Oir hablar español=> Oír hablar español {pg 289} Es, pues, más útil oir=> Es, pues, más útil oír {pg 289} your advertisment=> your advertisement {pg 290} Conozo también=> Conozco también {pg 294} No he leído los periodicos=> No he leído los periódicos {pg 322} Vive todavia su padre=> Vive todavía su padre {pg 326} Es increible=> Es increíble {pg 333} That does not suprise=> That does not surprise {pg 333} He is a chip of the old block.=> He is a chip off the old block. {pg 350} Mucho ruído=> Mucho ruido {pg 350} quiere oir=> quiere oír {pg 351} Al freir será el reir=> Al freír será el reír {pg 354} Preciso es oir=> Preciso es oír {pg 357} Capítán, patrón.=> Capitán, patrón. {pg 387} Monthy balance.=> Monthly balance. {pg 388} Prerogativa, privilegio.=> Prerrogativa, privilegio. {pg 393} Puerto de mar=> Puerto del mar {pg 399} Departmento para fumadores.=> Departamento para fumadores. {pg 400} 10 centimos=> 10 céntimos {pg 409} 5 centimos=> 5 céntimos {pg 409} 1 pound (12oz.)=> 1 pound (16 oz.) {pg 411} * * * * * FOOTNOTES: [1] A throat aspirate. [2] In this and similar expressions the article is omitted in Spanish; as: a pound and a half, _libra y media_; a yard and a half, _vara y media_; eighteen-pence, _chelín y medio_, etc. [3] In Spain, parliament is called _las Cortes_, and a member of parliament _un diputado a Cortes_. [4] See vocabulary of business terms, page 361. [5] The par value of the pound sterling is 25 pesetas; the rate of exchange, of course, varies. See page 408. [6] In Spanish America, _la locomotiva_. [7] The sizes of collars, gloves, shoes, etc., are indicated in Spanish in centimetres; thus, size 6 in gloves in English would be size 15 in Spanish. [8] Abbreviated to _cien_ when immediately preceding a noun or its adjective. [9] The _o_ of _primero_ is dropped before a noun or its adjective. _Tercero_ and _postrero_ are also so abbreviated, generally. [10] The noun of nationality may begin with a capital or a small letter. [11] Or _Antoñito_. Spanish colloquial names are generally formed from the ordinary Christian names by adding the diminutive termination _ito_, etc.; as: _Juanito_, Jack (from _Juan_, John), _Anita_, Nancy, etc. (from _Ana_, _Ann_, etc.). The principal exceptions are given in the present list. [12] Tenses not given are conjugated regularly. [13] Smoking compartments of Spanish trains are marked "Fumadores," but smoking is allowed in all compartments provided the other passengers do not object. [14] _Desayuno_, early breakfast; _almuerzo_, late breakfast. Strictly speaking "_breakfast_" is "_desayuno_," but when it is a substantial meal, or a late one, it is generally called "_almuerzo_." [15] Or _mantequilla_ especially in Spanish America. [16] Also called _las once_ or _el lunch_. _La merienda_ (generally translated "lunch"), is a snack taken as a rule between dinner and supper, usually by children. The Spanish midday meal is generally called _la comida_, and the evening meal _la cena_. [17] In Spanish restaurants and cafés the waiter's attention is attracted by clapping the hands. [18] Tea as a meal is not a Spanish custom. See note, page 195. [19] _Buenos días_ is used till noon, _buenas tardes_ from noon till dusk, and _buenas noches_ afterwards. [20] The names of the days and months may begin with a capital letter, as in English. [21] Given merely as an equivalent. Names of papers are not translated as a rule. [22] Or less formally: _Que V. lo pase bien, Caballero_ (_Señora_). [23] Spaniards generally address their servants in the second person (tú), but the third person or polite form (V.) is not unusual. [24] Flower-garden, _jardín_; fruit-garden, _huerto_; vegetable-garden, _huerta_. [25] Or, _nunca por mucho trigo es mal año_. [26] In Spain stamps are sold at tobacconists' (_estancos_), not as in England, at the Post Office. [27] See note, page 46. [28] _Seguro servidor_ (faithful servant). [29] _Que besa su mano_ (who kisses your hand). This latter formula is little used in Spanish America, and is often omitted in Spain. Letters from gentlemen to ladies end with Q.B.S.P., _que besa sus pies_ (who kisses your feet). [30] The value of the pound sterling varies, of course, according to the rate of exchange. [31] The _10-centimos_ piece is called _perro grande_ or _perro gordo_, and the _5-centimos_ piece, _perro chico_. 
15127	----	Proofreading Team. =============================================================== Transcriber's note: The details on the edition of the book that was used to produce this eText, have been moved to the end of this document for the benefit of those who might be interested. =============================================================== PITMAN'S COMMERCIAL SPANISH GRAMMAR BY C. A. TOLEDANO 1917 PREFACE With the best intention of justifying Messrs. PITMAN'S confidence in entrusting me with the compilation of a Spanish Grammar to form part of the series of "Commercial Grammars," I set to work to produce a book which, while avoiding pedantry and the agglomeration of superfluous and intricate rules which puzzle the student, should equally avoid falling into the extreme of coarseness which debases the subject under study, or the scrappiness resulting in gaps that perplex and discourage him. I have tried to be brief and clear in the rules given. The vocabulary has been chosen carefully, avoiding the artificiality of too much commercial technology, but keeping constantly in view the object of the Series, viz., to produce grammars specially suitable for students preparing for a commercial career. Whether I have succeeded in my efforts it is for the public to judge. I can only say that, after more than twenty-five years' teaching of Spanish in all its stages, privately, at the Manchester University and in the large classes of our public Institutions, I have tried my best to give the fruits of my experience to any interested young people who may be eager to learn a language beautiful, noble, and most useful. I do not claim to have reached perfection. I only trust the book, such as it presents itself, will be of real help to the student. C.A. TOLEDANO. MANCHESTER, 1911. COMMERCIAL SPANISH GRAMMAR ALPHABET. A (_a_) G (_ge_) M (_eme_) Rr (_erre_) B (_be_) H (_hache_) N (_ene_) S (_ese_) C (_ce_) I (_i_) Ñ (_eñe_) T (_te_) Ch (_che_) J (_jota_) O (_o_) U (_u_) D (_de_) K (_ka_) P (_pe_) V (_ve_) E (_e_) L (_ele_) Q (_cu_) X (_equis_) F (_efe_) Ll (_elle_) R (_ere_) Y (_y griega_ or _ye_) Z (_zeta_) K (_ka_) and W (_doble ve_) are only found in foreign words used in Spanish. PRONUNCIATION OF VOWELS. _a_ as English a in f_a_ther _e_[1] " a " f_a_te[2] _i_ " i " magaz_i_ne _o_[1] " o " n_o_te[2] _u_ " u " r_u_le These five sounds _never_ vary, except that they are a little longer when they are stressed and shorter when they are not, as Yo amo (I love),[3] Amigo (friend), El cielo (heaven), Celeste (heavenly), Un recibo (a receipt), Interés (interest), Yo como (I eat), Contar (to count), Un buque (a ship), Una butaca (an armchair). _Y_ is considered a vowel in the conjunction _y_ (and), and at the end of a word, as Rey (king), Hoy (to-day). [Footnote 1: _E_ and _o_ are sounded a little more open when they form a diphthong with _i_ and when they precede _r_ followed by a consonant or _r_ or _l_ final, as Fernando (Ferdinand), Un tercio (a third), El tercer año (the third year), Porfiar (to insist), Amor (love), Español (Spanish).] [Footnote 2: The _a_ and _o_ of "fate" and "note" are not _pure vowel sounds_. In English the a is distinctly pronounced a-ee and o is pronounced o-oo. In Spanish the first part _only_ of the two sounds is permissible.] [Footnote 3: The examples given with their English equivalents should be learnt. DIPHTHONGS AND TRIPHTHONGS. There are no Diphthongs or Triphthongs in the English sense of two or three vowels meeting in one syllable and blending into a different sound, as "pause," "plough." Every vowel is pronounced separately and each with its alphabetical sound, only the two or three vowels occurring in one syllable are pronounced rapidly, as Pausa (pause), Reino (kingdom), Cuenta (account), Buey (ox). _A, E_ and _O_ never form diphthongs together. They may form diphthongs and triphthongs only in combination with _I_ and _U_. CONSONANTS. The Consonants are pronounced as in English with the following exceptions: B is pronounced much more lightly than in English, with no pressure of the lips, as Libro (book), Brevedad (brevity). C before _E_ and _I_--_th_ in "theatre," as La Cena (the supper), La Cerveza (the beer). Otherwise pronounced _K_ as in English, as Caja (case, box), Color (colour), Cúbico (cubic). Ch _always_ as _ch_ in "church" (never hard as in "monarch"), as Chocolate (chocolate), Charla (prattle). D at the end of a word or after a vowel is pronounced very softly and lightly, with a tinge of _th_ in "they," as Madrid, Amado (loved), Encarnado (red). G before _E_ and _I_ is pronounced guttural, as El general (the general), El giro (the draft, bill). This sound is equal to _ch_ in the Scotch word "loch." In all other cases G is pronounced hard, as in the English word "gay"; as Gato (cat), Gobierno (government), Gusto (pleasure, taste). H is a mute letter. (Although in Andalusia it is aspirated in certain words.) J is always guttural, as Juan (John), Jornalero (day labourer), Junio (June), Reloj (watch, clock). Ll--_ly_, stronger than _li_ in "pavilion," as Belleza (beauty), Folleto (leaflet). Ñ--ny, stronger than _ni_ in "pinion," as Niño (child), Caña (cane), El otoño (autumn). Q is only used before _ue_ and _ui_ (and the _u_ is then _mute_), as Querido (dear, beloved), Yo quiero (I want). R as in English, but it is always rolled, as Caro (dear, expensive), Pérdida (loss). At the beginning of a word or when preceded by a consonant it is rolled more strongly, as La rosa (the rose), Deshonra (dishonour). Rr always rolled strongly, as Carro (cart), El ferrocarril (the railway). S always pronounced as _s_ in "soap," and never as in "as" or "sure." T as in "tea," but never as _t_ in "nation." It must be pronounced softly, not explosive, as Fortuna (fortune), Cuatro (four). V is pronounced much more lightly than in English, as Vino (wine), Vivir (to live). By the common people _V_ is often confounded with _B_, but educated Spaniards will always make the proper distinction. Y--Spanish _I_. Z--_th_ in "theatre," as Zarazas (cotton prints), Zorra (fox). NOTE.--In modern Spanish Z is not used before _E_ or _I_, its place being supplied by _C_. RULES ON PRONUNCIATION. RULE I.--Every letter is pronounced. There are no mute letters as _b_ in "lamb" or _n_ in "autumn." EXCEPTIONS--_H_ is not sounded as already explained in the alphabet. _U_ is not sounded in the following syllables: _que, qui, gue_ and _gui_, as Quedar (to remain), Quinta (villa), Guerra (war), Águila (eagle), unless the _u_ in _gue_ and _gui_ has the diaeresis, as Argüir (to argue), Vergüenza (shame). RULE II.--No consonant is doubled except C and N. _C_ is found doubled in words like Acceder (to accede) when one _C_ is hard--_k_ and the other soft--_th_. _N_ is found doubled in words having the prefix _in_, as Innoble (ignoble), Innavegable (unnavigable). Also in Perenne (perennial) and a very few more words. _Ll_ and _Rr_ are treated as single letters. RULE III.--The _stress of the voice_ falls on the last syllable but one in all words ending in a vowel or _S_ or _N_; otherwise it falls on the last syllable, as Una factura (an invoice), Facturas (invoices), Hermano (brother), Cartas (letters), Ellos tienen (they have), Azul (blue), Abril (April), Labor (labour), Feliz (happy). In diphthongs and triphthongs the stress is not on _i_ or _u_, but falls on _a_, _e_ or _o_, as Reina (queen), Gracia (grace), Igual (equal), Cielo (heaven). When the diphthong is formed by _i_ and _u_ the last one bears the stress, as Un viudo (a widower), La ciudad (the city), Luisa (Louise). The numerous exceptions to the above rule are all marked by the written accent (´), as Facturó (he invoiced), Escribirá (he will write), Háblame (speak to me), Inglés (English), Alemán (German), Útil (useful), Jóvenes (young men). The stress of the voice should fall _distinctly_ on the proper syllable according to the above rule, and the attention of the student must be earnestly called to this very important point. A word in the plural maintains the stress on the same syllable as in its singular, as El océano (the ocean), Océanos (oceans), Cálculo (calculation), Cálculos (calculations), Inglés (Englishman), Ingleses (Englishmen); except Carácter (character), Caracteres (characters), Régimen (regime or rule), Regímenes (regimes or rules)--the latter hardly ever used in the plural. SIGNS. The Written Accent. The only accent in Spanish is (´). It is used-- (1) To mark the exceptions to the _Rule of Stress_. (2) To distinguish between two meanings of the same word, as El (the), Él (he); De (of), Que él dé (that he may give); Se (3rd person reflexive pronoun, "himself," etc.), Yo sé (I know); Más (more), Mas (but). (3) In the following words established by use, as "ó" or "ú" (or), "é" (and), "á" (to).[4] (4) In some words when used interrogatively, as Quién? (who?), Qué? (what?), Cuál? (which?), Cúyo? (whose?), Dónde? (where?). (5) On _I_ and _U_ when they occur together with _A, E_ or _O_, the _I_ or _U_ not belonging to the same syllable, viz., not forming diphthong with _A, E_ or _O_, as Filosofía (philosophy), El continúa (he continues). (6) On _I_ following _U_ when the _I_ does not form a diphthong, but stands as a separate syllable, as Concluído (concluded), Imbuído (imbued). (7) On Éste (this), Ése and Aquél (that) when these words are stressed. [Footnote 4: According to the last edition of the Grammar of the Spanish Academy, these words may now be written without the accent.] Crema (Diaeresis). The diaeresis is placed over _u_ in "güe" and "güi" when the _u_ is to be sounded.[5] [Footnote 5: In poetry also to divide an ordinary diphthong into two syllables for the sake of rhythm.] Tilde. The tilde (~) is used on the letter _N_ to turn it into _Ñ_, as Mañana (morning) (in old Spanish spelt Mannana). Notes of Interrogation and Exclamation. These are used in Spanish both at the beginning and at the end of the question or exclamation, as ¿Qué quiere V.? (what do you want?), ¡Cuántos sufrimientos! (how much suffering!). Note that at the beginning they are reversed. The other signs of punctuation are used as in English. Capital letters are used as in English with the following exceptions-- (1) Adjectives of nationality are written with small letters, as Un libro inglés (an English book). (2) Days of the week generally (and sometimes the months of the year) are written with small letters. DIVISION OF WORDS INTO SYLLABLES. After the first syllable each succeeding one _commences with a consonant_, as a-for-tu-na-da-men-te (fortunately), except when a prefix occurs before a primitive word,[6] as Organizar (to organise). [Footnote 6: A few minor exceptions will be learnt by practice.] Des-or-ga-ni-zar (to disorganise). When two consonants occur together one letter belongs to one syllable and the other to the next, as-- Ac-ci-den-te (accident) Pe-ren-ne (perennial) Tem-po-ral-men-te (temporarily) In-me-dia-to (immediate) EXCEPTION--_bl, br, pl, pr, cl, cr, dr, fl, fr, gl, gr_ and _tr_ are not divided, as-- A-blan-dar (to soften) Li-bro (book) A-pla-zar (to postpone) A-pre-ciar (to appreciate) De-cla-mar (to declaim) De-cre-tar (to decree) A-me-dren-tar (to frighten) Con-fla-gra-ción (conflagration) Re-fren-dar (to countersign) A-glo-me-rar (to agglomerate) A-gran-dar (to enlarge) En-con-trar (to meet) If any of these combinations occur together with a third consonant, this of course will belong to the previous syllable, as Em-bro-llar (to entangle). If four consonants come together, two belong to the first syllable and two to the next, as Obs-tru-ir (to obstruct). _Ll_ and _Rr_, being treated as single letters, must not be divided, as-- Ba-lle-na (whale) Una ca-lle (a street) A-lla-nar (to level) Tie-rra (earth) LESSON I. THE ARTICLE. The =Definite Article= in Spanish is =El= before a masculine[7] noun singular =La= " feminine[7] " " [Footnote 7: Spanish nouns are all masculine or feminine. There are no _neuter nouns_.] as-- El hombre (the man)--La mujer (the woman) El libro (the book)--La pluma (the pen) El recibo (the receipt)--La cuenta (the account) =Los= before a masculine noun plural =Las= " feminine " " as-- Los muchachos (the boys)--Las señoras (the ladies) Los géneros (the goods)--Las facturas (the invoices) Los lápices (the pencils)--Las cartas (the letters). The =Indefinite Article= is-- =Un= before a masculine noun singular =Una= " feminine " " as-- Un amigo (a friend)--Una amiga (a lady-friend) Un padre (a father)--Una madre (a mother) The Indefinite Article has no plural, but the Spanish plural forms "unos" (masc.) and "unas" (fem.) translate the English words "some" or "any," as Unos hermanos (some brothers), Unas hermanas (some sisters), Unos tinteros (some inkstands), Unas mesas (some tables). (The Spanish words "Algunos," "Algunas," are also used for the same purpose.) NOTE 1.--Before a feminine noun _singular_ commencing with _a_ or _ha_ use =El= and =Un= instead of _La_ and _Una_ if such nouns are _stressed on the first syllable_, as El águila (the eagle), El agua (the water), El alma (the soul). (The plural is regular, as Las águilas (the eagles).) NOTE 2.--The Definite Article has a "neuter form" which is =Lo=. _It cannot be used before a noun_ but before other parts of speech used to represent an abstract idea, as Yo amo lo bello (I love the beautiful, viz., all that which is beautiful), Lo sublime (the sublime, viz., all that which is sublime). REGULAR VERBS. _1st Conjugation_. Hablar (to speak). _Pres. Part._ Hablando (speaking). _Past Part._ Hablado (spoken). _Present Tense, Indicative Mood_. Yo hablo (I speak) Nosotros (_m._) hablamos (we speak) Nosotras (_f._) hablamos (we speak) Tú hablas[8] (thou speakest) Vosotros (_m._) habláis (you speak) Vosotras (_f._) habláis (you speak) Él _or_ Ella habla (he or she speaks) Ellos (_m._) hablan (they speak) Ellas (_f._) hablan (they speak) Usted habla (you speak)[9]. Ustedes hablan (you speak).[9] [Footnote 8: The second person is only used in the familiar style, practically when in English the 2nd person would be addressed as "John" or "Frank" and not as "Mr. Smith" or "Mr. Brown."] [Footnote 9: This is called the polite way of addressing and is the form in use. Note that the verb after it is in the _3rd person_, because "Usted," "Ustedes" (which can be abbreviated as V. Vs.) are contractions of Vuestra merced (your grace), Vuestras mercedes (your graces). V. ama = your grace _loves_.] _2nd Conjugation_. Temer (to fear). _Pres. Part._ Temiendo. _Past Part_. Temido. _Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood_. Yo temo Nosotros (_m._) temenos Nosotras (_f._) temenos Tú temes Vosotros (_m._) teméis Vosotras (_f._) teméis Él teme Ellos (_m._) temen Ella teme Ellas (_f._) temen V. teme Vs. temen _3rd Conjugation_. Partir (to depart, to set out). _Pres. Part._ Partiendo. _Past Part_. Partido. _Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood_. Yo parto Nosotros (_m._) partimos Nosotras (_f._) partimos Tú partes Vosotros (_m._) partís Vosotras (_f._) partís Él parte Ellos (_m._) parten Ella parte Ellas (_f._) parten V. parte Vs. parten VOCABULARY. =á=, to, at =amar=[10], to love =el árbol=, the tree =las botas=, the boots =el capitán=, the captain =la camisa=, the shirt =la casaca=[11], the coat =comprar=, to buy =la flor=, the flower =el hombre=, the man =el hermano=, the brother =la hermana=, the sister =el joven=, the young man =la joven=, the young woman =el lápiz=, the pencil =el libro=, the book =la madre=, the mother =mas=, but =más=, more =la mujer=, the woman =nosotros tenemos=, we have =el oro=, gold =el padre=, the father =los pantalones=, the trousers =el papel=, the paper =para=, for =la plata=, silver =la pluma=, the pen =el sombrero=, the hat =él tiene=, he has =V. tiene=, you (_sing._) have =Vs. tienen=, you (_pl._) have =la tinta=, the ink =el tintero=, the inkstand =*tener=,[10] to have, to possess =yo tengo=, I have =el viejo=, the old man =la vieja=, the old woman =la virtud=, virtue [Footnote 10: The verbs given in this vocabulary and the following are regular (i.e., they are conjugated respectively as the model verbs given) _unless they are marked with an asterisk_.] [Footnote 11: _Or_ americana, _more used now_.] EXERCISE 1 (1). Translate into English-- 1. El hombre tiene una pluma. 2. La mujer tiene un libro. 3. ¿Tiene el padre un sombrero? 4. Nosotros tenemos el tintero del (of the) joven. 5. V. tiene el papel y (and) el lápiz de la madre. 6. Vs. tienen la tinta y el papel. 7. Las hermanas aman. 8. El oro y la plata son preciosos (are precious) mas la virtud es (is) más preciosa. 9. La vieja y la joven compran flores (flowers). 10. V. vende sombreros. 11. Vs. tienen las cartas. 12. ¿Compra[12] V. los pantalones? 13. El Señor (Mr.) Brown es hermano de Juan (John). 14. El sombrero, la americana, y las botas son míos (mine). 15. ¿Habla V.? 16. ¿Teme ella? 17. Ellos parten. 18. V. parte. 19. Nosotros compramos géneros (goods) y vendemos flores. [Footnote 12: The auxiliary "Do" and "Did," used in English in interrogative and negative sentences, are not translated in Spanish.] EXERCISE 2 (2). Translate into Spanish-- 1. The father, the mother, and the brother. 2. A pencil, a pen, and an inkstand. 3. The old man and the old woman. 4. A hat and some boots. 5. The shirt and the trousers. 6. I buy the tree. 7. He sells some flowers (flores). 8. I fear. 9. He fears. 10. We sell. 11. We set out. 12. You (_sing._) set out. 13. I buy. 14. He sells. 15. The brother and the sister sell. 16. They speak to the (al) man. 17. We set out for London (Londres). 18. The old woman has the hat. 19. The old man has the flower. 20. Who (quién) has the ink and a pen? 21. The father has the coat. 22. Gold is precious (es precioso) but virtue is more precious (preciosa). 23. I sell paper to the woman. 24. You (_sing._) fear. 25. You (_plu._) buy some flowers. 26. She speaks to the sister. 27. The father and the mother of the captain. LESSON II. (Lección segunda.) THE ARTICLE (_contd._). The definite article _El_ is contracted with the preposition _de_ (of or from) into =Del= and with the preposition _A_, into _al_ as-- Del extranjero: Of _or_ from the foreigner. Al caballero español: To the Spanish gentleman. These are the only contractions that occur in Spanish; with the other prepositions the article simply follows, as-- By, for, with, in, on, without, behind, the father: Por, Para, Con, En, Sobre, Sin, Tras, el padre. The following are the _principal cases_ in which the definite article is used in Spanish and not in English-- 1. Before nouns taken in a general sense, as-- El oro y la plata: Gold and silver. Los hombres ó las mujeres: Men or women. 2. Before titles denoting dignity and profession,[13] as-- El Señor Fulano: Mr. So-and-So. El Rey Jorge V.: King George V. El Profesor Rosales: Professor Rosales. The only exception is "Don" (Mr.), only used before Christian names, as Don Francisco (Mr. Francis). 3. Generally before each of several nouns following each other when they are material possessions, as-- La casa y el jardín de mi hijo: My son's[14] house and garden. Las puertas y las ventanas de mi casa: The doors and windows of my house. But-- La diligencia, devoción, y virtud de mi primo: the diligence, devotion and virtue of my cousin. 4. Before a proper noun qualified by an adjective, as-- El valiente Juan: Brave John.[15] The following are the principal cases in which the indefinite article is used in English and not in Spanish-- 1. Before a noun following the verb "to be," or other similar verbs, as-- Es capitán[16]: He is a captain. Soy francés: I am a Frenchman. Se hizo actor: He became an actor. Le elegimos miembro de esta sociedad: We elect him a member of this society. Fué elegido miembro: He was elected a member. 2. After "what" used in exclamations, as: Qué hermosa vista: What a fine view! 3. Before "hundred" and "thousand": 100--ciento, 1,000--mil. [Footnote 13: Except when vocative, viz., calling a person or as an exclamation.] [Footnote 14: The 's = possessive does not exist in Spanish. "My son's house" must always be translated as "the house of my son."] [Footnote 15: Except when vocative, viz., calling a person or as an exclamation.] [Footnote 16: Except, of course, when we particularize, as--Es un capitán que conocí en Paris: He is a captain I knew in Paris.] _Imperfect Tense,[17] Indicative Mood_. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Hablar=. | =Temer=. | =Partir=. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Yo hablaba | Yo temía | Yo partía | | (I spoke), etc. | (I feared), etc. | (I departed),etc. | |Tú hablabas | Tú temías | Tú partías | |Él _or_ Ella | Él _or_ Ella | Él _or_ Ella | | hablaba | temía | partía | |Nosotros) hablábamos | Nosotros) temíamos | Nosotros) partíamos | |Nosotras) | Nosotras) | Nosotras) | |Vosotros) hablabais | Vosotros) temíais | Vosotros) partíais | |Vosotras) | Vosotras) | Vosotras) | |Ellos) hablaban | Ellos) temían | Ellos) partían | |Ellas) | Ellas) | Ellas) | |V. hablaba (you | V. temía (you | V. partía (you | | (_s._) spoke) | (_s._) feared) | (_s._) parted) | |Vs. hablaban (you | Vs. temían (you | Vs. partían (you | | (_pl._) spoke) | (_pl._) feared) | (_pl._) parted) | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ _Past Definite,[17] Indicative Mood_. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Hablar=. | =Temer=. | =Partir=. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Hablé[18] | Temí[18] | Partí[18] | | (I spoke), etc. | (I feared), etc. | (I departed), etc.| |Hablaste | Temiste | Partiste | |Habló | Temió | Partió | |Hablamos | Temimos | Partimos | |Hablasteis | Temisteis | Partisteis | |Hablaron | Temieron | Partieron | | | | | |V. habló | V. temió | V. partió | |Vs. hablaron | Vs. temieron | Vs. partieron | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 17: The Imperfect tense describes a past action or state _in progress_; the Past Definite narrates _an event_. Ex.: I met (_past def._)] Charles, who wore (_imp._) a black hat: Encontré á Carlos quien llevaba sombrero negro.] [Footnote 18: The Subject-Pronoun may be left understood, and is generally omitted unless special stress is laid upon it.] VOCABULARY. =alemán=[19], German =beber=, to drink =bien=, well =café=, coffee =cerveza=, beer =clavel=, carnation =cliente=, client, customer =comer=, to eat =escribir=[20], to write =estudiar=, to study =exportar=, to export =extranjero=, foreigner =ferretería=, ironware =grande= (_pl._ =grandes=), large =hijo=, son =hija=, daughter =italiano=, Italian =jardinero=, gardener =leer=, to read =mañana=, morning, to-morrow =manzana=, apple =máquina=, machine =mesa=, table =mi=, my =mucho= (_m._), much =mucha= (_f._), much =muy=, very =pera=, pear =pero=, but =pobre=, poor =¿qué?= what? =que=, that, who, which =rosa=, rose =su=, his, her, their =su ... de V=., your =té=, tea =el ... de V=., your =vino=, wine =violeta=, violet [Footnote 19: Adjectives of nationality are written with small letters.] [Footnote 20: Past Participle is "Escrito," otherwise regular.] EXERCISE 1 (3). Translate into English-- 1. Mi hermano habla español (_or_ castellano). 2. V. no habla francés. 3. ¿Habla bien el alemán el primo de su amigo de V. (your friend)? 4. No, Señor, el primo de mi amigo no habla bien el alemán pero habla muy bien el inglés. 5. ¿Cómo está (how is) su hermana de V.? 6. Está muy bien, gracias (thank you). 7. ¿Compra V. papel y tinta? 8. Sí, Señor, y compro lápices y plumas. 9. ¿Quién (who) compra zarazas (prints) y géneros blancos (whites)? 10. El comerciante (merchant) que vino (came) de la Habana. 11. ¿Quién vende máquinas y ferretería? 12. Nosotros exportamos máquinas muy buenas al extranjero (abroad). 13. Estos géneros son para los clientes de V. que parten mañana. 14. ¿Ha hablado V. con Don Francisco? 15. Sí, Señor, le hablé en la ciudad (in town). 16. Las rosas, los claveles y las violetas del jardinero. 17. El amor y respeto de mi hijo y de mi hija. 18. Juan es francés y yo soy inglés. 19. Le han elegido miembro de esta (this) sociedad. 20. Las hermosas rosas sobre la mesa. 21. V. tiene mil libras (£1,000) y yo tengo ciento. EXERCISE 2 (4). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Do you speak Spanish? 2. No, but I speak Italian well. 3. Do your customers buy (any) goods? 4. They buy machines and ironware, but my correspondent in Havana buys prints in very large quantities (cantidades). 5. Who sells paper and ink? 6. The old man sells them (los vende). 7. Who writes a letter? 8. I write letters. 9. Who drinks wine? 10. I do not drink wine. 11. Do you drink beer? 12. I do not drink beer but I like (me gustan) coffee and tea. 13. Poor John is my friend. 14. What a beautiful (hermosa) rose! 15. Do your brothers study French? 16. Yes, and they study German. 17. Who studies Italian? 18. My sister-in-law studies Italian and French. 19. The merchant (comerciante) was elected a member of your society. 20. Mr. Brown is a captain. 21. John set out for America. 22. I like (me gusta) to study foreign languages (lenguas extranjeras). LESSON III. (Lección tercera.) THE NOUN. The noun in Spanish has only two genders. =Nouns= denoting =male= beings are =Masculine=. " " =female= " " =Feminine=. When there is no real gender, nouns are called masculine or feminine according to their terminations. GENERAL RULE.--All nouns that terminate in _a, ión, d_, also abstract nouns ending in _ez_, are feminine, as-- La villa: The town. La nación[21]: The nation. La ciudad: The city or large town. La honradez: Honesty. The other terminations are masculine. There are many exceptions to the above rule, principally in nouns ending in _E_.[22] [Footnote 21: English words ending in "tion" end in _ción_ in Spanish. (Note the accent.)] [Footnote 22: Appendix I--for reference only at this stage.] =Formation of the Plural of Nouns=. Nouns ending in a vowel which is not _stressed_ and also nouns ending in _E_ bearing the stress, add =S= to form the plural. All others add =Es=. EXCEPTIONS-- 1. Nouns ending in _Z_ in the _sing._ change it into =Ces=. 2. Nouns ending in _S_ do not change _unless the last syllable_ is stressed. EXAMPLES-- El amo: The master. Los amos: The masters. El cuñado: The brother-in-law. Los cuñados: The brothers-in-law. La cuñada: The sister-in-law. Las cuñadas: The sisters-in-law. El yerno: The son-in-law. Los yernos: The sons-in-law. La nuera: The daughter-in-law. Las nueras: The daughters-in-law. El árbol: The tree. Los árboles: The trees. El examen: The examination. Los exámenes: The examinations. El lápiz: The pencil. Los lápices: The pencils. El ómnibus: The omnibus. Los ómnibus: The omnibuses. El jabalí: The boar. Los jabalíes: The boars. 3. Nouns ending in _Y_ add =Es=, as-- El rey: The king. Los reyes: The kings. La ley: The law. Las leyes: The laws. 4. The following add only =S= to form the plural-- Papá, Mamá, Bajá (a pasha), Sofá (sofa).[23] [Footnote 23: Words ending in accented vowels are very few and the rule for those ending in _á, ó, ú_ is not very strict.] =Compound Nouns= form their plural according to sense, as-- Hijodalgo (a gentleman by birth), literally, "son of something"; _Plu._, Hijosdalgo (literally, "sons of something "). Ferrocarril (railway), literally, "iron railroad"; _Plu._, Ferrocarriles (literally, "iron railroads"). Such nouns are rare.[24] [Footnote 24: A verb as a component part does not change, as El portabandera (the standard-bearer), Los portabanderas (the standard-bearers).] =Haber= (to have), auxiliary.[25] =Tener= (to have, to possess). [Footnote 25: Viz. used only before the past participle of another verb, as (Yo) he hablado (I have spoken).] _Pres. Part._, Habiendo. _Pres. Part._, Teniendo. _Past Part._, Habido. _Past Part._, Tenido. _Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood._ _Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood._ He (I have), etc. Tengo (I have, I possess), etc. Has Tienes Ha Tiene Hemos Tenemos Habéis Tenéis Han Tienen _Imperf. Tense, Indic. Mood._ _Imperf. Tense, Indic. Mood._ Había (I had), etc. Tenía (I had, I possessed, etc.) Habías Tenías Había Tenía Habíamos Teníamos Habíais Teníais Habían Tenían _Past Def. Tense, Indic. Mood._ _Past Def. Tense, Indic. Mood._ Hube (I had), etc. Tuve (I had, I possessed), etc. Hubiste Tuviste Hubo Tuvo Hubimos Tuvimos Hubisteis Tuvisteis Hubieron Tuvieron VOCABULARY. =allí=, there =aquí=, here =buscar=[26], to look for =caballo=, horse =caja=, box, case =el capital=, the capital, money =la capital=, the capital, town =comprender=, to understand =copiador=, copybook =creer=, to believe, to think =dependiente=, clerk =factura=, invoice =fardo=, bale =Francés=, Frenchman =girar=, to draw, (a bill of exchange) =el idioma=, the language =Inglés=, Englishman =inteligencia=, intelligence =mal=, badly =muselina=, muslin =nunca=, never =país=, country =pequeño=, little (_adj._) =poco=, little (_adv._ and _subs._) =el porta-ramillete= _or_ =florero=, the flower-stand =¿quién?= who? whom? =seda=, silk =socio=, partner =solamente=, only =sólo=, (_adv._) only =el tema=, the exercise [Footnote 26: Changes _c_ into _qu_ before _e_; otherwise regular.] EXERCISE 1 (5). Translate into English-- 1. ¿Comprende V. el español? 2. No, Señor, estudio el portugués y mi hermano comprende el español perfectamente (perfectly). 3. ¿Quien escribe cartas? 4. Los comerciantes escriben cartas y sus dependientes escriben las facturas y algunas cosas más. 5. Mi socio ha girado una letra (bill) desde (from) Viena (Vienna.) 6. París, Berlín, Roma, y Petrograd son las capitales de Francia, Alemania, Italia y Rusia. 7. ¿Cómo se llaman (what are the names of) las capitales de España y Portugal? Madrid y Lisboa. 8. ¿Ha estado (been) V. en Holanda? 9. No Señor, nunca he estado en aquel país. 10. En este tema hay palabras que no se dan (are not given) en el vocabulario. 11. ¿Cuáles (which) son? Holanda, Portugal etcétera. 12. Estas se dejan (are left) á la inteligencia de Vs. 13. ¿No creen Vs. que son muy fáciles de comprender? (to understand). 14. Sí, Señor, V. tiene razón[27] (you are right). 15. Entonces, debemos (we must) continuar la lección. 16. Muy bien. 17. Debemos leer buenos libros y hablar en el idioma que estudiamos. [27] Lit. "you have reason." EXERCISE 2 (6). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Do you study German? 2. We study French and Italian, but my cousin studies English. 3. Does he understand English? 4. He understands English perfectly (perfectamente), but he speaks Spanish badly. 5. Does your sister speak Italian? 6. No, she speaks only English. 7. What does the Englishman buy? 8. He buys a horse from the (al)[28] Frenchman. 9. My cousin sold (past. def.) his horse to Peter (Pedro). 10. John looks for his book and his paper. 11. The copy book is (está) on the table. 12. Henry (Enrique) must (debe) copy some letters. 13. Who copies the letters here? 14. Peter copies them (las copia).[29] 15. Has Henry much paper? 16. Yes, he has much paper but little ink. 17. The roses and violets are in the flower-stand. 18. The merchant has received (recibido) four bales of silk handkerchiefs (pañuelo) and three cases of prints and muslins. [Footnote 28: "To buy from" is translated by "Comprar á."] [Footnote 29: The object pronoun precedes the verb in the indicative mood.] LESSON IV. (Lección cuarta.) THE ADJECTIVE. The Adjective in Spanish agrees with the noun it qualifies, in gender and number, as-- El periódico italiano: The Italian newspaper. La prensa americana: The American press. It generally _follows the nouns_ as in the above examples, although exceptions will be found, _e.g._, when the adjective recalls to our mind a quality which _is already known to belong to it_, it generally precedes the noun, as-- He visto sus hermosas flores: I have seen his beautiful flowers.[30] Adjectives form their plural in the same way as nouns. [Footnote 30: His flowers are known (or supposed) to be beautiful, before we say it.] =Formation of the Feminine of Adjectives=. Adjectives ending in _O_ change _O_ into =A=, as-- El sombrero blanco: The white hat. La casaca blanca: The white coat. Adjectives of NATIONALITY which end in a consonant add =A= to form the feminine, as-- El sastre francés: The French tailor. La modista francesa: The French milliner. Adjectives ending in _N_ add =A= for the feminine, as-- Un hombre socarrón: A sly or cunning man. Una sonrisa socarrona: A cunning smile. EXCEPT Joven (young), Común (common), and Ruin (base, sordid), which do not change for the feminine. Adjectives ending in _or_ add =A= to form the feminine, as-- Un comerciante emprendedor: An enterprising merchant. Una casa emprendedora: An enterprising firm. EXCEPT =Comparative= adjectives ending in _or_, as Mejor (better), Peor (worse), which do not change for the feminine. There are a very few adjectives ending in _ete_ and _ote_. These change into =eta= and =ota= for the feminine. Other adjectives do not change. +------------------------------+--------------------+------------------+ | Ser[31] (to be). | Estar[32] (to be). | +------------------------------+--------------------+------------------+ |_Pres. Part._, Siendo (being) | _Pres. Part._, | Estando (being) | |_Past Part._, Sido (been) | _Past Part._, | Estado (been) | +------------------------------+--------------------+------------------+ |_Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood_. | _Pres. Tense, Indic. Mood_. | |Soy (I am), etc. Somos | Estoy (I am), etc. | Estamos | |Eres Sois | Estás | Estáis | |Es Son | Está | Están | +------------------------------+--------------------+------------------+ |_Imperf. Tense, Indic. Mood_ | _Imperf. Tense, Indic. Mood_. | |Era (I was), etc. Éramos | Estaba (I was) etc.| Estábamos | |Eras Erais | Estabas | Estabais | |Era Eran | Estaba | Estaban | +------------------------------+--------------------+------------------+ |_Past Def. Tense, Indic. Mood.| _Past Def. Tense, Indic. Mood._ | |Fuí (I was), etc. Fuimos | Estuve (I was), etc.| Estuvimos | |Fuiste Fuisteis | Estuviste | Estuvisteis | |Fué Fueron | Estuvo | Estuvieron | +------------------------------+---------------------+-----------------+ [Footnote 31: =Ser= is used-- (1) To form the Passive voice as, Le amo (I love him), Soy amado de él (I am loved by him). (2) To denote an inherent quality, viz., forming part and parcel with the subject, as Este hombre es hábil (this man is clever).] [Footnote 32: Estar is used-- (1) To denote state in locality, viz., _to be in a place_, as Estoy aquí (I am here), Manchester está en Inglaterra (Manchester is in England) (2) To denote condition (as opposed to an inherent quality), as Este hombre está cansado (this man is tired).] VOCABULARY. =activo=, active =ahora=, now =un año=, a year =aquel, ese= (_m._), that =aquella, esa= (_f._), that =bayeta=, baize =célebre=, celebrated =cima=, top =criados=, men-servants =criadas=, maid-servants =el día=, the day =ejército=, army =encuadernado=, bound, (of books) =escritorio=, writing-desk =los fósforos=, the matches =Gales=, Wales =juventud=, youth, young age. =el lacre=, the sealing-wax =lectura=, reading =limpiar=, to clean =limpio=, clean =mayormente=, especially =médico=, doctor =el monte=, the mountain =la nieve=, the snow =por tanto=, therefore =puerta=, door =siempre=, always =sincero=, sincere =soldado=, soldier =terciopelo=, velvet =vela=, candle =ventana=, window EXERCISE 1 (7). Translate into English-- 1. Pedro es médico.[33] Él es buen médico. 2. Era un célebre médico de la ciudad de París. 3. Juan está[34] cansado y yo estoy enfermo. 4. La lectura es útil[33] siempre y mayormente en la juventud. 5. Aquel tintero es[33] de V. 6. Este es un libro famoso[33] y está muy bien encuadernado.[34] 7. Mi hermano es soldado.[35] 8. Se ha alistado (he has enlisted) en el ejército inglés por cinco (five) años. 9. El Monte Snowdon está[36] en Gales. 10. La ciudad del Cairo está[36] en Egipto. 11. Las cimas de algunos montes están[37] cubiertas (covered) siempre de nieve. 12. ¿Siempre? 13. Sí, siempre. 14. Estos tinteros son limpiados todos los días (every day) por los dependientes ó por las criadas. 15. Estos tinteros están limpios ahora y siempre. 16. Aquella ventana está rota (broken). 17. Mi hermano está escribiendo. 18. Es necesario. [Footnote 33: Quality.] [Footnote 34: A condition.] [Footnote 35: A quality (for the time being).] [Footnote 36: State in locality.] [Footnote 37: A condition.] EXERCISE 2 (8). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Who is a good clerk? 2. My brother-in-law is a good clerk but he is tired of working (de trabajar).[38] 3. The windows and doors are clean. 4. Yes, they are cleaned every (cada) morning by the servants. 5. He is speaking to his French friend. 6. He is writing a letter to his mother. 7. They are looking for some handkerchiefs. 8. Have the merchants sold the velvet and the baize? 9. Yes, they sold them (los vendieron) yesterday (ayer); also the muslin and prints. 10. Who bought them? (las compró). 11. The Germans are a very active and hard-working (trabajador) nation, and they deserve (merecen) therefore our sincere admiration. 12. Where are the sealing-wax, the candle and the matches? 13. Here they are on the writing-desk. 14. Does the clerk understand German? 15. Yes, very well. 16. My partner and I will dine at (en) the Royal Hotel (Fonda Real). [Footnote 38: After a preposition the verb is in the infinitive mood.] LESSON V. (Lección quinta.) THE ADJECTIVE (_Contd._). =COMPARISON OF ADJECTIVES=. The =positive degree= expresses the quality without any further idea of comparison, as Feliz (happy), Rico (rich). +----------------------------------+----------------------------------+ | _Comparative_. | _Superlative Relative_. | +----------------------------------+----------------------------------+ |Más feliz que (happier than). | El más feliz (the happiest). | |Menos feliz que (less happy than).| El menos feliz (the least happy).| |Tan rico como (as or so rich as). | | +----------------------------------+----------------------------------+ EXAMPLES-- Mi tío es más pobre que su hermano: My uncle is poorer than his brother. Su mujer es menos rica que él: His wife is less rich than he. Soy tan feliz como V.: I am as happy as you. No es tan amable como su primo: He is not so amiable as his cousin. _Superlative Absolute_. EXAMPLES-- Muy largo: Very long. Muy corto: Very short. Another way to form the Superlative Absolute[39] is by adding =ísimo= instead of using _muy_. If the adjective ends in a vowel, this is elided before adding _ísimo_. [Footnote 39: More rarely used and much more emphatic.] EXAMPLES-- Estas frutas son muy maduras: These fruits are very ripe. Estas frutas son madurísimas: These fruits are very ripe indeed. Estos tenderos son muy ricos: These shopkeepers are very rich. Aquellos son riquísimos: Those (others) are very rich indeed. Before adding _ísimo_, adjectives ending in _ble_ change it into =bil=, as Amable, amabilísimo. _co_ " " =qu=, as Rico, riquísimo. _go_ " " =gu=, as Largo, larguísimo. Adjectives of more than three syllables ending in _ble_, adjectives ending in two vowels, or in one vowel accented, should always take =muy= and not add _ísimo_ for the Superlative Absolute. Besides the regular forms of the Comparative and Superlative degrees, there are the following irregular forms-- Mejor (better). Óptimo (very good or best). Peor (worse). Pésimo (very bad or worst). Mayor (larger). Máximo (very large or largest). Menor (smaller). Mínimo (very small or smallest). Superior (higher). Supremo (very high or highest). Inferior (lower). Ínfimo (very low or lowest). +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | _Future Tense,[40] Indic. Mood._ | |--------------------------------------------------------------------| | Hablar. | Temer. | Partir | |--------------------------------------------------------------------| | Hablaré | Temeré | Partiré | | (I shall speak) | (I shall fear) | (I shall depart) | | Hablarás | Temerás | Partirás | | (thou wilt speak) | (thou wilt fear) | (thou wilt depart) | | Hablará | Temerá | Partirá | | (he/she will speak) | (he/she will fear) | (he/she will depart)| | Hablaremos | Temeremos | Partiremos | | (we shall speak) | (we shall fear) | (we shall depart) | | Hablaréis | Temeréis | Partiréis | | (you will speak) | (you will fear) | (you will depart) | | Hablarán | Temerán | Partirán | | (they will speak) | (they will fear) | (they will depart) | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | _Conditional Mood_.[40] | |--------------------------------------------------------------------| | Hablar. | Temer. | Partir | |--------------------------------------------------------------------| | Hablaría | Temería | Partiría | | (I should speak) | (I should fear) | (I should depart) | | Hablarías | Temerías | Partirías | | (thou wouldst speak) | (thou wouldst fear) | (thou wouldst...) | | Hablaría | Temería | Partiría | | (he/she would speak) | (he/she would fear) | (he/she would...) | | Hablaríamos | Temeríamos | Partiríamos | | (we should speak) | (we should fear) | (we should depart) | | Hablaríais | Temeríais | Partiríais | | (you would speak) | (you would fear) | (you would depart) | | Hablarían | Temerían | Partirían | | (they would speak) | (they would fear) | (they would depart)| +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 40: The Future Tense Indicative Mood and the Conditional Mood are formed from the Infinitive Mood by adding to the Infinitive the terminations: _é, ás, á, emos, éis, án_ for the future; and _ía, ías, ía, íamos, íais, ían_ for the conditional mood.] VOCABULARY. =alguno,-a=,[41] some or any (_s._) =algunos,-as=,[42] some or any (_pl._) =amarillo=, yellow =barba, barbas=, beard =barbilla, barba=, chin =blanco=, white =boca=, mouth =cabello=, hair =cabeza=, head =café, castaño=, brown, (dyed) =cepillo=, brush =cualquiera= (_s._),[43] any (affirmative) =cualesquiera= (_pl._) any (affirmative) =dientes=, teeth =dinero=, money =encarnado=, red =escoba=, broom =estampar=, to print (calico) =la frente=, the forehead =lengua=, tongue =malo=,[44] bad, wicked =manteca=, butter =moreno=, brown, (natural colour) =(la) nariz=, nose =necesitar=, to want, to need, to be in want of. =ninguno,-a= (_s._) any (after a negative) =ningunos,-as= (_pl._) any (after a negative) =el ojo=, the eye. =padres=,[45] parents =percal=, calico =queremos=, we want *=querer=, to want, to wish to have =ellos quieren=, they want =yo quiero=, I want =V. quiere=, you want =regla=, ruler =si=, if =la tez=, complexion =un poco de=,[46] a little, some, or any =verde=, green [Footnote 41: Before a masculine noun "Alguno" and "Ninguno" drop the _o_, as Algún dinero (some money). The feminine "Alguna" and "Ninguna" never changes.] [Footnote 42: Also _unos, unas_.] [Footnote 43: "Cualquiera" generally drops the _a_ before a noun, as Cualquier libro (any book).] [Footnote 44: Before a masculine noun it drops the _o_, as Un mal muchacho (a bad boy). The feminine is always "mala."] [Footnote 45: The masculine plural includes the plural of both genders, as Los padres (the parents, father and mother), Los hermanos (the brothers or the brother(s) and sister(s).)] [Footnote 46: Used for both genders, as Un poco de vino (a little wine), Un poco de cerveza (a little beer).] EXERCISE 1 (9). Translate into English-- 1. Los percales estampados y los blancos están todos prontos para el vapor (steamer) que partirá mañana. 2. Necesitamos bayeta verde, amarilla y encarnada. 3. Aquí tenemos una buena partida (lot) de zarazas café. 4. Hemos hablado á una Señora de tez morena, cabeza hermosa y ojos inteligentes. 5. La frente, la boca, y la nariz forman parte de la cara (face). 6. La barba ó barbilla es el remate (end) de la cara. 7. También se llama barba ó barbas el pelo (hair) que crece (grows) en ella (on it) á los hombres. 8. Tengo un poco de dinero y algunos libros. 9. Tenemos algunas cajas de pañuelos. 10. El mal muchacho no tiene ninguna gana (inclination, desire) de estudiar. 11. Ningunos padres quieren comprar malos libros para sus hijos (children). 12. Si tiene V. algún azúcar (sugar) yo lo compraré. 13. ¿Quiere su hermano (de V.) vender algunos libros? 14. No, no quiere vender ningunos de sus libros. 15. Mi cuñado no necesita comprar libros; tiene muchísimos, algunos viejos (old), otros nuevos (new), y tres ó cuatro (three or four) novísimos,[47] uno de ellos (of them) es bonísimo.[47] 16. Cualquier libro es útil. [Footnote 47: Adjectives containing _ie_ or _ue_ change them into _e_ and _o_ before adding _ísimo_, as Nuevo, novísimo; cierto, certísimo.] EXERCISE 2 (10). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I have some money. 2. What goods do you want (wish to have)? 3. I want some brown prints and some red calico. 4. I have no (not any) red calico, but I must buy some (debo comprar).[48] 5. Do you want to sell me any? (venderme). 6. There are (hay) many inkstands in this shop (tienda); do you want any? (quiere V. alguno? or algunos?). 7. Yes, I want some (alguno or algunos). 8. Have you any[49] bread (pan)? 9. Yes, I have some bread and cheese (tengo pan y queso). 10. Any book will be useful. 11. The teeth and the tongue are inside (dentro de) the mouth. 12. The teeth want great attention. 13. Yes, they must always be clean. 14. We want to study Spanish because it is (es) very necessary in commerce (en el comercio). 15. If you study with attention you will soon (pronto) speak and write Spanish very well. 16. John speaks French very badly but he is studying it (lo está estudiando) with much attention. 17. Do you understand this lesson? 18. Yes, I understand this lesson well; it is not very difficult. 19. No lesson is difficult if we study with care (con cuidado). [Footnote 48: "Some" and "any," following a verb and referring to a singular noun previously mentioned, are not to be translated.] [Footnote 49: "Some" and "any" are generally not translated when they are not used in a _partitive sense, i.e._, with an idea of a limited quantity.] LESSON VI. (Lección sexta.) CARDINAL NUMBERS. Uno,[50] una 1 Cuarenta 40 Dos 2 Cuarenta y uno _or_ Cuarentiuno 41 Tres 3 etc. etc. Cuatro 4 Cincuenta 50 Cinco 5 Sesenta 60 Seis 6 Setenta 70 Siete 7 Ochenta 80 Ocho 8 Noventa 90 Nueve 9 Ciento[52] 100 Diez 10 Ciento y uno _or_ Cientiuno 101 Once 11 Ciento y dos _or_ Cientidós, 102 Doce 12 etc. etc. Trece 13 Ciento diez 110 Catorce 14 Doscientos,-as 200 Quince 15 Trescientos,-as 300 Diez y seis _or_ Dieciséis 16 Cuatrocientos,-as 400 Diez y siete _or_ Diecisiete 17 Quinientos,-as 500 Diez y ocho _or_ Dieciocho 18 Seiscientos,-as 600 Diez y nueve _or_ Diecinueve 19 Setecientos,-as 700 Veinte 20 Ochocientos,-as 800 Veinte y uno _or_ Veintiuno[51] 21 Novecientos,-as 900 Veinte y dos _or_ Veintidós, 22 Mil 1,000 etc. etc. Dos mil, etc. 2,000 Treinta 30 Cien[53] mil 100,000 Treinta y uno _or_ Treintiuno, 31 Cien mil y uno 100,001 etc. etc. Cien mil y diez 100,010 Un millón 1,000,000 [Footnote 50: When immediately preceding a noun, "uno" becomes "un"] [Footnote 51: "Ciento" becomes "cien." ("Cien" is found instead of "ciento," even standing alone.)] [Footnote 52: The duplicate forms are common to all the tens.] [Footnote 53: "Ciento" drops the _to_ also before "mil"; and of course before "millón" (a noun).] The conjunction "and" is always used between tens and units, as-- Veinte y una or veintiuna manzanas (21 apples). But it is generally omitted between hundreds and tens, as-- Doscientas treinta peras (230 pears). "Ciento" and "mil" are not preceded by "uno" except in 101,000, 201,000, etc., to avoid ambiguity, as-- Doscientos mil soldados (200,000 soldiers). Doscientas y un mil millas (201,000 miles). "One million inhabitants" is translated by Un millón _de_ habitantes. (_Note_.--The _de_ cannot be omitted.) In the case of more than one million the word "millón" must be plural--millones, as-- Cien millones de hombres (one hundred million men). As will have been observed, besides "uno," "doscientos," "trescientos," etc., change the _os_ into =as= for the feminine. _Future Tense, Indicative Mood._ +-----------------+----------------+---------------+----------------+ |Haber.[54] |Tener.[54] |Ser.[55] | Estar. | |Habré (I shall |Tendré (I shall |Seré (I shall | Estaré (I shall| |have, etc., |have, etc., |be, etc.) | be, etc.) | |auxiliary, to |denoting |(See foot-note,| (See foot-note,| |be used with |possession) |Lesson IV.) | Lesson IV.) | |past participles)| | | | |Habrás |Tendrás |Serás | Estarás | |Habrá |Tendrá |Será | Estará | |Habremos |Tendremos |Seremos | Estaremos | |Habréis |Tendréis |Seréis | Estaréis | |Habrán |Tendrán |Serán | Estarán | +-----------------+----------------+---------------+----------------+ _Conditional Mood._ +-----------------+----------------+---------------+----------------+ |Habría (I |Tendría (I |Sería | Estaría | |(I should have, | (I should have,| (I should be) | (I should be) | | etc.) | etc.) | | | |Habrías |Tendrías |Serías | Estarías | |Habría |Tendría |Sería | Estaría | |Habríamos |Tendríamos |Seríamos | Estaríamos | |Habríais |Tendríais |Seríais | Estaríais | |Habrían |Tendrían |Serían | Estarían | +-----------------+----------------+---------------+----------------+ [Footnote 54: The Future Indic. and the Cond. mood of "Haber" and "Tener" are formed irregularly from the Infinitive mood, the _e_ after the root _Hab_ being dropped, and after the root _Ten_ being changed to d.] [Footnote 55: For reference only-- _Ser_ (and not _Estar_) must be used: (1) Before nouns; (3) When denoting possession; (2) When used impersonally; (4) Before Feliz, Infeliz, Rico, Pobre.] VOCABULARY. =acabar de=,[56] to have just =almacén=, warehouse =aprender=, to learn =ayudar=, to help =bañar=, to wet, to bathe, to water =bicicleta=, bicycle =certísimo=, most certain =discípulo=, pupil =disfrutar=, to enjoy =él es, ella es=,[57] it is =ello= (_neuter_),[57] it =este= (_m._), =esta= (_f._), this =esto= (_neuter_),[58] this =estos= (_m._), =estas= (_f._), these =la fecha=, the date =la gente=, the people =hermosamente=, beautifully =importancia=, importance =La India=, India =libre=, free =maestro=, master, teacher =la mayor parte=, most, the majority =el mes=, the month =mismo=, same =novísimo=, brand new =otro=, other, another =el Sena=,[59] River Seine =el Tajo=, River Tagus =el Támesis=, River Thames =también=, also, too =tienda=, shop =ventaja=, advantage [Footnote 56: Followed by the verb in the infinitive mood, as Acabar de escribir (to have just written).] [Footnote 57: "It" (subject) is most generally left understood, as "It is useful" (Él, ella, _or_ ello) es útil.] [Footnote 58: Referring to a whole statement, as Esto _or_ ello es justo. This or it (what you have just said) is right.] [Footnote 59: Names of rivers are masculine because the word "río" (river) is understood.] EXERCISE 1 (11). Translate into English-- 1. La India es una posesión inglesa de grande importancia. 2. El Sena es un río de Francia[60] y el Támesis es un río de Inglaterra. 3. Toledo, ciudad interesantísima de España bañada por el Tajo. 4. La mayor parte de estos Españoles comen en esta fonda. 5. Este año las tiendas están hermosamente decoradas. 6. Es certísimo que los almacenes y las tiendas de esta calle disfrutan de grandes ventajas. 7. ¿De quién es esta regla? Es mía. 8. ¿En que fecha escribió V. la carta? 9. La escribí (I wrote it) ayer. 10. Juan acaba de comprar una bicicleta novísima. 11. Yo acabo de comprar cepillos de dientes y de cabello. 12. La criada compró esta mañana una escoba. 13. Necesitamos comprar manteca pero no la compramos porque no queremos gastar dinero. 14. La mayor parte de la gente no quiere gastarlo (to spend it). 15. ¿Es bueno este vino? 16. Es muy bueno y también no es caro. [Footnote 60: Names of countries should not take the article (the rule is not very strict, however). EXCEPTIONS: La India, El Perú, El Japón (Japan).] EXERCISE 2 (12). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Foreigners in England enjoy many advantages. 2. Yes, because England is a free country. 3. Englishmen also enjoy the same advantages in other free countries. 4. Does the teacher help his pupils? 5. He does (Sí, Señor), but the pupils must study and learn their lessons well and work diligently (diligentemente).[61] 6. This morning I was writing a letter when my sister spoke of the bicycle (which [62]) she wants to buy. 7. Did you sell the muslins and prints (which) you bought last year (el año pasado)? 8. The merchant has drawn a bill at three months' date for (por) the velvets (which [62]) he sold to the Spanish customer. 9. Little and good is better than much and bad. 10. John is a partner in that firm (casa). 11. It is necessary to work. 12. This is George's beautiful garden. 13. It is a large garden with many flowers, roses, carnations, violets and other plants (plantas). 14. Who is here? 15. Charles and Henry are here. [Footnote 61: To form an adverb from an adjective add _mente_ as you add "ly" in English. If the adjective changes for the feminine add _mente_ to the feminine form, as rico (_m._), rica (_f._)--ricamente (richly).] [Footnote 62: Cannot be left understood in Spanish.] LESSON VII. (Lección séptima.) ORDINAL NUMBERS AND FRACTIONS. +-------------------------------+-----------------------------+ |Primero[63] 1st |Décimo sexto, etc. 16th| |Segundo 2nd |Vigésimo 20th| |Tercero 3rd |Trigésimo 30th| |Cuarto 4th |Cuadragésimo 40th| |Quinto 5th |Quincuagésimo 50th| |Sexto 6th |Sexagésimo 60th| |Séptimo (Sétimo) 7th |Septuagésimo 70th| |Octavo 8th |Octogésimo 80th| |Noveno (Nono) 9th |Nonagésimo 90th| |Décimo 10th |Centésimo 100th| |Décimo primero, Décimo |Ducentésimo 200th| | primo, Undécimo, |Tricentésimo 300th| | Onceno 11th |Cuadrigentésimo 400th| |Décimo segundo, duodécimo, |Quingentésimo 500th| | Doceno 12th |Sexcentésimo 600th| |Décimo tercero, décimo |Septingentésimo 700th| | tercio, Treceno 13th |Octingentésimo 800th| |Décimo cuarto, |Novingentésimo 900th| | catorceno 14th |Milésimo 1,000th| |Décimo quinto, |Millonésimo 1,000,000th| | quinceno 15th |Postrero, ultimo Last| +-------------------------------+-----------------+-----------+ [Footnote 63: Ordinal adjectives agree in gender and number with the noun they accompany or for which they stand. Final _o_ changes into _a_ for the feminine, and the plural is formed by adding _s_.] "Primero," "tercero," and "Postrero" drop the =O= before a masculine noun singular,[64] as-- El primer pedido: The first order. El tercer lote: The third lot. El postrer envío: The last shipment. But-- La primera entrega (_fem._): The first delivery. [Footnote 64: Eight words in all present this peculiarity, viz., uno, alguno, ninguno, bueno, malo, primero, tercero, postrero (these last two not always).] After "vigésimo" ordinal numbers are generally substituted by cardinal numbers, as-- La página veintidós: Page 22nd. Dates are expressed by cardinal numbers instead of ordinal, as-- Madrid, 20 (de) Agosto (de) 1911: Madrid, 20th of August, 1911. EXCEPTION: El primero, as-- El 1° (primero) de Septiembre (1st September). Numbers following names of kings, etc., are ordinal up to the tenth; then generally cardinal, as-- Felipe II. (segundo): Philip II. Alfonso XIII. (trece): Alphonso XIII. Fractional numbers up to 1/10th are the same as ordinal numbers, except-- (Un) medio: one half. Un tercio (_not_ tercero): one-third. From 1/11th upwards, fractions are formed from cardinal numbers adding to them the termination =avo=, as-- Un dieciseisavo[65]: 1/16. _Un_ need not be used before the fractions 1/2, 1/3 and 1/4, preceded by an integer, as-- Uno y cuarto: One and a quarter. Cuatro y tercio: Four and a third. La mitad: The half. La tercera parte: The 3rd part. La cuarta parte: The 4th part. La duodécima parte: The 12th part. [Footnote 65: If the cardinal number ends in a vowel, this is elided, as veinte--un veintavo (1/20th). If it ends in _ce_ the _c_ is changed into _z_ as, doce--un dozavo (1/12th).] Collective Numbers. Un par: A pair. Una treintena: A set of 30.[66] Una decena (half a score).[66] Una centena: A set of 100.[66] Una docena (a dozen).[66] Un centenar: A set of 100.[66] Una veintena: A score.[66] Un ciento: A set of 100.[66] Un millar: A set of 1,000.[66] [Footnote 66: Also the number approximately, as: Una treintena de libros: (about 30 books).] _Subjunctive Mood,[67] Present Tense_. +---------------------+--------------------+----------------------+ | =Hablar=. | =Temer=. | =Partir=. | +---------------------+--------------------+----------------------+ |Que yo hable (That I |Que tema (that I may|Que parta (that I may | | may or shall | or shall fear).| or shall depart).| | speak). | | | | " tu hables | " temas | " partas | | " él hable | " tema | " parta | | " nosotros hablemos| " temamos | " partamos | | " vosotros habléis | " temáis | " partáis | | " ellos hablen | " teman | " partan | +---------------------+--------------------+----------------------+ [Footnote 67: This tense is formed from the first person singular of the present indicative by changing the last vowel into =e= for the 1st conjugation and into =a= for the 2nd and 3rd conjugations. These remain the ruling vowels throughout the tense. N.B.--The Subjunctive Mood occurs only in dependent sentences when the action is not expressed in a positive manner but is doubtful or merely contingent.] VOCABULARY. =actual=, present =al por mayor, por menor=, wholesale, retail =arroz=, rice =artículo=, article =asociación de obreros=, trade union =blanquear=, to bleach =ya caigo=, I understand, I see =colocar=, to place =*conseguir=, to get =consignación=, consignment =contenido=, contents =decadencia=, decadence =delegado=, delegate =demasiado=, too, too much =difícil=, difficult =driles labrados=, figured drills =driles lisos=, plain drills =entrar á reinar=, to begin to reign =escoger, *elegir=, to choose, to select =extraño=, strange, queer, funny =el germen=, the germ =grueso=, thick, stout =hallar=, to find =ilustrado=, enlightened =incluyendo=, enclosing =limitar=, to limit =mientrastanto=, meanwhile =*obtener=, to get =peso=, weight =poder=, power =podríamos=, we should be able to, might, could =próximo=, next =rebaja=, abatement =rebajar, *reducir=, reduce, to abate =reducción=, abatement, reduction =reunión=, meeting =*salir=, to come, to go, out =*salir en=, to come to =solo= (_adj._), alone =sólo, solamente= (_adv._), only =sujeto á=, subject to =sumar=, to add =tocino=, bacon =tomar=, to take =varios=, several =verificarse=, to take place[68] =*verse obligado á=, to be compelled to[69] [Footnote 68: Lit.: _to verify itself_.] [Footnote 69: Lit.: _to see oneself obliged_.] EXERCISE 1 (13). Translate into English-- 1. ¿Cuál envío han recibido Vs.? 2. Nos han llegado el primero y el cuarto, pero el tercer lote no ha llegado todavía. 3. El postrer hombre á entrar en la reunión fué el delegado de la asociación de obreros. 4. ¿(A) cuánto por libra cuesta este tocino? 5. Al por menor sale en seis peniques y cuarto, pero al por mayor podríamos darlo á cinco y tercio ó talvez un poquito menos, digamos (say) cinco y cinco dieciseisavos. 6. ¿Puede V. sumar tres dozavos y siete quinzavos? 7. Sí, Señor, esto hace ciento veintinueve cientiochentavos. 8. ¡Qué fracción tan extraña! 9. Lo es en efecto pero se da (it is given)[70] sólo por ejemplo. 10. ¡Ah, ya caigo! 11. Felipe II entró á reinar en 1556. Ningún soberano (sovereign) de Europa podía competir en poder y en Estados con él, pero ya desde ese tiempo se observan (are observed)[70] los gérmenes de la decadencia que se verificó después. 12. Alfonso XIII actual rey de España es un monarca ilustrado y constitucional. 13. La nueva España espera mucho de él. 14. El primero y el quince de cada (each) mes, la Compañía efectúa (effects) sus pagos. 15. Hoy estamos á (to-day is) cinco de Junio de 1911. [Footnote 70: The verb with SE is _reflexive_ or _passive_: se da, _it gives itself_ or _it is given_; se observan, _they observe themselves_ or _are observed_.] EXERCISE 2 (14). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I shall be compelled (me veré obligado á) to abandon this undertaking. It is too difficult. 2. We received a consignment of rice, but the price demanded (pedido), 2-15/16d. a lb., is too dear; we shall never be able (nunca podremos) to get it; a better quality (calidad), whiter and stouter, was placed at 2-29/32d. but (sólo) a few days ago (hace algunos días). 3. If you cannot sell your plain and figured drills at the figures quoted it will be necessary to abate the price. 4. I shall accept those bleached linens subject to an abatement of 5 per cent. 5. We shall consult our partners; meanwhile let us leave (dejemos)[71] the matter in abeyance (en suspenso). 6. He has chosen several designs (diseños, dibujos) for his lot of prints, but he finds that three of them are wrong (están equivocados). 7. Some firms always give wrong (falsos, inexactos) weights in their declarations. 8. He ordered the wrong article (un ... por otro). 9. You are wrong (V. se equivoca), it is the right (justo, exacto) article. 10. This cloth is finished on the wrong side (al revés). 11. We received your favour (su atenta) of 10th instant (del corriente), enclosing copy of your previous letter 1st ult. (p°, p°.) and have taken note of its contents. 12. By next mail (mala) we shall send you all the details required (que Vs. necesitan). [Footnote 71: The Imperative Mood is like the Pres. Subj., except in the 2nd Person.] LESSON VIII. (Lección octava.) PERSONAL PRONOUNS. We shall divide the Personal Pronouns into Subject Pronouns and Object Pronouns.[72] [Footnote 72: Grammarians often give the names-- Nominative case for the Subject pronouns Accusative " " " Direct object pronouns Dative " " " Indirect object pronouns] +----------------------------------------------------+ | Subject Pronouns. | +--------------------------+-------------------------+ |Yo (I) |Nosotros,-as (we) | |Tú (thou) |Vosotros,-as (you) | |Él (he, or it, _m._) |Ellos,-as (they) | |Ella (she, or it, _f._) |Ello (_neuter_), | | |(it, referring to a | | | whole statement) | +--------------------------+-------------------------+ Instead of "Tú" or "Vosotros,-as," =V=. and =Vs=. are used in general conversation as already stated (the verb following in the 3rd person). N.B.--These pronouns are left understood when no emphasis is required or where no ambiguity is possible, as-- (Yo) compro las telas: I buy the cloths. (Él) gira las letras y firma las cartas: He draws the bills and signs the letters. (Ella) ha tenido una entrevista con su abogado: She has had an interview with her barrister, lawyer or solicitor. But-- Yo he comprado la partida de ferretería y quincalla y no V.: _I_ have bought the lot of ironware and small ware and not _you_. =Object Pronouns=. These are divided into two classes--1. =Disjunctive=, viz., following a preposition-- Mí (me) Nosotros-as (us) Tí (thee) Vosotros-as (you) Él (him, it, _m._) Ellos-as (them) Ella (her, it, _f._) Ello (_neuter_) (it, referring to a whole statement) V. (you, sing.) Vs. (you, pl.) EXAMPLES-- Ellos hablan de mí: They speak of me. Nosotros trabajamos para él: We work for him. Ella confía en tí, en V.: She trusts thee, you. V. se declara contra ellos: You declare against them. 2. =Conjunctive=, viz., _direct_ or _indirect object_ of verb (without a preposition). Él me[73] ama (he loves me) Él nos ama (he loves us) Él te ama (he loves thee) Él os ama (he loves you) Él lo _or_ le ama (he loves Él los ama (he loves them, him, it, _m._) _m._) Él la ama (he loves her, Él las ama (he loves them, or it, _f._) _f._) [Footnote 73: N.B.--In the conjunctive form the 1st and 2nd persons are the same for both direct and indirect objects, but the 3rd pers. differs.] EXAMPLES of _Indirect Object_-- Él me da he gives me (to me) Él te da he gives thee (to thee) Él le da he gives him (to him), her (to her), it (to it) Él nos da he gives us (to us) Él os da he gives you (to you) Él les da he gives them (to them, _m._ and _f._) The direct and indirect object of verb may also be rendered by the pronoun in the Disjunctive form preceded by =á=, as-- á mí me _or_ to me direct and indirect object á tí thee _or_ to thee " " " " á él him _or_ to him, " " " " it _(m.) or_ " " " " to it _(m.)_ " " " " á ella her _or_ to her, " " " " it _(f.) or_ " " " " to it _(f.)_ " " " " á nosotros-as us _or_ to us " " " " á vosotros-as you _or_ to you " " " " á ellos them _or_ " " " " to them _(m.)_ " " " " á ellas them _or_ " " " " to them _(f.)_ " " " " We have then a double form for the pronouns used as direct and indirect object of verb--one Conjunctive, the other Disjunctive. The =Conjunctive= form is that in general use. The =Disjunctive= form is employed when emphasis or distinctness is required. It is seldom used alone,[74] Spaniards preferring to use it as a repetition after having used the Conjunctive form, as-- Él me ama á mí: He loves _me_. Él nos vende á nosotros géneros estampados y á V. géneros de fantasía: He sells to _us_ printed cloth and to _you_ fancies. Yo le quiero ver á él y no á ella: I wish to see _him_ and not _her_. Déle V. el dinero á él y los libros á ella. Give _him_ the money and _her_ the books. Dé V. el dinero á él y los libros á ella. Give _him_ the money and _her_ the books. [Footnote 74: In sentences like "Le pagarán más que á mí" (they will pay _him_ more than _me_), "me pagarán" is understood after _que_.] VOCABULARY. =acero=, steel =antes=, before--in point of time =asunto= (_not_ =sujeto=), the subject-matter =Bolsa=, the Exchange =calcular=, to calculate =celebrarse=, to be celebrated, to take place =compañía anónima=, limited company =*concebir=, to conceive =conjunción=, conjunction =desfavorable=, unfavourable =donde=, where =emisión=, issue, of loans, etc. =emplearse=, to be employed, to be used =espalda=, shoulder (back) =explicar= to explain =explanar= to explain =falta de aceptación=, non-acceptance =falta de pago=, non-payment =la frase=, the phrase, sentence =ganancias y pérdidas=, profits and losses =el gerente=, the manager =*gobernar=, to govern =*haber=, there to be[75] =hay=, there is[75] =hay=, there are =el hecho=, the fact =la ley=, the law =llamar=, to call =más adelante=, later on =la mente=, the mind =los negocios=, the business =Pascua=, Easter =posición=, position =proyecto=, scheme, plan =pues, entonces=, then =regresar=, to come or go back =*saber=, to know =la semana pasada=, last week =sírvase V=., please =tenga la bondad de=, please =tratar=, to try =*valer=, to be worth =valor=, courage =*volver=, to turn, to go back, to turn back [Footnote 75: As an impersonal verb, "haber" makes "hay" instead of "ha" in the Pres. Indicative.] EXERCISE 1 (15). Translate into English-- 1. ¿Usamos nunca el modo subjuntivo en una frase principal? 2. No, Señor, aunque hay quien lo diga (some who say so). 3. ¿Dónde lo empleamos pues? 4. En frases dependientes de ciertos verbos y conjunciones. 5. ¿Y cómo sabemos que después de éstos se debe emplear el verbo (must be used) en subjuntivo? 6. Porque entonces la acción del verbo es representada[76] sólo como concebida en la mente y no se habla de ella como de un hecho. 7. ¿Nos explicará V. esta regla otra vez más adelante? 8. Sí. No hago más que introducir (I only introduce) el asunto. 9. Tan pronto como (as soon as) volvemos la espalda, nuestros negocios principian á sufrir. 10. Un caballero no hace nunca nada en espalda de otro, sino que (but) habla claro, y tiene el valor de sus opiniones. 11. ¿Cuándo regresará el gerente del Banco? 12. Estará de vuelta (he will be back) hoy en quince. 13. Debe asistir á (attend) la reunión de Directores que se celebrará en Londres á primeros del mes que viene (at the beginning of next month). 14. El mercado de Coloniales (Colonial produce) carece de (lacks) animación. 15. Carecemos de noticias del vapor en que van los granos (carrying the grain). 16. ¿Cómo han salido Vs. de aquella especulación en las minas de cobre (copper mines)? 17. Hemos salido muy mal, la relación semestral (half-yearly report) de la compañía hace constar (shows) una situación muy desfavorable y no habrá dividendo este año. 18. Talvez se remedien las cosas (things) el año próximo. 19. Hay que esperarlo (let us hope so). [Footnote 76: _Or_ se representa.] EXERCISE 2 (16). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We beg to confirm (confirmamos)[77] our cable (cable) of last week. 2. They calculated their profits and losses. 3. I calculate upon doing it (cuento con hacerlo) before Easter. 4. This is not calculated to produce (no se cree que esto producirá) any bad impression. 5. He called him to his house. 6. We take the liberty to call your attention to the position of your account (nos tomamos la libertad de dirigir ...). 7. The creditors were called (convocados) to a meeting. 8. I was called away (tuve que ausentarme). 9. I shall call at (pasaré por) the exchange. 10. All the old issues were called in (se recogieron). 11. The "Shannon" will call at (hará escala en) Cádiz. 12. They will make a call (pedirán una cuota) of £1 per share. 13. This steel is worth much less than that. 14. It is not worth (no vale la pena de) buying. 15. This limited company is worth (posee) £50,000. 16. This scheme is worthy of study (merece ser estudiado). 17. Please protest the bill in case of non-acceptance and then again for non-payment. 18. The law of supply and demand (demanda y oferta) governs the markets of the world (mundo). 19. The deeds (las actas) were all signed by a notary (notario). 20. Kindly take due note (debida _or_ buena nota) of our signature at foot (firma al pie). 21. All our efforts (esfuerzos) have been of no avail (en balde, en vano). 22. In vain (en balde, en vano) we tried. [Footnote 77: Do not translate "beg" before an infinitive. LESSON IX. (Lección novena.) PERSONAL PRONOUNS (_contd._). Pronouns in the Disjunctive form occupy the same position in the sentence as they do in English. Pronouns in the Conjunctive form precede the verb, as-- Él los compró: He bought them. Yo le mostraré á V. mi libro mayor y mi diario: I shall show you my ledger and journal or day-book. Mi cajero les pagará lo que les debo: My cashier will pay you what I owe you. Nos ha exhibido su libro de facturas: He showed us his invoice book. Me cedió los valores y efectos en cartera: He made over to me his stock of securities and bills. El corredor le vió en la agencia de los vapores: The broker saw him at the steamship agent's. EXCEPTIONS-- 1. When a sentence begins with a verb, especially if the sentence is a long one, the Conjunctive pronoun _may_ follow the verb, _except when this is in the Subjunctive Mood_, as-- Bonificóle esta cantidad en cuenta corriente para no perder el cliente: He credited him the amount in A/c current in order not to lose his customer. N.B.--Students should not indulge in this liberty until they have acquired practice in the language. In conversation this change seldom occurs. When the change is used the Subject Pronoun is generally left understood. 2. When the verb is in the Infinitive Mood, Gerund, or Imperative Mood,[78] the Conjunctive Pronoun _must_ follow, and is joined to the verb to form one word: as-- Lo mejor con estos géneros es venderlos en subasta: The best thing with these goods is to sell them by auction. Abandonándole la ganancia acabaremos con el asunto: By giving up the profit to him, we shall end the matter. Refiéralos V. á los armadores: Refer them to the shipowners. Hágannos Vs. esta bonificación: Make us this allowance. Cárguenos en cuenta este renglón: Debit this line to our account. Abónenle la suma que reclama: Credit him with the amount he claims. [Footnote 78: By Imperative Mood, we mean Imperative Mood Affirmative. In Spanish there is no imperative mood negative, its place being taken by the Present Subjunctive, as-- Háblale tú: Speak to him. No le hables tú: Do not speak to him.] If two Conjunctive pronouns meet, contrary to the English general rule, the pronoun which stands as indirect object precedes the pronoun standing as direct object,[79] as-- Ellos nos lo garantizan: They guarantee it to us. If these two pronouns are both in the 3rd person, the indirect object is changed into =Se=, as-- Nosotros se lo vendimos: We sold it to him. V. se lo mandó (á ella)[80]: You sent it to her. Nosotros se lo aconsejamos (á ellos)[80]: We gave them that advice. Yo se lo digo (á V.)[80]: I tell it to you. [Footnote 79: Combinations of _me_ and _te_ are _very rare_, and then _te_ precedes whether direct or indirect object, the context clearly showing the meaning. In such cases it is better, however, to use a disjunctive form, for the indirect object, as-- Él te da á mí: He gives thee to me. Él me da á tí: He gives me to thee.] [Footnote 80: _Á él, á ella, á V._, etc., may be added for clearness, when otherwise ambiguity might occur.] VOCABULARY. =administrador=, manager (of a branch house, etc.) =arancel=, custom-house tariff =aviso=, advice, notice =confianza=, trust, confidence =constantemente=, constantly =conveniente=, convenient, suitable =correo=, post, post office =*dar aviso=, to inform, to give notice to leave =*dar aviso de despedida=, to give notice of dismissal =de moda=, fashionable =devolver=, to give or send back =efectuar=, to effect =favorable=, favourable =fijar=, to fix =holgazán, haragán=, lazy =honrar=, to honour =indicar=, to indicate, to point out =largo=, long =noticia, noticias=, news =*poner en condiciones=, to enable =por=, _or_ =de, su cuenta=, on his account =el sobre=, the envelope =tomar nota=, to take note, to notice =venta=, sale EXERCISE 1 (17). Translate into English-- 1. Me aprecia. Te necesita. Le manda. Lo cree. Nos halla. Os busca. 2. Son géneros de moda, los vende muy bien. 3. Son buenas plumas, las usamos constantemente. 4. Me escribe que te envía los sobres. 5. Le indica el medio más conveniente. 6. Nos honra con (with) su confianza. 7. Os fija sus límites. 8. Les da su cotización. 9. Creernos. 10. Mandarnos los presupuestos (estimates). 11. Venderles á crédito. 12. Dándonos sus instrucciones tan claras, nos pone en condiciones de servirle á toda su satisfacción (his entire satisfaction). 13. Dígannos Vs. (tell us) la verdad. 14. Él me lo escribió. 15. Nosotros te lo mandaremos. 16. Él nos lo explicó. 17. Yo os lo enviaré. 18. Se lo escribiremos á él. 19. Se lo explicaremos á ella. 20. Compraron los géneros y se los vendieron á ellos. 21. Vendieron las telas y se las mandaron á ellas. 22. ¿Me lo dice V. (do you say) á mí? 23. Sí, Señor, se lo digo á V. mismo (I say it to you yourself) 24. Yo mismo lo mandé. 25. V. mismo me lo ha escrito. 26. Nosotros mismos no podríamos (could not) hacerlo mejor. 27. Él me lo dió (gave) á mí, y yo se lo entregué á él. 28. Su socio es mejor que él, y él es mejor que ella. EXERCISE 2 (18). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Did you see (vió V.) the new Custom House tariff? 2. Yes, I saw (ví) it. 3. It is more favourable to us than the old. 4. We sent it to the manager of our Liverpool branch (sucursal). 5. We sent it to him yesterday; he will return it to us after he has read it (después que lo haya leído). 6. Did you give (dió V.) it (_m._) to me or to him? 7. I gave (dí) it to you, not to him. 8. Well (bien)! he says (dice) that he will not give it to me until you tell him to do so (hasta que V. se lo diga). 9. He took it with him, and we took it with us. 10. I shall take it (_f._) with me.[81] 11. Take it with thee.[81] 12. It is a long letter, but it is necessary to write it to-day. 13. Writing it to-day you are in time (á tiempo) for the post. 14. Mr. So-and-So gave more money to you than to me. 15. We have taken notice of it. 16. Take due notice of the contents (del contenido) of the letter. 17. Give him notice (aviso) of the sales you effected on (por) his account. 18. There is nothing worthy of notice (no hay nada de particular) in our market to-day. 19. I gave him notice because he is very lazy. 20. This circumstance (circunstancia) must have escaped your notice (debe habérsele pasado por alto). 21. Do not take any notice of him (no le haga V. caso). 22. I gave notice to my landlord (propietario). [Footnote 81: See next note.] LESSON X. (Lección décima.) REFLEXIVE PRONOUNS. These pronouns are not, of course, used as subject of the verb. They are used as the object of the verb when this and the subject are the same. They are the same as the other personal pronouns, as-- Conjunctive form. Disjunctive form. myself me mí thyself te tí EXCEPTION-- 3rd person for both genders & numbers: se sí EXAMPLES-- Él se ama: He loves himself. Ella se atribuye la culpa: She attributes the fault to herself. María habla siempre de sí[82]: Mary is always talking about herself. Nosotros nos divertimos al mismo tiempo que hacemos negocios: We enjoy ourselves at the same time as we do business. Ellos se respetan á sí y á otros también: They respect themselves and others too. _Mismo-a,-os,-as_, may be added to the disjunctive form for emphasis, as-- María habla siempre de sí misma: Mary always speaks of herself. Ella se atribuye la culpa: She attributes the fault to herself. Ella se atribuye la culpa á sí: She attributes the fault to herself. (more emphatic). Ella se atribuye la culpa á sí misma: She attributes the fault to herself (still more emphatic). [Footnote 82: After _con_ (with) _si_ becomes Sigo; same change with _mí_ and _tí_: conmigo, contigo, consigo, written in one word.] The pronoun =Se= with any verb in the 3rd pers. sing. or plural may be used to form the passive voice, as-- Se ha cerrado el almacén: The warehouse has been closed. Se han encaminado las reclamaciones á la Compañía de Seguros[83]: The claims have been referred to the Insurance Company. [ootnote 83: This form is preferable when the "doer" is not mentioned.] =Se= followed by a verb in the 3rd pers. sing.[84] translates the English "one," "people," "they" (_indefinite_), as the French "on" and the German "man," as--- Se dice que habrá un alza[85] en el mercado: They say, _or_ it is said, that there will be a rise in the market. Se cree que no habrá Reforma Arancelaria en Inglaterra: People think, _or_ it is thought, that there will not be Tariff Reform in England. En la vejez se goza el fruto de una juventud laboriosa: In old age one enjoys the fruits of active youth _or_ The fruits of active youth are enjoyed in old age. [Footnote 84: Or we can use the 3rd pers. plur. of the verb without the pronoun.] [Footnote 85: Or "una alza" (both used).] As will be seen, this is really a form of the passive voice rendered by "se," as "se goza" instead of "es gozado." But there are more typical examples, as-- Los géneros se han fabricado en Irlanda y se los ha (_not_ han) plegado como lienzos irlandeses: The goods were made in Ireland and they folded them as Irish Linens. A Conjunctive Reflexive Pronoun, whether direct or indirect object, always precedes any other conjunctive pronoun, as--- Yo me lo reservo: I reserve it for myself. Nosotros nos lo guardamos: We keep it for ourselves. Se me dice: It is said to me (it says itself to me). Se les venden las telas: The cloths are sold to them. Nosotros nos le confiamos: We entrust ourselves to him. Vosotros os les empeñasteis en £1,000: You pledged yourselves to them for £1,000. _Subjunctive Mood, Imperfect Tense_.[86] +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Hablar=. | =Temer=. | =Partir=. | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Que yo hablase (that |Temiese (that I |Partiese (that I might,| | I might, should or | might, should, or | should or would | | would speak, etc.) | would fear, etc.) | depart, etc.) | | " tú hablases |Temieses |Partieses | | " él hablase |Temiese |Partiese | | " nosotros hablásemos|Temiésemos |Partiésemos | | " vosotros hablaseis |Temieseis |Partieseis | | " ellos hablasen |Temiesen |Partiesen | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 86: This tense is formed from the Past Def. by changing the termination _ron_ of the 3rd pers. pl. into _se, ses, se, semos, seis sen_, in all the three conjugations.] VOCABULARY. =en la actualidad, al momento=, at present =á menudo=, often =acostumbrarse=, to accustom oneself =admitir=, to acknowledge =aparecer=, to appear =aplicarse=, to apply oneself =ayuda=, help =boletín=, form, slip, price list =caucho seco=, dry rubber =cebada y avena=, barley and oats =cifras=, figures =la compra=, the purchase =*contar (con)=, to count, to rely on =la costumbre=, custom =cualquiera=, any (_affirm._) =cuidadosamente=, carefully =declararse en quiebra=, to file one's petition in bankruptcy =dedicarse=, to devote oneself =dirigirse=, to address oneself =escribirse=, to write to each other, to one another =escuchar=, to listen to =exacto=, exact, accurate =firmeza=, firmness =industria azucarera=, sugar industry =los informes=, information =lisonjearse=, to flatter oneself =llamarse=, to be called =el montaje=, the erection of machinery, etc. =*moverse=, to be moved, driven (machinery) =operadores=, dealers (on 'Change) =partida=, lot (of goods) =perfeccionar=, to perfect, improve (machinery) =*reconocer=, to acknowledge =recursos=, means = respetar=, to respect =sección=, section =tacharse=, to censure, to blame, oneself =tejidos=, textiles, cloths =últimamente=, lately =únicamente=, solely, only EXERCISE 1 (19). Translate into English-- 1. Nos dirigimos á Vs. por informes sobre la casa cuyo (whose) nombre aparece en el boletín adjunto. 2. Se aplicaron á la industria azucarera y consiguieron buenos resultados. 3. Me he acostumbrado á este trabajo. 4. Te has dedicado al comercio. 5. Tiene mucha opinión de sí (mismo). 6. Cuenta (he relies) consigo únicamente. 7. Se debe pensar á sí y también á los otros. 8. Estos tejidos se llaman "uniones." 9. Las dos casas se escriben[87] en francés. 10. Estos tornos y estas sierras mecánicas (these lathes and sawing machines) se mueven por motor eléctrico. 11. Se los ha perfeccionado mucho últimamente. 12. ¿Se envían las máquinas en secciones? 13. Sí, Señor, y se las marca cuidadosamente para facilitar el montaje. 14. Se dice que llegaron grandes partidas de Cebada y Avena, ¿piensa V. que influirán en los precios? 15. Así se cree. 16. Entonces resultará (or resultará pues) alguna ventaja para los consumidores (consumers). 17. No puedo tacharme de imprevidencia (want of foresight) por no haberme abastecido (supplied, stocked) á tiempo, pues (because) carecía de los recursos necesarios para hacerlo (to do so). [Footnote 87: Reflexive Pronouns in the plural are also Reciprocal.] EXERCISE 2 (20). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I flatter myself that you will be pleased with (le gustarán) my purchases seeing (visto) the firmness of prices at present. 2. We consider ourselves lucky (dichosos de) not to have listened to their advice (consejo). 3. He is always speaking of himself and of his business. 4. He found himself a loser (á perder). 5. They declared themselves bankrupts (they filed their petition in bankruptcy). 6. They wrote to each other often. 7. He respects himself. 8. He himself respects old customs. 9. We acknowledge we are wrong. 10. We acknowledge receipt of your favour (acusamos recibo de). 11. We shall gratefully acknowledge (agradeceremos infinito) any help you may render (preste) to our friend. 12. We hope you will be very accurate in your figures. 13. The output (producto) for the first two months of the current year was 18,668 lbs. dry rubber. 14. The bill market (los cambios) was very firm to-day but there was little doing (poco se hizo). 15. Dealers were reluctant (se mostraron contrarios) to do business in the securities. 16. Rubber shares were lifeless (muy desanimadas), but prices were maintained (se mantuvieron). LESSON XI. (Lección décima primera.) POSSESSIVE ADJECTIVES AND PRONOUNS. A Possessive Adjective _accompanies a noun_; a Possessive pronoun _stands for a noun_. The =Possessive Adjectives= are-- +-------------------------+----------------------------+ |Mi (_m._ & _f., sing._) |my | |Mis (_m._ & _f., plu._) |my | |Tu (_m._ & _f., sing._) |thy | |Tus (_m._ & _f., plu._) |thy | |Su (_m._ & _f., sing._) |his, her, its, one's, their,| | | your, (_polite_) | |Sus (_m._ & _f., plu._) |his, her, its, one's, their,| | | your, (_polite_) | |Nuestro-a, os-a |our | |Vuestro-a, os-as |your (_familiar_) | +-------------------------+----------------------------+ EXAMPLES-- Mi embarque: My shipment. Nuestro arreglo: Our arrangement. Su sinceridad: His, her, or their sincerity. Tu beneficio: Thy benefit. Sus fondos: His funds, capital. _De él, de ella, de ellos, de V._, etc., may be added for the sake of clearness, but are not needed when the sense is clear without them.[88] In the 3rd person (but not in the 1st and 2nd) instead of "su ... de él," "su ... de V.," etc., we may say "el ... de él," "el ... de V.," etc. [Footnote 88: "De V." is added also for politeness ("V." being a title in itself--your grace).] The =Possessive Pronouns= are-- El mío, la mía, los míos, las mías (mine). El tuyo, la tuya, los tuyos, las tuyas (thine). El suyo, la suya, los suyos, las suyas (his, hers, theirs, yours, _polite_). El nuestro, la nuestra, los nuestros, las nuestras (ours). El vuestro, la vuestra, los vuestros, las vuestras (yours _familiar_). The Possessive Pronoun must be preceded by the definite article except when it follows the verb "to be" ("Ser") and ownership is asserted. EXAMPLES-- Su casa es más importante que la mía: His firm is more important than mine. V. ha acabado su trabajo, pero yo no he principiado el mío: You have finished your work, but I have not started mine. Estos títulos y acciones son míos: These bonds and shares are mine (viz., belong to me).[89] [Footnote 89: If the intention is only _to distinguish_ between one object and another the article is maintained; as, Estas son mis acciones, _aquellas_ son las de V. (these are my shares, _those_ are yours).] =Possessive Adjectives Emphatic=. If any emphasis is placed on the possessive adjectives, the forms of the possessive pronouns are used, _following the noun_, as-- Quiero la maleta mía y no la de su amigo: I want _my_ portmanteau, not your friend's. "A friend of mine," "a customer of yours" will be translated "un amigo de los míos," "un cliente de los suyos," or also "un amigo mío," "un cliente suyo," without the preposition _de_. The Possessive Pronoun preceded by the neuter article =lo= denotes "property in general," as-- Lo mío (mine--that which is mine). Lo nuestro (ours--that which belongs to us). Lo suyo _or_ lo propio (one's own property). Lo ajeno (other people's property (that which belongs to others)). In addressing a person translate "my," etc., by "mío," etc., as-- Amigo mío: My friend. Muy Señor mío (usual introduction to a Spanish letter). But if the noun is qualified by an adjective, both "mi" and "mío" are used ("mi" is more general), as Mi querido amigo (my dear friend). +----------------------------------------------------------------+ | _Subjunctive Mood, Imperfect Tense (2nd Form)_.[90] | +------------------------+------------------+--------------------+ | Hablar. | Temer. | Partir. | +------------------------+------------------+--------------------+ | Que yo hablara |Temiera |Partiera Partieras | | " tu hablaras |Temieras |Partiera | | " el hablara |Temiera |Partiéramos | | " nosotros habláramos|Temiéramos |Partierais | | " vosotros hablarais |Temierais |Partieran | | " ellos-as hablaran |Temieran | | +------------------------+------------------+--------------------+ [Footnote 90: Used just the same as the 1st form; but it may also be used instead of the Conditional Mood.] +-----------------------+-------------------+---------------------+ | _Subjunctive Mood, Future Tense_.[91] | +-----------------------+-------------------+---------------------+ |Que yo hablare (that I |Temiere (that I |Partiere (that I | | shall speak, etc.) | shall fear, etc.)| shall depart, etc.)| | " tú hablares |Temieres |Partieres | | " él hablare |Temiere |Partiere | | " nosotros habláremos|Temiéremos |Partiéremos | | " vosotros hablareis |Temiereis |Partiereis | | " ellos-as hablaren |Temieren |Partieren | +-----------------------+-------------------+---------------------+ [Footnote 91: Refers to a future doubtful action; little used. Its place is generally supplied by the Present Subjunctive, and, after _si_ (if), by the Present Indicative.] VOCABULARY. =*atenerse á= to adhere to =*adherir á= to adhere to =ajustar=, to adjust =apresurarse á=, to hasten to. =asegurar=, to secure =avería=, average (damage by sea-water, etc.) =buque=, ship =buque de vapor=, steamer =buque de vela=, sailing vessel =cabida=, room, space =codiciar=, to covet =deber=, to owe, must =debido á=, owing to =dirección=, address =encaminar=, to forward =hierro=, iron =mensual=, monthly =mercado de granos=, grain market =muestra=, sample =petición=, request =pormenores, detalles=, particulars, details =por tanto=, =por eso=, therefore =proporcionado=, =adecuado=, adequate =puerto=, port =relación=, report =representante=, representative =resto, restante=, remainder =resultado=, result =riesgo=, risk (=á= _or_ =por) saldo=, (in) settlement =satisfecho=, satisfied =siguiente=, following =someter=, to submit =(la) sucursal=, branch house =surtido=, assortment, selection =vigas=, beams EXERCISE 1 (21). Translate into English-- 1. Su representante de V. me ha sometido sus (his) muestras y dentro de pocos días haré un surtido. 2. En seno (herewith) les enviamos nuestro precio corriente. 3. Sírvase V. consignar los géneros á la orden mía y no á la (orden) del Sr. Fulano, como lo hacía V. antes. 4. Su casa y la mía están ambas (both) interesadas en esta especulación. 5. Les embarcaremos sus vigas de hierro por el próximo vapor y las (vigas) de su sucursal de Rosario con el buque siguiente. 6. Nuestro buque de vela el "Nerón" saldrá (will leave) en breve (shortly). 7. Queremos lo nuestro pero no codiciamos lo ajeno. 8. Nuestro catálogo contiene todos los pormenores necesarios. 9. Debemos su nombre de V. al Sr. Fulano. 10. Nos tomamos la libertad de solicitar sus apreciables órdenes. 11. Á nuestro parecer (in our opinion) su clientela de V. es mejor que la suya de él. EXERCISE 2 (22). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We beg (tenemos el gusto de) to inform you that your order has been placed at your prices owing to the fall experienced (que tuvimos) in our market. 2. In our monthly report, which we beg to enclose, we have stated (consignado) the present position of our grain market. 3. Please forward the enclosed letters to their address. 4. Our risk would be great and therefore we must adhere to our request of an adequate commission. 5. The average having been adjusted we now hasten to enclose our cheque for £59 16s. 9d. in settlement of your claim as per statement enclosed. 6. Trusting (en la confianza que) you will be satisfied with (con _or_ de) this result, we are, yours faithfully (somos de Vs. attos. y S.S.Q.B.S.M.[92]). 7. We have secured room for the remainder of your machinery in the steamer leaving (que saldrá de) our port on the 10th prox. [Footnote 92: Atentos y seguros servidores (que besan sus manos). The words in brackets are not used in South America and some Spanish firms also omit them. Instead of q.b.s.m., Spaniards have lately adopted: q.e.s.m. (que _estrechan_ sus manos).] LESSON XII. (Lección décima segunda.) DEMONSTRATIVE ADJECTIVES AND PRONOUNS. A demonstrative adjective _accompanies_ a noun and a demonstrative pronoun _stands for_ a noun. The =Demonstrative Adjectives= are-- +----------------------+-----------------------------------------+ |Este, esta (this). |Estos, estas[93] (these). | |Ese, esa (that). |Esos, esas_[93]_ (those--near to the | | | person addressed). | |Aquel, aquella (that).|Aquellos, aquellas (those--removed | | | from both speaker and addressee). | +----------------------+-----------------------------------------+ [Footnote 93: Sometimes "estotro," "estotra," "esotro," "esotra," but these and other forms are obsolete.] The difference between _Ese_ and _Aquel_ is not strictly observed. However, in cases like "this box," "that table," "that cupboard yonder," use _ese_ for the nearer of the two removed from the speaker: "Esta caja," "esa mesa," "aquel armario." The =Demonstrative Pronouns= are the same as the above, with the addition of-- Neuter form Esto, eso, aquello[94] (this, that). This has no plural and is used-- 1. In reference to a whole sentence, as-- El mercado del algodón está muy abatido; esto me desanima: The cotton market is very flat; this disconcerts me. 2. In reference to something pointed at, without referring to what the thing is,[95] as-- ¿Qué es eso? What is that? (thing there, whatever it may be.) _Este, ese, aquel_, etc., are accented when a stress is placed on them; _Éste_ is also used for "the latter" and _Aquél_ for "the former."[96] Instead of _ese_, etc., _aquel_, etc., before _que_ and _de_, the definite article is generally used, as-- El aumento de precio de hoy y el[97] que tuvimos ayer: The increase in price to-day and that we had yesterday. La remesa anterior y la que haremos hoy: The previous shipment and that we are sending to-day. El flete del aceite y el de los vinos: The freight on oil, and that on wine. Mis documentos y los de mi jefe: My documents and those of my chief (employer). Lo que (instead of "aquello que") escribo es la pura verdad: That which (what) I write is the honest truth. [Footnote 94: "Eso" and "aquello" are used practically indiscriminately.] [Footnote 95: French "ceci," "cela."] [Footnote 96: Esto es--namely, that is ...] [Footnote 97: It might appear to be an abbreviation of "aquel," but it is not] so. A preposition may precede _que_, as-- ¿Qué libro es ese? Es el en que escribimos ayer: What book is that? It is that in which we wrote yesterday. ¿Qué carta quiere V.? La á que me referí ayer: What letter do you want? That to which I referred yesterday. ¿Qué plumas son estas? Son las con que yo escribía: What pens are these? They are those with which I wrote. _Esta_ translates the commercial phrase, "our place," "our market." _Esa_ translates the commercial phrase, "your place," "your market." As-- El mercado en esta está muy flojo: The market here is very slack. Nos dicen los armadores que el cargamento llegará á esa el 15 del mes entrante: The shipowners inform us that the cargo will reach your town on the 15th prox. +---------------------------------------------------------------------+ | _Subjunctive Mood, Present Tense_. | +-------------------+-----------------+---------------+---------------+ | =Haber=. | =Tener=. | =Ser=. | =Estar=. | +-------------------+-----------------+---------------+---------------+ |Que yo haya (that I|Tenga (that I |Sea (that I |Esté (that I | | may have, etc.) | may have, etc.)| may be, etc.)| may be, etc.)| | " tú hayas |Tengas |Seas |Estés | | " el haya |Tenga |Sea |Esté | | " nosotros |Tengamos |Seamos |Estemos | | hayamos | | | | | " vosotros |Tengáis |Seáis |Estéis | | hayáis | | | | | " ellos hayan |Tengan |Sean |Estén | +-------------------+-----------------+---------------+---------------+ VOCABULARY. =á ese respecto=, in that respect =acusar=, to accuse, to show =al menos=, at least =barca á motor= motor-boat =barca automóvil= motor-boat =carriles, rieles, railes=, rails =competidor, contrincante=, competitor, neighbour[98] =condiciones=, terms =contra=, against =deprimir=, to depress =descarga=, discharge, the discharging =desgracia=, misfortune =días de estadía=, lay days =dificultad=, difficulty =elevar=, to raise, to enhance =está visto=, it is obvious =evitar=, to avoid =fletar=, to freight =mar alborotada=, heavy sea =mercado algodonero=, cotton market =mina de carbón=, colliery =*ofrecer=, to offer =oscilación=, uncertainty, wavering, ups and downs =perturbar=, to disturb =sorprendente=, surprising =suma redonda=, lump sum =*volcar=, to capsize, to overturn [Footnote 98: Neighbour, _person living near_: vecino.] EXERCISE 1 (23). Translate into English-- 1. Debido á la última baja que se ha verificado en este mercado, podemos ofrecerles una reducción de diez por ciento en los precios de esos géneros. 2. Está visto que el gobierno de aquella república no sólo no se ocupa de elevar el crédito sino que tiene la desgracia de deprimirlo y de perturbar el mercado bursátil (the money market). 3. Se ha repetido en ésta la oscilación que hubo en la semana pasada. 4. Los consolidados (the consolidated) han abierto á 82 y la Renta Italiana á 101, habiendo bajado más tarde aquéllos á 81 1/2 y ésta á 100. 5. El Amortizable 5% (the 5% Redeemable) subió hasta (to) 103. 6. La revista del mercado algodonero acusa una baja en los futures y la de la Bolsa un alza en todos los valores extranjeros. 7. Esto es muy natural, aquéllo es sorprendente. 8. Yo le digo ésto: lo haré. 9. Eso me conviene. EXERCISE 2 (24). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We shall ship these iron beams and those steel rails by a sailing vessel which we intend to (intentamos) freight at (por) a lump sum, with at least ten lay days for discharging. 2. This will avoid any (toda) difficulty in that respect. 3. A German motor-boat was making this week a trial run (excursión de prueba) in a (con la) heavy sea when she capsized (y se volcó). 4. The net profits of this year show (muestran, acusan) an increase of £1,000. 5. The working (la explotación) of those collieries has resulted in a loss. 6. Messrs. Brown & Co. of your city (de esa) have sent their agent over (aquí) to make considerable purchases. 7. We hastened to submit to them our best terms offering a credit of nine months against their acceptances. 8. These terms are better than those of our competitors. This is certain. LESSON XIII. (Lección décima tercera.) RELATIVE PRONOUNS. +------------+-----------+------------------------------------+ | _Sing._ | _Plu._ | | +------------+-----------+------------------------------------+ |Quien |Quienes |(who, whom) | |El cual |Los cuales |(who, whom _or_ which) | |La cual |Las cuales | | |Que | |(that) | |Cuyo |Cuyos |(whose, _or_ of which (denoting | |Cuya |Cuyas | possession)) | +------------+-----------+------------------------------------+ _Quien_ is used for persons only. _El cual_ and _que_ are used for persons and things. EXAMPLES-- El agente á quien (_or_ al cual) hemos escrito: The agent to whom we have written. ¿Son aquéllas las partidas de azúcares de las cuales me habló V. ayer? Are those the lots of sugar of which you spoke to me yesterday? Me acuerdo de las personas y las cosas que V. ha mencionado: I remember the people and things that you mentioned. El buque cuya tripulación ha desembarcado: The ship whose crew has landed. El comerciante á cuyo hijo hemos conocido: The merchant whose son we have known. _Que_ is used very often instead of _quien_ and _el cual. Que_ is to be preferred when the clause following is a mere complement of the principal clause (preceding), and _Quien_ or _El cual_ only when the following clause is considered not less in importance than the clause preceding, viz., when it introduces _a new idea,[99] as-- ¿Ha visto V. al viajante que nos visitó esta mañana? Have you seen the traveller who called on us this morning? He conocido al banquero quien era hombre muy juicioso y prudente: I knew the banker who was a very wise and prudent man. [Footnote 99: This is practically saying: after a comma, only the use of the comma is so arbitrary that we preferred to explain the rule fully.] After _ser_ and a noun or pronoun, translate "who" by _quien_, as-- Es él (Carlos) quien me lo ha dicho: It is he (Charles) who told it to me. After a preposition translate "whom" by _quien_ (pl., _quienes_)[100], and "which" by _el cual (la cual_, etc.). [Footnote 100: "Que" is found but rarely.] EXCEPTION-- After _á, con, de, en_, we can also translate "which" equally well by _que_, or _el que, la que, los que, las que_.[101] [Footnote 101: "Que" or "El que" is found also after other prepositions but rarely.] "Which" relating to a whole sentence is _lo cual_ or _lo que_ (naturally, because a whole sentence has no gender). Instead of _cuyo_ we may use _de quien, del cual, de que, del que_, as-- El buque, la tripulación del cual, de que, _or_ del que ha desembarcado: The ship whose crew has landed. El comerciante al hijo de quien, _or_ del cual hemos conocido: The merchant whose son we have known. "He who" is translated by _aquel que, el que_,[102] also _quien_. "She who" is translated by _aquella que, la[102] que_, also _quien_. "Those who" is translated by _aquellos que, los[102] que_, also _quienes_. [Footnote 102: See Lesson XII.] =Relative Pronouns= cannot be left out, understood, in Spanish, as-- El hombre á quien, _or_ que ví: The man I saw. Expressions as "The man I spoke to" must, of course, be rendered "The man to whom I spoke" (El hombre á quien hablé). Expressions as "I recommend you Messrs. So-and-So than which no better firm exists," are rendered "Le recomiendo á V. la casa de los Srs. Fulanos de Tal que no la hay mejor (_or_ de la cual, _or_ de la que no hay otra mejor)". +---------------------------------------------------------------------+ | _Subjunctive Mood, Imperfect Tense_. | +-------------------+---------------+---------------+-----------------+ | =Haber=. | =Tener=. | =Ser=. | =Estar=. | |Que yo hubiese |Tuviese (that I|Fuese (that I |Estuviese (that I| | (that I might, | might, would,| might, would,| might, would, | | would, or should| or should | or should | or should | | have, etc.) | have, etc.) | be, etc.) | be, etc.) | | " tú hubieses |Tuvieses |Fueses |Estuvieses | | " él hubiese |Tuviese |Fuese |Estuviese | | " nosotros |Tuviésemos |Fuésemos |Estuviésemos | | hubiésemos | | | | | " vosotros |Tuvieseis |Fueseis |Estuvieseis | | hubieseis | | | | | " ellos hubiesen |Tuviesen |Fuesen |Estuviesen | +-------------------+---------------+---------------+-----------------+ VOCABULARY. =amargo=, bitter =armador de buques=, shipowner =arreglar=, to arrange =el bien=, the good =buque, barco, navio=, boat =cauto=, cautious =*conocer=, to know through the senses, to be acquainted with =deuda=, debt =doloroso=, painful =endosar=, to endorse =enseñar=, to teach, to show =esperar=, to expect, to hope, to wait =estadísticas=, statistics =falta=, want, absence of =flojo=, slack =fundar=, to found =gratitud=, gratitude =*hacer mención=, to mention =herida=, wound, sting =informar (de)=, to inform of, to acquaint with =llevar chasco=, to be disappointed, to be baffled =*negar=, to deny =periódico=, newspaper =premio=, reward, prize, premium =robar=, to rob, to steal =simpático=, pleasant, winsome, taking =*tener empeño=, to be earnest, anxious about anything EXERCISE 1 (25). Translate into English-- 1. El hombre que me habló no es el á quien hemos escrito. 2. Hé aquí (here is) el libro que me enseñó esta regla. 3. He escrito al hombre que nos endosó la letra. 4. He comprado el periódico que contiene aquellas estadísticas. 5. He arreglado con el negociante quien (_or_ el cual) parece hombre muy simpático. 6. El corredor, quien (_or_ el cual) tiene mucho empeño en concluir la transacción, me vino á ver otra vez (again) esta mañana. 7. El capital, el cual se ha destinado á la explotación de las minas, es intangible (cannot be touched). 8. El hombre á quien (_or_ al cual) me refiero es armador de buques. 9. El negociante de quien (_or_ del cual) le hablaba es integérrimo (most upright). 10. El asunto á que me refería (_or_ de que trataba). 11. La pluma con que escribía y con la cual (_or_ con la que) puede escribir V. 12. La mina en que (_or_ en la cual) fundaba sus esperanzas. 13. El dinero sobre el cual contaba. 14. Los géneros para los cuales se dió (was given) la orden. 15. ¿Es él quien lo quiere y á cuyo hijo (_or_ al hijo de quien) V. conoce? EXERCISE 2 (26). Translate into Spanish-- 1. He who robs you of (roba) money robs you of little, but he who denies you a debt of well-deserved gratitude robs you of more, which is obvious. 2. Those who deny this (nieguen, (_subj._)) have not experienced how (cuán) painful is the sting of ingratitude. 3. Those who do good should do it expecting ingratitude for (por) their reward, then they will not be disappointed. 4. It is a truth than which no bitterer exists. 5. The steamer I have bought is a first-class boat. 6. The little (pequeña) house I paid for. 7. The firm I made mention of enjoys good credit. 8. I wonder (me pregunto yo) if this is the engineer whose son is a lawyer. 9. Their market is very slack at present, which accounts for (explica) the want of their remittances. 10. I acquainted them with all the facts, which made them very cautious. 11. We are acquainted with Mr. McIntyre (conocemos al), who is a Scotchman. 12. He is only an acquaintance (un conocido _or_ un conocimiento). LESSON XIV. (Lección décima cuarta.) INTERROGATIVE PRONOUNS AND ADJECTIVES. These are the same as the relative pronouns, only they are written with an accent-- ¿Quién,-es? (who, whom?) ¿Cuál,-es? (which?) ¿Qué? (what?) ¿Cúyo,-a,-os,-as? (whose?) ¿De quién,-es[103]? (whose?) ¿Cuánto,-a,-os,-as? (how much, how many?) [Footnote 103: "De quién" is more usual than "Cúyo" in interrogations.] _Cuál_ when interrogative is used without the definite article which must accompany it when it is a relative pronoun. _Quién_, interrogative, is never an adjective. EXAMPLES-- ¿Quién vino a verme? Who came to see me? ¿Cuál arreglo le gusta á V. más? Which arrangement do you prefer? ¿Cúyo es este lápiz? Whose is this pencil? _or_ Whose ¿Cúyo lápiz es este? pencil is this? ¿De quién es este lápiz? ¿De quién recibió V. la consignación de madera? From whom did you receive the consignment of timber? ¿A quiénes nos refieren Vs. para informes? To whom do you refer us for information? ¿Cuánto me cobrará V.? How much will you charge me? _Cuál_ (which) is often used instead of the English "what", as-- ¿Cuáles son sus intenciones? What are your intentions? _Qué_ is used in exclamatory sentences--"what a", as-- ¡Qué lástima! What a pity! ¡Qué bonitos paños! What nice suitings![104] [Footnote 104: Before an adjective without a noun following "qué" translates the English "how":--¡Qué bonito! how nice!] An emphatic _tan_ or _más_ may be inserted, thus-- ¡Qué paño tan bonito! What a very nice suiting! ¡Qué hombre más rico! What a very rich man! _Cuál_ is used in exclamatory clauses instead of _cómo_ (how), as-- ¡Cuál le han reducido las desgracias! How (_or_ to what a state) misfortunes have reduced him! ¡Cuál la ví! How (_or_ in what a state) did I see her! _Cuánto_ is also used in exclamations, as-- ¡Cuánto le agradezco su amabilidad! How much obliged I am for your kindness! _Cual_ without article and without accent is used for "as," as-- Una casa (tal) cual yo la deseaba: A house (such) as I liked. Such expressions as "He wrote me a letter, which letter I still possess," are translated "Me escribió una carta, cuya carta aun tengo." _Subjunctive Mood, Imperfect Tense (2nd form)_. +-----------------------+-------------+-----------+-------------+ =Haber=. | =Tener=. | =Ser=. | =Estar=. | +-----------------------+-------------+-----------+-------------+ |Que yo hubiera |Tuviera |Fuera |Estuviera | | " tú hubieras |Tuvieras |Fueras |Estuvieras | | " él hubiera |Tuviera |Fuera |Estuviera | | " nosotros hubiéramos|Tuviéramos |Fuéramos |Estuviéramos | | " vosotros hubierais |Tuvierais |Fuerais |Estuvierais | | " ellos hubieran |Tuvieran |Fueran |Estuvieran | +-----------------------+-------------+-----------+-------------+ _Subjunctive Mood, Future Tense._ +-----------------------+--------------+------------+--------------+ |Que yo hubiere (that |Tuviere (that |Fuere (that |Estuviere | | I shall have, | I shall have,| I shall be,| (that I shall| | etc.) | etc.) | etc.) | be, etc.) | | " tú hubieres |Tuvieres |Fueres |Estuvieres | | " él hubiere |Tuviere |Fuere |Estuviere | | " nosotros hubiéremos|Tuviéremos |Fuéremos |Estuviéremos | | " vosotros hubiereis |Tuviereis |Fuereis |Estuviereis | | " ellos hubieren |Tuvieren |Fueren |Estuvieren | +-----------------------+--------------+------------+--------------+ _Imperative Mood_. (This mood is used to command or beg.) +--------+---------------------------------+---------------------------+ |Hablar |Habla[105](speak thou, _sing_.) |Hablad (speak you, _plu._) | |Temer |Teme (fear " ) |Temed (fear " ) | |Partir |Parte (depart " ) |Partid (depart " ) | |Haber |Hé[106] (have " ) |Habed (have " ) | |Tener |Ten ( " " ) |Tened ( " " ) | |Ser |Sé (be " ) |Sed (be " ) | |Estar |Está ( " " ) |Estad ( " " ) | +--------+---------------------------------+---------------------------+ [Footnote 105: The Imperative Mood has only a separate form for the 2nd pers. sing. and plu. It has no 1st pers. sing. and the 1st pers. pl. and 3rd pers. sing. and pl. are taken from the Pres. Subj. The 2nd pers. pl. is derived from the Infinitive Mood by changing the final _r_ into _d_--no exception. The 2nd pers. sing. is the same as the _3rd pers. sing. of the Pres. Indicative_, with a few exceptions (among which are Haber, Tener, Ser).] [Footnote 106: Given as a form only, as Haber has no Imperative Mood in modern Spanish, except in Héme, héte, héle, aquí, etc. (here I am, here thou art, here he is, etc.), and in some other rare cases. N.B.--In Spanish there is no imperative negative, the Pres. Subj. negative being used instead, as-- =Hablar=. No hables (do not (thou) speak). No habléis (do not (you) speak).] VOCABULARY. =*acordarse=, to remember =me acuerdo=, I remember =se acuerda=, he remembers =cartera=, pocket-book, portfolio =contestar á, responder á=, to answer =*decir=, to say =*devolver=, to return, give back =devuelto=, given back =devuelvo=, I return, give back =digo=, I say =dice=, he says =dije=, I said =dijo=, he said =disgustado=, annoyed, disgusted, displeased =flojedad=, slackness =*hacer escala=, to call at (steamers) =mucho me gusta=, I am very glad =negativa=, refusal =notas (billetes) de banco=, bank notes =*oir=, to hear =*perder=, to lose =perdiendo=, losing =*querer=, to want, to be willing to have =quiero=, I want, I am willing to have =quiere=, he wants, he is willing to have =responder=,[107] to answer =*seguir=, to continue =sorpresa=, surprise [Footnote 107: "Responder"; past part., "respuesto"--otherwise regular.] EXERCISE 1 (27). Translate into English-- 1. ¿Quién respeta las leyes? 2. ¿Cuáles leyes? 3. Las de este país. ¿Qué dice V.? 4. Lo que V. oye (you hear). 5. Estos pañuelos y zarazas son cuales V. deseaba. 6. Mucho me gusta saberlo. 7. ¡Qué hermosas telas! ¡y baratas! 8. ¡Cuánto pide V. por ellas? 9 ¿Cuántos dividendos ha pagado esa Compañía? Tres. 10. ¿Cuántos dijo V. (did you say)? 11. Tres ó cuatro, no me acuerdo exactamente. 12. ¿Cúya cartera es esta? 13. Es la cartera de mi hermano, cuya cartera, como V. habrá sabido, la perdió con £500 en notas de banco y le fué devuelta. 14. ¿De quién es el cargamento cuyo conocimiento ha llegado? 15. Es mío. 16. ¿Qué libro es este? Es el mío. 17. Ha seguido la flojedad en los valores, perdiendo mucho el amortizable. 18. Hubo pocas (few) transacciones en general. 19. ¡Cuál lo hallamos! 20. ¡Absolutamente desanimado! ¡Qué lastima! EXERCISE 2 (28). Translate into Spanish-- 1. What reduction can you make? 2. Twopence a yard. 3. Which of the two will you have (quiere V.)? 4. What orders did you give? 5. Whose goods are these? 6. What a surprise! 7. How much money did you receive? 8. How many lots of white shirting have you placed? 9. Did you answer all his letters? 10. If we bought (si comprásemos) the (colonial) produce dearer than the figure you indicated we should have to answer for it (seríamos responsables). 11. The cotton prints and union drills we sent you will answer your requirements (corresponderán a sus necesidades). 12. Mr. Pérez seems annoyed by your refusal. 13. I am very sorry (lo siento mucho _or_ infinito) but it is not my fault. 14. I could not accept the rebate under (en) the circumstances. 15. Has the steamer called at Málaga? 16. I believe she has (que sí). LESSON XV. (Lección décima quinta.) INDEFINITE ADJECTIVES AND PRONOUNS. (Those marked with an asterisk are Pronouns only.) Alguno, *alguien (pronounced álguien), (some, somebody, anybody) *Algo, alguna cosa (something, anything) *Uno-a,-os-as (one, a person, some, some persons) Uno á otro (one another, each other) Uno ú otro (one or the other, either) Uno y otro, ambos, entrambos (both) Ni uno ni otro (neither the one nor the other) Ni uno (not a single one) Los otros, los demás (the others) Mismo (same, self) Cierto-a,-os-as (a certain, certain) Cada (each) *Cada uno, *cada cual (each, each one) Otro (other, another[108]) Todo (all, everything, every) Todos (everybody, all) Poco (little) Pocos (few) Unos pocos, unos cuantos (a few) Mucho-a,-os-as (much, many) Varios (several) Cualquiera (_sing._), Cualesquiera (_pl._), (any, whichever) *Quienquiera (_sing._), quienesquiera (_pl._), (any, whoever, whomever) *Cualquiera cosa (anything, whatever) Propio-a, os-as (own, self, same) Tal (_sing._), tales (_pl._ such a, such) *Fulano, zutano, mengano (So-and-So) Cuanto (todo lo que), (all that which) Cuantos (todos los que), (all those who) Ninguno (no one, nobody, not any) *Nada (nothing), *nadie (no one, nobody) *Quien ... quien, *cual ... cual (some ... some) [Footnote 108: "Another" is "otro," not "un otro."] _Cada_ is an adjective only, as-- Cada huelga de obreros daña la industria nacional: Each workmen's strike injures national industry. _Alguien, algo, cada, nada, nadie_ are invariable, and the verb accompanying them is always singular, as-- Alguien hizo un error de pluma: Somebody made a slip of the pen. Algo es mejor que el dinero, el honor: There is something better than money, honour. ¿Hay algo peor que la ingratitud? Is there anything worse than ingratitude? Nada es absolutamente perfecto y nadie es infalible: Nothing is absolutely perfect and nobody is infallible. Further difference in meaning between _alguien_ and _alguno_-- _Alguien_ refers to persons only, and cannot be followed by _de_. _Alguno_ to persons or things, and may be followed by _de_,[109] as-- Alguien _or_ Alguno se ha quejado: Somebody has complained. Quiere naranjas y melocotones y yo tengo algunos: He wants oranges and peaches, and I have some. Alguno de ellos lo hará: Someone amongst them will do it. The English "any," "anything," are translated by _alguno, alguna cosa (algo)_ when interrogative; _ninguno, ninguna cosa (nada)_ when negative; and _cualquiera, cualquiera cosa_ when affirmative, as-- ¿Quiere V. algún refresco ó algo que comer? Do you want any refreshments[110] or anything to eat? No quiero ningunos Holandillos: I do not want any Hollands. Cualquier(a) muchacho de escuela echaría de ver que estas Batistas Victoria son más ordinarias: Any schoolboy could see that these Victoria Lawns are of lower quality. _Alguno_ and _Ninguno_ are left understood oftener than in English, as-- ¿Comprará V. (algunos) títulos de la nueva emisión? Will you buy any stock of the new issue? Él no pide consejos: He does not ask any advice. When _nadie_ and _ninguno_, or any other =negative word=, as the adverb _nunca_ (never), etc., precede a verb, no other negative is required; but when they =follow= it, =no= (not) must precede the verb, as: No he visto á nadie _or_ á nadie he visto: I have seen nobody. [Footnote 109: Same difference between _nadie_ and _ninguno_.] [Footnote 110: In Spanish the singular is found instead of the plural, as: ¿Tiene V. algún libro que prestarme? (have you any books to lend me?).] Verbs ending in _car_ or _gar_ change the _c_ and _g_ into =qu= and =gu= respectively before =e=, as-- +------------------+---------------------+---------------------+ | | =Embarcar=[111] | =Cargar=[111] | | |(to embark, to ship) | (to load) | | _Past Def._ |Embarqué |Cargué | | _Pres. Subj._ |Embarque,-ques, que, |Cargue,-gues,-gue, | | |-quemos,-quéis,-quen.|-guemos,-guéis,-guen.| +------------------+---------------------+---------------------+ [Footnote 111: The primary parts (except, of course, the Infinitive) will be omitted in future _when they are regular_. The derivative parts will also be omitted when they are _regularly formed from their primary parts_ according to the rules given. See synopsis at the end of the book.] VOCABULARY. =agricola=, agricultural =amontonar=, to pile up =apertura=, opening =bajar=, to lower, to go or come down =bonito=, pretty =comarca=, region, district (of a country) =detenidamente=, at length =duplicar=, to double, to duplicate =exigua=, slight, trifling =fábricas de algodón=, cotton mills =géneros alimenticios=, food stuffs =*hacer caso=, to take notice =hilador=, spinner =impuesto=, tax =(la) incertidumbre=, uncertainty =industria=, industry =legislatura=, parliamentary session =ligero=, light (_adj._), slight, small =limitación=, curtailment =(la) luz=, light (_n._) =*mantener=, to hold up, to maintain =mejora=, improvement =ministerio=, ministry =obligaciones=, debentures =olvidar=, to forget =para que=, so that =patria=, country, fatherland =preferible=, preferable =*prevalecer, reinar=, to prevail, to rule =subir=, to go or come up =tejedor=, weaver =timbre=, stamp =tomar la delantera á=, to take the start on. =trigo=, wheat =varios=, several =vinícola=, wine (_adj._) EXERCISE 1 (29). Translate into English-- 1. Alguien pretende que se duplicará el impuesto del timbre sobre las acciones y obligaciones de las compañías anónimas y que habrá algunos que protestarán enérgicamente. 2. Algo hay de eso y uno y otro partido político se interesan de la cuestión pero ni uno de los periódicos locales echa luz sobre las intenciones del ministerio. 3. Los demás proyectos de ley con ciertas modificaciones se presentarán (will be introduced) en esta misma legislatura, y cada uno se discutirá detenidamente. 4. Se anuncian varias empresas industriales en grande escala. 5. Cuanto se hace es poco cuando se piensa en lo que se debería hacer para que nuestros competidores no nos tomen la delantera. 6. Cualquiera echa de ver (can see) eso. 7. Cuantos hay que miran al verdadero interés de su patria deben olvidar sus propios intereses en favor del fomento de la industria vinícola y agrícola de esta comarca. 8. Cada casa tiene su sistema propio. 9. Yo no imito á Fulano, Zutano y Mengano, soy cauto y evito los riesgos. 10. Negocio papel extranjero, pero sólo letras bancarias, ó de firmas de primera clase y con dos endosos, nada más. EXERCISE 2 (30). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Somebody thinks that the imports of food-stuffs will increase. 2. Some wheat buyers take little notice of the higher American cable advices (las subidas que se han telegrafiado desde América). 3. Weavers and spinners are all holding up their prices. 4. Each week shows an improvement. 5. We hear the same reports (noticias) from all quarters (partes). 6. Neither of these machines will suit (conviene á) our requirements. 7. We accept these bills but refuse the others. 8. Anybody who has his own interests at heart will contribute to the realisation of the scheme. 9. I did all I could (podía) so that nothing should be lost (no se perdiera nada). 10. Some say the market will go up, some say it will go down, and such is the position that one does not know (no sabe) what to do. 11. Anything is preferable to this uncertainty. 12. I have not seen anything so pretty before. 13. Mail advices (los anuncios por la mala) from America report an abnormal (anormal) curtailment of production in the United States Cotton Mills. 14. They cannot take the risk of piling up stocks when the demand is so slight (exigua). 15. Foreign Bourses.--Berlin. A weak tone ruled at the opening. During the later dealings (operaciones posteriores) a slight (ligera) improvement was noticeable (se observó). LESSON XVI. (Lección décima sexta.) THE VERB. The verb is a word by which we affirm something. It is the essential word in a sentence: without it (expressed or understood) no sentence can be construed. Verbs are divided into Auxiliary, Transitive and Intransitive. The Auxiliary verbs in Spanish are: Haber, Tener, Ser, Estar. _Haber_ is a true auxiliary because it helps to form compound tenses[112] but it presents the following peculiarities-- 1. It is used as an impersonal verb (as well as the verb _hacer_ which is given here for the sake of completeness) for expressions of time, as-- Dos años ha (_or_ ha dos años) _or_ hace dos años la exportación de los Caldos españoles estaba muy floreciente: Two years ago the exportation of Spanish wines and oils was very flourishing. Ha dos años (_or_ hace dos años) que la casa Guillermo Fernandez y Cía está establecida en La Coruña como Comisionistas: The firm, G.F. & Co., has been established in Corunna as Commission Agents these last two years. ¿Cuanto tiempo ha (_or_ hace) que estudia V. el castellano? How long have you been studying Spanish? [Footnote 112: The Past Part. following "haber" IS ALWAYS INVARIABLE.] 2. It is also used impersonally as "there to be" (French, "y avoir"), as-- Hay mucha pimienta, clavos, y canela en el mercado de Londres: There are much pepper, cloves, and cinnamon in the London market. Sí, hubo muchas especias el año pasado también: Yes, there were many spices last year also. Cuando estaba en El Cairo había miedo de que estallara algún motín: When I was in Cairo there was the fear of some riots breaking out. (N.B.--Impersonal verbs are only used in the 3rd pers. singular.) In English we have "there is" and "there are," because "there to be" is not used impersonally, the meaning being, e.g., "a man is there"; "two men are there." In Spanish, however, _haber_ is used impersonally and both "there is a man" and "there are two men" are translated "Hay un hombre," "Hay dos hombres." It will be noticed that _Haber_ used for "there to be" makes _Hay_ instead of _Ha_ for the present indicative. All its other tenses remain unchanged: _había, hubo, habrá, habría_, etc. _Hay que_ followed by an Infinitive (French "il faut"), it is necessary to ..., as-- Hay que tener mucho cuidado: It is necessary to be very careful. I, you, etc., must be very careful. _Tener_ is generally a =principal= (viz., not an auxiliary) verb, used to denote possession; but it is used sometimes as an =auxiliary= instead of _haber_, as-- Tengo recibido su catálogo ilustrado y lista (or boletín) de precios: I have received your illustrated catalogue with price list. Tenemos recibida[113] su apreciable carta de 20 del que rige (or del corriente): We have received your favour of the 20th inst. ¿Tiene V. recibidas las cotizaciones? Have you received the quotations? Los presupuestos, que tenemos recibidos del Trapiche para nuestro Ingenio de la Habana: The estimates which we have received for the Sugar Mill for our Factory in Havana. In all the preceding examples _tener_ used instead of _haber_ introduces an additional idea of "=possession=". "He recibido su carta" might be followed, in Spanish, by "pero la he perdido" (but I have lost it). "Tengo recibida su carta" implies that the receiver holds it now. [Footnote 113: The Past Part. following "tener" agrees in gender and number with the _direct object_.] Sometimes this idea of possession is very distantly implied, as-- ¿Qué me dice V.? tengo leído ese proyecto de Ley: What are you talking about? I have read that (Parliamentary) Bill. Meaning that the effect of the reading is extant in the mind. Colloquially the people will use _tener_ for _haber_ without any allusion to possession, but this should be avoided. VOCABULARY. =anteayer=, the day before yesterday =apresurar=, to hasten, to urge (_a._) =apresurarse=, to hasten (_n._) =apresurarse con sus órdenes=, to rush one's orders =árbol de eje=, axle shaft =cámara de comercio=, chamber of commerce =cigüeña, árbol de cigüeña, cigüeñal=, crank-shaft =compañía de ferrocarril=, railway company =con manchas=, (designs)--spot =con puntitas, con bolitas=, (designs) spot =contestar=, to answer, to reply =cuadritos=, (designs) checks =cuenta simulada=, pro forma account =culpa=, blame, fault =daño=, damage, injury, breakdown =de buena tinta=, from a good source =derecho=, right =duda=, doubt =equivocarse=, to be mistaken =existencias=, stocks of goods =expedidor=, sender =fecha de=, dated =listados=, (designs) striped =á listas, á rayas=, (designs) striped =malcontento=, uneasiness, discontent =mundial=, world (_adj._) =próximamente=, about, approximately =pues=, well =redactar=, to write out =repentinamente=, suddenly =representación exclusiva=, sole agency =responsabilidad=, responsibility =retardar=, to delay, to be delayed =*romperse=, to break (_n._) =roto=, broken =todavía=, yet =vivir=, to live, to reside =ya=, already EXERCISE 1 (31). Translate into English-- 1. En la Asociación de Agricultores de España (Society of Spanish Agriculturists) dará mañana viernes á las seis y media de la tarde una conferencia (lecture) el ilustrado Sr. Fulano. 2. ¿Como mañana? ya la ha dado esta mañana. 3. No sabía que la había dado ya. 4. Pues tengo esta noticia de buena tinta y no hay duda que así es. 5. Tenemos recibida su estimada, fecha de anteayer. 6. Mucho tiempo ha que tengo proyectadas estas empresas. 7. Habrá un mes que me escribió y no le he contestado todavía. 8. La Cámara de Comercio de Londres votó, después de larga discusión, una protesta contra el nuevo Tratado de Comercio con Cuba y redactó una petición que será dirigida al gobierno. 9. El vapor inglés "Raleigh" que sale para Montevideo ha recibido un marconigrama anunciando que reina allí el malcontento político. 10. El aviador acaba de batir el "record" mundial de velocidad y distancia recorriendo (covering) ciento veintidós kilómetros en hora y media, á saber (namely) próximamente 80 kilómetros por hora. 11. No se equivoca V. en la interpretación de lo que hemos escrito acerca de las facturas simuladas. 12. El árbol de eje y el cigüeñal se han roto. EXERCISE 2 (32). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Have you obtained the sole agency for (de) that firm? 2. Not yet, but I hope to get it. 3. How long have you been living in England? 4. Two weeks ago prices were so high that buyers were rushing their orders; now they have suddenly fallen to an unprecedented level (nivel sin precedente). 5. He has examined the samples and found that the designs of the light grounds (fondos claros) are not as ordered. 6. He also complains of the checks and stripes. 7. The spot muslins have been delayed owing to a breakdown in the works (la fábrica). 8. The senders are trying to throw the blame on (á) the Railway Company, but we have no right of claim (derecho de reclamar) against the latter (ésta); it is they who (son ellos quienes) must indemnify us for the loss. 9. It is a well-founded (bien establecida) and respectable firm and they will not deny their responsibility--there is no doubt about (de) that. 10. Is it long since you received their last (última) letter? 11. Have they been long established? (Hace mucho tiempo que....) 12. They have been for 15 years. 13. Our friends have large stocks but they say the market is looking up (mejorando). LESSON XVII. (Lección décima séptima.) "SER" AND "ESTAR." =Ser= is used as a true auxiliary, when it forms the passive voice. =Estar= is an auxiliary when it forms the progressive tenses, as Estoy escribiendo (I am writing). Estaba escribiendo (he was writing). The difficulty in the employment of _ser_ and _estar_ is, by some, unduly magnified. Others give the following rule-- _Ser_ denotes a permanent state. _Estar_ "temporary" This rule should not be adopted because often it would not apply, as the following two examples will show-- Él es soldado porque se ha alistado por dos años: He is a soldier as he has enlisted for two years. Aquellos montes están eternamente cubiertos de nieve: Those mountains are perpetually covered with snow. The following simple and true rules will enable the student to understand the difference between _ser_ and _estar_ and to apply them correctly. _Ser_ is used-- 1. To form the Passive Voice, as-- El cartero trajo las cartas--_Active_: The postman brought the letters. La carta fué traída[114] por el cartero--_Passive[115]_: The letter was brought by the postman. [Footnote 114: The Past Part. following "Ser" and "Estar" agrees in gender and number with the subject of these verbs.] [Footnote 115: Este cuarto es barrido todos los días (this room is swept every day) is passive voice, because we speak of the _action_ of sweeping, viz., somebody sweeps the room every day. Este cuarto está barrido--no voice; "barrido" is used as an adjective to denote _state_ or _condition_.] 2. To denote an inherent[116] quality, as-- La nieve es blanca: Snow is white. El hombre es mortal: Man is mortal. [Footnote 116: Inherence = a fixed state of being in another body. A quality may be inherent "for the time being," as: Juan se ha alistado por dos años, entonces _es soldado_: John has enlisted for two years, then he is a soldier.] _Estar_ is used to denote-- 1. State in locality, viz., to be in a place, as-- Estoy aquí I am here. Londres está en Inglaterra: London is in England. 2. A condition, as-- Estoy candado: I am tired. Está enfermo: He is ill. SUPPLEMENTARY RULES. _Ser_ must be used-- 1. Before any noun (even if an adjective or article intervenes), as-- Soy negociante: I am a merchant. Es un corredor de cambios bien conocido: He is a well-known exchange broker. Son buenos valores: They are good securities. 2. When "to be" is used to denote possession, as-- Los trapiches son de estos fabricantes: The sugar mills belong to these makers. 3. When "to be" us used impersonally, as-- Es necesario tomar medidas legales: It is necessary to take legal proceedings. 4. Before the words "Feliz," "Infeliz," "Pobre," and "Rico."[117] [Footnote 117: These are not, strictly speaking, "inherent qualities," but they are spoken of as such.] _Estar_ must, of course, be always used before Present Participles,[118] as-- Está activando sus esfuerzos: He is making still further efforts. Estamos extendiendo nuestras relaciones: We are extending our connection. [Footnote 118: A Pres. Part. can only express a condition, not a quality.] Verbs ending in _cer_, _cir_, _ger_ and _gir_ change the _c_ into =z= and the _g_ into =j= before _a_ or _o_ as-- +----------------------+-----------------------+ | =Vencer= (to win) | =Dirigir= (to direct)| +----------------------+-----------------------+ |_Pres. Indic._, venzo| dirijo | |_Pres. Subj._, venza| dirija | +----------------------+-----------------------+ Verbs ending in _guir_ and _quir_ change the _gu_ into =g= and the _qu_ into =c= before _a_ or _o_, as-- +-------------------------+-------------------------+ | =Distinguir= | =Delinquir=[119] | | (to distinguish) |(to commit a delinquency)| +-------------------------+-------------------------+ |_Pres. Indic._, Distingo| Delinco | |_Pres. Subj._, Distinga| Delinca | +-------------------------+-------------------------+ [Footnote 119: The only verb ending in _quir_.] VOCABULARY. =acabar de=, to have just =accesorio=, accessory =activo y pasivo=, assets and liabilities =antiguo=, old, ancient =avería=, particular, particular average =balance=, balance, balance sheet =bastar=, to suffice, to be enough =biela=, connecting rod =caldera=, boiler =cilindros=, cylinders =citar=, to quote, to mention a passage =*convenir=, to agree, to suit =cotizar=, to quote prices =cuenta de ganancias y pérdidas=, profit and loss account =dejar=, to leave, to let =disposición (á su)=, (at your) disposal =durar=, to last =el engranaje=, the gearing =entregar=, to deliver =equipo=, equipment =es decir, ó sea= viz., namely =á saber= viz., namely =franco de porte=, carriage paid =grifo=, cock (machinery) =hasta la fecha=, (made up) to date =huelga=, strike =imprevisto=, unforseen =á la izquierda=, to the left =llegar á ser=, to become, to contrive to be =*mantenerse=, to be maintained =máquina=, machine, engine =mercerizar=, to mercerize =para con=, towards =transporte seguido=, carriage forward =porte pagadero al destino=, carriage forward =presentar=, to present =proveer=, to provide =provisto (proveído)=, provided =semejante=, similar =*sentir=, to be sorry, to feel =sin embargo=, however =soportes, coginetes=, bearings =tornillos=, screws =transporte pagado=, carriage paid =tubos=, tubes =válvula=, valve =el volante=, the fly-wheel =y pico= (=veinte y pico=, etc.), odd, (twenty odd, etc.) EXERCISE 1 (33). Translate into English-- 1. La marca (the make) de estas máquinas y calderas es una de las más antiguas. 2. Son fabricadas en Inglaterra por los Srs. Fulano y Cía. 3. Están aquí para su inspección y están todas provistas de sus accesorios: cilindros, volantes, bielas, soportes, engranajes, válvulas y tornillos. 4. ¿No se fabrican también en Francia máquinas semejantes? 5. Sí, Señor, estas á la izquierda son francesas y son buenas máquinas. 6. Es cierto sin embargo que las inglesas son mejores y que están en primera línea en la industria mundial. 7. Los Srs. Fulano y Cía. han llegado á ser los primeros entre los constructores que han comprendido que se podían entregar máquinas excelentes á un precio relativamente bajo. 8. Para no citar más que un ejemplo de la importancia de esta casa basta decir que son suyas las 1,000 máquinas y pico que se han exportado últimamente para Italia y la Argentina. 9. Soy feliz de saberlo. 10. Son fabricantes ricos y al mismo tiempo generosos para con los que son pobres é infelices. 11. Compraré diez fardos de Estampados Mercerizados si me los deja V. á 5-3/16 d. por yarda. 12. Está bien; ¡está convenido! EXERCISE 2 (34). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We have just received your Price List, but we are sorry to say your prices are too dear. 2. The cylinders and boilers are now ready. 3. Every engine is sent out with its complete equipment, viz., tubes, valves, cocks, etc. 4. The Directors are preparing a balance sheet to be laid before (para presentar á) the company at the next ordinary general meeting. 5. It will show the assets and liabilities and a profit and loss account made up to date. 6. There will also be a report on the position and transactions of the company. 7. It is your action which has done us more harm (daño) than anything else (cualquier otra cosa[120]). 8. It is we (somos nosotros) who are tired of our agreement (convenio). 9. The goods are at your disposal. 10. We think the shares will be inactive (flojas). 11. The demand for steel, iron and copper was very steady (firme) but it is probable that it will not last. 12. Are you rich? No, I am poor but I am happy. 13. Our quotations will be maintained except in case of strikes or other unforeseen circumstances. 14. The four bales of linens will be delivered to you carriage paid, but the boilers and (y sus) accessories you will receive (los recibirán) carriage forward. 15. The whole (todo) will be insured with particular average. [Footnote 120: Or: _=que nada más=_.] LESSON XVIII. (Lección décima octava.) TRANSITIVE VERBS. A verb is Transitive when its action passes from the subject of the action to the object. =Transitive Verbs= are divided into-- =1. Active= (when the subject of the verb stands for the doer or agent of the action), as-- Renovamos nuestros ofrecimientos de servicios: We renew our offers of services. =2. Passive= (when the subject of the verb stands for the real object of the action, viz., when it suffers the action instead of doing it), as-- Los ofrecimientos de sus servicios nos fueron renovados en su último escrito: His offers of services were renewed to us in his last letter. The Passive voice in Spanish is formed with the verb _ser_ as above, or by using the =active voice= with the pronoun _se_, as-- Se nos renovaron los ofrecimientos de sus servicios: His offers, etc. Active verbs become reflexive when their subject and object are the same person or thing, as-- Nos lisonjeamos poderlos servir por lo mejor de sus intereses: We flatter ourselves that we can serve them to the best of their interests. Reflexive verbs in the plural are also reciprocal, as-- Nos comprendemos: We understand each other. Nos escribimos muy frecuentemente: We write to each other very frequently. "Uno á otro" and "los unos á los otros" may be added for greater clearness, as-- Procuramos convencernos (á nosotros mismos). We try to convince ourselves (each other). Procuramos convencernos (el uno al otro). We try to convince ourselves (each other). The direct object of a transitive verb,[121] if a proper name of a person or place, must be preceded by _á_, as-- Vimos al Señor Guillermo: We saw Mr. William. Visitamos á Francia[122]: We visited France. [Footnote 121: With the exception of "Tener."] [Footnote 122: But not geographical names preceded by the article, as: Avistamos La Habana (we sighted Havana).] Á is also generally used before any noun =indicating= a person,[123] as-- Empleamos á este corresponsal: We employ this correspondent. [Footnote 123: This part of the rule is not very strict, as we find it sometimes omitted before persons, and at others used before names of things, as: El hecho precedió á la palabra (the action preceded the word).] But _á_ should be avoided whenever it would engender confusion, or when the verb governs an accusative and a dative at the same time, as-- Enviamos nuestro dependiente: We send our clerk. Recomendamos el Sr. Pérez á nuestro fabricante: We recommend Mr. Pérez to our manufacturer. Á is also omitted when the noun following it does not refer to a particular individual, but to =any= individual of a certain class, as-- Busco criado: I am looking for a servant. Juan no quiere socios en su empresa: John does not want any partners in his undertaking. Verbs whose root ends in _ll_ or _ñ_ take =e= and =o= instead of _ie_ and _io_, as-- +------------------------------+-------------------------------+ | =Bullir= (to boil). | =Gruñir= (to growl, grumble).| +------------------------------+-------------------------------+ |_Pres. Part._, Bullendo |Gruñendo | |_Past Def._ Bulló, bulleron|Gruñó, gruñeron[124] | +------------------------------+-------------------------------+ [Footnote 124: The Imperf. and Fut. Subj. follow the Past Def.] Verbs in whose conjugations _i_ should come =unstressed= between two vowels change the unstressed _i_ into =y=, as-- +----------------------------------+ | =Creer= (to believe). | +----------------------------------+ |_Pres. Part._, Creyendo. | |_Past Def._, Creyó ... creyeron.| +----------------------------------+ But the _Imperf. Indic._: creía, creías, creía, creíamos, creíais, creían. Verbs ending in _zar_ change the _z_ into =c= before =e= (because, with very few exceptions, _z_ is not used in modern Spanish before _e_ or _i_), as-- +---------------------------------------------------------+ | =Gozar= (to enjoy). | +---------------------------------------------------------+ |_Pres. Subj._, Goce, goces, goce, gocemos, gocéis, gocen.| |_Past. Def._, Gocé ... | +---------------------------------------------------------+ VOCABULARY. =abedul=, birch =abeto=, fir =adjunto=, herewith =agradable=, agreeable, pleasant =arpillera=, bagging =asegurar=, to insure =atribuir=, to attribute =el billar=, billiards =bola=, ball =calzado=, footwear =camas, armazones de cama=, bedsteads =carne seca=, jerked beef =chalecos=, vests =consignación=, consignment =correas=, belts, belting (machinery) =corresponsal=, correspondent =egoísta=, selfish =encaminar=, to forward =entrar en el dique=, to dock (ships) =fresno=, ash =garbanzos=, Spanish or chick peas =á grande velocidad=, by passenger train =guisantes=, green peas =habas=, broad beans =haya=, beech =hortalizas=, green vegetables =instruir=, to instruct =judías=, French beans =latón=, brass =la leche=, the milk =loza=, crockery =á pequeña velocidad=, by slow train =pino=, pine =plomo=, lead =porcelana=, china =productos químicos=, chemicals =roble, encina=, oak =rotura=, breakage =semestre=, half-year =suprimir=, to suppress, to leave out =tacos=, billiard-cues =el viaje=, the journey =zinc=, zinc EXERCISE 1 (35). Translate into English-- 1. Estimamos en mucho á nuestros corresponsales y los servimos de la mejor manera posible. 2. Comunica el capitán del vapor "Ríos" que el jueves, al medio día, se hallaba á seiscientas millas de Veracruz, sin novedad (all well). 3. Hoy publica la Gaceta dos cuadros estadísticos (statistical tables) formados por la Dirección general (Board) del Instituto Geográfico y Estadístico, que expresan el movimiento de pasajeros por mar habido en nuestro puerto durante el semestre pasado, y por los cuales se viene en conocimiento (we can see) de la emigración é inmigración española. 4. Desde el día 1° de Enero próximo satisfará (will pay) el calzado extranjero 10% más de derecho de importación. 5. Una comisión de Agricultores de Valencia visitó ayer tarde (yesterday evening) al Presidente del Consejo (the Premier) para pedirle que se suprima el impuesto sobre el transporte de hortalizas que establece la nueva ley. 6. Tiñendo estas telas con anilina se aumenta el coste de seis céntimos por metro. 7. Bulleron[125] la leche y la esterilizaron. 8. Gocemos de las libertades á que tenemos derecho pero no abusemos de ellas. 9. Ellos creyeron lo que les dijimos (we said to them) y ya no nos atribuyen intenciones egoístas. 10. El Sr. Moreno sale para un viaje de negocios y visitará á Santo Domingo y la Habana. 11. He visto los Alpes y el Pirineo pero no el Himalaya. 12. He visitado á España. [Footnote 125: "To boil" is generally _hervir_. Bullir is given as an example of the conjugation.] EXERCISE 2 (36). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Kindly see Mr. Marino and inform him that we shall soon send him a consignment of timber, consisting of ash, beech, birch, fir, pine and oak. 2. We shall instruct our correspondent at Bilbao to forward to Vitoria the brass, lead, tin (estaño), and zinc he holds (tiene) at our disposal. 3. By the boat (steamer) leaving (que sale) this week, we shall ship to your consignment the bagging, belting, and bedsteads. 4. The "María" docked yesterday with a cargo of broad beans, French beans, green peas, and Spanish or chick peas. 5. She also brings a parcel of jerked beef and canned tongues (lenguas en latas). 6. I have a friend who is a dealer in billiard tables, balls and cues. 7. The candles and chemicals have been despatched last week. 8. We flatter ourselves that we shall shortly be able to write to each other pleasanter letters. 9. We have insured the china and crockery free of particular average (franco de), but we insured them against breakage at a (al) premium of 4%. 10. Herewith please find claim (reclamo) for loss through (por) damage in your last shipment of clocks and watches. 11. Please send by slow train the coats, vests, and trousers and, by passenger train, the remainder of the articles. LESSON XIX. (Lección décima nona.) INTRANSITIVE VERBS. Intransitive verbs express a state, as "to live," "to sleep," or an action that does not go beyond the doer, as "to go," "to walk." The Spanish language abounds in Intransitive Pronominal verbs, i.e., verbs conjugated, same as the reflexive verbs, with a double pronoun =of the same person= all through, as-- =Quejarse= (to complain). _Pres. Indic._, Yo me quejo, tú te quejas, él se queja, nosotros nos quejamos, vosotros os quejáis, ellos se quejan. _Fut. Indic._, Yo me quejaré, tú te quejarás, él se quejará, etc. These, of course, must not be confused with the Reflexive verbs. In the reflexive verb, we have an action that passes from the doer and falls on the doer itself, as-- Yo me amo: I love myself. Whilst in a neuter pronominal the action =does not go beyond the doer=. =Intransitive Pronominal Verbs= are of three kinds-- 1. Those which are always pronominal, as-- +----------------------------+------------------------------+ |Quejarse (to complain) |Jactarse (to boast) | |Avergonzarse (to be ashamed)|Maravillarse[126] (to wonder) | |Alegrarse[126] (to rejoice) |Proponerse[126] (to intend, to| |Arrepentirse (to repent) | purpose) | |Hacerse[126], volverse[126] |Desanimarse[126] (to feel | | (to become) | discouraged) | +----------------------------+------------------------------+ [Footnote 126: Some of these verbs may be also Transitive verbs with a modified meaning, as: Alegrar (to gladden), Maravillar (to surprise), Proponer (to propose). Here the pronominal form marks the difference between Transitive and Intransitive.] 2. A few which, when used pronominally, have their meaning intensified or more or less modified, as-- +------------------------+----------------------------------+ |Ir (to go) |Irse (to go away) | |Reir (to laugh) |Reírse (to laugh at = suggesting | | | scorn) | |Entender (to understand)|Entenderse de paños (to be a judge| | | of cloths) | |Dormir (to sleep) |Dormirse (to fall asleep) | |Correr (to run) |Correrse (to make a slip of the | | | tongue). | +------------------------+----------------------------------+ 3. Many which may be used pronominally or otherwise without any appreciable or definable modification of meaning, as-- Estar, estarse (to be) Quedar, quedarse (to remain) Casar (_con_), casarse (_con_), (to marry) Pensar, pensarse (to think) Yo pienso, _or_ me pienso que sí (I think so) Me escapó de la memoria _or_ (it escaped my memory). Se me escapó de la memoria (it escaped my memory). In the case of this third kind, students should not indulge freely in the pronominal form, but should wait until they see it in the reading of good books, because, although the meaning is practically the same in all cases, still there are "finesses" of shade which practice alone can teach. =Irregular Verbs=. We shall give only those Primary Tenses which are irregular and the Derivative Tenses when they are not formed regularly from the Primary Tenses from which they are derived[127]-- [Footnote 127: For Primary and Derivative Tenses see Synopsis at the end.] +---------------+--------------------------------------------+ | | =Pensar= (to think).[128] | |_Pres. Indic._,|Pienso-as-a, pensamos, pensáis, piensan. | |_Pres. Subj._, |Piense-es-e, pensemos, penséis, piensen. | |_Imperative_, |Piensa, pensad (_reg._). | +---------------+--------------------------------------------+ | | =Acordar= (to agree).[128] | |_Pres. Indic._,|Acuerdo-as-a, acordamos, acordáis, acuerdan.| |_Pres. Subj._, |Acuerde-es-e, acordemos, acordéis, acuerden.| |_Imperative_, |Acuerda, acordad (_reg._). | +---------------+--------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 128: And its group; see Appendix VI.] VOCABULARY. =agitarse=, to agitate (_n._) =algo=, something, anything (_interrog._) =amenaza=, threat =anticipación=, anticipation =anticipar=, to anticipate =anticipo=, advance =arduo=, arduous, difficult =baja=, decline =bajo cubierta=, underdeck =botones=, buttons =callar=, to be silent, to abstain from saying =camaradas=, comrades =cepillo=, brush =cinta=, ribbon =cortarse=, to cut oneself, to stop short =damascos=, damasks =definitivo=, definite =descuidar=, to neglect =ejecutar=, to execute =encaje de cortinas=, curtain lace =espantarse=, to be frightened =estiva=, stowage =*imponer=, to impose =impuesto=, imposed =lienzo adamascado=, diaper =pasas=, raisins =patronos=, masters, employers of workmen =prisa=, haste, hurry =*producir=, to produce =produje=, I produced =produjeron=, they produced =razón= (=á razón de=), at the rate of =reglamento=, regulations =sobre cubierta=, on deck =sobre estadías=, demurrage =sobrecargarse=, to overload oneself =tonelada=, ton =*traer=, to bring, to carry =traje=, I brought, I carried =tranquilo=, quiet =uvas=, grapes =vista= (=á la=), at sight EXERCISE 1 (37). Translate into English-- 1. Nuestros obreros se quejan del nuevo reglamento impuesto por los Patronos. 2. No se avergüenzan de decir que se arrepienten de no haber declarado la huelga hace quince días y se alegran que sus camaradas en Francia se agitan por el día de trabajo de ocho horas. 3. Este problema se va haciendo cada día mas arduo. 4. Voy á escribir una carta y después me iré. 5. ¿Porqué ríe V.? 6. Se ríe de mí sin duda porque no me espanto por sus amenazas, pero yo sé bien lo que me hago (what I do) y V. no sabe lo que se dice. 7. Este fabricante se entiende muy bien de paños. 8. Nunca he visto á un hombre activo dormirse en medio de su trabajo. 9. Quédese V. aquí, estése tranquilo y no piense á nada, su primo se acuerda con V., me pienso verle esta tarde, y tal vez llegaremos á un acuerdo común y definitivo. 10. No deseo que piense V. que descuido la ejecución de sus órdenes á la mayor brevedad (as soon as possible). 11. Con la prisa me he corrido y he dicho algo que habría debido callar. 12. Después de haber principiado á hablar muy bien se cortó y no pudo hallar palabras para continuar. EXERCISE 2 (38). Translate into Spanish-- 1. You have anticipated my wishes. 2. A further (nueva) decline in prices is anticipated (se prevé). 3. We overloaded ourselves with stocks in anticipation (en la esperanza) of large orders. 4. To pay in anticipation. 5. Thanking you in anticipation (anticipando las gracias, _or_ agradeciéndoles de antemano) we remain. 6. The news from the East (Levante) produced a bad effect on the market. 7. To this effect (con este fin) I wrote him to draw (que girase) at sight. 8. Our efforts have all been to no effect (en balde). 9. His plans have been carried into effect (llevados á cabo). 10. The sailing vessel (velero) carried 800 tons of grapes and raisins, 600 under and 200 on deck. 11. She used 5 lay days in loading (la carga), having therefore 3 days left (quedándole), so that (así que) we do not think we shall have to pay demurrage. 12. The captain paid for stowage at the rate of 1s. per ton. 13. The advance on account (á cuenta) of freight is £120. 14. I wonder if everything will be in order? (¿Estará todo en orden?) 15. I send you several patterns of curtain-lace, damasks, diapers, ribbons, buttons, and brushes. LESSON XX. (Lección vigésima.) IMPERSONAL VERBS. Impersonal verbs are those which are only conjugated in the 3rd pers. sing, of all the tenses.[129] [Footnote 129: They are so called because they have no person or thing as their subject.] The principal =Impersonal Verbs= are-- Llover-llueve (to rain, it rains) Granizar (to hail) Helar-hiela (to freeze, it freezes) Lloviznar (to drizzle) Nevar-nieva (to snow, it snows) Relampaguear (to lighten) Tronar-truena (to thunder, it thunders) Alborear (to dawn) Amanecer (to dawn) Anochecer (to grow dark) The subject (generally understood) of Impersonal verbs is _ello_. Sometimes we find the words _Dios_ or _el día_ expressed as subjects, as-- Amanecerá Dios y veremos: Let us wait for the morning and then we shall see. Amaneció el día: The day dawned. _Amanecer_ and _anochecer_ may be used as personal verbs, as-- Amanecimos en Madrid y anochecimos en Guadalajara: We were in Madrid at daybreak and at nightfall in Guadalajara. Tú anocheciste bueno y amaneciste malo: You passed the night well, but you had a bad morning. Many ordinary verbs are used sometimes impersonally, as-- Bastar (to suffice). Convenir (to suit). Parecer (to appear). Faltar[130] (to be wanting). Hacer falta (to be wanted). Suceder[131] (to happen). [Footnote 130: As a personal verb, it means also "to fail."] [Footnote 131: As a personal verb, it means also "to succeed."] EXAMPLES-- Basta ganar la vida: It is enough to earn a living. No conviene explotar esta mina: It does not pay to exploit this mine. No parece justo que se aprovechen de este modo: It does not seem right that they should take advantage in this way. Falta hacer algunos arreglos: Some arrangements are still wanting. Sucedió que se declaró en quiebra: It happened that he filed his petition in bankruptcy. In the sentences: Me bastan diez libras: £10 are enough for me. Me parecen justas sus razones: His reasons seem to me to be right. Le sucedieron muchas desgracias: Many misfortunes happened to him. the verb is =personal=, and this accounts for its being in the plural. In "me bastan diez libras," "diez libras" is the subject. The verb is impersonal when referring to a whole statement, as-- (Ello) es necesario: It is necessary. Of _Haber_ and _Hacer_ as impersonal verbs, we have treated in Lesson VIII and Lesson XVI. We add here that _Hacer_ is used impersonally before certain nouns to denote the state of the weather or of the temperature, as-- Hace calor, frío, lluvia, viento, sol, etc.: It is warm, cold, rainy, windy, sunny, etc. _Valer_ used impersonally = "to be better," as-- Más vale así: It is better so. Expressions like "¿Qué se dirá?" or "¿qué dirán?" (What will people say?) may also be called impersonal uses of the verb. +--------------------+----------------------------------------+ | =Irregular Verbs= (_contd._). | +--------------------+----------------------------------------+ | =Andar= (to walk, to go). | |_Past Def._, | Anduve,-iste,-uvo,-uvimos-uvisteis-uvieron.| +--------------------+----------------------------------------+ | =Dar= (to give). | |_Pres. Indic._,| Doy,[132] das, da, damos, dais, dan. | |_Pres. Subj._, | Dé, des, dé, demos, deis, den. | |_Past Def._, | Dí, diste, dió, dimos, disteis, dieron. | +--------------------+----------------------------------------+ [Footnote 132: Only 6 verbs in Spanish do not end in _o_ in the 1st pers. sing., pres. indic., viz., Doy (I give), Soy (I am), Estoy (I am), Voy (I see), He (I have), Sé (I know).] VOCABULARY. =algo=, somewhat =asunto=, matter =calor=, heat =carranclanes, guingas=, ginghams =cerrar el trato=, to conclude the bargain =cheques=, cheques =circular=, to circulate, to go round =cobrar=, to collect (money) =comprometer=, to compromise =costa=, coast =cuesta=, slope =cuidar=, to take care =cuidarse=, to take care of oneself =decididamente=, decidedly =decidir=, to decide =después=, afterwards =drogas=, drysalteries =durante=, during =faltar, hacer falta=, to be wanting, to be wanted =el fin=, the end =fustanes=, fustians =gasa=, gauze =gastos=, expenditure =ingresos netos=, net revenue =jamón=, ham =letras=, bills of exchange =maíz=, maize =malbaratar=, to undersell =mantas con franjas=, fringed blankets =mercería=, haberdashery =paseo=, promenade, walk, stroll =puerto=, port, harbour =recursos=, means =*reducir=, to reduce =reduje=, etc., I reduced, etc. =reduzco, reduces=, etc., I reduce, etc. =*seguir=, to follow, to continue =sigo, sigues=, etc., I follow, etc. =el temporal=, the storm =*valer más=, to be preferable =vencer=, to fall due =vidriado=, glassware EXERCISE 1 (39). Translate into English-- 1. Amaneció el día hermoso pero algo frío. 2. Hizo más calor después y por la tarde hizo _or_ sopló (blew) viento fuerte. 3. Anocheció cuando aun no habíamos llegado, pero como hacía luna el paseo siguió siendo (continued to be) agradable. 4. Ayer llovió, granizó, nevó y lloviznó sucesivamente todo el santo día (the livelong day). 5. Me parece que no le conviene de cerrar el trato con el banco bajo estas condiciones. 6. Me hace falta dinero pues es menester (it is necessary) proporcionarme (to get) el importe que me falta para completar las £1,000 que vencen el 15 del corriente. 7. Más vale aceptar las condiciones del banco que tener que malbaratar los géneros. 8. Ande V. con cuidado (be careful) no sea (lest) que vaya V. á comprometer su crédito. 9. Reina por estas costas muy violento temporal á cuya consecuencia ha resultado el vapor "Juan" con el árbol de la hélice (shaft of the screw) roto, por lo cual hubo de ser traído á remolque á (to be towed into) este puerto. 10. El "Juan" navegaba con rumbo á (was bound for) Cádiz. 11. Los modernos medios de fabricación de que disponemos, el abaratamiento (cheapening) de la mano de obra (labour) y las facilitaciones de que disfrutamos (we enjoy) merced á (thanks to) nuestros cuantiosos (abundant) recursos, nos permiten, ahora más que nunca, realizar nuestras ventas en condiciones que no cabe competencia posible (which preclude ...). 12. Hemos asegurado buenas partidas de fustanes, mantas con franjas, gasas, y carranclanes. EXERCISE 2 (40). Translate into Spanish-- 1. San Paulo (Brazilian) Railway.--The net revenue for the half-year from the main line (línea principal) amounted to £607,297 as against (contra) £743,077 in 1909. 2. The expenditure in England and the Interest on Stores (sobre los depósitos) reduce the amount to £594,714. 3. The Stock Exchange (la Bolsa) will be closed from this evening (esta tarde) until next Monday morning. 4. The turnover (giro) of the day's transactions has been small. 5. Sentiment turned somewhat bearish (hubo disposición á la baja) during the forenoon (la mañana), but became (se volvió) decidedly bullish (á la alza) towards the end of the day. 6. The following figures show the amount of bills and cheques which passed through the banker's clearing-house (por el banco de liquidación) during the week ended April 12th (que acabó el 12 de abril). 7. We must not attach (atribuir) too much importance to the rumours (los rumores, las especies) which are circulating in the market. 8. You should take care that the bales are properly (bien) packed. 9. I was ignorant of the fact that (no sabía que) he had been declared a bankrupt. 10. I shall do all that depends on me (de mí dependa) to collect the money in full (por entero). 11. As far as we are concerned (en cuanto á nosotros), we have decided not to take (dar) any steps in the matter. 12. We do not wish to throw good money after bad (echar la soga tras el caldero).[133] 13. We shall invoice by next mail your glassware and haberdashery. 14. Ham is a drug in the market (no tiene salida). 15. A good business is done at present in drysalteries. 16. A good crop of maize is announced from Cape Town (desde el Cabo). [Footnote 133: Lit.: to throw the rope after the pail.] LESSON XXI. (Lección vigésima primera.) DEFECTIVE AND PRONOMINAL VERBS. =Defective Verbs= are those only certain parts of which are in use, the rest having never existed in the language or having died out of it. The principal ones are-- _Soler_. "To be wont," "to be accustomed to." Used in the pres. indic., Suelo, sueles, suele, solemos, soleis, suelen; in the imperf. indic., Solía, solías, etc.; and in the pres. perf., He solido, has solido, etc., as-- En su juventud solía trabajar con ahinco--ahora ya ha aflojado un poco: When he was young he used to work with fervour, now he begins to flag a little. _Yacer_. "To lie"; generally on tombstones, as: Aquí yace: Here lies. (In poetry, but seldom in prose, it is found conjugated throughout.) _Salve_ and _Vale_ used in the Imperative for "Hail!" and "Farewell!" _Placer_ (to please). Generally used in "Plegue á Dios" (may it please God) and "Pluguiera (pluguiese) á Dios" (might it please God). It is still used also in the 3rd pers. of Pres. Indic., Imperf. Indic, and Past Def. (the Past Def. is "Plugo"). EXAMPLES-- Mucho me place: It pleases me much. Plegue á Dios que no se declare la huelga: May it please God that a strike is not declared. _Abolir_ (to abolish) is irregular like "mover" (viz., changes _o_ into _ue_ when stressed). Its irregular parts are however never used, and are substituted by giving a different turn to the sentence, as-- Digo que =se debe abolir= _instead of_ =se abuela=: I say that it must be abolished. _Atañer_ (to bear upon) is only used in the 3rd pers., as-- Lo que atañe al asunto: What bears on the subject. Las noticias que atañen a nuestro proyecto: The news that bears on our scheme. _Concerner_ (to concern) is only used in the pres. participle--concerniendo (concerning) and in the 3rd persons, as: concierne (it concerns), etc. =Pronominal Verbs= are verbs conjugated throughout with a double pronoun of the same person, as-- _Amarse_--Yo me amo, tú te amas, el se ama, nosotros nos amamos, vosotros os amais, ellos se aman. These are-- 1. Reflexive Verbs (when the action falls back on the subject. See Lesson XVIII), as--Yo me amo: I love myself. N.B.--The second pronoun must be direct object. If the second pronoun is indirect object, the verb is called Transitive Pronominal, as-- Procurarse una clientela: To get a _clientèle_ (a connection). 2. Intransitive Pronominal Verbs (see Lesson XIX). 3. Intransitive Verbs made Pronominal from verbs ordinarily transitive (see Lesson XIX), as-- Hacerse, Volverse: To become. La competencia se ha hecho imposible: Competition has become impossible. 4. The 3rd pers. pronominal forms the Passive Voice, same as the verb _ser_, as-- La sabiduría se alaba _or_ es alabada: Wisdom is praised. N.B.--If the doer is expressed after using _ser_ it may be preceded by _de_ or _por_, as-- La sabiduría es alabada de _or_ por todos[134]: Wisdom is praised by all. [Footnote 134: When the verb does not mean a physical action _de_ is preferable.] If it is expressed after using _se_, =Por= must be used, as-- La sabiduría se alaba por todos: Wisdom is praised by all. (Grammar of the Academy.) Pronominal Verbs are used in Spanish very frequently in conjunction with the article to avoid the use of the possessive adjective before parts of the body, or articles of dress,[135] as-- Me he quebrado la pierna: I broke my leg. Se ha dañado los ojos, _or_ la vista: He has damaged his eyes or eyesight. [Footnote 135: The article is most generally substituted for the possessive pronoun referring to parts of the body or articles of dress, whenever this can be done _without producing ambiguity_, as-- Me dió la mano: He gave me his hand. Tiene los ojos azules: His eyes are blue. Le cogí el brazo: I caught his arm. Me duele la cabeza: My head aches. Me lastiman las botas: My boots hurt me.] =Irregular Verbs= (_contd._). +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Entender=[136] (to understand). | +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ |_Pres. Indic._,| Entiendo-es-e, entendemos, entendéis, entienden.| |_Pres. Subj._, | Entienda-as-a, entendamos, entendáis, entiendan.| |_Imper. Mood_, | Entiende, entended (_reg._). | +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 136: And its group (see Appendix IV)] +-----------------------------------------------------+ | Mover[137] (to move). | +-----------------------------------------------------+ |_Pres. Indic._,| Muevo-es-e, movemos, movéis, mueven.| |_Pres. Subj._, |Mueva-as-a, movamos, mováis, muevan. | |_Imper. Mood_, |Mueve, moved (_reg._). | +-----------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 137: And its group (see Appendix IV)] VOCABULARY. =acusar recibo=, to acknowledge receipt =ascensor=, lift, hoist =bien estar=, well being =colección=, collection, set of samples =confiar á=, to entrust =confiar en=, to trust in =corresponder á las necesidades=, to meet the requirements =corriente, el que rige=, inst. =cucharas=, spoons =cuchillo=, knife =cueros=, hides =*deshacerse=, to get rid of =deshecho=, got rid of =distrito=, district =empacar=, to pack =empaqué, etc=., I packed, etc. =*establecerse=, to establish oneself =me establezco, etc=., I establish myself, etc. =fantasías=, fancies =herramientas=, tools =manga=, sleeve =*manifestar=, to inform, to say by letter =manifiesto, etc=., I inform, etc. =moeres=, mohair =nanquines=, nankeens =pieles=, skins =planchas de hierro=, sheet iron =principio=, beginning =telas para trajes= (=de Señora=), dress goods =tenedores=, forks =*torcer=, to twist =tuerzo, etc=., I twist, etc. =vale=, farewell, adieu =viajante=, traveller (commercial) =viajar=, to travel =vivamente=, earnestly, vividly EXERCISE 1 (41). Translate into English-- 1. Sin ningunas de sus gratas á que referirnos dirigimos á Vs. la presente para manifestarles que estando muy á corto (short) de fondos nos hemos visto precisados (we have been obliged) á girar á su cargo (on you) por el saldo de nuestra factura de Planchas de Hierro y Herramientas. 2. ¡Plegue á Dios que nuestros buenos deseos tengan pleno cumplimiento (may be fully realised)! 3. ¿Quiere V. encargarse (take charge) de ese asunto? 4. Mucho me place (with much pleasure). 5. Se dice que pronto se abolirá esta ley. 6. Tendré mucho gusto que sea abolida (_not_ se abuela). 7. Todo lo que atañe al desarrollo de la agricultura ó que concierne el bien estar general del país me interesa vivamente. 8. La honradez (honesty) es alabada de (_or_ por) todos pero nunca se alaba tanto como por los de manga ancha (those who themselves are not over-scrupulous). 9. El comerciante después de haberse muy bien establecido se consumió el capital en especulaciones bursátiles. 10. Nos hemos deshecho de los cuchillos, tenedores y cucharas sin tanta pérdida como temíamos. 11. El cajero bajando en el ascensor se ha torcido el pie y se está en casa guardando cama (in bed). 12. ¿Entiende V. las razones porque ha de subir el cambio? 13. Para que las entienda debo leer la revista de la Bolsa (Exchange Review). 14. Entienda V. que esto no ha de hacerse otra vez. ¡Entendido! EXERCISE 2 (42). Translate into Spanish-- 1. With reference to your esteemed order of 1st inst. for skins and hides, we understand exactly what you want, but we much regret to say that we are unable to get in (obtenerlos) at your limit. 2. We acknowledge receipt of your favour (apreciable) of the 1st inst. with note of purchase we are to make on (de _or_ por) your account, and we shall report thereon (contestaremos, relataremos) by our next. 3. We have picked up (escogido) a few suitable clearing lines (saldos), which are awaiting shipment (se embarcarán) by next steamer. 4. Stripes and checks.--Owing to a breakdown in the works these will not be ready for (antes de) another fortnight. 5. The goods were packed according to (de conformidad con) your instructions, but we take no responsibility for sending them (haberlos mandado) in bales instead of cases as usual (como de costumbre). 6. We hand (pasamos) you enclosed the invoice amounting to (importando en, ascendiendo a) £155 6s. 7d. to the debit of your account, value (valor al) 15th inst. 7. We can assure you that any (cualesquiera) orders entrusted to our care (que se nos confíen) will receive careful attention. 8. Our traveller will be in your district by the beginning of September, and he will have much pleasure in waiting upon you (en visitarles) with our full (completa) collection of dress goods and fancies. 9. We hasten to offer you a lot of cheap mohairs and nankeens and hope they will meet your requirements. Hoping to receive a favourable reply, Yours faithfully, SMITH AND Co. Prices are (van _or_ están) marked on (en) the samples. S. & Co. (Vale).[138] [Footnote 138: Used instead of initialling a postscriptum.] LESSON XXII. (Lección vigésima segunda.) THE MOODS. Mood is that form or modification of the Verb which marks the mode in which an action is viewed or stated. There are =5= moods in Spanish: one the Infinitive and =4= Finite, viz., the Indicative, Conditional, Subjunctive, and Imperative. The =Infinitive Mood= (Modo Infinitivo) represents the action or state of being without any reference to time or person. The present and past participles are parts of the Infinitive Mood. The Infinitive Mood may be used in the capacity of a noun either as Subject or Object of the sentence. It is then generally (but not necessarily) accompanied by the def. article, as-- El leer es útil: To read is useful. Me es necesario el leer: It is necessary for me to read. The form of the Pres. Part. used in this capacity in English is inadmissible in Spanish, e.g., we could never say "leyendo" for "el leer" (or "la lectura"). The Infinitive Mood preceded by _á_ may have a passive meaning, as-- Una consignación á hacer _or also_ á hacerse (á ser hecha): A shipment to be made. The Infinitive Mood preceded by _á_ may be used instead of the Finite Mood introduced by "if," as-- Á saber yo que V. era accionista de aquella compañía, le habría comunicado luego aquella relación: If I had known (or had I known) that you were a shareholder in that society, I would have sent you at once that report. The =Present Participle= after "to be" is used in both languages to form the continuous or progressive tenses; in Spanish this happens much less frequently than in English, and only with verbs whose action implies =duration of time= and besides when it is spoken of as =actually in progress=. This form is never possible with the verb "to go," and is very rarely found with "to come," as-- Miro aquellas Mantas y Terlices que me gustan: I am looking at those Blankets and Tickings which I like. Grita: He is shouting. Nos escribe continuamente: He is continually writing us. Hoy como con el arquitecto: To-day I am dining with the architect. Estoy haciendo mi correspondencia, no puedo dejar el despacho: I am writing my correspondence, I cannot leave the office. A =Preposition= before a Pres. Part. is either translated by a preposition followed by the Infinitive Mood or by the Pres. Part. without a Preposition, as-- Al ir _(or _yendo) á la Bolsa; On going to the Exchange. EXCEPTION-- After _en_ we find the Pres. Part. used with the following meaning--e.g. En acabando saldré: As soon as I have finished, I shall go out. "I, acting as trustee," is translated "Yo, procediendo como síndico"; but "I wrote to the party acting as umpire" would be "Escribí á la persona que funcionaba (_not_ funcionando) de árbitro." After "Intentar,"[139] "Ver," "Oir," "Sentir," and "Simular" the Infinitive only can be used in Spanish, as-- [Footnote 139: Or verbs of similar meaning. Intento (_or_ pienso) hipotecar la casa: I intend mortgaging the house. Le veo pasar: I see him passing. "My coming," "my going," etc., are translated: "El venir _or_ el haber venido yo," etc.] The Past Part. may be used in an absolute manner, as-- Entregada la carta se fué: The letter (being) delivered, he went. Sellados los sobres, los echó al correo: Having sealed the envelopes he posted them. VOCABULARY. =abogado=, lawyer, barrister =bombas de aire=, air pumps =*contribuir=, to contribute =contribuyo, etc=., I contribute =convenio=, agreement =desperdiciar=, to waste =diseño=, design =embajador=, ambassador =empeños=, obligations, engagements =estación, temporada=, season =Estados Unidos=, United States =excelentemente=, excellently =forma=, shape =forros=, linings =gorras=, caps =*hacer frente=, to face, to meet (bills, etc.) =honrar=, to honour =locomotora=, locomotive =malgastar=, to waste, to squander =Navidad=, Christmas =necesitar, desear=, to require =paso= step =*poner en conocimiento=, to inform =ponerse de acuerdo=, to agree =pormenores=, particulars =presupuesto=, estimate =proyectar=, to project, to plan =representar=, to represent, to act for =rizo del ala=, curl of the brim (of a hat) =secretario=, secretary =senado=, senate =someter=, to submit =supondré, etc=., I shall suppose, etc. =*suponer=, to suppose =supongo, etc=., I suppose, etc. =supuse, etc=., I supposed, etc. =tarea=, task =tratado de arbitraje=, arbitration treaty =varar=, to ground (a ship) =variedad=, variety =vendré, etc=., I shall come, etc. =vengo, vienes, etc=., I come, etc. =*venir=, to come =vine, etc=., I came, etc. EXERCISE 1 (43). Translate into English-- 1. El escribir concisa y claramente contribuye al buen éxito (success) de una casa comercial. 2. Quedan muchos pasos á dar. 3. Á suponer yo que no honrara sus aceptaciones no le habría concedido el crédito. 4. ¿Qué hace V.? 5. Estoy escribiendo un presupuesto para una locomotora y cuatro bombas de aire que se piden para Chile; en acabando mi tarea saldré (I shall come out) con V. 6. Debemos escribir al abogado que representa al Sr. Fulano para ponerle en conocimiento de los pormenores que puedan interesarle. 7. Sí, Señor, pensaba hacerlo mañana. 8. Siento tener que informar á V. que he encontrado al Sr. Smith y le he oído decir que no puede hacer frente á sus empeños. 9. Ejecutada esta primera orden, y pagada que sea (once paid) le manifestaré claramente que no me conviene continuar bajo estas condiciones. 10. Se asegura que el secretario del departamento de Estado y el embajador de Inglaterra se han puesto de acuerdo, hace poco, sobre los principales puntos del tratado de arbitraje proyectado por el Presidente de los Estados Unidos. 11. Se supone que dicho (said) convenio será sometido al senado antes de Navidad. 12. Se han recibido noticias de haber naufragado (shipwrecked) un buque en la costa de Marruecos (Morocco) y de haber varado otro en Almería. EXERCISE 2 (44). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I do not consider (no creo que) I have been fairly (equitativamente _or_ bien) treated. 2. Silk and Cotton Linings.--We note (nos enteramos de) your complaints but you know they were bought as job lots (imperfectos) and in buying such lots, one has to put up with (conformarse con) some imperfections (defectos, imperfecciones). 3. The hats and caps have turned out (salido) excellently. 4. The former (aquéllos) are exactly of the shape and curl you require and the latter (éstas) include (abarcan) a large variety of designs. 5. They will reach you (le llegarán) in plenty of time (con bastante anticipación) for the coming (entrante) season. 6. Please report (hacer sus comentos) on samples as soon as received (luego que las reciban). 7. Reading good papers is necessary to keep oneself posted up (mantenerse al corriente), but reading the sensational news (noticias sensacionales) of a certain press (prensa) is wasting one's time. 8. Are you going to Spain this year? 9. I do not think so, my correspondent is coming to England. 10. We shall write to the gentleman acting as secretary to send us (que nos envíe) a copy of the report. 11. Did you hear him saying that? 12. I regret having to inform you that once I have paid what I owe (to owe = deber), I shall not continue my transactions with your firm. LESSON XXIII. (Lección vigésima tercera.) THE MOODS (_contd._). The =Indicative Mood= (Modo Indicativo) is that form of the verb that expresses the action in a =positive manner=, as a =fact=. The =Conditional Mood= (Modo Condicional)[140] affirms like the Indicative Mood in a positive manner, =but subject to a condition=. The =Imperative Mood= is used to command or to beg. This mood has only one tense and one distinct form of person: the second, as-- Habla tú: Speak thou. Hablad vosotros: Speak ye _or_ you. The 1st pers. sing, does not occur and the other persons are taken from the Present Subjunctive.[141] In the 3rd person (and sometimes even the 1st plural) the pres. subj. may take the place of the Imperative used affirmatively. This becomes apparent by the use of _Que_, which precedes the Subjunctive and when an object pronoun occurs in the sentence, as-- Escríbalo él _or_ Que lo escriba él: Let him write it. There is no Imperative Mood negative in Spanish.[142] [Footnote 140: English form: (auxiliary) should + verb for 1st persons; (auxiliary) would + verb for 2nd and 3rd persons.] [Footnote 141: With only one exception-- =Ir= (to go). 1st pers. pl., Pres. Subj.--Vayamos. 1st pers. pl., Imperative--Vayamos _or_ vamos (more used).] [Footnote 142: It is borrowed entirely from the Pres. Subjunctive, as: No hables, no hable, no hablemos, no habléis, no hablen. The difference is of course, only apparent in the 2nd person.] =The Subjunctive Mood=. This mood offers some difficulty to English students; this arises from the fact that in English this mode of viewing the action of the verb is often rendered by the indicative mood or by the semi-auxiliary verbs "may," "might," "should," "would." =Note=.--The Spanish rule on the Subjunctive mood must be therefore applied irrespective of the English construction. GENERAL RULE. The Subjunctive Mood can only be used in dependent clauses, as-- Yo quiero que él venga: I wish him to come. Yo quiero que él vaya: I wish him to go. And then, only when, by reason of what precedes in the Principal Clause, the action of the Subordinate verb is not expressed in a positive manner (i.e., as a fact) but as merely contingent (i.e., only conceived in the mind), as-- Yo declare que él vino (_or_ vendría): I say that he came _or_ that he would come. Yo espero que él venga: I hope that he may come. Yo esperaba que él viniese: I hoped that he might, _or_ would come. SPECIAL RULES. I. A verb in a dependent clause is placed (generally) in the Subjunctive Mood after verbs expressing an action, or emotion of the mind, when the subjects of the principal and of the subordinate verbs are different. EXAMPLES of principal verbs which govern the following verb in the Subjunctive Mood-- aconsejar (to advise) alegrarse de que (to be glad that) avergonzarse de que (to be ashamed that) conceder (to grant) conseguir (to obtain) desear (to desire) esperar (to hope) evitar (to avoid) impedir (to hinder) mandar (to order) querer (to wish) rogar (to ask, to beg) sentir (to regret) temer (to fear) confiar en que (to trust) N.B.--(_a_) If the 2nd verb should have the same subject, use the Infinitive Mood, as-- Deseo que venga: I wish him to come. Deseo venir: I wish to come. (_b_) After verbs expressing joy, shame, sorrow, or fear, the Indicative may be used instead of the Subjunctive. (_c_) After "mandar" (to order) the subordinate verb is often in the Infinitive instead of the Subjunctive, as-- Mándele V. que lo haga: Order him to do it. Mándeselo V. hacer: Order him to do it. VOCABULARY. =agradar, favorecer=, to oblige =almacenero, dependiente de almacén=, warehouseman =celebrar=, to be glad of =colorido=, colouring =*complacer=, to oblige =complazco, etc=., I oblige, etc. =(el) cortapluma=, penknife =cortésmente=, politely =coste flete y seguro=, cost, freight and insurance =*dar las gracias=, to hank =demora=, delay =*demostrar confianza=, to show confidence =deplorar=, to deplore =dictados=, dictates =en seguida=, at once =franco de avería particular=, free of particular average =*hacer una remesa=, to send a remittance =intereses=, interests =justificarse=, to justify oneself =mucho=, much, exceedingly, greatly =navajas de afeitar=, razors =obrar=, to act =patines=, skates =primer dependiente=, chief clerk =propio=, own =*rogar=, to beg, to request =ruego, etc=., I beg, etc. =sin novedad=, safe and sound =tela para pantalones=, trousering =tijeras=, scissors EXERCISE 1 (45). Translate into English-- 1. En nuestra anterior les rogámos[143] nos enviasen una muestra de las telas de nuestros competidores. 2. Celebraremos mucho que encuentren ventaja en el cambio de vía (route) que hemos adoptado para sus envíos. 3. Siento haber hecho este error y siento también que mi primer dependiente no me lo haya hecho observar. 4. Me avergüenzo que por culpa de un dependiente de almacén negligente haya recibido V. un género por otro (the wrong goods). 5. Nunca me avergüenzo de hablar á las claras (openly, clearly). 6. No podemos ni deberíamos querer impedir á los otros que piensen como quieran; lo que sí debemos hacer es aconsejar á todos que obren según los dictados de su propia conciencia. 7. Lo que me esté bien (is my duty) hacer lo haré. 8. Espero me mande pronto los coloridos para las telas para pantalones. 9. Deploro que él quiera justificarse con argumentos que se quiebran de sutiles (which do not stand the light of day). 10. Explícate para que te entienda. 11. No te justifiques con malas razones (by quibbling). 12. Explíqueme V. de que se trata (what it is about). 13. No le explique V. más de lo necesario. [Footnote 143: The 1st pers. plural Past Definite of the 1st Conjugation may take an accent to distinguish it from the Present Indicative.] EXERCISE 2 (46). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We should like to do more business with your firm. 2. You would greatly oblige (us) by sending us a remittance. 3. He would do well to write it to them. 4. Let him write at once. 5. We hope you may arrive safe and sound, and we advise you to take care of yourself. 6. From what we can gather (por lo que tenemos entendido) the firm is doing a successful (buenos) business. 7. We trust this information will be of service (de utilidad) to you. 8. The documents appear to be in order and we hope there will be no difficulty. 9. We are glad the goods have arrived before the time stipulated (estipulado). 10. We do not want you to lose any money; on the contrary, we wish you to realise a substantial (buena) profit. 11. Tell the clerk to write more politely. 12. Order them to do it quickly. 13. I may come (es posible que venga) to-morrow. 14. We notice (observamos) that the Razors, Scissors, Penknives and Skates are ready to be shipped, and trust (confiamos) that, as announced (nos anunciaron Vs.), they will come to hand (llegaran á manos) without delay. 15. We thank you for the confidence you have shown in us which we hope to justify and you may be sure that we shall do our best for (por) your interests. 16. I request you kindly to insure the cargo against total loss or f.p.a.[144] 17. Sell at 21s. c.i.f.[145] [Footnote 144: Free of particular average.] [Footnote 145: Cost, insurance, freight.] LESSON XXIV. (Lección vigésima cuarta.) THE SUBJUNCTIVE MOOD (_contd._). II. The Subjunctive Mood is used after Impersonal verbs, as Es menester que lo haga: It is needful that he does it. Es necesario que lo haga: It is necessary that he does it. EXCEPTIONS-- 1. When the Impersonal Verb expresses certainty, as-- Es cierto que lo hará: It is certain that he will do it. 2. When the dependent verb has not its own subject, both the following constructions are correct-- Es necesario hacerlo: It must be done Es necesario que se haga: It must be done III. The Subjunctive Mood is used after the following locations--- Antes que (before) En caso que (in case) De miedo que (lest) Por más que (however much, although) Sin que (without) Para que (so that) Á menos que (unless) Salvo que (except that) Con tal que (provided that) Sea que (whether ... or) Aunque (even if) IV. The Subjunctive Mood is generally used after the following locations, when the action refers to future time, but the Indicative is used when the action refers to the past or present-- Después que (after) Aunque (although) De modo que (so that) No obstante que (notwithstanding) Cuandoquiera que (whenever) Hasta que (until) Luego que (as soon as) Quienquiera que (whoever) Comoquiera que (however) Cualquiera que (whichever, whoever) Dondequiera que (wherever) El 1°, 2°, 3°, etc., que (the 1st 2nd 3rd, etc., that) El único que (the only one that) El solo que (the only one that) El último que (the last that) Nada que (nothng that) Ninguo, nadie que (no one that) El mejor (or any other superlative) que (the best etc., that) E.g.-- Escribió de modo que su padre quedó contento: He wrote so that his father remained content. Escriba V. de modo que su padre quede contento: Write so that your father may remain content. Le pagué aunque no hizo su trabajo: I paid him, although he did not do his work. No le pagaré aunque haga su trabajo: I shall not pay him although he may do his work. The above rules have liberties and exceptions to be learnt by practice, generally turning on whether the action is intended to be alluded to =as a fact= or as =a mere conception=. V. The Subjunctive Mood is used after _cuando, así como, luego que_ and similar expressions when the action of the verb refers =to the future=, as-- Lo haré cuando tenga tiempo: I shall do it when I have time. N.B.--The Future Subjunctive is often used in this case. VI. The Subjunctive Mood is used after _si_ (conditional _if_) when the context requires the following verb in the past form, as-- Lo haría si tuviese (tuviera) dinero: I should do it if I had money. N.B.--If the context requires the verb in the present form, the Indicative Present must be used, as-- Lo hago si tengo tiempo: I do it if I have time. Lo haré si tengo tiempo: I shall do it if I have time. When, as in the latter example a future time is indicated, the Future Subjunctive may be used instead of the Pres. Indicative, as-- Lo haré si tuviere tiempo: I shall do it if (ever) I have time. VII. After _como_ the Subjunctive Mood is used idiomatically but not necessarily, as-- Como le vió le habló: As soon as he saw him he spoke to him. Como le viese le habló: On seeing him he spoke to him. VIII. After _creer, pensar, opinar,_ and similar verbs, the following verb is generally in the Indicative; but after _no creer,_ etc., the verb is in the Subjunctive mood. After _creer,_ etc., used interrogatively, the verb may be Indicative or Subjunctive. VOCABULARY. =abacá=, Manilla hemp =calcetines=, half-hose, socks =cáñamo=, hemp =cancelar=, to cancel =coger=, to catch *=conseguir=, to succeed in =contado (al)=, (in) cash =dificultad=, difficulty =un dineral=, a mint of money =encogerse=, to shrink =equivocarse=, to be mistaken =la gente=, the people =mecanismo=, mechanism, contrivance =medias=, stockings, hose =ocurrir=, to happen =perfeccionar=, to perfect =persona=, person =por mas que=, however much, whatever *=probar=, to prove, to attempt, to try =pruebo, etc=., I try, etc. *=reconvenir=, to reprimand =repasar=, to look over *=saber=, to know =se, sabes, sabe, etc=., I know, etc. =sepa, sepas, sepa, etc=., I may know, *=ser menester=, to be necessary =telefonear=, to telephone =trabajo=, work =yute=, jute EXERCISE 1 (47). Translate into English-- 1. Es conveniente (proper) y aun absolutamente necesario que se acabe esta cuestión. 2. Es cierto que se acabará. 3. Es posible que suba el mercado; tal vez suba más de lo que se crea. 4. Es el único cliente que no haya pagado su factura. 5. Es menester pues escribirle y apremiarle para que cumpla con su deber (to fulfil his duty). 6. Antes que escriba V., repase sus libros para que no haya miedo de que haya ocurrido alguna equivocación (mistake). 7. Á menos que pague le citaremos ante los Tribunales (we shall summon him) de miedo que otros sean pagados con nuestro dinero. 8. Por más que V. diga, las medias, calcetines, y guantes no son iguales á las muestras que sirvieron de base (as a basis) al contrato. 9. Sin que V. me lo diga lo haré, salvo que intervenga algun contratiempo (any hitch should happen) y con tal que, ínterin (in the meantime) llegue su remesa. 10. Sea que llegue, sea que no, V. debería hacerlo aunque le fuese en ello todo su capital (all your capital were at stake). 11. Telefonee V. cuando quiera. 12. Celebrare lo haga luego que le sea posible. 13. Así como sepa algo le telefoneare. 14. Enviaría las zarazas si estuviese seguro que no me viniera (_imp. subj._ of venir) después con quejas. 15. No creo que cueste muy cara esta seda. 16. No me parece que salio ventajosa aquella transacción. EXERCISE 2 (48). Translate into Spanish-- 1. It is impossible for us to obtain the goods. 2. He spoke as if he were sure of it. 3. I may (es posible que) accept your price, provided you pay cash. 4. It is certain the white shirtings have shrunk too much in bleaching (en el blanqueo). 5. He insisted until he paid him something and now he will continue to insist until he pays him something more. 6. The foreign correspondent (el corresponsal de lenguas extranjeras) did his work so that his employer was satisfied. 7. Write clearly so that people may read your writing (su letra) without difficulty. 8. Whenever I spoke to him he was very polite, therefore, I shall put (diré) a word in his favour whenever I can do so. 9. I reprimanded him notwithstanding that he was my son, and I shall do so whenever it is necessary in spite of his being now a man. 10. The first to come was the office-boy (muchacho, hortera [joc.]), and he will be the last to go (á salir). 11. The first firm that attempts it will burn its fingers (se cogerá los dedos). 12. He was the only one who understood us. 13. He is not the only one who is mistaken. 14. They will not be the only persons who will be mistaken. 15. Whoever succeeds in perfecting this contrivance will be sure to make (es seguro que hará) a mint of money. 16. We shall be thankful if you will cancel our order for flax, hemp, Manilla hemp and jute. LESSON XXV. (Lección vigésima quinta.) THE TENSES. The Tenses in Spanish being mostly used as in English, we shall only call attention to such of the principal differences between the two languages as have not yet been treated. =Present--= The English emphatic Present, "I do say," must be expressed by "Lo digo en efecto," "lo digo de veras," "lo digo sí." "I do" with a verb understood after, as "Do you understand? I do" is translated by "Sí," "Sí, señor," or "Sí entiendo." "Are you an engineer? Yes, I am"; "He is generous with me, and I am with him"; "He is my surety, and I am his"; must be translated by "Es V. ingeniero? Sí, lo soy"; "Es generoso conmigo y yo lo soy con él"; "Él es mi fiador y yo lo soy suyo." =Past--= The English language has one form of Simple Past--I wrote. In Spanish this is translated by-- Yo escribía (Imperf. Indic.) or Yo escribí (Past Definite), according to sense. It is most important to learn the difference between the Imperfect Indicative and the Past Definite (or Preterite), because these two tenses admit of no compromise in Spanish. The =Imperfect Indicative=[146] _describes_ an action or state which was _present_ when another past action took place, or another past state existed. [Footnote 146: Or Descriptive Past.] The =Past Definite= or =Preterite=[147] _narrates_ an event.[148] [Footnote 147: Or Narrating Past (this is why it is often called the Historical Past).] [Footnote 148: "Napoleon I died in 1821" is an event. "I fell" is grammatically also an event.] Consequently, it will be understood that whilst the Past Def. refers to "one point of time" or "several =separate= points of time," the Imperfect embraces a whole indefinite period. The following examples will show clearly the different functions of these two tenses-- Le escribí una vez (_or_ dos o tres veces) mientras él viajaba en Argentina: I wrote to him once (or two or three times) whilst he travelled[149] in Argentina. [Footnote 149: Travelled--was travelling, but notice that in Spanish we would also have the progressive form--"estaba viajando."] Encontré á Luis, quien llevaba levita negra: I met Louis, who wore[150] a black frock-coat. [Footnote 150: Wore--was wearing. Here in Spanish the progressive form "estaba llevando" would not be admissible because there is _no real progressive action_.] Hacía grandes negocios cuando residía en Chile: I had a large business when I resided in Chili. Los Cartagineses eran un pueblo comercial y emprendedor: The Carthagenians were a commercial and enterprising people. Él estaba allí cuando yo llegué: He was there when I arrived. Él leía al entrar yo en el bufete del abogado: He was reading when I entered the lawyer's office. En Inglaterra trabajaba[151] ocho horas cada día: In England I worked (used to work) eight hours a day. [Footnote 151: As will be seen, the English "was" followed by a pres. part. or the expression "used to be" may always be rendered by the Spanish Imperfect, but the Spanish progressive form also exists: "Estaba leyendo" (he was reading), and "used to" has its equivalent "solía":--"Solía trabajar 8 horas" (he used to work 8 hours).] Cada mes recibiamos nuestro sueldo: Each month we received (used to receive) our pay. Ayer cerré el contrato: Yesterday I signed the contract. Las pipas de vino resultaron averiadas: The casks of wine were damaged. Trabajé en Inglaterra 5 años[152]; Viví dos años en Londres y tres en Manchester: I worked 5 years in England; I lived two years in London and three in Manchester. [Footnote 152: This _is_ "a period of time," but it is _definite_.] As will be seen in all the examples of the Imperfect, the action or state is described as "existing in the past." VOCABULARY. =abarrotado=, glutted, cram full =acorazado=, iron-clad =ajo=, garlic =alerta=, on the alert, on the look out =brisa=, breeze =cebollas=, onions =conducta=, conduct, behaviour =contrabando=, contraband =cosecha=, harvest, harvest-time, crop *=dar en el clavo=, to hit it =dátiles=, dates =encogido=, shrivelled, shrunk =fruta=, fruit =granadas=, pomegranates =guardias aduaneras=, custom house officials =higos=, figs =inmaturo=, verde, unripe =limones=, lemons =llevar=, to carry, to wear =matute=, smuggling =mirar=, to look =moscatel=, muscatel grapes =naranja=, orange ¡=ojo=! attention! =olvidar=, to forget =pasas de Corinto=, currants =podrido=, rotten =por decirlo así=, so to say, as it were *=querer decir=, to mean =recobrar=, to recover =reprensible=, objectionable =resumir=, to recapitulate, to state briefly =sinnúmero=, a large number, innumerable =travesía=, journey by sea EXERCISE 1 (49). Translate into English-- 1. Cuando yo era más joven y me gustaba viajar, hacía la travesía de Liverpool á Las Palmas todos los años. 2. Estuve allí la última vez en 1905 principalmente para recobrar mi salud, pero como viaje de negocios también tuvo muy buen éxito. 3. No había entonces como la hay hoy en día tanta competencia en ese comercio. 4. Cuando llegó el buque á La Coruña había un sinnúmero de guardias aduaneras alerta, pues se decía que llevaba muchos géneros de contrabando. 5. ¿Qué quiere decir género de matute? 6. De matute es lo mismo que de contrabando y matutero ó contrabandista es el que introduce tales géneros. 7. No sabía esta palabra antes, pero ya no la olvidaré. 8. ¿Ha aprendido V. bien la diferencia entre el preterito y el imperfecto? 9. Perfectamente y voy á resumírsela en dos palabras--El uno es pasado, pasado y nada más, el otro es un presente de lo pasado por decirlo así; ¡mire V.! "Encontré á Carlos": pasado absoluto; "Llevaba sombrero blanco"; pasado _hoy_, presente _entonces_; ¿qué le parece á V.? 10. Me parece que V. ha dado en el clavo y estoy satisfecho. 11. Y ahora ¡ojo! en la aplicación y ¡no olvidar! EXERCISE 2 (50). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I believe his behaviour is most (muy) objectionable. 2. And I do also. 3. Did you receive the B/L for the cargo (cargamento) of oranges and grapes from Seville? 4. I did; and I expect a good parcel (partida) of muscatels from Valencia as well. 5. Are these the lemons, onions and pomegranates you were expecting? 6. They are. 7. I am sorry they were delayed so long because now the market is glutted with fruit. 8. He is my friend and I am his. 9. We received this year three cargoes of bananas from the Canary Islands (Islas Canarias). Six were consigned to us last year, but we used to receive many more when we sent our traveller in those islands at harvest time. 10. Ten thousand boxes of currants, 3,000 of figs, and 4,561 of dates were sold by auction. 11. There had not been such large quantities offered for a long time (hacía mucho tiempo que). 12. The iron-clad "Achilles" left yesterday for Vigo. The sea was perfectly calm although a light breeze blew, _or_ was blowing (soplaba _not_ estaba soplando), from the S.W. (sudoeste). 13. The commission-agent (comisionista) went by the three o'clock train. 14. When I went to say good-bye to him (para despedirme de 61) he was writing (escribía _or_ estaba escribiendo) a letter. 15. The cargo was examined and it was found that some of the fruit was unripe, some shrivelled or frost-bitten (tomada por la escarcha), and a parcel of garlic was rotten and had to be destroyed. LESSON XXVI. (Lección vigésima sexta.) THE TENSES (_contd._). Uses of the Past Definite (or Preterite) and the Present Perfect (as: Yo he comprado: I have bought). According to the English rule, the Past Def. (or Preterite) should be used to narrate events which happened in the past, in a period of time which does not include the present moment as-- Yo lo compre el ano pasado: I bought it last year. The Present Perfect (called in Spanish Preterito Compuesto) should be used when the period of time includes the present moment, as-- He fletado muchos buques: I have chartered many ships. By following this rule students will always be correct, but we must notice that in Spanish we find the "Preterito compuesto" often used instead of the Past Definite-- 1. When the period, although entirely past, is not defined, as-- Le ha facturado la quincalla: He invoiced him the smallware. 2. When although entirely past and definite, it is very recent, as--Se lo he dicho hace un momento: I told him a moment ago. N.B.--Plegue a Dios que el año que hoy empieza sea mas feliz que lo ha sido el pasado: May it please God that the year which commences to-day may be happier than the last has been (Grammar of the Academy).[153] [Footnote 153: Here the Present Perfect is used in both languages, because _the effects reach up to the present moment_.] The English Compound Past--"I had spoken"--is rendered by "yo había hablado" or "yo hube hablado." "Yo había hablado" is in general use. "Yo hube hablado" is used only after _cuando, luego que, inmediatamente que_; viz., when the action is represented as _immediately_ preceding another. N.B.--The Past Def. Simple may always take its place. Cuando hube declarado mis intenciones, Cuando declaré mis intenciones, se convenció--When I declared my intentions, he was convinced. The =Future Indicative=, (as well as the =Conditional Mood=) are used in Spanish oftener than in English to denote probability, as-- Habrá 20 hombres aquí: I dare say there are 20 men here. ¿Le habré dado este derecho? Have I, perchance, given him this right? ¿Tendría miedo talvez? Was he afraid, perhaps? The =Future Progressive=, is not used in Spanish when its place may be taken by the ordinary Future Simple, as-- Le escribire mañana: I shall be writing him to-morrow. But-- Cuando él venga yo estare escribiendo: When he comes I shall be writing. The =Present Subjunctive= in Spanish refers to time present or future; for time future, its place may be taken by the future Subj. (little used).[154] [Footnote 154: Except after "cuando" (but not in conversation), as--Se lo diré cuando venga _or_ cuando viniere: I shall tell it him when he comes. The Fut. Subj. is also used (not in conversation) after _si_ instead of Pres. Indic., as--Le serviré si la ocasión se ofrece _or_ se ofreciere: I shall serve him if the occasion presents itself.] =Use of Tenses of the Subjunctive Mood=. The verb in the Subj. Mood is put in the Present tense when the preceding verb is in the Pres. Indic., Future Indic. (simple) or Imperative, as-- Quiero que él lo haga: I want him to do it. Querré " " ": I shall want " "" Quiere tú " " ": Want (thou) " "" Otherwise the verb in the Subjunctive is in the Imperfect tense. N.B.--When the preceding verb is in the "preterito compuesto," e.g., "he dicho," when "he dicho" stands exactly for the English "I have told," it governs the Pres. Subj., as-- Le he dicho que se vaya: I have told him to go. But if it stands for the English "I told," it governs the Imperfect Subj., as Le dije (he dicho) que se fuese: I told him to go. When the preceding verb is in the Future Perfect, the verb in the Subjunctive may be put in the Present when its action does not refer to the past, as-- Habré querido que trabaje hoy o mañana: I shall have (may have) wanted him to work to-day or to-morrow. VOCABULARY. =*adquirir=, to acquire =alquilar=, to rent, to hire, to take or give on lease =arado=, plough =boni cación, rebaja=, allowance =cargar=, to charge =ceder=, to yield, to sell, to cede, to warrant make over =cédula de aduana=, custom house =colmo=, climax, record =color firme, sólido=, fast colour =contrarrestar=, to check =de otra manera=, otherwise =desarrollar=, to develop =empréstito=, loan =época=, epoch, period, time =explotar=, to exploit, to work =igualar, hermanar=, to match =*invertir=, to invest (money) =justificar=, to justify, to warrant =material rodante=, rolling stock (railway) =no bien=, as soon a | =pana (acordonada)=, cords (corduroy) =perspectivas=, prospects =piezas de repuesto=, spare pieces (machinery) =puros, cigarros, tabacos=, cigars =quinta=, villa =rastrillos=, harrows =rechazar=, to reject =reja=, ploughshare =revocar=, contramandar, to countermand *=tener cuenta=, to pay, viz., to be advantageous =terreno=, land =traspaso=, goodwill =trilladora=, threshing-machine EXERCISE 1 (51). Translate into English-- 1. Le he dado ayer las Cédulas de Aduana. 2. Le hemos cedido el traspaso de aquel negocio por £500. 3. Le he dicho que los fondos (stocks), obligaciones, ú otros valores cualesquiera (whatsoever) han de depositarse en manos seguras. 4. Yo le había explicado que la Compañía se había constituído para comprar, alquilar (take on lease) ó adquirir de otra manera y explotar y desarrollar cualesquier minas ó terrenos metalíferos; pero no bien le hube anunciado (_or_ le anuncié) que se trataba de terrenos situados en el Asia Menor, se rehusó á tomar las acciones que le había ofrecido. 5. Es que tendría sus razones. 6. Había unos cincuenta puros en aquella caja. 7. Deseo que V. invierta su dinero en esta empresa como deseaba el ano pasado que V. lo invirtiese en el Empréstito del Gobierno Austríaco (Austrian). 8. Le diré que se apresure a despachar los arados con sus rejas y piezas de repuesto, los rastrillos, y las trilladoras. 9. Tal vez mi socio le habra dicho que lo haga. 10. Sí, le ha escrito ayer que no retardase el embarque pues hacen mucha falta, hemos excedido la época fijada para la entrega y no nos tendría cuenta que la Sociedad Agrícola nos los rechazara. EXERCISE 2 (52). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We wrote them nothing to warrant such action. 2. I warranted him (garantizar) this would not be repeated. 3. The cloth was warranted fast colour. 4. He resorted to extreme means in order to bring about (llegar á) a solution of the difficulty. 5. In the past year the climax of prosperity was reached. 6. Large orders for railway rolling stock were countermanded on account of (á causa de) the feared political complications. 7. Velvet and Cord manufacturers have curtailed their production with a view (á fin de) to check the downward (á la baja) tendency of prices. 8. I matched his sample and I secured the order. 9. Did you hear from your traveller lately? 10. They charged us too much, we can buy on spot (en el mercado) much cheaper. 11. Spot cotton (el algodón disponible) was quoted yesterday one point higher than the day before, but futures declined (bajaron) 3/32 12. Perhaps there are better prospects of the growing crop (nueva cosecha) at present. 13. Do not be long (no tarde V.) in making up your mind (decidirse de) one way or the other. 14. No, I shall soon decide what to do, but I must have a little time for reflection. I cannot bind myself on the spot (al punto). 15. Some of the prints have grease spots (manchas de aceite) and we must refuse to accept them unless under (a menos que nos haga) a reasonable allowance. 16. He has a villa in a delightful spot (sitio) in the country (campo). LESSON XXVII. (Lección vigesima séptima.) THE AUXILIARY VERBS. _Tener_ and _haber_ are used for the English "to have," followed by an infinitive, as-- Tienen que acabar el trabajo para fines de Enero: They have to finish the work for the end of January. Hemos de seguir los consejos de los peritos en la materia: We have to follow the advice of those expert in the matter. In such cases _Tener_ is followed by _que_ and _Haber_ by _de_.[155] The former indicates compulsion or necessity, the latter a moral or self-imposed duty. _Haber de_ translates also "to be to,"[155] as-- ¿Quién ha de hacer este viaje? Who is to go on this journey? _Tener de_ is used in threats-- Tengo de llevarlo ante el tribunal: I shall take him before the court. "Tener que hacer, que escribir, que comer" and similar expressions translate also "to have something to do, to write, to eat," as-- Hoy tengo que hacer: To-day I have something to do, I am busy. Tengo mucho que hacer: I have much to do. Tenemos que comer por todo el día: We have something to eat which will suffice for the whole day. _Haber_ is used as a principal verb instead of _Tener_ in-- Haber menester de algo: To need something. He aquí el muchacho, etc.[156]: Here is the boy (behold the boy here, etc.). Héme aquí _or_ héteme[157] aquí, etc.: Here I am (behold me here, etc.). It also survives in some legal phrases, as-- Fué habido el reo: The culprit was captured. Los hijos habidos en su primera mujer: The children by his first wife. And in some idioms, as-- Allá se las haya: That is his business. Habérselas con uno: To dispute with anybody. _Tener_ translates the English "to be" in such phrases as-- Tener hambre, sed, sueño, calor, frío, vergüenza, and miedo: To be hungry, thirsty, sleepy, warm, cold, ashamed, and afraid. Also speaking of age-- Tengo veinte años: I am twenty years old. [Footnote 155: In all these cases _deber_ may be used instead.] [Footnote 156: _He_--imperative mood of _haber_.] [Footnote 157: The _te_ is the "ethical dative" (which is much more used in Spanish than in English).] And in-- Tener razón: To be right. And-- No tener razón _or_ Dejar de tener razón: To be wrong. We said that the past participle when used with _Tener_ agrees with the direct object, as-- Tengo leídas las cartas: I have read the letters. But when there is no direct object, of course the past participle remains invariable, as-- Tengo entendido que....[158]: I have heard that.... [Footnote 158: This use of _tener_ for _haber_, especially with no direct obj. following is in general to be avoided; in this example, however, "tengo entendido," the phrase has more force than "he entendido." It implies that the mind is full with the effect of the communication.] +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Conocer= (to know)[159] | | (changes _c_ into =zc= before _a_ or _o_). | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ |_Pres. Indic._, conozco. | |_Pres. Subj._, conozca-as-a-amos-áis-an. | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Hacer= (to do or make). | +--------------------+---------------------------------------------+ |_Past Part._, |Hecho. | |_Pres. Indic._,|Hago. | |_Past Def._, |Hice, hiciste, hizo, hicimos, hicisteis, hicieron.| |_Fut. Indic._, |Haré, harás, hará, haremos, haréis, harán. | |_Imp. Mood_, |Haz, haced (_reg._). | +--------------------+---------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 159: Model verb for all those ending in _cer_ or _cir_ preceded by a vowel, except _cocer_ (conj. like _mover_), _mecer_ (_reg._) and _hacer_. (Those ending in _ducir_ are further irreg. in the Past Definite.) VOCABULARY. =abrigar=, to shelter, to nourish (the hope) =acciones preferentes=, preference shares =agudo=, sharp, keen =aplazar=, to postpone =asistir=, to assist, to attend =atendible=, plausible =atrasado=, overdue =caldos=, wines and oils (collectively) =consabido=, in question, aforesaid =cuenta de venta=, account sale =dedicarse=, to devote oneself =dejar sin efecto=, to cancel =delicado de salud=, in indifferent health =desfavorable, contrario=, unfavourable, adverse =*deshacerse de=, to part with =domicilio=, registered office of a company, also residence =en este momento=, at the present moment =ensayo=, trial, venture =equidad=, fair dealing =*haber menester=, to need =indemnización=, indemnity =junta de acreedores=, meeting of creditors =liquidar=, to liquidate, to settle, to clear off goods, etc. =mediería, artículos de punto=, hosiery =pagaré=, promissory note, note of hand =palacio=, palace =plazo=, term =respiro=, breath, breathing time, days of grace for payment, delay =retirar=, to withdraw (los) =reunidos=, those present =*tener en cuenta=, to take into consideration =trabajar, *ir, á porfía=, to vie with each other =trámites de la ley=, legal means =viaje de ida=, outward voyage =viaje de vuelta=, inward voyage EXERCISE 1 (53). Translate into English-- 1. Tengo que hacer hoy y no podré dedicarme á la correspondencia. 2. Si V. no quiere liquidar el consabido asunto tendré de apelar á los trámites de la ley. 3. V. no habrá menester de tanto pues abrigo las mejores intenciones y lo que pido es sólo unas pocas semanas de respiro. 4. He aquí pues lo que se ha de hacer, V. me firmará un pagaré para fin de Febrero y queda entendido que no concederé después ninguna extensión del plazo. 5. Si entonces V. no satisface su deuda mi abogado dará los pasos necesarios y V. será responsable de (liable for) los gastos y perjuicios habidos y por haber (damages accrued and to accrue). 6. La Compañía Nacional de Transportes (carriage) ha instalado su domicilio en el nuevo Palacio de la Libertad. 7. Dicha Sociedad tiene un capital de un millón de pesetas; la mitad en acciones preferentes y la mitad en ordinarias. 8. Se ha verificado la junta de acreedores del Sr.... á la cual no asistió el principal interesado por encontrarse delicado de salud. 9. Los reunidos han decidido aplazar dicha junta hasta el 20 del corriente. 10. Fundándose en atendibles razones nuestro corresponsal deja sin efecto el pedido que nos había confiado. EXERCISE 2 (54). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We shall have to take in the hosiery although it is slightly (un poquito) overdue. 2. We have to give the example of fair dealing ourselves. 3. Who is to decide on the subject of the indemnity due to the captain of the ship? 4. If we want to withdraw the goods without producing (presentar) a B/L. we shall have to sign an indemnity (indemnidad). 5. We have received the account sale for our wines and oils and regret the venture has not turned out as well as we expected. 6. We found a great difficulty in parting with our surplus (excesivas) stock, of which we had to dispose (disponer) at prices very much reduced. 7. We are unable to inform you to what extent (hasta qué punto) you may calculate on (contar con) our remittance, as much will depend on circumstances over which we have no control (independientes de nuestra voluntad). 8. The rate (el tipo) of the insurance premium is 6/-per cent. on the outward and 5/-per cent. on the homeward voyage. 9. I very much question the advisability (dudo mucho la ventaja) of putting prices up at the present moment when so many adverse circumstances have to be taken into consideration. 10. As a matter of fact (en efecto) most of us (la mayor parte de nosotros) think it would be better to reduce them somewhat (algo) now that competition is so keen. 11. They vie with each other in cutting prices down (reducir) with the result that profits are ridiculously low (irrisorios). LESSON XXVIII. (Lección vigésima octava.) THE ADVERBS. Adverbs are used to modify verbs, adjectives, or other adverbs. The following are the principal Spanish adverbs-- Abajo (below) Además (besides) Adelante, delante (before, in point of place) Ahora (now) *Alrededor, *entorno (around) Amenudo, á menudo (often) *Antes (before, in point of time) Antes, antes bien (rather) Anoche (last night) Anteanoche (the night before last) Apenas, así que (as soon as) Aquí, acá (here, hither) Allí, allá (there, thither) De aquí, de allí (hence, thence) Aun, todavía (still, yet) Ayer (yesterday) Anteayer (the day before yesterday) Bastante (sufficiently) Bien (well) *Cerca (near) *Debajo (under) *Por debajo (underneath) Demasiado (too, too much) *Dentro (within) *Después (after, afterwards) *Detrás (behind) Donde[160] (where) En breve (shortly) *Encima (upon, above) *Enfrente (opposite) Entonces (then) *Fuera (outside) Hacia (towards) Hacia adelante (forwards) Hacia abajo (downwards) Hasta (till, until) Hoy (to-day) *Junto (next) *Lejos (far) Luego (presently, soon, then) Mañana (to-morrow) Mal (badly) Más (more) Mejor (better) Menos (less) Mientras (whilst) Mientras tanto (in the meantime) Mucho (much) Muy[161] (very) Nunca, jamás (never) Ni ... ni ... (neither ... nor ...) Ni tampoco (not either) Peor (worse) Pronto (soon) Tal vez, acaso, quizá, quizás (perhaps) Tan, así (so) Tanto (so much) Tarde (late) Temprano (early) Ya[162] (already) [Footnote 160: After verbs of motion also "á donde." After verbs of rest also "en donde."] [Footnote 161: Used as in English, but always _muy_ before a past part., as: Muy apreciado (much esteemed). Such phrases as "He is rich but not very" are translated "Es rico pero no mucho _or_ tanto."] [Footnote 162: _Ya_ is also used for "now." "Ya no"--no longer.] Those marked with an asterisk may govern a noun or pronoun through the preposition _de_ with the exception of _junto_, which governs these words through _á_. Adverbs may be formed from adjectives as in English. The English termination _ly_ is rendered by =mente= _added to the feminine form_ of the adjective, when this changes for the feminine. Adverbs are compared like the adjectives, but the superlative relative of adverbs is formed with _lo más_, and _lo menos_, as-- Es el más rico: He is the richest. Esta adornado lo más ricamente posible: It is ornamented in the richest manner possible. Es el menos exacto: He is the least exact. Cotice lo menos que pueda: Quote the least you can. Besides the primitive adverbs given in our list, there are many adverbial locutions-- á toda prisa (with all speed). á la española (in the Spanish fashion). á troche y moche, á trochimoche (in a slipshod way). con blandura (gently). de mala gana (unwillingly). de vez (_or_ de cuando) en cuando (from time to time). tal cual vez (once in a while). un si es, no es (ever so little). When an adverb is followed by a verb in English _que_ must be inserted in Spanish before a finite mood and _de_ before an infinitive, as-- Después de venir (after coming). Después que vino (after he came). The phrases "I say so," " I think it is (so)," "I do not think so," are rendered "Digo que si" (or "lo digo"), "Creo que sí" (or "lo creo"), "Creo que no" (or "no lo creo"). Some adjectives are used adverbially, as in English, without the addition of _mente_, as-- Vender barato, caro (to sell cheap, dear). Hablar alto, bajo (to speak loud, low). When two or more adverbs ending in _mente_ occur in the same sentence, the termination is added only to the last, as-- Escribe clara,[163] concisa[163] y elegantemente: He writes clearly, concisely and elegantly. [Footnote 163: Notice "clara" and "concisa" in the feminine.] =Caer= (to fall). _Pres. Ind._, Caigo -- -- -- -- -- _Pres. Subj._, Caiga, caigas, caiga, caigamos, caigáis, caigan. VOCABULARY. =á duras penas=, with great difficulty =á la larga=, m the long run =á medida que=, in proportion as =á mejor andar=, at best =á plazos=, in instalments =ajeno=, averse =apagado= extinguished, dull (colours) =*asentar=, to book (an order) =chillones=, gaudy, screaming (colours) =claro=, light (colours) =claro y redondo= (quite clearly) =columna=, column =con el corazón en la mano=, quite candidly =confeccionar=, to make up =*confesar=, to confess =conservas alimenticias=, preserves =definir=, to define (also to settle) =dificultad=, difficulty =ensayo=, trial, proof, venture =escoger=, to choose =exceder=, to exceed =facilidad=, ease, facility =fijo=, fixed, firm =fondos=, grounds (pictures, cloth) =gana= (=de buena, de mala=), willingly, unwillingly =ganga=, a bargain =langosta=, lobster =mariscos=, shell-fish =muestrarios=, pattern cards, sets =oscuro=, dark =paquete=, packet, parcel =*(no) poder menos de ..=., not to be able to help =puntos=, points, spots (in prints) =restos=, remnants =sacar=, to pull out, to get out, to get back =sardinas=, sardines =satines brochados=, brocaded satins =serie=, series =sin mirar á gastos=, regardless of expense =sobrio=, quiet (colour) =solidez=, solidity =tomar á mal=, to take amiss =vivo=, vivid, bright (colours) EXERCISE 1 (55). Translate into English-- 1. Tiene V. (there is) tanta variedad de dibujos que verdaderamente cuesta dificultad (it is difficult) el escoger entre diseños con flores, con puntos, con rayas, y cuadritos. 2. Con facilidad sin embargo (however) podrá V. hacer un surtido entre las dos series que le enviamos, de fondos claros y oscuros, y de colores vivos, chillones, sobrios, y apagados. 3. Desde algún tiempo á esta parte tratan Vs. los negocios tan á trochimoche que ya no sabemos á que atenernos (what to think of it). 4. Hago esta consignación de mala gana y le confieso claro y redondo que siguiendo V. á vender tan barato y á plazos tan largos no me tendrá cuenta hacerle otros envíos sino por su propia cuenta ó contra pedidos fijos de los clientes. 5. Clara y concisamente es como se deben escribir las cartas comerciales. 6. Á la par que Vs. (same as yourselves) no somos ajenos á la idea de hacer algún ensayo en la importación de langosta, mariscos, sardinas, y conservas alimenticias, pero debemos ir á medias en cualquiera transacción que se decida. 7. Creo que á duras penas sacará su dinero y á mejor andar tendrá que perder todo su trabajo. 8. Á medida que aumenten los ingresos se aumentarán los dividendos. 9. Recibirá V. en paquete asegurado los nuevos muestrarios que se han confeccionado sin mirar á gastos. 10. Estos restos son una verdadera ganga y además, podrá V. pagarlos al contado ó á plazos largos (easy) como más le convenga. 11. Dejaremos en suspenso su reclamo hasta definirlo personalmente en su próximo viaje á Inglaterra. 12. No puede menos de admitir (to admit) que á la larga esto no puede convenirme, y espero que V. no lo tome á mal que se lo exponga con el corazón en la mano. EXERCISE 2 (56). Translate into Spanish-- 1. After writing you by last mail we are informed by the maker of the Brown Linens (lienzos morenos) that he will be able to book your order which will be delivered before the end of next month. 2. The Brocaded Satins will range between (costarán desde) 4d. and 5d. a yard, and we shall ship them within six weeks but only after receiving your letter confirming them. 3. These shapes are not worn (gastan, llevan) outside England. 4. Not far from here and next to the Bank there is the Insurance Office, which is much admired for its solidity and fine appearance. 5. It cost £20,000 and they never thought it would exceed half that amount. 6. Perhaps it is too large an outlay (gasto) for the Company, but there was no money wasted. 7. The columns in the porch have cost so much because they are of the best Carrara marble (mármol). 8. Whilst we admit that the prints sent may have been just a little bit (un si es no es) off shade (diferentes al color pedido) your claim is quite out of the question. 9. Towards the beginning of the autumn our Mr. So-and-So will make a trip (hará un viaje) to your place, and he will have the honour of waiting upon you (de visitarles) with our latest novelties (novedades). 10. You do not understand how it is possible that your neighbours are able to undersell you (vender más bajo que V.), nor can we make it out (explicárnoslo) either. LESSON XXIX. (Lección vigésima nona.) THE PREPOSITIONS. Prepositions join words together to mark certain relations between them. The principal prepositions are-- Á (at, to) Ante (before--in point of place) Bajo (under) Con (with) Contra, en contra de (against) De (of, from) Desde (since, from) En (in) Entre (between, among) Hacia (towards) Hasta (till, as far as, even) Para (for the purpose of, for, in order to) Por (for, by, because of) Según (according to) Sin (without) Sobre (upon) Tras, tras de (behind) Para con (una persona),[164] (towards, with, a person) [Footnote 164: "Fué muy generoso para conmigo": He was very generous with me.] Many verbs take in Spanish a different preposition than in English. Some verbs take a preposition in one language and none in the other, as-- Depender de una promesa: To depend on a promise. Convenir en una transacción: To agree to a compromise. Confiar en un desconocido: To trust a perfect stranger. Regalarle un cheque: To present him with a cheque. The use of the correct preposition according to the verb it follows is best learnt by practice. In the second part of the grammar, the student will be helped with a list of the most characteristic differences between the two languages. The Spanish construction is not quite so rigid in this respect as is the English. Difference between _de_ and _desde_ both translating "from"--=De= mark the origin only, as: Esta seda viene de Italia: This silk comes from Italy--it is Italian silk. =Desde= calls attention to distance of time or space, as-- Desde el 1° de Enero se estableció en comercio por cuenta propia: From the 1st of January, he started in business on his own account. He viajado desde Londres hasta Calcuta en tantos días: I travelled from London to Calcutta in so many days. The chief difficulty in the employment of the Spanish prepositions is the use of _Por_ and _Para_-- =Por= is used-- 1. To denote agency = by[165]; as-- Es tenido en gran cuenta por sus amigos: He is thought much of by his friends. Este establecimiento fué fundado por mi bisabuelo: This establishment was founded by my great-grandfather. [Footnote 165: After the passive voice of verbs denoting mental action when formed by _ser_, _Por_ is elegantly substituted by _De_, as: Son amados por _or_ de sus padres (they are loved by their parents). But: Se aman por sus padres.] 2. To denote the _motive_ of an action, as-- Lo hizo por envidia: He did it for (out of) envy. 3. To denote equivalency of any kind, as-- Cinco peniques por libra: Fivepence for a pound--per pound. Trocar un producto por otro: To exchange one product for another. Considerar á uno bueno por £1,000: To consider somebody as good for £1,000. Por mejor le envié yo como viajante: I sent you to travel, holding you for a better man. Tienda por tienda, prefiero esta: Of the two shops I prefer this. 4. To denote distribution, as-- Vinieron cinco por cinco: They came five by five. =Para= is used-- 1. To denote the object of an action (generally "to" or "in order to"), as-- Trabajo para ganarme la vida: I work to (in order to) earn my living. 2. To denote destination (or direction), as-- El tren sale para Valencia: The train leaves for Valencia. Esta cédula es para el Sr. Fulano: This warrant is for Mr. So-and-So. Voy para casa: I am going towards home. Many idiomatic uses of _Por_ and _Para_ must be learnt by practice. VOCABULARY. =abogar=, to plead =acceder=, to accede =afanarse=, to exert oneself, to take much trouble =ahorrar=, to save =ajuste=, adjustment =á la verdad=, really =altos hornos=, blast furnaces, foundries =amarillo=, yellow, buff =amistad=, friendship =aparentar=, to show outwardly =aprovecharse=, to take advantage of, to avail oneself =aproximarse=, to approach, to draw near =automóvil=, motor-car =azadas=, hoes =azadones=, pick-axes =azuelas=, adzes =bultos=, packages =cizallas=, shears =croquis=, sketch =diseñador=, draughtsman =*disponer=, to dispose, to arrange =echar al correo=, to (throw into the) post =empeoramiento=, deterioration =en blanco=, blank =estancia=, stay =(un) fardín, un cuarto=, a farthing, a trifling amount =*forzar=, to force, to strain =hachuelas=, hatchets =hilar=, to spin =largo de talle=, full, complete =lingotes de hierro=, pig-iron =martillo=, hammer =molestia=, trouble =moratoria=, extension of time (for payment) =palas=, shovels =para= (=estar=), (to be) on the point of ... =picos=, picks =plomo=, slate, lead colour =por= (=estar por escribir=), to be (yet) unwritten =previsión=, foresight =los síntomas=, the symptoms =suspender los pagos=, to stop payments =tejer=, to weave =tenazas=, tongs =textil=, textile =*trocar=, to barter, to exchange =yerno, hijo político=, son-in-law EXERCISE 1. (57) Translate into English-- 1. De España nos vienen las ricas uvas y las jugosas (juicy) naranjas, además de minerales--de hierro y cobre. 2. El viaje por mar desde España á Inglaterra tarda de cuatro á seis días. 3. Desde el año 1900 hasta el 1910 aumentó mucho la población del Reino Unido. 4. Los Altos Hornos de Bilbao se han construido para la producción de lingotes de hierro. 5. La Sociedad reúne poderosos elementos (commands great resources) para la fabricación de toda clase de maquinaria para la hiladura y la tejeduría del algodón. 6. Los bultos se embarcaron directamente por los fabricantes mismos. 7. El empaque y el transporte cuestan lo mismo y precio por precio preferimos ahorrarnos molestias. 8. Por un falso sentido de honor aquella casa forzó su crédito para no tener que pedir moratorias, dando esto por resultado el empeoramiento de su posición. 9. Compré un automóvil por £1,000 mas lo troqué con este que vale á la verdad £1,500 dando sólo £200 por la diferencia. 10. Disponga V. las piezas tantas por parte. 11. Á una veintena por vez colocámos aquellos picos, palas, azadas, azadones, hachuelas, azuelas, martillos, cizallas, y tenazas. 12. Se presentó por su yerno, abogó por él por una hora larga de talle, todo por su hija, pues por el chico (young man, lit., child) maldita la gana que tendría (he would not have liked the idea) de afanarse tanto por él. 13. Haré por colocar sus driles blancos, plomo, y amarillos (buff) para los cuales me dió orden verbal su Sr. hijo durante su estancia aquí y que se despacharán por (_or_ por la vía de) Burdeos y Cartagena. 14. Nuestro mercado sigue muy encalmado sin que por el momento presente síntomas de mejora. 15. La primera carta está para echarse al correo pero la segunda y la tercera quedan aun por escribir. EXERCISE 2 (58). Translate into Spanish-- 1. He offers a loan to avoid all risk that the house should fall. 2. It would not be possible for it to fall unless the Textile Bank should stop payments. 3. His office is opposite ours and we have him thus under our eyes. 4. With all the weight of the evidence (las pruebas) you have collected (recogido), it would be very risky to proceed against him from such a distance. 5. Between one thing and the other I did not know what to choose, so I left them to settle the matter between themselves. 6. These sketches have been made by our draughtsman for our customers, the owners of the Sugar Mill in Parahyba. 7. He did the work for the pleasure of it but would not (no quiso) charge a farthing for it. 8. The packets arrived two by two. 9. I accede willingly for the sake of old friendship (por la antigua amistad que nos une). 10. As the time of the year is drawing near when your firms effect their purchases in this country, we beg to address you to renew the offer of our services. 11. We shall be extremely glad if you will avail yourselves of our offers and send us orders for some of your requirements. 12. The adjustment of the average per S.S. "Nile" is still hanging fire (todavía pendiente), but we are pushing the Insurance Co. to our utmost (todo lo posible) for a speedy settlement. 13. For a (para) foreigner he understands English methods very well indeed. 14. Being (por ser) so young he shows a good deal of (mucho) tact and foresight. LESSON XXX. (Lección trigésima.) THE CONJUNCTIONS AND INTERJECTIONS. Conjunctions join sentences together; also independent words. The principal conjunctions are-- *Á menos que (unless) Á pesar de (in spite of) Así como (just as) Así que, de suerte que (so that) *Afín de que, *Para que (that--in order that) Aunque, bien que, si bien (although, even if) *Bien ... bien (whether ... or) Como (as) *Con tal que (provided) Con que (so) *Cuando (if) Mas, pero, empero[166] (but) Sino (but--after a negative[167]) Ni ... ni (neither ... nor) No sea que* (lest, also perhaps) No obstante (nevertheless) Ó ... ó[168] (either ... or) Ora ... ora[168] (now ... now--with indic. mood) Porqué, porque (why, because) Portanto (therefore) Puesto que[169] (seeing that) Pues (since) Que (that) Si (if, whether) Sin embargo (however, notwithstanding) Según (according) Siquiera (at least, even) Y[170] (and) Ya ... ya[171] (whether ... or--with subj. mood) Ya que (since, seeing that) [Footnote 166: _Empero_ is used same as _pero_ at the beginning of a sentence.] [Footnote 167: Unless a _finite_ verb follows, as: No tengo dinero pero gozo de buena reputación (I have no money but I enjoy a good reputation).] [Footnote 168: Before words commencing with _o_ or _ho_, it changes into _ú_.] [Footnote 169: In old Spanish it had the meaning of "even if."] [Footnote 170: Before words commencing with _i_, also _hi_ not followed by a vowel, use _é_, as: "Padre é hijo," but "Nieve y hielo."] [Footnote 171: "Ora ... ora" and "ya ... ya" both mean "now ... now" (with indic. mood), and "whether ... or" (with subj. mood).] The conjunctions marked with an asterisk are always followed by a verb in the Subjunctive Mood. The English "either" is generally left understood, as-- Exportaciones ó importaciones: Either exports or imports. "Either" following a negative--_tampoco_, as-- No quiero comprar Títulos de Gobierno ni Obligaciones de Ferrocarriles tampoco: I do not wish to buy Government Stock, nor Railway Stocks either. =Interjections=, being mere exclamations, do not stand in grammatical relation to any other word in the sentence. They are elliptical sentences, as-- ¡Oh! (I am surprised, etc.). The principal Interjections in Spanish are the following-- caramba, cáspita (these express practically all kinds of emotions) ay[172] (oh! grief or threat) bah, ca, quiá (humph!) ce, hola, ola (I say!) chito, chitón (shut up!) cuidado, ¡ojo! (attention! look out!) ea (come!) he (hey) húy (oh! physical pain) ojalá (oh, that) por Dios (for heaven's sake) tate, zape (what! (surprise)) tonterías (nonsense!) uf (oh! weariness or fatigue) [Footnote 172: This can govern a noun or pronoun, as--¡Ay de mí! Woe to me! ¡Ay de Pedro! Woe to Peter!] As well as _Ah_ or _Ha_, _Oh_ or _O_ as in English, and many words used as exclamations, as-- ¡Silencio! ¡calle! ¡calle la boca (silence! hush! shut your mouth!) ¡vamos! (much used), (come! come now!) ¡que lástima! (what a pity!) ¡poco á poco! (gently, Sir!) ¡héteme[173] aquí! (here I am!) ¡hételos[173] aquí! (here they are, etc.) [Footnote 173: _Te_--ethical dative.] +-------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Caber= (to be able to contain = to hold) | | (to be able to be contained = to go in) | |_Pres. Indic._, Quepo. | |_Past Def._, Cupe, cupiste, cupo, cupimos, cupisteis, cupieron. | |_Fut. Indic._, Cabré, cabrás, cabrá, cabremos, cabréis, cabrán. | +---------------+---------------------------------------------------+ | | =Poder= (to be able). | |_Pres. Part._, | Pudiendo. | |_Pres. Indic._,| Puedo, puedes, puede, ... pueden. | |_Imp. Mood_, | NONE. | |_Past Def._, | Pude, pudiste, pudo, pudimos, pudisteis, pudieron.| |_Fut. Indic._, | Podré, podrás, podrá, podremos, podréis, podrán. | +---------------+---------------------------------------------------+ VOCABULARY. =aficionado (á)=, fond of =aflojar=, to relax =ansioso=, eager =*apetecer=, to desire, to covet =bastante bien=, fairly well =berzas, coles= (f.), cabbages =buscar=, to look for, to search =buscarse=, to bring upon oneself =cauteloso, cauto=, cautious =conexiones=, connections, couplings (machinery) =contrincante=, neighbour, competitor =detenidamente=, fully =disturbado, transtornado=, disturbed, upset =engranajes=, gearings =escala=, scale =hortelano=, fruit gardener =inquilino=, tenant =ir á=, to lead to =llantas=, tyres =*moler=, to grind =operaciones=, operations, dealings =perro=, dog =plaza=, market place, square, place =*poner al corriente=, to inform =refrán=, proverb =repentino=, sudden =resortes=, springs (mach.) =sosa=, soda =tambores=, drums =traspapelado=, mislaid (of papers) EXERCISE 1 (59). Translate into English-- 1. Á menos que los giros vengan acompañados de los conocimientos y facturas comerciales y consulares (invoices and consular invoices) no los recogeremos. 2. Le remito poder en forma (regular power of attorney) para que V. pueda representarme y hacer mis veces ahí. 3. Cuando me pague lo que me debe veremos lo que proceda hacer (what ought to be done). 4. V. no hace mención en su atenta de los engranajes, conexiones, llantas y resortes de nuestro pedido 2 del que rige, no sea que se haya traspapelado nuestra orden. 5. Para comprar barato no hay sino que pagar puntualmente sus facturas. 6. Aunque es hombre muy difícil de tratar, sus órdenes son muy apetecidas de los fabricantes porque su palabra una vez empenada (pledged) es oro molido (as good as gold). 7. Aunque me pagara más no se lo daría pues ya tengo empeñada mi palabra. 8. Así como le vió le puso al corriente de las circunstancias. 9. Con tal que el mercado afloje un tantico procuraré plazar su orden para 50 tambores de sosa, á su límite. 10. Con que nuestros contrincantes se porten con lealtad no tenemos derecho de quejarnos de su competencia. 11. Según lo prueba la experiencia más vale ir cautelosos en aquellos mercados. 12. No deseo buscarme molestias ni meterme en camisa de once varas (meddle in other people's business). 13. Hace como el perro del hortelano que no come las berzas ni las deja comer. 14. ¡Caramba! ¿Se viene V. con refranes en una gramática comercial? 15. ¡Calle, hombre! Todos los caminitos van á la plaza (all roads lead to Rome); los españoles son muy aficionados á los refranes. EXERCISE 2 (60). Translate into Spanish-- 1. These 200 pieces will not go in that case, it is too small. 2. I do not think they will, either. 3. I cannot say anything before I see the result, but I shall be able to tell you something definite to-morrow. 4. Not being able to compete, he has withdrawn from the market. 5. I could not confirm the agreement last week. 6. I believe I could buy a parcel of wheat cheaper to-day unless there should be a sudden rise. 7. In spite of all his efforts, he was obliged to file his petition. 8. Although the market here is firm, we have hopes (esperamos) that prices will relax in view of the bearish tone (tendencia á la baja) shown in the Liverpool market yesterday. 9. The enclosed pattern is rather (algo) poor; still, as it appears to sell well in Central Africa, I should be glad if you would see your way (decidirse) to manufacture it at our price. 10. The new presses (prensas) work fairly well; there is, however, room (lugar) for improvement, and our engineer will write you fully on some proposed modifications. 11. He signed the documents without even (siquiera) reading them, so upset was he by the news the mail had just brought him; therefore we shall be obliged if you will kindly send them back for his perusal and return (para que los examine y se los envíe otra vez). 12. Provided you take a lease of these premises (tome en arriendo este local) for a period of ten years, I shall make the necessary alterations, since I am very eager to have you as a tenant. 13. Although the demand for money is no longer so strong, the market is still under the control (dominio) of the Bank of England, to which it is now indebted for (debe) a considerable amount, and dealings are but on a comparatively small scale. PART II LESSON XXXI. (Lección trigésima primera.) THE ARTICLE. The =Definite Article= is used in Spanish and not in English (besides rules given in Lesson II)-- 1. Before the seasons of the year-- +------------------------------------------------+ |La primavera (spring) El otoño (autumn) | |El verano (summer) El invierno (winter)| | | |And the four cardinal points: | | | |El norte (North) El este (East) | |El sur (South) El oeste (West) | +------------------------------------------------+ 2. Before the hour of the day (with the words _hora, horas,_ understood), as-- Es la una: It is one o'clock. Son las dos y cuarto: It is a quarter past two. Son las tres y cinco: It is five minutes past three. Son las cuatro menos diez: It is ten minutes to four. Las cinco y media: Half-past five. 3. Optionally, before the proper name of a woman used colloquially, as-- La Maria (Mary, our Mary). 4. Optionally, before the days of the week, especially when preceded by "on" in English, as-- Vendré el sábado: I shall come on Saturday. 5. Before the names of the following countries-- El Perú, La India, El Japón. And some towns to be learnt by practice, as-- La Coruña, El Havre, El Cairo, El Ferrol, etc. Although found sometimes before the names of countries in general, this example should not be followed. The Definite Article is used in English and not in Spanish-- 1. Before numbers following names of sovereigns, etc., as-- Carlos I (primero), Charles I (the first) Alfonso XIII (trece), Alphonso XIII (the thirteenth) 2. In titles of books, headings, etc., as--Historia de la Inquisición (The History of the Inquisition). 3. Before words in apposition, as--Madrid, capital de España (Madrid, the capital of Spain). But-- Alfonso el Sabio (Alphonso the Wise) Juana la Loca (Jane the Mad) because these are "titles." The =Indefinite Article= is used in English and not in Spanish (besides rules in Lesson II)-- 1. Before words in apposition, as-- Rubio y Cía., casa importantísima de la Habana: Rubio & Co., a most important firm in Havana. 2. In titles of books, headings, etc., as-- Lista de los géneros pedidos: A list of goods required. 3. In "such a," "so ... a," as-- Tal amigo: Such a friend. Tan buen amigo: So good a friend, such a good friend. 4. In "a half" (medio), "a quarter" (cuarto), "a third" (tercio), in the case of an integer preceding, as-- Uno y medio (1-1/2) Cinco y tercio (penknife/3) Dos y cuarto (2-1/4) Occasionally the article is omitted before other fractions. 5. Before _otro_, as-- Otra quiebra: Another bankruptcy. Before weights and measures the definite article is used in Spanish instead of the indefinite used in English, as-- Dos chelines la libra: Two shillings a pound. Cinco pesetas el metro _or_ por metro: 5 pesetas a metre. The =Definite Article= is omitted before _casa_ and _palacio_ when they are spoken of as places usually frequented by the person in question-- Iré á casa del ingeniero: I shall go to the engineer's house. El Rey volvió ayer a palacio: The King returned yesterday to the palace. The article must not be employed before a noun used after a preposition in an adjectival capacity, as-- Una viga de hierro (_not_ del hierro): An iron beam. The tendency of the Spanish language is to omit the indefinite article whenever, by such omission the sense is not obscure, as-- Tengo intención de marcharme: I have a mind to go. Vino con dolor de cabeza: He came with a headache. Le dió cuenta de lo sucedido: He gave him an account of all that had happened. Este caballero tiene mucho _or_ grande ingenio: This gentleman has a great talent. The =Neuter= article _lo_ cannot precede a noun used _as such,_ but it may (elegantly) precede a noun used adjectively, as-- Todo me gusta en el, lo amigo, lo ciudadano, lo caballero: I like everything in him: the friend, the citizen, the gentleman. VOCABULARY. administrador, manager anteriormente, previously anunciar, to advertise apacible, mild armadura, frame, framing (mach.) atajo, short cut buen éxito, success comprometerse, to undertake edificio, building empresa, undertaking experimentar, to experience grabados (géneros), embossed (goods) hilado, yarn intentar,*tener intención, to intend junto á, coupled with práctico, practical *proponerse, to have in view (á) rayas, striped (goods) recto, straightforward riqueza, wealth sencillo, plain suceder, to succeed, to happen tenedores, holders (of securities, etc.) tratar, to conduct (business) vara, Spanish yard. EXERCISE 1 (61). Translate into English-- 1. Eran las doce y media del domingo antepasado (before last), apacible dia, que, aunque estamos en otoño, parecía mas dia de primavera, la Maria me acompañaba, aquella Señora del Perú que ha viajado tanto en la India y el Japón y cuyo marido y el mio eran tan amigos. 2. Íbamos a casa de la Señora. 3. La Coruña es ciudad de Galicia. 4. Carlos V., Emperador de Alemania es el mismo monarca que reinó en España con el título de Carlos I desde 1517 á 1551. 5. Luis XIV de Francia no tenía sino cinco años de edad cuando sucedió á su padre Luis XIII en 1643. 6. El principio de su reinado fué dirigido por Mazarín, italiano muy fino (shrewd), y astuto conocedor de los hombres. 7. ¿Qué dice ese papel? 8. Lista de los accesorios que se dan con cada máquina. 9. Tan ventajosas condiciones no se hallan en ningunas otras Compañias para el seguro de la vida. 10. Tales administradores, valen un tesoro (are worth their weight in gold); de ellos depende el buen éxito de las empresas. 11. Otro dependiente como el Sr. Arboleda no lo hallarán entre mil. 12. Estos cuadritos y rayas cuestan 45 céntimos el metro, y estos mercerizados y grabados valen 40 céntimos la vara. 13. ¿Qué es la vara? 14. Es medida española que equivale á =835= milimetros y 9 décimas ó cerca de =33= pulgadas inglesas. EXERCISE 2 (62). Translate into Spanish-- 1. An "iron framing" is a framing made of iron, but a "steam engine" (máquina a vapor) is an engine moved by steam. 2. I had the intention of giving more such examples but I believe one is enough. 3. In the construction of this building the architect had in view both the beautiful and the practical. 4. Yes, see how (cuán) elegant and at the same time how solid these columns are! 5. Business conducted through us (por nuestro medio) is different from the many advertised systems and promised short cuts to wealth which are dangled before the eyes of the (con que se deslumbra al) public. 6. Our plan is a plain (sencillo), straightforward method of operating by which we undertake to implicitly carry out (cumplir con) the instructions of our customers. 7. Our best advice and service are always at your command (a su disposición). 8. "Kaffirs" have resorted to (han llegado) a state of idleness (inercia) coupled with steadily (más y más) sagging (aflojados) prices. 9. Holders of spot cotton have again experienced quite a brisk inquiry (una demanda muy activa) from spinners, who have freely (abundantemente) covered forward sales (para sus entregas futuras) of yarn. 10. They also took up large lines (grandes cantidades) of cotton previously contracted for (contratadas). 11. The total turnover (las ventas totales) was not quite as good as expected. LESSON XXXII. (Lección trigéima segunda.) THE NOUN. 1. The gender of names of countries, provinces, and towns is according to their termination (Lesson III), but those ending in _d_ are generally masculine. Exceptions are found, the names "ciudad" or "pueblo" being then understood. 2. Names of trees are masculine, those of fruits are feminine. EXCEPTIONS-- +--------------------------------+----------------------------+ |La higuera (the fig-tree) |El melocotón (the peach) | |La palma (the palm-tree) |El albérchigo (the peach) | |La viña (the vine-tree) |El durazno (the apricot) | |El dátil (the date) |El albaricoque (the apricot)| |El pistacho (the pistachio-nut) |El mango (the mango) | |El higo (the fig) | | +--------------------------------+----------------------------+ And a few more. 3. A masculine article is used with other parts of speech whole sentences used substantively, as-- Quiero un sí ó un no claro: I want a clear (decisive) yes or no. El aprender es útil: Learning is useful. El que lo haya hecho sin consultarme no puede serme de grande gusto: That he did it without consulting me is certainly not pleasing to me. A list of principal exceptions to the rule given on Spanish gender by termination is given in Appendix I. To the rules for the formation of the plural (Lesson III) we shall add-- 1. Family names ending in _z_ unstressed do not change-- Juan Fernández But--El Sr. Ruiz Los Señores Fernández Los Señores Ruices 2. The names of the vowels pluralize in _es_-- Las aes, las ees, las íes, las oes, las úes. 3. Some Latin words used in Spanish, as--Accessit, déficit, fiat, ultimatum, agnus dei, etc., do not change for the plural, except--Album--álbumes. For other peculiarities of number see Appendix II. Collective nouns in Spanish are generally followed by the verb in the singular, as--La gente piensa: People think. But after a collective noun, indefinite in its meaning, the verb may follow in the plural, as--Una cantidad de géneros se vendió, _or_ vendieron en subasta: A quantity of goods was or were sold by auction. N.B.--The tendency of the language is in favour of the singular. =Poner= (to put, to place). _Past Part.,_ Puesto. _Pres. Indic.,_ Pongo.[174] _Imper. Mood,_ Pon ... poned ...[175] _Past Def.,_ Puse, pusiste, puso, pusimos, pusisteis, pusieron. _Future Indic.,_ Pondré, pondras, pondrá, pondremos, pondéis, pondrán. =Querer= (to want a thing or person, to love a person, to be willing). _Pres. Indic.,_ Quiero, quieres, quiere,--,--, quieren. [176] _Past Def.,_ Quise, quisiste, quiso, quisimos, quisisteis, quisieron. _Fut. Indic., _Querré, querrás, querrá, querremos, querréis, querrán. [Footnote 174: Verbs which are irregular in the Pres. Indic. 1st person singular only, have the same irregularity in the present subj. all through.] [Footnote 175: The 1st person pi. and 3rd pers. sing. and pl. of the Imperative Mood are taken from the Subj. Mood.] [Footnote 176: Verbs which in the pres. indic. are irregular in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd pers. sing. and 3rd pers. pl. have the same irregularities in the pres. subj. in the same persons.] =Saber= (to know). _Pres. Indic., _Sé, . . . _Pres. Subj., _Sepa, sepas, sepa, sepamos, sepáis, sepan. _Past Def., _Supe, supiste, supo, supimos, supisteis, supieron. _Fut. Indic., _Sabré, sabrás, sabrá, sabremos, sabréis, sabrán. VOCABULARY. =apuro=, straits, embarrassment =armas blancas=, side arms =armas de fuego=, fire-arms =*atravesar=, to traverse, to cross =campos=, fields =cierre=, lock-out =compensar=, to compensate, to make good =*darse a partido=, to yield, to submit =disturbio=, disturbance =enfurecido, furioso=, furious (enfuriated) =enseñanza=, teaching =*escarmentar=, to take warning =fracaso=, failure =la fuente=, the fountain, source =fuerza motriz=, motive power =fundarse en=, to base upon =huelga=, strike (of workmen) =huerta=, orchard =infinidad (una)=, an infinite number =interior=, interior, inland =limitar=, to confine, to limit =mejorar=, to improve =minero=, miner =obrero=, workman =orillas=, banks of a river =palmera=, date palm =población=, villa, town =póliza de seguro=, insurance policy =prescindir de=, to dispense with =regadío=, irrigation =rieles=, rails =tal cual= (of goods), as they are, as they were =tomar en consideración=, to take into consideration, to entertain =turba=, crowd (motley) =virtualmente=, practically, virtually EXERCISE 1 (63). Translate into English-- 1. La palmera., el pistacho, y la higuera crecen en Andalucía pero los dátiles, los pistachos y los higos que se venden en el mercado inglés provienen principalmente de Berberia, de Grecia y Esmirna (Smyrna). 2. En los recientes disturbios en la provincia de Champaña muchas viñas se han destruido por las turbas enfurecidas. 3. Explíqueme V. el cómo y el cuando del asunto (all about the affair) y luego (then) considerare yo el pro y el contra. 4. Á mi no me importa el que dirán (what people will say). 5. La industria del hierro es una de las principales fuentes de riqueza del Reino Unido. 6. Las máquinas de toda especie, los buques de vapor, los rieles de ferrocarriles, las herramientas mecánicas y agrícolas, las armas blancas y de fuego y una infinidad de otros objetos se deben á esa industria. 7. En el norte de Espana, especialmente en Bilbao se trabaja el hierro en grande escala. 8. El río que atraviesa dicha población presta (gives) fuerza motriz á varias fábricas situadas en sus orillas, y sirve también al regadío de los campos y huertas. 9. Escarmentados por el fracaso de la huelga de los mineros, los obreros hiladores se dieron á partido admitiendo las condiciones ofrecidas por los patronos, evitando así el cierre. 10. Patronos y obreros deberían trabajar armoniosamente y fundados en la justicia; el capital y el trabajo no pueden prescindir el uno del otro. EXERCISE 2 (64). Translate into Spanish-- 1. The steamer ran aground on the Spanish coast but the crew were saved. 2. People are apt to forget (se olvida facilmente de) the teachings of history (historia). 3. His action has put me in a serious embarrassment. 4. I put it as a condition that the bills be drawn against delivery of B/L and insurance policy. 5. They placed all their trust in their agent. 6. I do not mean to say that they wanted to deceive him. 7. When prices improve we shall be willing (estaremos dispuestos) to sell. 8. I do not know what effect this had on the market. 9. If I knew, I should be able to act accordingly (de conformidad). 10. I do not think he knows (_subj._) what suits him best. 11. The Directors are not in the least (absolutamente) disposed to launch upon (lanzarse a) a large foreign trade, so that the operations of the concern (compañía _or_ casa) remain confined practically to the inland market. 12. We received a claim on our last shipment but we refused to (rehusamos de) entertain it as the goods were jobs (géneros imperfectos) and were sold as they were with all faults (imperfecciones). 13. We are sorry our customers should have suffered any loss, but we cannot make it good, and we shall stand our ground (insistiremos en eso). LESSON XXXIII. (Lección trigésima tercera.) AUGMENTATIVE AND DIMINUTIVE TERMINATIONS (see also Appendix IV). Examples in English-- Ball, balloon Book, booklet Lad, laddie Man, manikin These terminations are frequent in Spanish, especially the diminutive. _On_ (_m._), _ona_ (_f._)[177] denote augmentation, as-- Libro, book Librón, large book [Footnote 177: Feminine nouns, however, generally take =on= and become masculine, as-- Un mujerón: A tall woman. Except when ambiguity might arise, as: Un muchachón: A tall or big boy Una muchachona: A tall or big girl.] _ito_ (_m._), _ita_ (_f._), _ico_ (_m._), _ica_ (_f._) Denote diminution (to which an idea of endearment is always attached which is natural in Spanish when speaking of little objects in the ordinary way.) If for any reason disparagement or insignificance is suggested then _illo, illa, uelo, uela_, are used instead. Other terminations less used are _azo, acho, onazo, achón, ote, astro, aco_, and a few others (augmentative, suggesting (generally) disparagement); _ete, in, ino, itito, itico, itillo_, and a few others (diminutive). If a noun ends in a vowel, this is elided[178] before adding the termination. [Footnote 178: If a noun ends in _n_ (except proper names like "Juan") or _r, ito, ico, illo, uelo_, change into =cito, cico, cillo, zuelo=. If a noun of one syllable ends in a consonant, or a noun of two syllables ends in _e_ or _ío_, or contains a diphthong, _ito, ico_, etc., change into =ecito, ecico=, etc. If a noun of one syllable ends in a vowel, _ito, ico_, etc., become =ececito, ececico=, etc. Other slight changes occur also.] The Augmentative and Diminutive terminations have no determinate meaning: they are vague and indefinite and consequently when preciseness is required we must use the adjectives "grande," "pequeño," etc. (which can be employed conjointly with the terminations), as-- Me dió dos librones gruesos y tres libritos delgados: He gave me two heavy big books and three small ones. Students should use the terminations _on_ and _ito_ but no others until they become familiar with them with reading, as they cannot be used indiscriminately with all nouns. The termination _azo_ serves also to indicate an injury or explosion from a weapon, as-- Un sablazo (a sabre-cut) Un puñetazo (a blow with the fist) Un navajazo (a stab with a knife) Un cañonazo (a cannon-shot) With some weapons some other terminations are used-- Una cuchillada (same as navajazo) Una paliza (a thrashing with a stick) =Traer= (to bring). _Pres. Part._, Trayendo (_i_ unstressed between two vowels always changes into _y_). _Pres. Indic._, Traigo. _Past Def._, Traje, trajiste, trajo, trajimos, trajisteis, trajeron. VOCABULARY. =actitud=, actitude =agiotista=, stock-jobber =alejarse=, to go away =aludir á=, to allude, to hint =apurado de dinero=, short of money =apurar=, to purify, to exhaust =calcular=, to calculate, to reckon =callar=, to keep silent, to omit speaking =cambiar=, to change, to alter =consignar=, to consign, to record =contrato social=, articles of partnership =cordobán=, morocco leather =despacio=, slowly =despreciable=, despicable =dinero efectivo=, cash =discutir=, to discuss =especulación=, speculation, venture =garrote=, cudgel, stick =*impedir=, to hinder, to preclude =ladrón=, thief =(el) matiz=, shade =*mover=, to move, to actuate =mozalbete=, beardless youth =*quebrantamiento=, breakage, break down =reflejo=, reflection =*seguir=, to pursue =sin ton ni son=, without rhyme or reason =sombrero de copa=, silk hat =vejete=, diminutive old man =vocablo=, vocable, word EXERCISE 1 (65). Translate into English-- 1. El agiotista que V. ve allí, aquel hombrón con el sombrerote de copa, ha hecho un fortunazo en sus especulaciones bursátiles (stock exchange speculations). 2. Aquel vejete que le acompaña con ese mozalbete su hijo me ha vendido una partidilla de Cordobán muy baratita. 3. Librazo, libraco, librote, libracho son todos variaciones de "libro," como también librito, librillo, libreto, librete, libretín, librejo que son sus formas diminutivas. 4. Libreta es diminutive de "libra"; se usa también por pan de una libra; "libreto" es el de una ópera; el cuadernito de papel de fumar es "librillo." 5. Estas graduaciones ó matices del sentido se deben aprender con la práctica y se deben usar naturalmente sin afectación como reflejo del profundo conocimiento de la lengua, y no copiados de un diccionario "sin ton ni son" como se dice en español. 6. Por ejemplo, "librazo, libracho, y librote" se refieren más al aspecto del libro. "Libracos" mas a los despreciables por su contenido. 7. También se debe notar que algunas terminaciones convienen á ciertos vocablos y á otros no, por ejemplo hay "libraco" y "pajarraco" pero esta terminación no puede tomarla el sustantivo "hombre." 8. En fin con lo dicho y con lo consignado en el apéndice IV el estudiante tiene bastante por ahora. 9. Con la República en Portugal acabadita de proclamar, nos vemos apuradillos de dinero pues los clientes portugueses van despacito en sus remesas. 10. Callandito se vino el ladronzuelo y se alejó sin ser visto. 11. Cuchilladas, pistolazos, revolveradas, y aún garrotazos son raros en Inglaterra; el Inglés se bate a puñetazo limpio (with his fist) cuando es de la hampa (a rough), y cuando es caballero no se bate aunque si llega el caso es muy capaz de dar muy buena cuenta de sí. EXERCISE 2 (66). Translate into Spanish-- 1. If you cannot command (no puede disponer de) cash, we shall have to alter our price lists as our prices will have to be reckoned on a different basis; they will be a little dearer. 2. I am bound to say that there is some very strong opinion on this side (de este lado) against the course your Government intends to pursue in the matter. 3. The situation has been complicated by the breakdown of the arrangement we had made with our carriers (agentes de transporte). 4. I believe that the reason actuating Mr. Melero's attitude (mueve al Sr. M. en su) towards us, a reason which he hinted more than once in his correspondence, is that his articles of partnership with his friends in Rosario preclude him from entertaining (tomar en consideración) any new ventures. 5. At the monthly meeting of the Council of the Chamber of Commerce (Consejo de la Cámara de Comercio) the Japanese tariff was discussed on a (tras) communication from the Board of Trade ("Board of Trade," Ministerio de Comercio). LESSON XXXIV. (Lección trigésima cuarta.) THE ADJECTIVE. The position of qualifying adjectives is generally after the noun, especially 1. Those denoting physical qualities, as-- Un hombre ciego: A blind man. Una mesa redonda: A round table. Paño negro: Black cloth. 2. Those denoting nationality, as-- Quincalla inglesa: British hardware. 3. Those derived from verbs, as-- Mercancía averiada: Damaged goods. The above rule is subject to many exceptions for the sake of euphony or to give more than the ordinary prominence to the adjective or the noun; however, the following rule will be found a reliable general one, and it is in fact the informing principle of all special rules given in the various grammars-- An adjective used as an epithet should precede the noun; if used as a distinguishing word it should follow. By an adjective used as an epithet, we mean one calling to mind a quality known (or supposed) to belong to the noun, as-- No perdió el aliento el valiente general: The brave general did not lose courage. By a distinguishing word we mean one used to indicate the quality of a noun as compared with another of the same species, as-- Quiero comprar maquinaria barata: I wish to buy cheap machinery. The Partitive Adjectives "some" and "any" are left out in translation when they do not convey the idea of limited quantity. When they do, "algún," "un poco de" (_sing._), "algunos" and "unos" (_pl._) are used. "Un poco de" and "unos" convey the idea of a more limited quantity or number than "alguno" and "algunos." The following few examples are calculated to make it clear as regards the various shades of meaning-- ¿Tiene V. alfombras? Have you any carpets? Tengo algún azúcar para vender: I have some sugar to sell. ¿Quiere V. un poco de papel? Will you have some paper? Yo tengo algunas obligaciones: I have some debentures. He recibido algunos cigarros, le reservaré unas cajas de los mejores: I received some cigars; I shall reserve for you some boxes of the best quality. One adjective preceding two or more nouns agrees in gender and number with the first only, as-- La nueva caldera y accesorios gustó (_or_ gustaron) mucho al cliente: The new boiler and accessories pleased the customer very much. N.B.--If a verb intervenes the adjective is generally plural, and in case of different genders is pl. masc., as-- Adjuntos remitimos factura y conocimiento: Enclosed we send invoice and bill of lading. When the adjective follows two or more nouns, it is put in the plural, as-- El trigo y el maíz están sostenidos: Wheat and maize are firm. If the nouns are of different genders, the adjective is pl. masc., as-- El encaje y las guarniciones han salido caros: The lace and trimmings came out dear. EXCEPTION-- When all the several nouns preceding the adjective are in the plural, and all referring to things (not persons), the adjective _may_ be made to agree in gender with the noun last mentioned, as-- Los tornillos y las tuercas están bien ajustados (_or_ ajustadas): The screws and nuts are well adjusted. It is better to avoid this construction (1) By saying "las tuercas y los tornillos están bien ajustados." (2) By using an adjective having the same termination for masculine and feminine. (3) By giving a different turn to the sentence, as: "Son de buen ajuste". Adjectives that qualify the fem. _nada_ (nothing) are always used in the masculine-- Nada bueno espero de él: I expect nothing good from him. Adjectives referring to titles of individuals are placed in the gender of the persons bearing those titles, as-- V. (contraction of Vuestra Merced) es muy buen amigo: You are a very good friend. Adjectives of colour derived from a noun, as "violeta" (violet), "rosa" (pink), "chocolate" (chocolate), etc., do not take the mark of the plural, the words "color de" being understood before them, as-- Guantes crema: Cream gloves. =Valer= (to be worth). _Pres. Indic._, Valgo. _Fut. Indic._, Valdré, valdrás, valdrá, valdremos, valdréis, valdrán. _Imper. Mood_, Val _or_ vale.... VOCABULARY. =aceite=, oil =aflojar=, to slacken =ajuste de averia=, average adjustment =almacenes fiscales=, bonded ware houses =carne en salmuera=, pickled beef =comarca=, region =conceder=, to grant, to allow =cosecha=, crop, harvest =cueros=, hides =exiguo=, small, insignificant, slender =incluir=, to include, to enclose =incluso=, included =incluyendo=, including =íntegro=, upright, integer, whole =interino=, interim =juicioso=, sensible =linones, olanes=, lawns =manteca de puerco, lardo=, lard =pieles=, skins =productos accesorios=, by-products =sebo=, tallow =tarjeta=, card =tasajo=, jerked beef =tierno=, tender =viajante=, commercial traveller[179] [Footnote 179: Traveller (passenger, tourist)--Viajero.] EXERCISE 1 (67). Translate into English-- 1. Benéficas lluvias han caído en toda la comarca, y las tiernas plantas prometen abundante cosecha si siguen favorables las condiciones climatológicas (climatic). 2. Las compras baratas no resultan siempre lo que se llama "gangas" (bargains) pues es necesario también que sean de calidad conveniente y adecuada para el mercado á que se las destine. 3. He recibido una consignación de carne en salmuera, lenguas en latas (canned tongues), tasajo, sebo, margarina, manteca de puerco (_or_ lardo), y productos accesorios que espero poder colocar bien. 4. Me enviaron también un poco de aceite de margarina, heces de sebo (tallow greaves), hueso molido (bone-meal) y tripas de buey (ox casings) baratas. 5. ¿Ha vendido V. algo de estas? 6. No, pero he vendido un poco de sebo. 7. ¿ No ha recibido V. cueros y pieles? 8. No, estos no pertenecen á mi ramo de negocios (line of business). 9. Ha entrado mucho té este mes en los almacenes fiscales y además algún café de Costa Rica. 10. La magnífica colección de muestras y tarjetas para reclamo (advertisement) que nos trajo ese viajante nos han gustado muchísimo. 11. El ajuste de avería y el cheque por la indemnización concedida van inclusos. 12. Tanto los provechos como las pérdidas son exiguos (_or_ exiguas). 13. No hay nada (de) extraordinario en que afloje el mercado. 14. V. es hombre integro y su Señora es mujer juiciosa. 15. Le tomaré algunas piezas de prueba de estos linones rosa y crema pero nada de estos estampados chocolate. EXERCISE 2 (68). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We have to acknowledge the receipt of your esteemed letter of the 1st inst., which brought us £640 on L. & Sons, payable August 10th. 2. Carried forward (á la vuelta). Brought forward (de la vuelta). 3. Brown sugars have been rather brisk for some time (desde algún tiempo). 4. The manufacturer has discontinued making the old article. 5. The Directors of the Z Company announce an interim (provisorio) dividend for the first six months of the current year at the rate of 10 per cent. per annum. 6. Reuter's Paris correspondent telegraphs that earnest representations are being made by the British Chamber of Commerce in Paris to the French Customs Administration (Administración de Aduanas) concerning the recent change in the classification of yarns wound on bobbins (en bobinas), a matter which seriously affects Lancashire interests. 7. The great object (objeto principal) the meeting had in view was the promotion of further (el abrir nuevas vías al) progress and (y á la) civilisation. That necessarily implied fewer appeals to the arbitrament of the sword (que deberían disminuir los casos de apelar á la espada) and (y ser) more frequent appeals to the remedy of reason. LESSON XXXV. (Lección trigésima quinta.) THE ADJECTIVE (_contd._). =Degrees of Comparison=. "As ... as" and "so ... as" are translated "tan ... como," "as much ... as" and "so much ... as" are translated "tanto-a,-os-as ... como" or "cuanto." N.B.--_Cuan_ may be used instead of _como_ before an adjective as-- Tan razonable en precio cuan apreciado por la buena calidad: As reasonable in price as it is appreciated for its good quality. "The more ... the more" is translated "cuanto más ... tanto más"; also "más ... más" (without the article). "Than whom," "than which" is translated as follows-- Sedas floreadas italianas que no las hay mejores en el mercado: Italian flowered silks, than which there are no better on the market. Adjectives ending in _io_ (not _ío_) drop the whole diphthong before adding _ísimo_, as-- Amplio--Amplísimo (very ample). EXCEPT Agrio--Agriísimo (very sour). Those ending in _z_ change of course the _z_ into c, as-- Feliz--felicísimo[180] (very happy). [Footnote 180: _Z_ should not occur before _e_ and _i_ in modern Spanish.] The irregular superlatives _óptimo, pésimo, máximo, mínimo, ínfimo_ and _supremo_ are used very sparingly, but they are found both as superlative absolute and superlative relative, as-- Esta es una cantidad ínfima: It is an infinitesimal amount. El precio mínimo[181]: The minimum price. [Footnote 181: Although improperly, we often find "más mínimo" (más ínfimo, etc.).] El supremo bien de la vida es hacer á otros felices: The highest blessing of life is to make others happy. The irregular comparatives _mejor_ and _peor_ are in general use. _Mayor_ and _menor_ refer more generally to age (older, elder, and younger). "_Inferior_" and "_superior_" are generally used as their English equivalents. The expressions "a larger building," "a higher tree," etc., are generally rendered "un edificio más grande," "un árbol más alto," etc. Irregular superlatives-- Acre (sour) Acérrimo Amigo (friendly) Amicísimo Antiguo (ancient) Antiquísimo Áspero (harsh) Aspérrimo Benéfico (beneficent) Beneficentísimo Benévolo (benevolent) Benevolentísimo Célebre (celebrated) Celebérrimo Fiel (faithful) Fidelísimo Íntegro (upright) Integérrimo Libre (free), Libérrimo Magnífico (magnificent) Magnificentísimo Mísero (miserable) Misérrimo Munífico (munificent) Munificentísimo Pobre (poor), Paupérrimo, _and_ Pobrísimo (more used) Sabio (wise) Sapientísimo Sagrado (holy) Sacratísimo Salubre (healthy) Salubérrimo Simple (simple) Simplicísimo --Ubérrimo (most fruitful) Some of the best modern authors write "buenísimo," "nuevísimo," etc., regularly without substituting the diphthong by the pure vowel, as "bonísimo," "novísimo," notwithstanding the shifting of the stress.[182] [Footnote 182: See Note 47.] Substantives used as adjectives admit of comparison, as-- Es tan caballero _or_ más caballero que sus contrincantes: He is as (or more) gentlemanly as (than) his neighbours (competitors). "Than" followed by a number, unless the sentence be negative, is translated by _de_. "Than" followed by a finite verb is _de lo que_, as-- Cumple más de lo que promete: He accomplishes more than he promises. But-- Hablar Español es más difícil que escribirlo: To speak Spanish is more difficult than to write it. The following expressions are translated-- Él le lleva seis años: He is older than you by six years. Esta tela cuesta cinco peniques menos la yarda: This cloth is cheaper by five pence a yard. Esta casa es diez años más antigua: This firm is older by ten years. Es tan poderoso que domina el mercado: He is so powerful as to control the market. =Ver= (to see). _Past Part._, Visto. _Pres. Indic._, Veo[183] ... [Footnote 183: It forms the pres. subj., Vea, veas, etc. _Imperf. Indic._, Veía, veías, veía, veíamos, veíais, veían.] VOCABULARY. =acaudalado=, rich, wealthy =*advertir=, to notice =alcalde=, mayor =alfombrada=, carpeting =añadir=, to add =apagarse=, to go out (fire) =atraicionar=, to betray =boticario=, chemist =caja fuerte=, safe =calorífero=, stove =carbón (de piedra)=, coal =carbón (vegetal)=, charcoal =carpeta=, writing-pad =casillero=, pigeon-holes =certificar=, to certify, to register (in the post) =chimenea=, chimney =contestar=, to answer =echar al correro=, to post =ensartar=, to string (beads), to file (papers) =escaño=, stool =estante=, book-shelf =franqueo=, postage =guardafuego=, fender =guardapapeles, ensartapapeles=, paper files =humear=, to smoke (chimney) =lacre=, sealing wax =legajo=, bundle (of papers) =librarse=, to get rid of =mano de papel secante=, quire of blotting-paper =pupitre=, writing desk =sello=, seal =el sobre=, the envelope =sujeta papeles=, paper fasteners EXERCISE 1 (69). Translate into English-- 1. La casa de Rioja a y Cía. es tan respetable por su buena fama (name) como por lo acaudalados que son sus propietarios. 2. Sí, es más estimada que cualquiera otra. 3. Dicen que tiene más de £150,000 de capital. 4. Es muy rica en efecto, pero no creo que su capital ascienda á más que £100,000. 5. Cuanto más corriente en sus tratos es un negociante, tanto mejor le resultan sus transacciones. 6. Estas son alfombradas de Bruselas que no las hay mejores en todo el mundo. 7. Tenemos un campo (field) amplísimo para nuestras operaciones, las cuales hasta aquí han tenido felicísimo resultado. 8. Nuestros géneros son todos de óptima calidad y á precios ínfimos. 9. Es de interés supremo para nosotros el dar los mejores productos á precios mínimos. 10. La cantidad máxima no ha de exceder 500 kilógramos. 11. El hermano mayor es notario y alcalde del pueblo, el menor es boticario. 12. La ciudad de Cádiz es antiquísima; fundóse en el siglo XV antes de la era vulgar por los Fenicios. 13. El clima de Valparaíso es salubírrimo. 14. Fidelísimo criado, no quiso atraicionar á su amo que había sido beneficentísimo para con él. 15. Euclides fué celebérrimo geómetra. EXERCISE 2 (70). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I wish to straighten (poner en orden) the desk on (en) my table. 2. My pad is full of papers; I must get rid (librarme) of them. 3. Will you put all those answered letters in that shelf; You will find the pigeon-holes alphabetically arranged, put each letter in the proper bundle. 4. These others are filed away in that letter-file, alphabetically also. 5. Put the file in the safe; we always keep it under lock and key (bajo llave). 6. Now give me a quire of blotting-paper, pens, nibs (puntitas), paper-fasteners and the stamp-rack (porta-estampillas). 7. These envelopes go into the waste-paper basket (cestilla). 8. Fetch that stool, please; place it before that desk (banco). 9. See to the (hacer atención al) fire, it is going out, poke it (removerlo) a little and add some coal. 10. This is the coal scuttle (caja del carbón), the shovel (la pala) and the poker (atizador) are near the fender. 11. Hot-water pipes (tubos) are preferable to fires or stoves. 12. Yes, our chimney always smokes; it is a nuisance (¡que fastidio! ¡que barbaridad!). 13. Post these letters. Stamp them (póngales los sellos) and notice there are some to be registered (para certificar). 14. Do not forget to put the stamp of the firm (casa). 15. If any weigh in excess (demasiado), it does not matter (no importa); put the excess postage. 16. Seal that envelope; here are the seal and sealing-wax. LESSON XXXVI. (Lección trigésima sexta.) THE ADJECTIVE (_contd_.). The adjective _grande_ (great, large) may _precede_ or follow a noun. If it precedes it _may_ drop the final syllable. When _grande_ (or _gran_) precedes it generally refers more to quality than to size, but this rule is not strict _at all_, as much is left to the tone of the voice and also to gesture. When "Santo" means "holy" it is always written in full. When "Santo" means "saint" it drops the "to" before the name following. EXCEPTIONS-- Santo Tomás (or Tomé), Santo Domingo, and Santo Torribio. But--La isla de San Tomás (the Island of St. Thomas, West Indies). Some adjectives alter their meaning according as they precede or follow a noun, as-- Cierto hombre: A certain man. (Not "un cierto.") Una noticia cierta: A certain (sure) news. Un pobre escritor: A poor writer--of little worth. Un escritor pobre: An impecunious writer. Un simple favor: A simple favour. Un favor simple: A simple favour. Un simple soldado: A simple (plain) soldier. Un hombre simple: A simple man, a simpleton. "One" and "ones" after an adjective are always left untranslated. "Man" and "woman" in the majority of cases are also omitted, as-- Tengo algunos buenos: I have some good ones. Un francés, una francesa: A Frenchman, a Frenchwoman. Numeral adjectives used for measurement are translated as follows-- Una plataforma de 30 pies de largo y seis pies de ancho (_also_ de 30 pies por seis): A platform 30 feet long by six feet wide. Este tanque tiene 16 pies de profundidad: This tank is 16 feet deep. "In" after a superlative relative is rendered by _de_, as-- Es el negociante más próspero de la ciudad: He is the most successful merchant in the city. The proportional adjectives are-- El doble (the double) El triple (3 fold) El cuádruplo (4 fold) El quíntuple (5 fold) El séxtuple (6 fold) El décuplo (10 fold) El céntuplo (100 fold) Siete veces tanto (7 fold) Ocho veces tanto (8 fold). Etc., etc. The adjective is used also adverbially, oftener in Spanish than in English, as-- Hablar claro, alto, bajo, fuerte: To speak clearly, loudly, softly, strongly. Comprar caro, barato: To buy dear, cheap. Ir derecho: To go straight. Tener fuerte: To hold fast. Exclamó ufano, cortés, enfadado, bondadoso: He proudly, courteously, angrily, kindly exclaimed. Justo ha llegado una carta: A letter has just arrived. Adjectives have a governing power through a preposition and then the preposition to be used belongs to the "idiom" of the language. Practice will make perfect. The following are some examples in which the construction differs from the English-- Afable á, _or_ con, _or_ para con todos: Affable to all. Agradecido á los beneficios: Grateful for the favours. Agudo de ingenio: Sharp-witted. Ajeno de la verdad: Foreign to truth. Alegre de cascos: Light-headed. Blanco de tez: fair-complexioned. Cargado de espaldas: Round-shouldered. Codicioso, deseoso de dinero: Greedy, wishing for money. Cercano á su fin: Nearing his end. ¡Desdichado de mí!: Unhappy me! Difícil de comprender: Hard to understand. Dotado de buenas partes: Endowed with good parts. Duro de cabeza (de mollera), de corazón: Hard-headed, hard-hearted. Evidente para todo el mundo: Evident to all. Fácil de explicar: Easy to explain. Falto de juicio: Lacking in judgment. Hermoso de ver: Beautiful to see. Lleno de cerveza, de vino: Full of (or with) beer, wine. Mayor _or_ Menor de edad: Of age, under age. Pequeño de tamano: Small in size. Rico de virtudes: Rich in virtues. Seco (enjuto) de carnes: Spare in flesh. Sorprendido de la noticia: Surprised at the news. Tardo á comprender: Slow in understanding. Triste de aspecto: Sad in countenance. VOCABULARY. =á la par=, at the same time =las Antillas=, the West Indies =atropellar por=, to infringe, to trample upon, also to run down (vehicles, etc.) =blando=, gentle, soft =chaconada=, jacconet =ciencia=, science, wisdom =corto=, short, brief =desarme=, disarmament =deseoso=, wishful, eager =dique=, dock =doctrina=, doctrine, knowledge =equivocarse=, to make a mistake =fletar=, to freight, to charter =forros estampados=, printed linings =hidalguía=, chivalry, nobleness, gentlemanly principles =imponerse á=, to command =inconveniencia=, unsuitability, impropriety =el inconveniente=, inconvenience =ladrillos refractarios=, firebricks =lástima=, pity, compassion =nivel=, level =principal=, principal, chief, leading =quejarse (de)=, to complain =responsable=, responsible =rizados, crespolinas=, crimps =tío=, uncle, also a coarse fellow[184] *=tropezar=, to stumble =ufano=, proud, full of dignity =velero=, sailing vessel, sailer [Footnote 184: Also used before names instead of "Señor" among country folks.] EXERCISE 1 (71). Translate into English-- 1. Gran lastima es, si lastima grande que las grandes naciones no se pongan de acuerdo para proclamar el desarme general. 2. Santa vida fué la de San Francisco de Asis. 3. Aun los racionalistas respetan a este Santo como también a la profunda doctrina de Santo Tom as de Aquino. 4. Ciertos nombres se imponen al respeto universal. 5. Es cosa cierta que la virtud puede ser patrimonio del hombre pobre como del rico. 6. Pobre excusa seria el pretender haberlo hecho por un simple favor pues esto no convencería a los hombres más simples. 7. El hombre más sabio del mundo puede equivocarse alguna vez, llegue á donde llegare su ciencia (however great, etc.) 8. Si V. me diera el doble, el triple, el quintuple, y aun seis, diez ó cien veces tanto, no cometería esa indelicadeza, atropellando por las leyes de la hidalguía y del honor. 9. El orador habla claro, metafórico, alto, bajo, fuerte, y blando según lo exija el argumento y las circunstancias pero se le demanda que tenga por bianco (to have for his aim) la virtud y el progreso. 10. Ande V. derecho y tenga fuerte que no vaya (lest you) á tropezar y á caerse. 11. Cortés y ufano á la par, repuso: "soy pobre mas soy honrado." 12. Justo lo que debía contestar. 13. Los estudiantes más agudos de ingenio son á veces un tantico alegres de cascos. 14. No importa (never mind), son todos deseosos de aprender y afables con su profesor que además de ser cojo de un pie ya está cercano á su fin. 15. Este tío es duro de cabeza aunque sea dotado de buenas partes. EXERCISE 2 (72). Translate into Spanish-- 1. We are open (dispuestos) to charter a small steamer or a sailing vessel for St. Thomas in the West Indies. 2. We can offer you a small one for a voyage out and home (de ida y vuelta). 3. The heating surface (superficie de caldeo) is (es de) 20' X 15'. 4. These warehouses are 30' long, 20' wide (de ancho) and 15 feet high (de alto). 5. Some are built with stone and mortar (son de mampostería), others with firebricks, and they are the best in the docks. 6. Last week nothing was doing (no se hacía) on 'Change, but' to-day leading operators are distinctly bullish (trabajan distintamente por la alza) and have acquired a further large holding (y se han afianzado mucho más), being more convinced than ever that prices will climb[185] (subirán) to a much higher level. 7. Meanwhile the market is getting dangerously overbought (el exceso de compras en el mercado se hace peligroso). 8. He gave me too short a notice (aviso) and the consequence was 20 bales were short shipped (no se expidieron). 9. He now complains of being short of (que le faltan) printed linings, jacconets and crimps, also of short measure (de falta de medida) in some of the cloth invoiced. 10. Their orders fall short (son mucho menos) of what we expected. 11. We have run short of (se nos ha acabado) the raw material. 12. Our correspondents are short-staffed (no tienen bastante personal), hence their delaying often to send out (y por tanto a menudo retardan el envío de) our invoices, which is a great inconvenience. [Footnote 185: To climb--_Trepar_.] LESSON XXXVII. (Lección trigésima séptima.) THE PRONOUN. The pronouns _Nos_ and _Vos_ are used for the 1st and 2nd person _singular_, respectively, in poetry and high-flown prose. _Nos_ is used in Royal decrees; and _Vos_ often to translate the French "vous" and English "you" in novels. They require the verb in the plural and any occurring adjective in the singular, masculine or feminine according to the sex represented-- Nos el Rey somos justo: We the King are just. Vos Doña Catalina sois generosa: You, Lady Catherine, are generous. A subject pronoun following "to be" and preceding a relative may be followed by a verb in the 1st or 3rd person, as-- Soy yo quien giré _or_ giró aquella letra: It is I who drew that bill. Two or more personal pronouns used as subjects of one verb require the verb in the plural, and in the 1st person in preference to the 2nd and 3rd, and 2nd in preference to 3rd, as-- Yo y tú (_or_ yo y él) vamos; tú y él vais. A conjunctive pronoun should precede the verb in the Indic. Cond. and Subj. moods, but with the verb in the Indic. or Cond. mood a great latitude is allowed for the sake of euphony or emphasis. The principal idea is to give thereby more prominence to the verb, as-- Entreguéle los bultos, acordéle toda facilidad para el pago y quise acabarlo todo amistosamente. The conjunctive pronouns _lo, le_, are both used for "him," "it" (_m._), (direct object); the second is more generally used for a person, but no distinction is strictly observed. _Lo_ (not _le_) should however be used for "it," referring to a whole statement. _Lo_ translates often the English "so," as-- Lo digo: I say it, I say so. Ya lo creo: I should think so. The conjunctive dative (indirect object) should be _le_ for both genders (_sing._). _La_ instead of _le_ for the feminine is however permissible and is used by the best writers. _Les_ instead of _los_ is often found in the accusative (direct object), masculine plural, but this should not be imitated. When a conjunctive pers. pronoun follows the verb, the subject pronoun must also follow, as-- Dígolo yo (_not_ yo dígolo): I say so. Otherwise the position of the subject pronoun in relation to the verb is very arbitrary, the general practice being, of course, to put it before unless the sentence is interrogative. The conj. pronouns _nos_ and _os_ following a verb in the Imperative mood require the elision of the _s_ and _d_ termination of the verb, as-- Escribámonos: Let us write to each other. Escribíos: Write to each other. Conjunctive pronouns are used to substitute the possessive adjective before parts of the body or articles of dress, as-- Me quebré el brazo: I broke my arm. Se lastimó el dedo: He hurt his finger. Se puso el sombrero: He put on his hat. Also-- Me han impuesto una multa sobre los géneros: They have inflicted a fine on my goods. And in all similar cases when by doing this the possessive may be avoided without creating confusion. A somewhat similar use of these pronouns is the "ethical" dative, as-- Póngame aquí un clavo: Put me a nail here. Castígueme este muchacho para que aprenda: Punish this boy (for me) so that he may learn. Córteme el pelo á este muchacho: Cut this boy's hair. This "ethical dative" shows the person _interested in the action. Its use is much more frequent in Spanish than in English. =Conducir= (model verb for all ending in _ducir_; to conduct, to lead). _Pres. Indic._, Conduzco---------- _Pres. Subj._, Conduzca, conduzcas, conduzca, conduzcamos, conduzcáis, conduzcan. _Past Def._, Conduje, condujiste, condujo, condujimos, condujisteis, condujeron.[186] [Footnote 186: Not "condujieron." Imp. Subj., of course, Condujese, etc.] VOCABULARY. =abordar=, to board, to accost, to approach =*abrir agua=, to spring a leak =ajeno=, belonging to others, outward *=andar en cuestiones=, to dispute =barrica=, cask =cabo=, corporal =¿cómo no?= yes, of course I will *=cubrir (p.p. cubierto)=, to cover *=dar dos pasos=, to take a stroll *=dar la lengua=, to chat, to parley =despejar=, to clear =devanarse los sesos=, to rack one's brains =difunto=, late, deceased =estallar=, to burst, to explode, to break out =formal=, formal, respectable *=ir repitiendo, etc=., to keep repeating, etc. =jefe del despacho=, manager =llevarse bien=, to get on well together =lograr=, to contrive, to attain =machacar=, to hammer, to insist =mandato=, order, injunction =melindroso=, squeamish, very particular =multa=, fine, penalty =Noruego=, Norwegian =peligro=, danger =remolcar=, to tow =sacar en limpio=, to make out ¡=santo y bueno=! that is all very well =sargento=, sergeant =transportar=, to transport, to convey =tul bordado=, embroidered tulle =vender gato por liebre=, to cheat ¡=vaya=! come (exclam.) EXERCISE 1 (73) Translate into English-- 1. ¿Vió V. á la Señora (the wife) del Coronel? 2. Víla ayer y la dí el recado del Sr. Mayor. 3. ¿Este cabo se lleva bien con sus soldados? 4. Lo creo, me lo ha dicho el sargento. 5. Bueno fuera írselo repitiendo al jefe para que abrevie, si puede ser. 6. Á mi no me cuente para nada (do not take me into account), valdríale mejor verse con (see) el jefe del despacho. 7. Á él le gusta dar la lengua, vaya á hablarle. 8. No le conozco, V. se hace cargo (you understand) que me resulta dificultoso el abordarle, y lo mismo da (it is the same) hablar con V. 9. V. se equivoca, va mucho de Pedro á Pedro (there is a great difference between the two) y en cuanto á su timidez no sea V. melindroso y tenga presente que el que no se atreve no pasa la mar (nothing venture, nothing have). 10. Para no andar en más cuestiones seguiré su mandato (I shall do as you tell me). 11. ¡Que tenga V. buena suerte! 12. Me devané los sesos procurando sacar en limpio lo que quería decir la carta pero no me fué posible y dí al diablo con el hato y el garabato (I gave up the whole confounded thing) como se suele decir. 13. Me puse el sombrero y me fuí para dar dos pasos y despejarme la cabeza. 14. Sr. Juan, V. machaca desde muchos días sobre que le debo dar alguna orden á Don José, pues para darles gusto á ambos salúdemele V. mucho (give him my kind regards), en su primera carta y dígale que me envíe luego 500 piezas de tul bordado repetición de mi pedido anterior, mismos matices. EXERCISE 2 (74). Translate into Spanish-- 1. It is I who conveyed (trasmitir) that information to him. 2. The goods were conveyed by the Ship Canal (el canal marítimo). 3. Have you made it clear (lo ha explicado claramente) that the risk will be covered whether the casks travel by steamer or other conveyance (medio de trasporte)? 4. Our agent contrived to get the fine refunded (hacerse refundir); he wrote us so. 5. The vessel sprang a leak and was in danger but she spoke (habló con la bocina á) a Norwegian steamer, who gave her assistance and towed her to (al) Havre. 6. The conditions you have put forth (presentado) are altogether unacceptable. 7. Put him in the way (muéstrele V. el modo) of conducting his business without depending on (de) outward assistance. 8. He conducted his late employer's (jefe) business quite satisfactorily. 9. Had I feared he would not conduct his own affairs properly (bien) I should not have financed (comanditado) him. 10. He puts a wrong construction to my words (interpreta mal). 11. He owes us some money and keeps putting us off (y nos va dando largas). 12. He has put off his journey (diferido, aplazado). 13. If you wish me to do business with your goodselves (su estimada casa) you must put me on (concederme) the best possible terms. 14. The alarming news from India has put our market out of gear (descompuesto). 15. Mr. Núñez was dreadfully put out (terriblemente desconcertado) by the news that the revolution had broken out in Ecuador. 16. We must put up with (soportar) some inconvenience. 17. We shall put an end to (acabaremos) this exercise. LESSON XXXVIII. (Lección trigésima octava.) THE PRONOUN. (_contd._). Such expressions as "I did it myself," "You write it yourself," "we spoke to him himself," are translated "Yo mismo lo hice," "V. mismo lo escribe," "Le hablamos á él mismo." Notice the following idiomatic uses of _Lo, La, Los, Las_ with the verbs _haber_ and _hacer_-- ¿Hay dinero? Is there money?--Sí, lo hay: Yes, there is some. ¿Hay pasividades? Are there any liabilities?--Sí, las hay: Yes, there are some. ¿Hace dos días? Is it two days ago?--No, no los hace: No, it is not. ¿Hace una semana? Is it a week ago?--Sí, la hace: Yes, it is. ¿Hace falta escribir? Is it necessary to write?--La hace, mucho: Yes, very necessary. In the case of two verbs governing each other as "ir á ver" (to go and see), "mandar hacer" (to have made), etc., a conjunctive pronoun, occurring, may be taken by either verb, as-- Irle á ver _or_ ir á verle: To go and see him. Mandarlo hacer _or_ Mandar hacerlo: To have it made. An object pronoun _after a preposition_ may often be either ordinary or reflexive as in English, as-- Los abogados han zanjado el asunto entre sí _or_ entre ellos: The lawyers compromised the matter amongst themselves (or them). Of course _él, ella, ellos, ellas_, cannot be used with reference to "V." "Vs."-- Vs. lo han arreglado entre sí _or_ entre Vs. (_but not_ entre ellos): You have arranged it between yourselves. =Demonstrative Pronouns=. Old Spanish forms now obsolete or seldom used-- Aqueste, etc., aquese, etc., for este, ese, etc. Estotro, esotro, etc., for este otro, ese otro, etc. The English expressions "I have not seen him these three months," etc., should be translated "Hace _or_ ha tres meses que no le veo," "Hace _or_ ha tres meses que no le he visto," "No le he visto (_or_ no le veo) desde hace tres meses," "Hace (_or_ ha) tres meses desde que le ví la última vez." "I have been writing these three hours," is translated "Hace tres horas que escribo (estoy escribiendo)," "Escribo" (estoy escribiendo) desde hace tres horas. =Relative Pronouns=. _Cuyo_ in reality a relative possessive pronoun is often used as a pure relative instead of _el cual_ followed by a noun, as-- Lo dí a un cliente, cuyo cliente lo pasó á un amigo de él: I gave it to a customer which customer handed it to a friend of his. The correct grammatical construction would be "el cual cliente"; but however much some grammarians disclaim this employment of _cuyo_, it is in the language and found in the best books and therefore must be accepted. =Indefinite Pronouns=. The Indefinite Pronouns _algo_ and _nada_ followed by an adjective, generally (but not necessarily) take =de= before the adjective, as-- Tengo algo (de) bueno: I have something good. No tengo nada (de) bueno: I have nothing good. _Un nada_ is used as a noun, as-- Un nada le asusta: A nothing frightens him. _La nada_--nothingness. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Sentir= (to feel, to regret). | |_Pres. Part._, |Sintiendo. | |_Pres. Indic._,|Siento, sientes, siente ... sienten. | |_Pres. Subj._, |Sienta, sientas, sienta, sintamos, sintáis, sientan. | |_Past Def._, | -- -- -- sintió -- -- -- sintieron.| +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Pediz= (to ask, to request). | |_Pres. Part._, |Pidiendo. | |_Pres. Indic._,|Pido, pides, pide -- -- -- -- piden. | |_Pres. Subj._, |Pida, pidas, pida, pidamos, pidáis, pidan. | |_Past Def._, | -- -- -- pidió -- -- -- pidieron. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | =Dormir= (to sleep).[187] | |_Pres. Part._, |Durmiendo. | |_Pres. Ind._, |Duermo, duermes, duerme ... duermen. | |_Pres. Subj._, |Duerma, duermas, duerma, durmamos, durmáis, duerman. | |_Past Def._, | -- -- -- durmió -- -- -- durmieron.| +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ [Footnote 187: "Morir" is conjugated like "dormir," but has its past part. "muerto." N.B.--"Muerto" is also a double form of the past part. of "matar" (to kill), as--Le han muerto: They have killed him.] VOCABULARY. =adeudar=, to debit, to pay (duty) =atrasado=, in arrears, behind =ce por be=, with all particulars, minutely =chapas=, plates *=contar=, to count, to relate =discreto=, sensible, judicious, discreet =dispensar=, to excuse =echar á perder=, to spoil, to wreck =empeoramiento=, turn for the worse *=estar en poco de=, to be within an inch of =grano de anis=, a trifling matter *=hacer de las suyas=, to play one's pranks *=hacer el obsequio=, to do the favour =informe=, report =mandar buscar=, to send for =obligar=, to compel *=obtener=, to obtain, to bring about =pesado=, heavy =quehaceres=, occupations, business =reglamento=, regulation, bye-laws =remesa=, remittance, shipment =revista=, review =rodajas (de goma)=, rubber heels (revolving) =tacones (de goma)=, rubber heels (shaped) =taller=, workshop =tonto=, simpleton, foolish =tornillos=, screws EXERCISE 1 (75). Translate into English-- 1. Yo mismo escribo al Sr. Mendoza para decirle que puede hacer sus pedidos á Vs. directamente pues, por mi parte no tengo inconveniente en que así se haga. 2. Si dicho Señor envía pedidos ¿hace falta avisarle á V.? 3. Sí, la hace, y les ruego tengan la bondad de decírmelo á fin de poner á Vs. en conocimiento de las condiciones en que deben hacerse las remesas, etc. 4. ¿Hace ocho días que Ilegó el informe de la comisión? 5. Creo que no los hace todavía. 6. Tengo los muestrarios aquí, voy á dárselos á V. 7. Se los voy á devolver en seguida. 8. Nuestro agente y los corresponsales arreglarán esto entre ellos (_or_ entre sí). 9. Hace tres meses que no recibimos las revistas semanales de ese mercado, las hemos pedido continuamente y siempre en balde. 10. Nuestros aduaneros cobran todo el peso (charge full weight) por sus tacones y rodajas como si fuera goma solamente siendo así que vienen juntos con sus chapas y tornillos, cuyos hierros, claro es, no debían (deberían) adeudar el mismo derecho. 11. No sucedió nada de extraordinario para justificar su acción que en poco estuvo de echarlo todo á perder. 12. Hágame V. el obsequio de contármelo todo, pues no es ningún grano de anís. 13. Sentarse[188] pues y se lo contaré ce por be. 14. Dispense V. que le haya hecho esperar, tuve que despachar á mi chauffeur. 15. Es V. muy dueño, pero acuérdese V. que primero los quehaceres y después los placeres. 16. V. es hombre discrete y lo que es yo, soy un pobre ton to. 17. Vamos é ver de que se trata. 18. ¿Ha hecho V. alguna de las suyas? [Footnote 188: Notice the Imperative Infinitive.] EXERCISE 2 (76). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I regret having left the newspapers at the workshop, but I shall send for them. 2. He regretted the turn for the worse in the market which compelled him to request us to ask our friend for a guarantee. 3. English manufacturers are not asleep. 4. They have been asleep for many years but now they are wide awake (se han despertado bien) to the necessity of adopting up-to-date methods (modernos, á la altura de los tiempos) and adapting themselves to the requirements of the consumers. 5. Manufacturers are selling every day but usually (generalmente) in small lots. 6. Shirting makers want more money and find difficulty in getting it. 7. Dhooties (dhooties) and jacconets are now so well sold that producers (productores) will only book (aceptan órdenes) at good prices. 8. Heavy textiles (telas) are too stiff for general attention (demasiado firmes para atraer á los compradores) but makers are not hungry for (ansiosos de obtener) orders. 9. Indian business was barely (apenas) of normal dimensions (proporciones). 10. Will you set the books on that shelf (estante) and set (colocar) those papers in order? 11. The term you have set me (fijado) is too short. 12. They ought to set a (dar) good example. 13. He set about it (puso mano á la obra) at once. 14. Setting aside the (prescindiendo del) fact that he is behind with his payments, he does us great harm by running down (desacreditando) our goods. 15. Winter has set in (principiado) and heavy cloths are in great request. 16. I have set my mind on (me he decidido á) this venture. 17. A movement has been set on foot (iniciado) to bring about the revision of the bye-laws. LESSON XXXIX. (Lección trigésima nona.) THE VERB. All intransitive verbs in Spanish are conjugated with the auxiliary verb _haber_, as-- Ha venido: He has or is come. A verb that governs an infinitive through a certain preposition, as-- Convenimos en hacerlo: We agreed upon doing it. should drop the preposition when a finite verb follows. N.B.--Many such verbs, however, may preserve the preposition even before a finite mood, as-- Convenimos que, _or_ en que, lo hiciesen: We agreed that they should do it. When the subject of a verb is a collective noun, the verb is placed in the singular (see Lesson XXXII for exception). When a compound subject _follows_ the verb, this may agree in number and person with the first subject only, as-- Nos ha llegado la circular y los impresos que la acompañaban: We received the circular and the printed matter which accompanied it. The ambiguity between a Reflexive verb plural and a Reciprocal verb is avoided thus-- Se comprometen á sí (á sí mismos--emphatic): They commit themselves. Se comprometen el uno al ótro, _or_ los unos á los otros: They commit each other. A Reflexive verb is that in which the second pronoun of the same person as the subject, is the _direct object_ of the action, as-- Ellos se comprometen: They commit themselves. But when the second pronoun stands for the indirect object, the verb is only intransitive pronominal, as-- Él se procuró un empleo: He procured for himself an employment. =The Passive Voice=. The Passive voice formed with _ser_ occurs much less in Spanish than in English. When the "doer" is not expressed the active voice with _se_ generally takes its place, as-- Los niños se aman _or_ Se ama[189] á los niños: Children are loved. [Footnote 189: Notice Sing. number.] When the "doer" is mentioned the following construction is often used-- Á estos niños los aman sus padres: These children are loved by their parents. The English present participle used substantively is rendered in Spanish by a noun or by the infinitive mood of the verb generally preceded by the definite article, as-- El cambio de las condiciones: The changing of the terms. El cambiar las condiciones: The changing of the terms. Su comunicación á las autoridades de la Aduana, El escribir _or_ el haber escrito él á las autoridades de la Aduana: His writing to the custom-house authorities. El vender á crédito á largos plazos no es un principio sano: Selling on credit with long terms is not a sound practice. Prefiero comprar disponible (_or_ las compras de disponible): I prefer spot buying. =_The English gerund following "by" is translated by the gerund without preposition or by the infinitive preceded by _con_, as--_= Depositando (_or_ con depositar) sus acciones se puso en perfecta regla: By depositing his shares, he put himself in order. The Spanish verbal forms ending in _ante_ and _iente_, as: Amante (lover), tratante (dealer), dependiente (clerk), etc., used to be termed "present participles," and the analogous forms "amando" (loving), "tratando" (treating), "dependiendo" (depending), etc., "gerunds," but this has now taken the place of both forms, used as verbs, and the forms in _ante_ and _iente_ are classed as other parts of speech, according to their meaning, as-- Amante de la música (_adj._): Fond of music. Un tratante en trigos (_noun_): A dealer in wheat. Un dependiente de comercio (_noun_): A commercial clerk. Durante la exposicion (_prep._): During the exhibition. Mediante su ayuda (_prep._): By means of his help. No obstante que vino (_conj._): Notwithstanding his coming. ¡Corriente! (_interj._): All right! done! =Huir= (to flee).[190] _Pres. Indic._, Huyo, huyes, huye ... huyen. _Pres. Subj._, Huya, huyas, huya, huyamos, huyáis, huyan. [Footnote 190: Model for all verbs ending in "uir" (with "u" sounded).] VOCABULARY. =acabado=, finish (cloth) =acudir=, to have recourse, to attend, to run to =á las claras=, plainly, clearly =apresto=, size, also finish (cloth) =aprovecharse=, to take advantage =bomba de doble efecto=, double-acting pump =burlarse=, to make fun of, to trifle with =chucherías=, pretty trifles *=convenir en=, to agree to =engañifas=, tricks =escandaloso=, scandalous, shocking =granjearse=, to win over *=hacer ver=, to show *=herir=, to wound, to cut (fig.) =mediar=, to come between, to intervene, to take place in the meantime *=no tener pelo de tonto=, not to be a simpleton =quitar=, to take away *=reducir á un mínimo=, to reduce to a minimum, to minimise *=saber á punto fijo=, to know for certain =sospechar=, to suspect =suave=, soft, mellow, gentle =subsanar=, to correct, to rectify =tacto=, feel (_n._), touch (_n._) =voluntad=, will, goodwill, favour EXERCISE 1 (77). Translate into English-- 1. Á mí no me venga con estas engañifas que no tengo pelo de tonto. 2. Me hace regalos de algunas chucherías para granjearse mi voluntad y aprovecharse después. 3. ¿Sabe V. á punto fijo que son estas sus intenciones? 4. Mediaron algunas cosillas que me han hecho sospechar algo de eso y de mí nadie se burla. 5. V. debe de equivocarse y sólo por sospechas no debe quitarle su amistad. 6. Estas hermosas calderas de alta presión las han construido en Inglaterra y estas bombas de doble efecto las han importado de los Estados Unidos. 7. El conceder él mayores facilidades á los compradores le ha hecho conseguir una extensa clientela. 8. Con uniformarse á mis disposiciones (orders, instructions) él cumplirá con su deber y yo quedaré mas contento. 9. No soy amante de disputas, mis dependientes podrán asegurarle que durante mi larga carrera y no obstante que no faltaron ocasiones, no acudí una sola vez á los Tribunales. EXERCISE 2 (78). Translate into Spanish-- 1. The long and short of the matter is that (en pocas palabras) we had agreed he was to do it. 2. This is nothing short of dishonesty (esto se llama falta de honradez, nada menos). 3. No matter what he will say (diga lo que dijere) I am sure he will have to pay. 4. The estimate and the sketches attached reached us just in (á) time. 5. The cloth was run (plegada) in pieces of 20 yds. exactly, the consequence being that some pieces were found by the customer to be with cuts (cortes). 6. It is of no use (es inútil) our struggling any longer (por más tiempo) against adversity. 7. Your writing in that strain (en aquel tono) shows plainly that their action has cut you to the quick (profundamente). 8. By selling in time he managed (logró) to minimise the loss. 9. The shocking abuses that existed under the monarchy are being (se van) corrected by the Republican Government. 10. We shall show them that our firm is not to be trifled with. 11. These stuffs are too heavily sized and the finish is not sufficiently mellow. 12. Their feel is not clothy (no tienen bastante cuerpo al tacto). 13. This defect will be made right in future deliveries. LESSON XL. (Lección cuadragéseima.) THE VERB (_contd._). As in English, several past participles may be used with an active meaning, as-- Un hombre leído: A well-read man (for a man who has read much and well). The following are some examples-- Agradecido (grateful) Atrevido (bold, daring) Bien hablado (a courteous speaker) Callado (taciturn) Cansado (tiresome) Comedido (thoughtful, considerate) Corrido[191] (acute, artful) Divertido (amusing) Entendido (experienced, conversant) Experimentado (experienced, expert) Sufrido (patient) [Footnote 191: With a passive meaning it is "abashed."] =The Tenses=. The periphrastic or progressive conjugation: "I am buying," "I was selling," "I shall be buying," etc., exists in Spanish with the following differences from English:-- In the present and the past it is used, but only when the action embraces a certain length of time, otherwise the simple form "I buy," "I sold" _(imperf. indic.)_ must be used, as-- Fulano se arrojaba por la ventana (_not_ se estaba arrojando). The Spanish Academy gives this example as of an action more or less instantaneous: So-and-So was throwing himself out of the window. The periphrastic form is inadmissible unless one is _actually engaged_ in the action, as: Hoy como con mi amigo (_not_ "estoy comiendo," because not actually engaged in the action): To-day I am dining with my friend. In the future this construction is permissible only in such cases as-- Cuando venga mañana, yo estaré escribiendo: To-morrow when he comes, I shall be writing. The periphrastic form never happens with the verb _ir_ (to go), and seldom with _venir_ (to come). The English present perfect (preterite compuesto) "I have done" is often used in Spanish for the past definite "I did," when the period of time in which the action took place is not specified. The Spanish Academy gives-- Siempre que he ido á Madrid he visitado el Prado _for_ Whenever I went to Madrid I visited the Prado. We even find "ayer he hecho esto ó aquello" for "yesterday I did this or that," and this is accounted for by the "nearness" of the period elapsed. Although colloquially this does not sound at all so badly as in English, well-educated Spaniards will take care to avoid it. The second or bye-form of the imperfect subjunctive may be used also for the conditional mood, as-- Se lo diera si lo tuviese _instead of_ se lo daría, etc.: I should give it to him if I had it. It is also found (in books, not in conversation) for the compound imperfect indicative, especially after _que_, as-- Los consejos que le diera (_for_ que le había dado): The advice which I had given him. In old Spanish, and even now in poetry, we find it used for every one of the compound past tenses. =General Observations=. The verb "to come" should be rendered in Spanish by _ir_ when the person is not in the place in question at the time of speaking or writing, as-- ¿Quiere V. venir aquí á mi casa mañana? Will you come here to my house to-morrow? Hoy estoy indispuesto pero mañana iré á verle: To-day I am unwell (out of sorts), but to-morrow I shall come to see you. La vi escribir: I saw her writing; viz., I saw her write. La vi escribiendo: I saw her writing; viz., whilst she was writing. The emphatic word in an English sentence is often and more elegantly translated by a paraphrase in Spanish-- ¿Es verdad que ha comprado los géneros? _Has_ he bought the goods? ¿Es él quien ha comprado los géneros? Has _he_ bought the goods? ¿De veras ha comprado los géneros? Has he _bought_ the goods? ¿Pues son los géneros lo que ha comprado? Has he bought _the goods_? Esta transacción hubo de arruinarle: This transaction was within an ace of ruining him. "I believe myself to be clever," etc., is not translated "Yo me creo ser hábil," but "Yo me creo (_or_ considero) hábil," or "Yo creo ser hábil," or "Creo que soy hábil." =Decir (to say, to tell)=. _Pres. Part_., Diciendo. _Past Part_., Dicho. _Pres. Indic_., Digo, dices, dice,--,--, dicen. _Pres. Subj_., Diga, digas, diga, digamos, digáis, digan. _Imp. Mood_, Dí ... _Past Def. Indic_., Dije, dijiste, dijo, dijimos, dijisteis, dijeron. _Future Indic_., Diré, dirás, dirá, diremos, diréis, dirán. VOCABULARY. =agrupación=, group, muster =aislado=, isolated, hedged in =alcalde=, mayor =arreglo amistoso=, friendly understanding =capataz=, foreman =carta de naturaleza=, certificate of naturalization =cifras=, figures *=dar pasos=, to take steps =dedicarse=, to devote oneself =derechos protectores=, protective duties =diputación= provincial, provincial council =elaborar=, to elaborate =genio=, temper =inquietarse=, to feel uneasy *=no tenerlas todas consigo=, to feel uneasy *=irse en rodeos=, to beat about the bush =labor indígena=, native labour =pequeñeces=, trifling matters =perspectivas=, prospects =plan=, plan[192] (idea) =proyecto=, project, scheme =repasar=, to go through =resultado=, result =(de) resultas de=, in consequence of, as a result of =vecino=, inhabitant, ratepayer[193] =vuelta de correo (á), (by) return of post [Footnote 192: Plan, sketch = "Plano."] [Footnote 193: Vecino = ratepayer who has acquired certain rights after a certain period of residence.] EXERCISE 1 (79). Translate into English-- 1. Las leyes de España declaran: Son españoles todas las personas nacidas en territorio español, los hijos de padre ó madre españoles aunque hayan nacido fuera de España, y los extranjeros que hayan obtenido del Gobierno Español carta de naturaleza, ó sean vecinos de cualquier pueblo de España. 2. Añaden que los extranjeros pueden establecerse y dedicarse libremente á sus profesiones en territorio español; pero ningún extranjero puede ejercer en España cargo alguno que represente autoridad. 3. Los miembros del Concejo ó cabildo ó ayuntamiento ó corporación municipal se llaman Concejales ó regidores. 4. En España el alcalde de Madrid es nombrado libremente por el Gobierno; el alcalde de las localidades cuya población no baje de 6,000 habitantes es nombrado por el Gobierno de entre los concejales, los demás alcaldes son nombrados por el voto de su compañeros concejales. 5. Los cargos concejiles son gratuitos. 6. La Diputación Provincial es la agrupación de los varios municipios de cada provincia, y se reúne dos veces al año en la capital de la provincia. EXERCISE 2 (80). Translate into Spanish-- 1. The foreman is grateful for his master's kindness. 2. The Director is elaborating a bold scheme for establishing, in a foreign country hedged in by protective duties, a factory worked by native labour under an English manager (gerente) and experienced English instructors. 3. If this plan reaches concretion (se verifica) he will be going abroad shortly, when he will find that his agents will be taking already the preliminary steps. 4. The Director himself is coming towards us, he will tell you more about it. 5. I am going to attend to several trifling matters which however want looking after (hay que cuidar). 6. Whenever (siempre que) I decided on (he decidido) a thing, I have always acted on my decision (la he puesto en ejecución). 7. I tell you if I had a larger stock, I should feel rather uneasy at (con) the prospects of the market. 8. Come and see me to-morrow at my office and we shall come (llegaremos) to a friendly understanding without beating about the bush. 9. He told me the figures did not compare well with (no eran buenas en comparación de) those of last year. 10. Please go through the accounts again and tell me the result by return of post. 11. Short reckonings make long friends (las cuentas claras y el chocolate espeso). 12. He lost money as a result of his bad temper. LESSON XLI. (Lección cuadragésima primera.) THE VERB (_contd._). _Ser_ and _Estar_. Such expressions as "Smoking is prohibited," etc., are translated either "Es prohibido fumar" or "Está prohibido fumar." Both translations are grammatically correct ("Está prohibido fumar" is the general expression in this particular case). If we say "Es prohibido fumar," we are referring to the "doer" of the action: "Es prohibido _por la ley, por la policia, por los jefes_, etc., etc."--a case of passive voice. If we say "Está prohibido fumar" we have no "doer" in our mind, but only the thing itself = a case of "a condition of things" resulting from the action (the prohibition). =EXAMPLE--= El fumar es prohibido por el jefe, por esto está prohibido fumar en nuestro despacho: Smoking is prohibited by our employer (viz., our employer prohibits smoking), therefore it is not allowed in our office. _The above example is given for the sake of illustration by contrast; in practice, of course, such oddities are avoided._ The English expressions, "It is I, you, he, we, they, who ..." must be rendered in Spanish by "Soy yo, es V., somos nosotros, etc., quien _or_ quienes ..."; i.e., the English impersonal "it is" must be made personal in Spanish. We said that verbs may have a different government in the two languages, as-- Colgar de un clavo: To hang on a nail. Entrar en una casa: To enter a house. This, one of the points for which rules cannot be laid, belongs to the idiom of the language, and practice is the only master (see Appendix V for a list of the most conspicuous differences) In reading, together with the meaning of a verb, _ascertain its government._ Some peculiarities of Spanish verbs-- _Acabar de_, followed by an infinitive, translates the English "to have just," followed by a past participle, as-- Acaba de flotarse una sociedad: A company has just been floated. _Acertar á_, followed by an infinitive, translates "to happen," as-- Acertaron á pasar cuando ella estaba asomada á la ventana: They happened to pass when she was looking out of the window. Acertó a ser viernes aquel día: That day happened to be a Friday. _Alegrarse de, Celebrar_--"to be glad to," "to rejoice at." Me alegro mucho de la noticia; Celebro mucho la noticia: I am glad of the news. (Before an infinitive _de_ is omitted after "alegrarse," as: Me alegro decirle: I am glad to tell you.) _Caber_ (see Lesson XXX) is used figuratively in many locutions-- No cabe en nosotros tal acción: We are not capable of such an action. No cabe en sí de gozo: He is beside himself with joy. Le cupo el premio gordo: it was his lot or luck to get the chief prize. No se puede saber lo que le cabrá á uno en suerte: One cannot know what one's lot will be. Esta tela es de calidad que no cabe más: This cloth is perfection itself. No caber en sí: To be puffed up with pride. =Ir= (to go). _Pres. Part._, Yendo.[194] _Pres. Indic._, Voy, vas, va, vamos, vais, van. _Pres. Subj._, Vaya, vayas, vaya, vayamos, vayáis, vayan. _Imper. Mood_, Ve ... vayamos _or_ vamos ... _Imperf. Indic._, Iba, ibas, iba, íbamos, ibais, iban. _Past Def. Indic._, Fuí, fuiste, fué, fuimos, fuisteis, fueron. [Footnote 194: No word in Spanish commences with "ie." Hence the change into "ye."] =Oir= (to hear). _Pres. Indic._, Oigo. Salir (to go out). _Pres. Indic._, Salgo. _Pres. Subj._, Salga, salgas, salga, salgamos, salgáis, salgan. _Imp. Mood_, Sal . . . _Fut. Indic._, Saldré, saldrás, saldrá, saldremos, saldréis, saldrán. VOCABULARY. =arrancar=, to wrench, to squeeze out =biblioteca=, public library =codicia=, greed, covetousness *=darsele á uno de una cosa=, to matter =desgraciado=, unfortunate =deslumbrar=, to dazzle =factura simulada=, pro forma invoice =fiesta del comercio=, bank holiday =fomento=, development, encouragement *=hacer impresión=, to impress =hacienda=, finance, property =(no) perdonar nada=, to leave no stone unturned =próxima=, near, approaching *=regir=, to rule, to govern, to control =sacar=, to pull out, to get out =sin perjuicio de=, excepting *=tener a su cargo=, to have in charge *=tener en poco=, to think little of EXERCISE 1 (81). Translate into English-- 1. El Gobierno en España se compone de ocho ministerios. 2. El Ministerio de Estado trata de las relaciones de España con los demás Estados y corresponde al "Foreign Office" inglés. 3. El de Gracia y Justicia tiene á su cargo todos los asuntos relativos á la Administración de Justicia y alorden eclesiástico. 4. El de la Guerra que es lo mismo que nuestro "War Office." 5. El de Hacienda, el Ministerio de Marina, el Ministerio de la Gobernación (Ministry of the Interior) que vigila y dirige todos los negocios y asuntos propios del Gobierno y administración civil del Estado, así generales como locales, sin perjuicio de las atribuciones de los ayuntamientos y Diputaciones provinciales, el Ministerio de Fomento (Ministry of P. Works) que rige todo lo relative á la agricultura, industria, comercio, obras, públicas, montes (forests), minas, y estadísticas. 6. Este corresponde más ó menos al inglés "Board of Trade;" y el Ministerio de Instrucción Pública y Bellas Artes que tiene á su cargo cuanto se refiere á la enseñanza, bellas artes, archivos, bibliotecas, y museos, y que representa aproximadamente al "Board of Education." EXERCISE 2 (82). Translate into Spanish-- 1. It is I who shall leave for Paris (saldré para) now that the matter is arranged. 2. I am going out as I hear somebody calling me. 3. Go, but do not be long. 4. Yesterday you went for a few minutes but it was an hour before you returned (no volvió antes de). 5. We have just heard of his approaching visit to England. 6. It happened to be on a bank holiday and our offices (oficinas) were of course closed on that day. 7. We shall be glad if you will kindly instruct (dé instrucciones á) your cashier to pay our account. 8. We have the pleasure of enclosing the pro forma invoices. 9. I am incapable of so much greed. 10. I am sorry to have to tell you that the cargo by the s.s. "Maria" was lost through the vessel stranding (por haber varado) on (en) the Spanish coast. 11. Coming back from having seen (á vuelta de haber visto) the machine working (en función) he told us how favourably impressed he had been. 12. He was dazzled by the brilliant prospects set before him. 13. This is nothing to me. 14. There is nothing or very little to be got out of that firm. 15. I have left no stone unturned to squeeze something out of this unfortunate business but it has been of no avail. 16. He thinks nothing of our work. LESSON XLII. (Lección cuadragésima segunda.) THE VERB (_contd_.). _Caer_ has several idiomatic uses-- Este vestido le cae bien: This dress fits her well. Caer en gracia: To fall into the good graces of one. La puerta cae á oriente: The door is on the east side. Ya caigo, ya caigo en ello: Now I understand. Caerse redondo: To fall flat. _Dar_-- Dar en el clavo (= acertar): To hit it. Dar por concedido, dar de barato: To grant for the sake of argument. Lo doy por bueno: I consider it as good. Dar los naipes: To deal cards. Dar la enhorabuena, el pésame, los buenos días: To congratulate, to condole with, to wish good day. Dar la hora: To strike the hour. Dar en caprichos: To give oneself up to whims. Dar en un error: To incur an error. Darse preso: To give oneself up. Darse al estudio: To apply or devote oneself to study. Dar á creer: To make believe. Dar con una persona: To come across a person. No se me da nada: I do not care a bit. Ahí me las den todas: I do not care a bit. Many other idioms are formed with _dar_ for which a good dictionary should be consulted. _Dejar de_--to cease from, to omit, to fail to. Dejemos de hablar: Let us cease talking. Dejó de hacerme la remesa que me había prometido: He omitted to send me the remittance he promised me. No dejaré de ejecutar su orden: I shall not fail to execute your order. _Echar_ (to throw) forms also many idioms for which the dictionary should be consulted-- Echar á correr, á reir, etc.: To start running, laughing, etc. Echar á perder: To spoil, to ruin. Echar de beber: To pour out drink. Echar de ver: To perceive, to notice. Esto se echa de ver: This is obvious. Echar menos or de menos: To miss, to feel the want of. Echar la llave, el cerrojo, la tranca: To lock, to bolt, to bar (the door). Echar la culpa: To lay the blame. Echar mano: To lay hold, to lay hands upon. Echar un cigarillo, un puro: To smoke a cigarette, a cigar. _Estar_--"to be." Estar en que: To be of opinion. Estar por: To be in favour of. Estar para: To be on the point of. Estar por hacer: To be yet to be done. _Faltar_--"to fail," "to be wanting." Faltó a la promesa: He failed to his promise. Me faltan cinco duros: I am short of five dollars. N.B.--"Me hacen falta cinco duros" is "I need five dollars." _Guardarse de_--"to take care" (to guard against). It carries with it a negative meaning. Me guardaré bien de hacerlo: I shall take care _not_ to do it. ("I shall take care to do it" would be translated "cuidaré de hacerlo.") _Hacerse, Ponerse, Volverse, Llegar á ser_, translate the English "to become," when this is not rendered by turning the English adjective into a verb, as-- Se hizo todo un inglés: He became quite an Englishman. Se puso colorado: He became red in the face. Se volvió loco de contento: He became mad with joy. Llegó á ser famoso: He became famous. Se enriqueció: He became rich. _Hacer_ (_or mandar_) _hacer una cosa_--"to have a thing done." Me hice enviar los bultos: I had the packages sent to me. Hice escribir una carta: I had a letter written. _Llevar_--"to carry," "to wear." Llevar á mal: To take amiss. Llevarse bien con todos: To get on with everybody. Llevarse chasco: To be disappointed. Llévese V. estos valores: Take these securities with you. _Meter bulla_--"to make a noise," "to shout," "to clamour." _Volver_ (to return, i.e., to come or go again) is used before an infinitive to denote a repetition of its action-- Volver á decir: To say again. Decir otra vez: To say again. Decir de nuevo: To say again. VOCABULARY. =abonar=, to speak for a person, to recommend =actas=, deeds (writings) =amén de=, besides =apenas=, barely, scarcely *=arrepentirse=, to repent =bergantín=, brig =concluir un trato=, to strike a bargain =contramaestre de filatura=, master spinner =conveniente para=, becoming =cregüelas=, osnaburgs =crespones=, crêpons *=dar cuenta=, to report =destajista=, contractor =discutir=, to discuss =dobladillo de ojo (con)=, hemstitched =empeñar=, to engage =en regla=, in order =escrito=, writing (_n._), letter *=exponerse á=, to expose oneself to, to encounter =fidedigno=, trustworthy =fracasar=, to fall through =goleta=, schooner =hundimiento=, subsidence =pañuelos de luto=, black-bordered handkerchiefs *=poner pleito=, to bring an action =posición=, position, standing *=probar fortuna=, to try one's luck =proceder= (_n_.), proceeding, behaviour =redactar=, to draw up (deeds), to write out =repulgados, dobladillados=, hemmed =suelo=, ground, soil =telas rizadas=, crimps =vencer=, to win, to fall due EXERCISE 1 (83). Translate into English-- 1. En contestación á su estimada carta pésanos (we are sorry) deberles notificar que hasta ahora no hemos podido dar con los crespones que nos han pedido. 2. Obra en nuestro poder su apreciable del 3 del que rige con orden para cregüelas, pañuelos de algodón de luto, dobladillados (_or_ repulgados) y pañuelos de lino con dobladillo de ojo, y no dejaremos de darles cuenta detallada de lo que hayamos hecho, en nuestro próximo escrito. 3. El destajista echó a construir pero abandonó la obra á medio hacer. 4. Estamos en que se arrepintió de su contrato y nuestros Directores están por ponerle pleito. 5. Escriben de Brasil que les hace falta un contramaestre de filatura. 6. Conozco á un joven que debería ser competente pero me guardaré de empeñarle sin obtener informes fidedignos que le abonen. 7. De resultas de un hundimiento en el suelo sufrió daños de importancia el cuerpo del edificio amén de haberse caído la chimenea. 8. La goleta y el bergantín temen exponerse al fuerte viento. EXERCISE 2 (84). Translate into Spanish-- 1. He wants to make us believe that the price at which he sold them barely covers his cost. 2. I do not care whether he gains or loses; I have ceased to take an interest in his affairs. 3. Now I understand, and I shall not fail to take care not to do it in future. 4. He started laughing, and there the matter ended (así se acabó la cosa). 5. He was on the point of striking a bargain with him, but it fell through at the last moment and now everything is to be discussed again. 6. He failed to present himself at the creditors' meeting, and he has therefore forfeited (perdido) his right of opposition (de oponerse). 7. He became very cautious after the experience he had. 8. He became very rich by his fortunate deals (especulaciones) in railway shares. 9. The bill falls due on the 15th inst. 10. This proceeding is not becoming a firm of your standing. 11. The deeds are not in order: please do not take amiss my requesting you to have them drawn up again. 12. I expected to see him, but I was disappointed. 13. Do not clamour so much, and try your luck again. LESSON XLIII. (Lección cuadragésima tercera.) THE VERB (_contd._). The English verbs "shall," "will," "should," "would," "may," "might," when used as auxiliary verbs (viz., as mere signs of the future tense, conditional or subjunctive moods respectively) are rendered by the corresponding terminations of the Spanish verb[195]-- I shall go: Iré. Thou wilt go: Irás. We should go: Iríamos. You would go: Vs. irían. I hope he may succeed: Deseo que tenga buen éxito. I wished he might come: Deseaba que viniese. [Footnote 195: "Shall," "should," "will," "would," are also rendered by the Subjunctive Mood when according to the Spanish rules the verb should be Subjunctive. Example-- It is (was) possible that he will (would) have to work late: Es (era) posible que tenga (tuviese) que trabajar tarde.] When they are used as principal verbs they are translated by _Deber_ (shall, should), _Querer_ (will and would), and _Poder_ (may and might), as-- You shall go: V. debe ir. You may speak: V. puede hablar. I will not buy more: No quiero comprar más. You should accept our terms: Vs. deberían[196] aceptar nuestras condiciones. We would willingly see that done: Quisiéramos mucho verlo hacer. [Footnote 196: The Imperfect Indicative _debía, podía, quería,_ is often used for "debería," "podría," and "querría." This occurs also with other verbs, colloquially: Yo se lo daba si estuviese aquí _for_ Yo selo daría si estuviese aquí.] "Can" is translated by the pres. or future of _Poder_-- I can do it now: Puedo hacerlo ahora. I can do it next month: Puedo _or_ Podré hacerlo el mes próximo. "Could" is translated by the imperfect indicative or the conditional mood of _Poder_-- I did it whenever I could: Lo hacía siempre que podía. I could do it if I had the necessary means: Podría hacerlo si tuviese los medics necesarios. "Would," meaning "used to," is, of course, translated by the imperfect indicative-- When he was in Paris he would sit in the cafés for hours: Cuando estaba en Paris se pasaba horas enteras en los cafés. "Should he do," etc., is translated "if he should do," etc. (si lo hiciese).[197] "If I were to go" is translated "if I went" (si fuese). [Footnote 197: After _si_ (if--Conditional) the verb is present indicative or imperfect subjunctive (see Lesson XXIV).] "Can" is translated by _saber_ when the faculty expressed is the result of _learning_, as-- Can you play the piano? ¿Sabe V. tocar el pianoforte? "To be to," "to have to" are translated by _Tener que, Haber de_ or _Deber_ (see Lesson XXVII), as-- Who is to write out that invoice? ¿Quién ha de (debe) escribir aquella factura? I have to be very careful: He de ser muy cuidadoso. I shall have to work hard: Tendró que trabajar fuerte. "Let" as a principal verb is translated by _dejar_ or _permitir;_ as an auxiliary it corresponds to the Spanish imperative mood-- Let him speak: Déjele V. hablar, or Permítale V. que hable. Let him ask for it and we shall give it to him: Pídalo (_or_ que lo pida) y se lo daremos. "To let (or hire) a house"--"alquilar (una casa)"--I have let my house: He alquilado mi casa. VOCABULARY. =abogar por=, to plead for =acoger=, to receive =agasajar=, to welcome =apurar=, to clear up, to investigate =arrancar=, to wrench, to pull out, also to date from *=atender á=, to attend =clases nocturnas=, evening classes =condiciones=, terms *=convenir en=, to agree, to acquiesce =cruzados=, twills[198] =culpado=, at fault *=despedir=, to dismiss =desteñido=, faded =detallado=, detailed, circumstantial =estrenar=, to use or wear a thing for the first time =estrenarse=, to commence, to make a start =farditos=, trusses[199] =fiados, book debts =el idioma, la lengua=, language =malversar=, to embezzle =nansús=, nainsooks =negociado=, division (Gov. Office) =oportunidad=,, opportunity, chance =pagaré=, promissory note, bill =parte=, report =perfeccionar=, to perfect =por poder=, per pro =tiro, largura=, length =tomar vuelo=, to develop, to increase [Footnote 198: Also Aterlizados, asargados, diagonales.] [Footnote 199: Small bales.] EXERCISE 1 (85). Translate into English-- 1. Quiso acogerme generosamente en su casa, en donde fuí atendido y agasajado durante el tiempo de mi estancia en X. 2. Le agradecería de veras una orden pues aun no me he estrenado hoy, y V. debería dármela pues me la tiene prometida. 3. Los cruzados y los nansús se han puesto en farditos y estos se han empacado cada cuatro en un fardo. 4. Avisamos á Vs. el envío por correo, de cortes (cuttings) de toda la serie y observarán que son telas de muy buena vista (very sightly) y se pueden pedir en cualquier tiro. 5. Les aconsejamos no tarden en colocar sus pedidos para lo que necesiten. 6. Este negocio tomará mucho vuelo con el tiempo (in time). 7. Arrancan de muchos años los abuses que se cometen en ese Negociado. 8. Se han malversado cantidades de importancia. 9. El Ministro está ocupado en apurar los hechos, estando decidido á castigar severamente á los que resultarán culpados. EXERCISE 2 (86). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I shall make out a list of my book debts. 2. You would break (faltaría á) your word if you did not plead for him. 3. He should explain his conduct, otherwise he will be dismissed. 4. We shall oblige (contentar) him, but it must be under certain conditions. 5. He is sending me to the Court (Tribunal) that I may watch (seguir) that interesting case (proceso). 6. He sent his nephew here that he might learn our business methods (métodos comerciales) and perfect his knowledge of the English language. 7. You may see for yourself (V. mismo) that the state of the market will not justify (no justifica) buying (el comprar) at present. 8. They might be a little easier in their dealings. 9. Can you claim an indemnity for non-fulfilment of contract? 10. They could square up the account by signing[200] promissory notes at 4 and 6 months' time. 11. They ought to forewarn their agents. 12. He would insist on saying we were in the wrong. 13. Should they acquiesce to the terms of the arrangements, we authorise you to sign it per pro. 14. Had he known the cloth was faded he would not have taken receipt of (admitido) the bale. 15. Mr. Gómez is to visit the Estate (terreno) and send a circumstancial report. 16. I shall let him attend (asistir á) the evening classes at the Manchester School of Technology. 17. It is only fair that (es muy justo que) he should have a chance of mastering (aprender á fondo) the art of spinning and weaving. 18. If he would only devote (si á lo menos dedicase) his attention (to it). [Footnote 200: See page 162.] LESSON XLIV. (Lección cuadragésima cuarta.) THE ADVERB. The natural position of the adverb is after the verb, as-- El convendría de muy buena gana: He would willingly consent. But a great liberty is allowed in this respect, as-- Seguramente firmaría el endoso: He would certainly sign the endorsement. Siempre se lo voy repitiendo: I keep always repeating it to him. _Mucho_ is the only adverb which does not generally admit of "very" for the superlative; it takes _ísimo_ instead. However "muy mucho" is found, especially when used jocularly. To the adverbs given in Lesson XXVIII we add the following adverbs and adverbial locutions-- Á la noche (at night) Á manos llenas (profusely) Á ojos cegarritas (blindly) Á ojos vistas (obviously) Á pie juntillas (firmly) Á rienda suelta (recklessly) Á todo escape (at full speed) Ayer tarde _or_ por la tarde (yesterday evening) Cuanto antes (as soon as possible) De buena, mala gana (willingly, unwillingly) De buenas á buenas (willingly) De buenas á primeras (at first sight, straight away) De hoy en quince (to-day fortnight) Hoy hace quince días (just a fortnight ago) De propósito (on purpose) De tiempo en tiempo (from time to time) Día sí, y otro no (every other day) Mañana por la mañana (to-morrow morning) Nunca jamás (never--emphatic) Para siempre jamás (for ever and ever) Pasado mañana (the day after to-morrow) Por mal (bien) que (however badly (well)) Por poco (nearly, but for little) Tal cual vez (once in a while) EXAMPLES-- Nunca jamás en la vida he hecho esto: _Never_ in my life have I done this. Por poco se rompió la cabeza: He nearly broke his head. Por mal que le salga: Badly as it may turn out for him. Adverbs ending in _mente_ are often substituted by _con_ with a noun, as-- Con lujo--lujosamente (luxuriantly). Con dificultad--difícilmente (with difficulty). This, of course, is found also in English but is more frequently done in Spanish. _Recientemente_ is generally abbreviated into _recién_ before a past participle, as-- El recién llegado (the newly arrived). El recién venido (the newly arrived). El recién nacido (the new born). _Aquí, acá, allí, allá._ _Aquí_ and _allí_ are more circumscribed than _acá_ and _allá_-- Venga acá cuando necesite algo: Come here when you want anything. Allá, en su tierra esto se hace: There in your country this is done. Aquí estoy y aquí me quedo: Here I am, and here I remain. Ponga este paquete allí: Put this packet there. _Ahí_--there (near the person spoken to[201]) also means your city, your country, there (in correspondence). [Footnote 201: Rule not strictly observed.] Si los precios ahí son razonables podrá hacerse mucho negocio: If prices over there are reasonable, a large business can be done. _Por ahí_ = about. ¿Cuántos había? ¿40? Por ahí: How many were there? 40? About that number. _No_ is used often redundantly-- Mejor es sufrir que no hacer sufrir: It is better to suffer than to make others suffer. Temo que no llegue demasiado temprano[202]: I am afraid he will arrive too early. [Footnote 202: This sentence is ambiguous, because it might mean the opposite: Temo que no llegue demasiado temprano sino demasiado tarde. The tone of the voice must be relied upon or a different construction must be used.] =Venir (to come)=. _Pres. Part., _Viniendo. _Pres. Indic., _Vengo, vienes, viene,--,--, vienen. _Pres. Subj., _Venga, vengas, venga, vengamos, vengáis, vengan. _Imper. Mood, _Ven ... _Past Def., _Vine, viniste, vino, vinimos, vinisteis, vinieron. _Fut. Indic., _Vendré, vendrás, vendrá, vendremos, vendréis, vendrán; VOCABULARY. =á ciegas, á ojos cegarritas=, blindly =agotar=, to drain, to exhaust =al amor de=, near, beside =aparentar=, to appear =basto=, common, inferior, coarse =de bien á mejor=, better and better =cabal=, upright, just =de cabo á rabo=, from top to bottom rom end to end =el efectivo=, the cash, the money =en efectivo, en metálico=, in cash =enterarse=, to get to know =escuchar=, to listen =esquela=, note =etiqueta=, rótulo, ticket, label =hombre llano=, sincere, rough-and-ready man =loza=, crockery =medida=, measurement =medrar=, to prosper *=ponerse á sus anchas=, to make oneself comfortable =porcelana=, china =quebranto=, mishap, misfortune, loss *=salir en=, to come up to =silla=, chair =solicitado=, sought after =un si es no es=, just a trifle *=venir á menos=, to come down in the world, to decline =vidriado=, glassware EXERCISE 1 (87). Translate into English-- 1. Desde nuestra última revista no se puede decir que haya habido mucha variación en nuestro mercado aunque se nota algo más de firmeza y los precios aparentan ser un si es no es más caros. 2. Siempre solicitados los géneros bastos á precios baratos. 3. Entregué la esquela al anciano señor quien, sentado al amor del fuego, la leyó de cabo á rabo y, como hombre llano que es me dijo de buenas á primeras que no queriendo obrar á ciegas, daría su contestación en un par (couple) de días. 4. ¿Sabía V. que la casa Fernández había venido tan á menos? 5. No, no me había enterado, la tuve siempre por casa fabricante de loza, porcelana, y vidriado, cuyos negocios iban de bien á mejor. 6. Medraron al principio pero ya han decaído mucho. 7. Lo siento de veras. Es muy de deplorar porque el Sr. Fernández es hombre muy cabal. 8. Invirtió una porción de dinero en el ferrocarril aereo (overhead) de N.; eso también le causó algún quebranto. 9. Pobrecito, no le faltaba más (that was the last stroke). 10. ¡Qué[203] barato es esto! [Footnote 203: Qué before an adjective = how. (Cuán can also be used.)] EXERCISE 2 (88). Translate into Spanish-- 1. I would gladly accede to your request if it were in my power. 2. We are always impressing upon (llamando la atención de) our warehousemen the importance of marking the measurement on the tickets. 3. Besides being loose (fugitives) colours they are not half so (nada tan) bright as they should be. 4. They advertise profusely and from time to time they issue new illustrated catalogues. 5. Soon (cuanto antes) they will start (principiarán á) issuing them in foreign languages. 6. I never saw a better kept set of books (libros). 7. I was nearly caught in the India Rubber boom, but fortunately I managed to get off (pude librarme) without burning my fingers (cogerme los dedos). 8. Come here, my friend, and listen to me. 9. Here in England things are managed (se hacen) on a different basis altogether (de una manera enteramente distinta). 10. Take that chair there and make yourself comfortable. 11. How much do you require (le hace falta), £100? 12. About that. 13. I was afraid (que no) you were going to ask me for more and that would have drained all our available (que tenemos) cash. 14. How much will the packages come to? 15. Say (digamos) £100 averaging one with the other (calculando uno con otro). LESSON XLV. (Lección cuadragésima quinta.) THE PREPOSITION. One word should not be used in Spanish governed by two different prepositions, as-- He is an admirer of and a contributor to the "Times": Es admirador del "Times" y colabora en ese periódico. The man I spoke with and wrote to: El hombre con quien hablé y al cual escribí. However, we find the same construction as in English in cases of _antithesis_, as-- Con ó sin él: With or without him. El billete cuesta 20 pesetas desde ó hasta Madrid: The ticket is 20 ptas. from or to Madrid. The Spanish Academy condemns this use, however. As will have been noticed before, a preposition governing a word cannot be used _after_ the word it governs, as-- The work[204] which I referred to: La obra á la cual referí. [Footnote 204: Work, artistic, literary, scientific--"obra." Work, manual, or mental--"trabajo."] The preposition _con_ followed by an infinitive translates the English "by," followed by the present participle-- Con enseñar se aprende: By teaching one learns. The preposition _desde_ refers to "distance of time or space," as-- He marchado desde mi casa: I walked from my house. However, _desde_ may be used instead of _de_ before names of countries or cities-- Me escribieron desde Barcelona: They wrote me from Barcelona. _Para_ may be used together with _con_ = "towards"-- Fué muy bueno conmigo, para mí, _or_ para conmigo. "_En_ acabando[205] lo haré" has the meaning of "I shall do it as soon as I have finished." [Footnote 205: _En_ is the only preposition which may govern a pres. participle, generally with the meaning given above.] We add the following idiomatic uses of _Por_ and _Para_ to what we said about these two prepositions in Lesson XXIX: _Por_ may translate "on behalf of," "for the sake of," "in favour of," "during," "through"-- Habló por el proyecto de ley: He spoke in favour of the bill. Se presentó por la casa: He appeared on behalf of the firm. Por la paz y buena armonía concedemos lo que V. pide: For the sake of peace we allow what you ask. Les sirvió por cinco años: He served them during five years. Trabaja por la mañana: He works during (in) the morning. Vino por París: He came through Paris. Cotizar por un artículo: To quote for an article. Yo por mí (_or_ por mi parte) prefiero comprar al contado: I, for one, prefer to buy for cash. Por[206] rico que sea, no tendrá suficientes recursos: No matter how rich he is, he will not have sufficient means. Es demasiado avaro por ser tan rico: for such a rich man, he is too miserly. Caro por caro prefiero géneros ingleses: If I have to pay a dear price, I prefer English goods. Por sí ó por no: In any case, should it be so or not. Ir (venir) por: To go (come) for. Enviar por el médico: To send for the doctor. Por holgazán perdió el empleo: He lost his employment through laziness. Por bién ó por mal: Willy-nilly. Vendré por la Navidad: I shall come by Christmas. Por si acaso: In case that. [Footnote 206: _Por_ has always this meaning before an adjective or adverb.] No sirve para más: He is good for nothing else. Venir para la Pentecostés: To come for Whitsuntide. Esto no es para menos: The thing (or occasion) is worth it. Para español (_or_ por ser español) es muy alto: He is very tall for a Spaniard. Tener grande consideración para este hombre: To have great respect for this man. Dar pedidos para ferretería, ollería, y maquinaría: To give orders for ironware, hollow-ware and machinery. Es demasiado avaro para ser tan rico: He is too miserly to be so rich. _Sin_--"without"-- Poseía £10,000 sin los bienes raíces que heredó de su padre: He owned £10,000 besides the real property he inherited from his father. _Según_--"according to"-- Según y como: That depends. _So_ instead of _bajo_ is used in the following expressions-- So capa de: Under the cloak of. So pretexto de: Under the pretext of. And in a few other such phrases. VOCABULARY. =acabado, aderezo=, finish (cloth) =acolchados=, quiltings =admitir=, to admit, to accept =agente exclusivo=, sole agent =alfombradas=, carpetings =á no ser así=, were it not so, otherwise =anclar=, to anchor =arreglo=, agreement =bajista=, bearish (exchange) =cablegrama=, cablegram, cable =capataz=, foreman =conceder=, to grant =coquillos=, jeans =disposición=, disposition, disposal =empeñarse=, to pledge oneself =en su ramo=, in your line =exclusividad=, exclusive sale =fama=, fame, reputation, name =frazadas de algodón=, cotton blankets =lento=, remiss =nombrar=, to appoint =palo de mesana=, mizzen mast =palo mayor=, main mast =por escrito=, in writing =postergar=, to put off, to delay =proveerse=, to supply oneself =tapetes=, carpet rugs *=tener inconveniente=, to have an objection =tomar en consideración=, to take into consideration, to entertain =trinquete=, foremast EXERCISE 1 (89). Translate into English-- 1. Con ser abiertamente (manifestly) bajista la especulación, las acciones mineras se han sostenido. 2. Desde Barcelona ha llegado un radiograma avisando que había anclado en ese puerto el vapor "Cibeles" con el trinquete roto y el palo mayor y el de mesana también dañados. 3. El jefe es muy bondadoso para con sus empleados. 4. Dos cajas de coquillos y una de pañuelos de andrinópolis (turkey red) nos vinieron por Burdeos (Bordeaux), los acolchados, las alfombradas, los tapetes y las frazadas de algodón se embarcaron por mar. 5. Por la buena fama de su casa no debería postergar por más tiempo el pago. 6. Por sí ó por no mejor sería proveerse. 7. El capataz fué al Director por órdenes. 8. Por bien ó por mal tendrá que admitir los géneros pues se han fabricado por su cuenta y tenemos su orden por escrito para ellos. 9. Se alarmó mucho, pues el asunto no era para menos. 10. Para género de algodón el acabado (or aderezo) es todo lo que se puede desear. 11. Por ser género de algodón esta tela es de muy buena vista. 12. Es demasiado barato para ser de lana. 13. Si desea V. obtener órdenes debe tener mucha consideración para los corresponsales. 14. No puedo prometerle entrega para 1° de Junio exactamente, pero haré por efectuarla por esa fecha. 15. ¿Conoce V. el refrán: "No hay mal que por bien no venga"? (It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.) EXERCISE 2 (90). Translate into Spanish-- 1. This sample looks very nice for an imitation. 2. It being in your line, I thought I ought to give you the first chance (hacerle la primera oferta) in case it would tempt you (por si acaso le animara á comprar). 3. To begin with you would have to engage the cloth to us (darnos la exclusividad). 4. I have no objection provided you guarantee a certain turnover (venta). 5. He was appointed sole agent for the whole of Mexico through the recommendation of his brother-in-law, and his agreement with the firm is for 3 years certain (fijos). 6. That will bring him (le producirá) £500 a year if it brings him a penny (por lo menos). 7. Being such an important concern (casa) they do not pay their staff very handsomely (generosamente). 8. They are too remiss with (en) their payments to be such important people. 9. I very nearly pledged myself to grant him the exclusive sale of my article. 10. These are his instructions for the disposal of his goods 11. However clear they may be, we must have his cable confirmed by a letter. 12. Therefore we cannot entertain your offer for the present. 13. It cannot be helped, otherwise (Tenga paciencia, si fuese posible) we would do everything for you. LESSON XLVI. (Lección cuadragésima sexta.) THE PREPOSITION (_contd._) To the uses of _Por_ must be added the following (optional)-- After the following verbs: Agradecer (por) el favor: To be grateful or to be thankful for the favour. Aguardar _or_ esperar (por) alguno: To wait for somebody. Pedir (por) una cosa: To ask for (request) something. Preguntar (por) una cosa: To ask for (to inquire about) something. He pagado por él cinco chelines _or_ lo he pagado cinco chelines: I paid five shillings for it. Buscar (por) alguno ó alguna cosa: To look for somebody or something. Dispensar (por) el error: To excuse the error. Further uses of the Spanish prepositions different from the English, and forming idioms-- A caballo (on horseback) Á ciegas (blindly) Á consecuencia de esto (in consequence of this) Á deshora (inopportunely) Á duras penas (with great efforts) Á esconditas (covertly) Á fe de caballero (upon the word of a gentleman) Á gatas (on all fours) Á hurtadillas (stealthily) Á la española (in the Spanish fashion) Á la mesa (at table) Al antojo de uno (after one's fancy) Á la tarde (in the afternoon) A la verdad (in truth) Al descuido y con cuidado (studiously careless) Á lo largo del río (along the river) Á lo que parece (to all appearances) Hecho a máquina (made by machinery) Á pie (on foot) Á poco de escribir (shortly after having commenced writing) Á propósito (opportunely, à propos) Á regañadientes (reluctantly) Á saberlo yo (had I known it) Á sangre fría (in cold blood) Á sus anchas, anchuras (at one's ease) A tiro de cañón (within cannon shot) Es más hábil que yo, con mucho (he is cleverer than I by far) Con ser amigo y todo (although he be a friend) Contra el norte (facing the north) De año en ano (from year to year) De balde (for nothing, gratis) De bóbilis (without effort) De broma (in jest) De buenas á buenas (willingly) De buenas a primeras (straight away) De capa caída (crestfallen) De contado (of course) De día, etc. (by day, etc.) De jaleo (on the spree) De luto (in mourning) De mejor en mejor (from better to better) ¡Ay _or_ Infeliz de mí! (woe to me!) De miedo (through fear) Anteojos de oro (gold spectacles) De patitas (on shanks' pony) De peor en peor (from bad to worse) De perillas (venir) (quite opportunely, à propos) El picaruelo de Perico (that young rascal Perico) De pies á cabeza (from head to foot) De puntillas (on tiptoe) De repente (suddenly) Del todo (at all) De veras (in truth) Dos á dos (two by two) Está en casa (he is at home) En estas condiciones (under these conditions) En señal de aprecio (as a mark of esteem) Entrecano (gray-haired) Entre dos aguas (doubtful, perplexed) Entre la espada y la pared (between the devil and the deep sea) Nos dió 5 pesetas para repartir entre yo[207] y mi hermano (he gave us 5 pesetas to be divided between my brother and me) Hasta la vista (good-bye for the present) Hasta los animales tienen gratitud (even animals feel gratitude) Sobre las diez (at about ten o'clock) Tiene sobre los treinta (he is about thirty years old) Sobre más 6 menos (a little more or less) Tras la pérdida el escarnio (besides the loss the scoffing) [Footnote 207: _Entre_ is generally followed by the nominative case unless it means "to" as--Dijo entre sí. He said to himself.] About different prepositions used in Spanish and English after certain verbs, see also Appendix V. The following are the principal compound prepositions-- Acerca de (relating to, concerning) Á despecho de (in spite of) Á pesar de (in spite of) Antes de (before--in point of time) Cerca de (near) Junto á (near) Conforme á (according to) Con respecto á (with respect to) Respecto de (with respect to) Debajo de (under) Dentro de (inside) Después de (after) Encima de (on, or over) En cuanto á (as to) En frente de (opposite) Frente á (opposite) En lugar de (instead of) En vez de (opposite) VOCABULARY. =acordonado=, corded =agujas=, needles =alechugado=, frilled =alemaniscos=, linen damasks =alfileres=, pins =antojo=, whim, caprice =árbitro=, arbitrator =arreglado=, reasonable (price) =arrollar=, to roll =batas=, wrappers (ladies') =bodega=, cellar, also hold (ship) =chales=, shawls =dedales=, thimbles =desinteresarse=, to abandon *=desplegar=, to unfold =dictamen=, award, decision =entrepuentes=, between decks =festoneados=, scalloped =gratificación=, gratuity =guarniciones, adornos=, trimmings =lanillas para banderas=, buntings =listados de algodón=, cotton stripes =logro=, attainment =ovillos de algodón=, cotton balls =pañol, carbonera=, bunker (ships') =pintura=, paint =rehusar=, to decline =sábanas=, bed sheets =subasta=, auction =tablillas=, boards =tablones=, planks =terliz=, ticking =terreno=, land, property =trencilla=, braid EXERCISE 1 (91). Translate into English-- 1. Agradezco (por) el interés demostrado á mi amigo y la actividad desplegada en facilitarle el logro de sus fines. 2. Hemos dado diez mil duros por este terreno y no lo hemos pagado demasiado caro. 3. No puede V. rehusar los alemaniscos y quedarse con los géneros para sábanas y los terlices, á su antojo. 4. Á la verdad las agujas y alfileres han resultado algo caros como también los dedales pero las trencillas, guarniciones, y ovillos de algodón son á precio muy arreglado. 5. Vino muy á deshora y á poco de haberse sentado nos declaró que no esperaría. 6. Estos chales á 4 chelines y estos listados de algodón á 5 peniques la yarda son de balde, no lo decimos de broma. 7. Accedió á nuestra propuesta de buenas á buenas y de buenas á primeras nos depositó la suma de 1,000 francos. 8. Los fondos austríacos van de peor en peor y por eso está nuestro parroquiano de capa caída. 9. En tales condiciones preferimos desinteresarnos del proyecto. 10. Estuvimos entre dos aguas por algún tiempo, pero una vez puestos entre la espada y la pared (once we are so hard pressed) no nos queda más sino hablar claro, y ¡lo dicho! EXERCISE 2 (92). Translate into Spanish-- 1. They await the result of the inquiry (información). 2. We forward you the papers relating to the Arbitrator's award. 3. He paid for the Buntings 5d. a yard. 4. In consequence of your having outstepped (excedido) our instructions, we must decline all responsibility with respect to delivery. 5. We have put boards inside the pieces according to our usual custom; we did not know you wanted them rolled. 6. Our new offices will be next to the Oil and Paint Stores (almacén), and opposite the General Post Office (casa de correos). 7. The planks used under the bales for dunnage (la estiva) were sold almost for nothing, in spite of our request to hold them at our disposal. 8. The steamer can carry 4,000 bales a little more or less if she fills her holds and takes cargo between decks. 9. She will take that quite easily and a few hundred bales more in her bunkers. 10. As a mark of our appreciation (estima) we authorize a gratuity to the Captain of £5. 11. The salvage (salvamento) has been sold partly by auction and partly by private treaty. 12. To all appearances the corded and frilled wrappers are superior to the scalloped. LESSON XLVII. (Lección cuadragiésima séptima.) THE CONJUNCTION. _Si_ (if and whether). _Si_ used for "whether" may be followed by a verb in any mood and tense as in English-- No sé si habrá buena cosecha este año: I do not know whether there will be a good crop this year. No pudo, _or_ supo, decirme si me entregaría los pagarés para la fecha convenida: He could not tell me whether he would be able to hand me the promissory notes for the date agreed upon. _Si_ used as the conditional "if," is followed by the verb in the present indicative or imperfect subjunctive, as-- Si viene hoy le pagaré: If he comes to-day, I shall pay him. Si viene mañana le pagaré[208]: If he comes to-morrow I shall pay him. Le dije que si viniese le pagaría: I told him that if he came I should pay him. [Footnote 208: When the action refers to the future the "future subjunctive" may be used instead, but this is rarely done. _It emphasises the uncertainty._] The sense will determine the tense to be used. Notice the following idiomatic uses of _si_ (not conditional)-- Si soy (fuí) malo! Well, I am (was) wicked! ¡Si será (sería) tan necia! Can (could) she be so foolish! ¿Si vendría? I wonder will he come! ¡Si se lo había dicho yo mil veces! But I had told him so many times! Other idiomatic uses of this _si_ will be learnt by practice (all more or less pleonastic as in the above examples). We have said that "but" is translated by _sino_ after a negative unless a finite verb follows. Therefore, "Not to buy but to sell" is translated "No comprar sino vender." After a negative a finite verb may be preceded by _sino que_ instead of _pero_ in cases like the following examples-- No compró sino que vendió: He did not buy but (on the contrary) he sold. No sólo que es barato sino que es de muy buena calidad: Not only is it cheap, but it is (also) of a very good quality. _Ni ... ni_--"neither ... nor" (same as all negative words) when following a verb requires _No_ to precede the verb, as-- No acepta ni esto ni aquello: He accepts neither this nor that. But--Ni esto ni aquello quiere aceptar. _Pues_--"seeing that" or "since" is used often for "then," "but," "well" (used as an interjection). Pues que lo haga: Let him do it then. Quiso desobedecerme, pues vera su falta: He _would_ disobey me, but he will see his fault. Pues (_or_ pues bien) ¡que hay ahora! Well! what is the matter now? We shall conclude the lesson with the different meanings of _Ya_ (sometimes used also redundantly). They are given for the sake of completeness although _Ya_ in its different uses belongs to different parts of speech-- Ya lo ha hecho: He has done it already. Ya lo hará: He will do it yet. Ya no se hace esto: This is done no longer. Ya consienten, ya rehusan: Now they consent, now they refuse. Ya consientan, ya rehusen: Whether they consent, etc. Haré cuanto quieras si ya no me pides lo imposible: I shall do anything you wish if you do not ask (unless you ask) me for impossibilities. Ya que escribió: Since (seeing that) he wrote. Ya ve V.: You see now. Ya voy: I am coming. Ya se ve: It is evident. Ya, ya: Yes, of course. VOCABULARY. *=abolir=, to abolish *=advertir=, to warn =alegar=, to allege =al revés=, on the wrong side =barnices=, varnishes =barrica=, cask =batista de algodón=, cambric =baúl=, trunk =betunes=, blacking =bicicleta=, bicycle =botines=, boots =bramante=, twine =bufandas=, mufflers =buje=, hub =cerradura=, lock =chanclos=, goloshes =cintos de seda=, silk sashes =cinturones de cuero=, leather belts =colchas de plumón=, down quilts =consignatario=, consignee =ejecutar=, to execute, to put through *=hacer escala=, to call at (ships) =llantas=, tyres =maleta=, portmanteau =mango=, handle =marca=, brand, mark =merma=, loss, leakage, shortage =muebles de bejuco=, rattan furniture =niquelado=, nickel-plated *=perder cuidado=, not to worry =rayos=, rays, spokes (wheels) =reborde=, rim, flange =remolacha=, beetroot =rezumar=, to leak =tejido elástico=, webbing =zapatos=, shoes EXERCISE 1 (93). Translate into English-- 1. No sé si habrá vapor de la Trasatlántica en fecha conveniente. 2. Si lo hay lo preferiré. 3. Esos vapores arrancan (start) de Liverpool y hacen escalas en varios puertos. 4. Ignoraba si habría servicio mensual en la línea de Canarias. 5. Mandé quinientas piezas Batista de algodón si la hubiese en existencia. 6. Quiero un baúl y una buena maleta de piel de Rusia con cerradura niquelada si las hay (_or_ hubiere). 7. Pierda V. Cuidado ¡si las hay de toda especie! 8. ¿Si me venderá esos muebles de bejuco? 9. ¿Cómo no? si ya se lo tiene prometido. 10. El comercio del caucho se ha desarrollado mucho, se usa ahora en grande escala no sólo para llantas neumáticas de bicicletas y otras piezas (parts) sino también para gomas de automóviles. 11. No sólo tengo que cambiar el mango de mi bicicleta sino reemplazar los rebordes y componer el buje y algunos rayos de la rueda. 12. No es posible hallar botines de señoras y zapatos más elegantes que los de nuestra marca, ni se pueden conseguir más baratos en parte alguna. 13. Pues que me facture esos bramantes (twine) y ese yute y cáñamo. 14. Ya he colocado un pedido para bufandas y ya veré si me tiene cuenta pero no mande barnices ni betunes pues ya no trato en estos artículos. 15. Ya, ya. V. se ha dedicado ya á los géneros en pieza, si no me engaño, pues V. ya dice una cosa ya otra. 16. ¡Señor Juan! Ya voy (I am coming). EXERCISE 2 (94). Translate into Spanish-- 1. Whether he puts through my order for leather belts and silk sashes or not, I do not much mind, but if he should oblige me, I would do him a good turn (le haría algún servicio) if the opportunity presents itself. 2. If the webbing and down quilts are good, I shall not begrudge (no me pesará) the advance in price. 3. Can it be true (si) that the gate or octroi duty (el impuesto de consumos) is going to be abolished in Spain? 4. Well (pues) the Government has presented a bill to that effect and I hope we shall soon see the octroi offices (fielatos) abolished. 5. The broker was warned that the quality was only fair average (mediana). 6. Beetroot has been largely planted in the province of Granada and is now in great request for the sugar industry. 7. We strove hard (nos hemos esforzado mucho) to introduce the new brand and we have gained our point[209] at last. 8. The cloth was folded on the wrong side and we anticipate some difficulty on that score (por esta razón). 9. The consignees claim shortage (indemnización por falta de contenido). 10. They allege that the casks were leaking and that there was consequently a loss of thirty gallons (galones). [Footnote 209: To gain one's point: Salir con la suya.] VOCABULARY. I. SPANISH-ENGLISH. =A= =abacá=, Manilla hemp =abajo=, below =abaratamiento=, cheapening =abarcar=, to embrace, to include =abarrotado=, glutted, cram full =abastecerse=, to supply oneself =abasto=, supply =abedul=, birch =abeto=, fir =ablandar=, to soften =abogado=, lawyer, solicitor, barrister =abogar=, to plead =abolir=, to abolish =abonar=, to speak for, to recommend, to credit =abordar=, to accost, to approach, to board =abrigar=, to shelter, to cherish (hope) =abril=, April =abrir=, to open =abrir agua=, to leak =absolutamente=, absolutely =abuso=, abuse =acá, aquí=, here =acabado=, finish (cloth) =acabar=, to finish =acabar de ..=., to have just =acaudalado=, rich, wealthy =acceder=, to accede =accidente=, accident =acciones=, actions, shares =acciones preferences=, preference shares =accionista=, shareholder =aceite=, oil =acerca de=, relating to =acero=, steel =acertar á=, to happen, to contrive =acoger=, to admit, to receive =acolchado=, quilting =aconsejar=, to advise, to counsel =acorazado=, iron-clad =acordar=, to agree =acordarse=, to remember =acordonado=, corded =acreditar=, to credit =actas=, acts, deeds =actitud=, attitude =active=, active =activo y pasivo=, assets and liabilities =actual=, present, current, instant (month) =acudir=, to attend, to have recourse to =acusar=, to accuse, to show =adecuado, proporcionado=, adequate =aderezo=, finish (cloth) =adeudar=, to debit =adherir á=, to adhere to =adjunto=, enclosed, herewith =administrador=, manager (of a branch house, etc.) =admitir=, to admit, to accept, to acknowledge =adornos=, trimmings =adquirir=, to acquire =á duras penas=, with great effort =advertir=, to notice, to warn =aéreo=, overhead =afanarse=, to exert oneself, to take much trouble =aficionado á=, fond of =aflojar=, to relax =afortunadamente=, fortunately =agasajar=, to welcome =agencia=, agency =agiotista=, stock-jobber =aglomerar=, to agglomerate =Agosto=, August =agotar=, to drain, to exhaust =agradable=, agreeable, pleasant =agradar=, to oblige =agradecer=, to thank, to be obliged for =agrandar=, to enlarge =agrícola=, agricultural =agrio=, sour =agrupación=, group, muster =agua=, water =agudo=, sharp, keen =águila=, eagle =aguja=, needle =ahí=, there =ahora=, now =ahorrar=, to save, to economise =aislado=, hedged in, isolated =(lo) ajeno=, other people's property =ajeno á=, averse to, foreign to =ajo=, garlic =ajustar=, to adjust =ajuste=, adjustment =á la larga=, in the long run =á la verdad=, in truth =albaricoque=, apricot =alborear=, to dawn =alcalde=, mayor =alcista=, bull, bullish (exch.) =alechugado=, frilled =alegar=, to allege =alegrar=, to gladden =alegrarse=, to rejoice =alejarse=, to go away =alemanisco=, linen damask =alerta=, alert =alfiler=, pin =alfombra=, carpet =algo=, something, anything, somewhat, rather =algodón=, cotton =algodón disponible=, spot cotton =algodonero (mercado)=, cotton market =alguno=, some, any =aliento=, courage =alistar=, to enlist =allá, allí=, there =allanar=, to level, to facilitate =allí, allá=, there =alma=, soul =almacén=, warehouse =almacenero=, warehouseman =almacenes fiscales=, bonded warehouses =al menos=, at least =alquilar=, to rent, to hire, to give or take on lease =al revés=, on the wrong side =altos hornos=, blast furnaces, foundry =aludir á=, to allude, to hint =un alza=, a rise (price) =una alza=, a rise (price) =amabilidad=, kindness =amanecer=, to dawn =amar=, to love =amargo=, bitter =amarillo=, yellow, buff =ambos=, both =á medida que=, in proportion as =amedrentar=, to frighten =á mejor andar=, at best =amén de=, besides =á menos que=, unless =á menudo=, often i =americana=, coat, jacket =amigo=, friend =amistad=, friendship =amistoso=, friendly =amo=, master =amontonar=, to heap up, to pile up =amor=, love =amplio=, ample =añadir=, to add =ancho=, width, wide =anclar=, to anchor =andar=, to walk, to go =Andrinópolis (pañuelos de)=, Turkey red (handkerchiefs) =año=, year =anochecer=, to grow dark =ansioso de=, anxious, eager to =anteayer=, the day before yesterday =anterior=, anterior, previous =antes (de)=, before (time), formerly =anticipatión=, anticipation =anticipo=, advance =antiguo=, ancient, old =antojo=, caprice, whim =anular=, cancelar, to cancel =anunciar=, to advertise =apacible=, mild (colour) =apagado=, extinguished, quiet =apagarse=, to go out (fire) =aparecer=, to appear, to make one's appearance =aparentar=, to show outwardly =apelar=, to appeal =apenas=, scarcely =apertura=, opening =á pesar de=, in spite of =apetecer=, to desire, to covet =aplazar=, to postpone =á plazos=, by instalments =apreciar=, to appreciate =aprender=, to learn =apremiar=, to press, to urge =apresto=, finish (cloth) =apresurar=, to hasten (_a_), to urge =apresurarse=, to hasten (_n_) =aprovecharse=, to take advantage, to avail oneself of =aproximarse=, to approach, to draw near =apurar=, to exhaust, to investigate, to purify =apuro=, embarrassment =aquel, that =aquí=, here =arado=, plough =arancel=, Custom House tariff =árbitro=, arbiter, umpire =árbol=, tree =árbol de eje=, axle-shaft =archivos=, archives =arduo=, arduous, difficult =argüir=, to argue =armadores=, shipowners =armadura=, frame, framing (mach.) =armario=, cupboard =armas blancas=, side-arms =armas de fuego=, fire-arms =armazón de cama=, bedstead =arpillera=, bagging =arquitecto=, architect =arrancar=, to squeeze out, to wrench, to start from =arreglado=, reasonable =arreglar=, to arrange, to settle =arreglo=, arrangement =arrepentirse=, to repent =arriesgado=, dangerous =arrollar=, to roll =arroz=, rice =asamblea=, meeting =asargado=, twill =ascensor=, lift, hoist =asegurar=, to insure, to secure =asentar=, to seat, to book (orders) =asistir=, to assist, to attend =asociación de obreros=, trade union =asunto=, subject, matter, question, affair =atajo=, short cut =atañer=, to bear upon =atención=, attention =atender á=, to attend =atendible=, plausible =atenta (su)=, (your) favour =aterlizado=, twill =atizador=, poker =atraer=, to attract =atraicionar=, to betray =atrasado=, overdue =atravesar=, to cross =atrevido=, bold, daring =atribución=, attribution =atribuir=, to attribute =atropellar por=, to infringe, to run down =aumento=, increase =aunque=, although, even if =automóvil=, motor-car =avaro, avariento=, miser, miserly =avena=, oats =averia=, average, damage =avergonzarse=, to be ashamed =aviso=, advice, notice =avistar=, to sight =ayer=, yesterday =ayudar=, to help =azadas=, hoes =azadones=, pick-axes =azúcar=, sugar =azuelas=, adzes =azul=, blue =B= =baja=, decline, fall (in prices, etc.) =bajá=, pasha =bajar=, to go, to come down =bajista=, bear, bearish (exch.) =bajo cubierta=, under deck =balde (de)=, gratis, for nothing =balde (en)=, in vain, of no avail =ballena=, whale =bañar=, to wet, to bathe, to water =banco=, bank, bench, desk =banco de liquidación=, clearing-house =barato=, cheap =barba, barbas=, beard =barbilla, barba=, chin =barco, navío, buque=, ship, boat =barniz=, varnish =barrer=, to sweep =barrica=, cask =base=, basis =bastante bien=, pretty well =bastar=, to suffice, to be enough =basto=, coarse, common, inferior =bata=, wrap =batista, batiste=, lawn =baúl=, trunk =bayeta=, baize =beber=, to drink =belleza=, beauty =beneficio=, benefit =benéfico=, beneficent =benévolo=, benevolent =bergantín=, brig =berzas=, cabbages =betún=, blacking =biblioteca=, library =bicicleta=, bicycle =biela=, connecting rod =bien=, well =(el) bien=, (the) good =bien estar=, well-being =billar=, billiards =bisabuelo=, great grandfather =blanco=, white =blanco (_n_)=, aim =blando=, gentle, soft =blanquear=, to bleach =bobina=, bobbin =boca=, mouth =bocina=, megaphone =bodega=, cellar, hold (ship) =bola=, ball =boletín=, form, slip, price list =bolsa=, Exchange, Bourse =bombas de aire=, air pumps =bondadoso=, kind =bonificar=, to make an allowance, a rebate =bonito=, pretty =bordado=, embroidered =botas=, boots =boticario=, chemist =botines=, boots =botón=, button =bramante=, twine =brazo=, arm =brevedad=, brevity, shortness =(á la mayor) brevedad=, as soon as possible =brisa=, breeze =brochado=, brocade =buey=, ox =bufanda=, muffler =bufete de abogado=, lawyer's office =buje=, hub =bullir=, to boil =bultos=, packages =buque, barco, navío=, ship, boat =buque á motor=, automóvil, motor-boat =buque de vapor=, steamer =buque de vela=, sailing vessel =burlarse=, to make fun of, to trifle with =bursátil (mercado)=, money market =buscar=, to look for, to search =buscarse=, to bring upon oneself =C= =cabal=, just, upright =caballero=, señor, gentleman =caballo=, horse =caber=, to be able to contain, to be able to be contained =cabeza=, head =cabida=, room, space =cable=, cable =cablegrama=, cablegram =cabo=, corporal, end =cada=, each, every =caer=, to fall =caída=, fall (_n._) =café, coffee =café, castaño=, brown (dyed) =caja=, case, box =cajero=, cashier =calcetines, socks, half hose =calcular, to calculate =cálculo=, calculation =caldera=, boiler =caldero=, small cauldron, bucket =caldos=, wines and oils (collectively) =calidad=, quality =callar=, to be silent, to abstain from saying =calle=, street =calor=, heat, warmth =calorífero=, stove =calzado=, footwear =cama=, bed, bedstead =cambiar=, to alter, to exchange =cambio, los cambios=, change; the Bill Market =camisa=, shirt =(el) campo=, (the) country, (the) countryside =campo=, field =caña=, cane =cáñamo=, hemp =cancelar, anular=, to cancel =canela=, cinnamon =cansar=, to tire =cantidad=, quantity (also amount) =capataz=, foreman =el capital=, the capital (money) =la capital=, the capital (town) =capitán=, captain =cara=, face =carbón (de piedra)=, coal =carbón (vegetal)=, charcoal =carbonera, pañol=, bunker =carecer (de)=, to lack =cargamento=, cargo =cargar=, to load, to debit =carne, carne seca=, flesh, meat, jerked beef =carne en salmuera=, pickled beef =caro=, dear, expensive =carpeta=, writing pad =carranclanes, guingas=, ginghams =carril=, rail =carriles, rieles, railes=, rails =carro=, cart =carta=, letter =cartera=, pocket-book, portfolio =cartero=, postman =casa=, house, firm =casaca=, coat, jacket =casar=, to marry =casarse=, to marry =casillero=, pigeon-holes =castaño, café=, brown (dyed) =castellano=, Castillian, Spanish =castigar=, to punish, to chastise =catálogo=, catalogue =caucho, goma elástica=, rubber =cauteloso=, cautious =cauto=, cautious =cebada=, barley =cebolla=, onion =ceder=, to cede, to yield, to make over =cédula=, warrant =celebrar=, to be glad of =celebrarse=, to be celebrated, to take place (meetings, etc.) =célebre=, celebrated =celeste=, heavenly, sky-blue =cena=, supper =cepillo=, brush, _also_ plane =cerca de=, near (_prep._) =cercano=, near (_adj._) =cerradura=, lock =cerrar=, to close, to shut =cerrar (con llave)=, to lock =cerrar el trato=, to conclude the bargain =certificar=, to certify, to register (letters, etc.) =cerveza=, beer =cestilla=, waste-paper basket =ciego=, blind =cielo=, heaven, sky =cien, ciento=, hundred =ciencia=, science, wisdom =cierre=, lock-out =cierto=, certain =cifras=, figures =cigarros, tabacos, puros=, cigars =cigüeñal=, crank shaft =cilindro=, cylinder, roller =cima=, top =cinta=, ribbon =cinto=, sash =cinturón=, belt =circular=, to circulate, to go round =citar=, to quote, to cite, to mention a passage, etc. =citar ante los tribunales=, to summon =ciudad=, city =cizallas=, shears =claramente=, clearly =claras (a las)=, openly, clearly =claro=, clear, clearly, light (colour) =claro y redondo=, quite openly =clavel=, carnation =clavos=, nails, cloves =cliente=, client, customer =clientela=, custom, _clientèle_, connection =clima (el)=, climate =climatológico=, climatic =cobrar=, to charge, to collect (money) =cobre=, copper =cocer=, to bake, to cook =codicia=, greed =codiciar=, to covet =coger=, to catch, to capture =col=, cabbage =colcha de plumón=, down quilt =colección=, collection, set (of patterns) =colgar=, to hang =colmo=, climax, record =colocar=, to place =coloniales=, colonial produce =color firme, sólido=, fast colour =color falso, fugitive=, loose colour =coloridos=, colourings =columna=, column =comanditar=, to finance =comarca=, region, district (of a country) =comedido=, considerate, thoughtful =comenzar=, empezar, to commence =comer=, to eat =comercial=, commercial =comerciante=, negociante, merchant =comercio=, commerce, trade =comisionista=, commission agent =como, ¿cómo?= as, how? =compañía anónima (por acciones)=, limited company =compensar=, to compensate, to make good =competidor, contrincante=, competitor, neighbour =complacer, agradar, favorecer=, to oblige =completo=, complete, full =compra=, purchase =comprar=, to buy =comprender=, entender, to understand =comprometerse=, to compromise, to commit oneself, to prejudice, to undertake =común=, common =concebir=, to conceive =conceder=, to grant =concejo, cabildo, ayuntamiento, municipality =concerner=, to concern =concisamente=, concisely =condiciones=, terms =conducir=, to lead =conducta=, conduct, behaviour =con el corazón en la mano=, quite candidly =conexiones=, connections, couplings =confeccionar=, to make up =conferencia=, lecture =confesar=, to confess =confianza=, confidence, trust =confiar (á)=, to entrust =confiar (en)=, to trust =(de) conformidad (con)=, in accordance with, agreeable to =conforme a=, according to =conocer=, to know a person, an object =conocimiento, conocido=, acquaintance =conocimiento=, bill of lading =consabido=, in question =conseguir, obtener=, to get, to obtain, to succeed in =consejo=, advice =conservas alimenticias=, preserves =considerar=, to consider =consignación=, consignment =consignar=, to consign, to record =consignatario=, consignee =consumidor=, consumer =contado (al)=, (for) cash =con tal que=, provided that =contar=, to count, to relate =contar con=, to calculate, to reckon upon =(el) contenido=, the contents =contentar=, to oblige =contento=, content, contentment =contestar, responder=, to answer, to reply =continuamente=,, continually =continuar=, to continue =contra, en contra de=, against =contrabando=, contraband =contramaestre de filatura=, master spinner =contramandar, revocar=, to countermand, to revoke =contrario=, unfavourable, contrary, adverse =contratiempo=, hitch =contrato=, contract, written agreement =contribuir=, to contribute =contrincante, competidor=, competitor, neighbour =convencer=, to convince =conveniente=, convenient, suitable =convenio=, agreement =convenir=, to agree, to suit =convocar=, to call together (to a meeting) =copa, sombrero de=, silk hat =copiador=, copy book =coquillos=, jeans =cordobán=, morocco leather =correas=, belts (machine), belting =corredor=, broker =correo=, the post =correr=, to run =correrse=, to make a slip of the tongue =correspondencia=, correspondence =corresponder a las necesidades=, to meet the requirements =corresponsal=, correspondent =corrido=, acute, artful =corriente=, current, inst. =cortapluma=, penknife =cortarse=, to cut oneself, to stop short (in middle of speech) =corte=cutting =cortésmente=, politely, courteously =corto=, brief, short =cosa=, thing =cosecha=, harvest, crop, harvest time =costa=, coast =coste, flete y seguro (c.f.s.)=, c.i.f., cost, insurance, freight =costumbre=, custom, habit =cotización=, quotation =cotizar=, to quote (prices) =crédito=, credit =creer=, to believe, to think =cregüelas=, osnaburgs =crema=, cream =crespolinas=, crimps =criada=, maidservant =criado=, manservant =croquis=, sketch =cruzados=, twills =cuadritos=, checks =cuadro=, picture, table (figures) =cualquiera=, any _(affirm.)_ =cualquiera=, whoever, whichever =cuando=, when =cuandoquiera (que)=, whenever =cuantioso=, abundant, ample =cuarto=, apartment, room, quarter =cuarto=, fardín, farthing, a trifling amount =cúbico=, cubic =cubrir, cubierto=, cover, covered =cucharas=, spoons =cuchilla=, knife =cuenta=, account, statement =cuenta de venta=, account sales =cuenta simulada, pro= forma account =cueros=, hides =cuerpo=, body =cuesta=, slope =cuestión=, question =cuidadosamente=, carefully =cuidar=, to take care =cuidarse=, to take care of oneself =culpa=, fault, blame =culpado=, at fault =cumplir (con)=, to fulfil, to accomplish =cuñada=, sister-in-law =cuñado=, brother-in-law =cuota=, quota =cuyo=, whose =CH= =chaconadas=, jaconets =chal=, shawl =chaleco=, vest, waistcoat =charla=, prattle, gossip =chanclos=, goloshes =chapa=, plate (metal) =chelín=, shilling =cheque=, cheque =chillones=, gaudy (colours) =chimenea=, chimney =chocolate=, chocolate =chucherías=, pretty trifles =D= =damasco=, damask =dañar=, to damage =daño=, damage, injury, breakdown =dar=, to give =dar aviso al proprietario=, to give notice to leave =dar cuenta=, to report =dar en el clavo=, to hit it =dar las gracias=, to give thanks =darse á partido=, to yield, to submit =dátiles=, dates =debajo (de)=, under =deber=, to owe, must =debido á=, owing to =de buena tinta (tener)=, from a good source (to have) =decadencia=, decadence =decididamente=, decidedly =decidir, decidirse=, to decide, to make up one's mind =decir=, to say, to tell =declamar=, to declaim =declarar=, to declare =declararse en quiebra=, to file one's petition in bankruptcy =decretar=, to decree =dedal=, thimble =dedicarse=, to devote oneself =defecto=, defect, imperfection =definir=, to define, also to settle =definitivo=, definite =dejar=, to leave, to let =dejar sin efecto=, to cancel (orders, etc.) =delegado=, delegate =delicado de salud=, in indifferent health =delinquir=, to commit a delinquency =demanda y oferta=, supply and demand =demandar=, to demand =demasiado=, too, too much =de miedo que=, lest =de modo que=, so that =demora=, delay =demostrar confianza á=, to show confidence in =dentro (de)=, inside, within =depender (de)=, to depend (upon) =dependiente=, clerk =deplorar=, to deplore =depósito=, deposit, depôt, store =deprimir=, to depress =derecho=, right, straight, customs, duty =desanimado=, lifeless, stagnant (market) =desanimar (se)=, to disconcert, to feel discouraged =desarme=, disarmament =desarrollar=, to develop =descarga=, discharge, unloading =descomponer=, to put out of gear =desconcertar=, to put out, to upset =descuidar=, to neglect =desdichado=, unfortunate, unhappy =desear=, to wish =desembarcar=, to load =deseoso=, eager, wishful =desfavorable=, unfavourable =desgracia=, misfortune =deshacerse (de)=, to get rid of =deshonra=, dishonour =desinteresarse=, to abandon =deslumbrar=, to dazzle =despacho, escritorio, oficina=, office =despacio=, slowly =despedida (aviso de)=, dismissal (notice of) =despejar=, to clear =desperdiciar=, to waste =despertar=, to wake up =desplegar=, to unfold =despreciable=, despicable =después=, after, afterwards =destajista=, contractor =desteñir=, to fade =detalles=, details =detenidamente=, at length =detallado=, detailed =detrás=, behind =deuda=, debt =devanarse los sesos=, to rack one's brains =devoción=, devotion =devolver=, to return, to give or send back =(el) día=, the day =diagonales=, twills =diario=, day book =días de estadía=, lay days =días de contra estadía=, days of demurrage =dibujos, diseños=, designs =diccionario=, dictionary =dichoso=, lucky =Diciembre=, December =dictamen=, award, decision =dientes=, teeth =diferente=, different =diferir=, to defer, to postpone =difícil=, difficult =dificultad=, difficulty, also objection =difunto=, late, deceased =diligencia=, diligence =diligentemente=, diligently =(un) dineral=, (a) mint of money =dinero=, money =dinero efectivo=, cash, ready money =Dios=, God =dique=, dock =dirección=, address, direction =dirigir=, to direct =dirigirse=, to address oneself =discípulo=, pupil =discreto=, discreet, sensible =disculpar=, to excuse =discutir=, to discuss =diseños, dibujos=, designs =diseñador=, draughtsman =disfrutar (de)=, to enjoy =disgustado=, annoyed, disgusted, displeased =dispensar=, to excuse =disponer=, to dispose, to arrange =disponible=, available, spot (cotton) =disposición=, disposition, disposal, instruction =distinguir=, to distinguish =distinto=, different =distrito=, district =disturbado=, disturbed, upset =disturbio=, disturbance =divertirse=, to enjoy oneself =doblar, duplicar=, to double, to duplicate =dobladillado=, hemmed =con dobladillo de ojo=, hemstitched =docena=, dozen =doctrina=, doctrine, knowledge =documento=, document =doler=, to hurt, to ache, to pain =dolor=, pain, sorrow =dolor de cabeza=, headache =doloroso=, painful =domicilio=, residence, registered office of a company =Domingo=, Sunday =dominio=, dominion, control =donde (¿dónde?)=, where =dondequiera que=, wherever =dormir=, to sleep =dormirse=, to fall asleep =dril=, drill =duda=, doubt =dudar=, to doubt, to question =duplicar, doblar=, to duplicate, to double =durante=, during =durar=, to last =E= =echar=, to throw, to cast =echar á perder=, to spoil, to ruin, to wreck =echar al correo=, to post =edificio=, local, building =efectuar=, to effect =ejecutar=, to execute =ejército=, army =elaborar=, to elaborate =elegantemente=, elegantly, stylishly =elegir, escoger=, to choose, to select =elevar=, to raise, to enhance, to put up =embajador=, ambassador =embarcar=, to embark, to ship =embarque=, shipment =embrollar=, to entangle, to cheat =emisión=, issue =emitir=, to issue =empacar=, to pack =empeñar=, to engage, to pawn, to pledge =empeño (tener)=, to be earnest, anxious about anything =empeños=, obligations, engagements =empeoramiento=, turn for the worse, deterioration =empezar, comenzar=, to commence =emplear=, to employ =emplearse=, to be employed, used for =emprendedor=, enterprising =empresa=, undertaking, concern, enterprise =empréstito=, loan =en breve=, shortly =encaje=, lace =encaminar=, to forward =encargarse (de)=, to take charge =encarnado=, red =en caso que=, in case =encina, roble=, oak =encojerse=, to shrink =encojido=, shrunk, shrivelled =en contra de=, against =encontrar=, to meet, to find =encuadernar=, to bind (books) =endosar=, to endorse =en efectivo, en metálico=, in cash =Enero=, January =enfadado=, angry =enfermo, malo=, ill =enfurecido=, furious, infuriated =engañifa=, trick =engranaje=, gearing =en latas=, canned =en regla=, in order =ensartapapeles=, file =ensartar=, to file papers, to string beads =ensayo=, trial, proof, venture =en seguida=, at once =enseñanza=, teaching =enseñar=, to teach, to show =entender, comprender=, to understand =entenderse de=, to be a judge of =enterarse=, to get to know =entero (por)=, in full =entonces=, then, at that time =entrante, próximo=, next =entrar (en)=, to enter =entre=, between, amongst =entrega=, delivery =entregar=, to deliver, to hand (personally) =entrepuentes=, between decks =enviar, mandar=, to send =envidia=, envy =envió=, shipment =época=, epoch, time, period =equidad=, equity, fairness, fair dealing =equipo=, equipment =equitativo=, fair =equivocación=, mistake =equivocarse=, to make a mistake, to be mistaken =error=, mistake, error =escala=, ladder, scale =escala (hacer)=, to call at (steamers) =escandaloso=, scandalous, shocking =escaño=, stool =escapar, huir=, to escape =escarcha (tornado por la)=, frost-bitten =escarmentar=, to take warning =escoba=, broom =escoger, elegir=, to choose, to select =escribir (se)=, to write, to write to each other =escrito=, letter, writing (_n_.) =escritor=, writer =escritorio=, writing desk, office =escuchar=, to listen =es decir, á saber=, viz. =ese, a, o=, that =esfuerzo=, effort =espada=, sword =espalda=, shoulder =espaldas=, back =español=, Spanish =espantarse=, to be frightened =especias=, spices =especie=, species, kind, rumour, news =especulación=, deal, speculation =esperar=, to hope, to wait for, to expect =espeso=, thick =esposo-a=, husband, wife =esquela=, note =establecer (se)=, to establish, to establish oneself =estación, temporada=, season =estadística=, statistics =estallar=, to break out, to burst =estampar=, to print (cloth) =estancia=, stay =estante=, bookshelf =estaño=, tin =estar, estarse=, to be =este,-a,-o=, this =este=, east =estima=, appreciation, esteem =estiva=, stowage =estrenar=, to use or wear for the first time =estrenarse=, to make a start =estudiar=, to study =estufa=, stove =eternamente=, eternally, for ever =etiqueta=, ticket, label =evitar=, to avoid =exacto=, exact, accurate =examen=, examination =exceder=, to exceed, to overstep =exclusive=, exclusive, sole =exhibir=, to show, to exhibit =exigir=, to require =exiguo=, slender, slight, small =existencias=, stocks =éxito=, result =éxito (bueno, malo)=, success, failure =expedidor=, sender =experimentar=, to experience, to experiment =experto=, experienced =explicar, explanar=, to explain =explotar=, to exploit, to work (mines, etc.) =exponerse á=, to encounter, to expose oneself to =exportación=, export, exportation =exportador=, exporter, shipper =extender=, to extend, to stretch =extranjero=, foreigner, foreign, _also_ abroad =extraño=, strange, queer =F= =fábrica de algodón=, cotton mill =fabricante=, manufacturer =facilidad=, ease, facility =factura=, invoice =facturar=, to invoice =falta=, want, absence of, fault, blame =falta de aceptación, de pago=, non-acceptance, non-payment =faltar=, to be wanting, to be necessary, to fail =fama=, fame, reputation, name =famoso=, famous =fantasías=, fancies =fardín, cuarto=, farthing, a trifling amount =fardito=, truss =fardo=, bale =favorable=, favourable =favorecer=, to oblige =Febrero=, February =fecha=, date =fecha de=, dated =feliz=, happy =ferretería=, ironware =ferrocarril=, railway =festoneado=, scalloped =fiador=, surety =fiados=, book debts =fidedigno=, trustworthy =fiel=, faithful =fielato=, octroi office =fiesta del comercio=, bank holiday =fijar=, to fix =fijo=, fixed, firm =filosofía=, philosophy =firma=, signature =firmar=, to sign =firmeza=, firmness =(el) fin=, the end =fino=, shrewd =fletar=, to charter, to freight =flete=, freight =flojedad=, slackness =flojo=, slack =flor=, flower =floreciente=, flourishing =folleto=, leaflet =fomento=, development, encouragement =fonda=, hotel, hotel =fondo=, bottom, ground (colour) =fondos=, funds, capital =forma=, shape =formal=, formal, respectable =forro=, lining =fortuna=, fortune =forzar=, to force, to strain =fósforos=, matches =fracasar=, to fall through =fracaso=, failure =franco de averia particular=, f.p.a. (free particular average) =franco de porte, tra(n)sporte pagado=, carriage paid =franja=, fringe =franqueo=, postage =frase=, phrase, sentence =frazada=, blanket =frecuentemente=, frequently =(la) frente=, forehead =(el) frente=, front =fresno=, ash =frío= (_adj_. and _n_), cold =fruta=, fruit =fruto=, fruit of labour, etc. =fuente=, fountain, source =fuerte=, strong, fast, firm =fuerza motriz=, motive power =fugitivo= loose (colours) =fulano=, so and so =funcionar de, proceder (como)=, to act as =fundar=, to found =furioso=, furious =fustán=, fustian =G= =galón=, gallon =gana=, inclination, desire =gana, de buena, mala=, willingly, unwillingly =ganancias y pérdidas=, profit and loss =ganar=, to gain, to earn =ganga=, a bargain, cheap lot =garabato=, clothes hook =garantizar=, to guarantee, to warrant =garbanzos=, Spanish peas =garrote=, stick, cudgel =gastar=, to spend, to spoil; also to wear (usually) =gato=, cat, jack (machinery) =general=, general =géneros=, goods =géneros alimenticios=, food-stuffs =géneros imperfectos=, jobs =generoso=, generous =genio=, temper =gente (la)=, people =gerente=, manager =girar=, to draw (a bill), to turn =giro=, bill, draft, also turnover =gobernar=, to govern =gobierno=, government =goleta=, schooner =goma elástica, caucho=, rubber =gorra (gorro)=, cap =gorrión=, sparrow =gozar=, to enjoy =grabado=, embossed =gracia=, grace, gracefulness =graduación=, gradation, degree =granadas=, pomegranates =grande (gran)=, great, large =grande velocidad (á)=, by fast train =granizar=, to hail =granjearse=, to win over =granos, mercado de=, grain, grain market =gratificación=, gratuity =gratitud=, gratitude =gratuito=, gratuitous, honorary =grifo=, cock (machinery) =gris=, grey =grito=, cry, shout =grueso=, thick =gruñir=, to growl, to grumble, to grunt =guante=, glove =guardafuego=, fender =guardapapeles=, file =guardar=, to keep =guardar cama=, to lie in bed =guardias aduaneras=, custom house officials =guarnición=, trimming =guerra=, war =guingas, carranclanes=, ginghams =guisantes=, green peas =gustar=, to please =gustar (á uno)=, to like =H= =habas=, broad beans =haber=, to have, there to be =haber menester=, to need =habérselas con uno=, to dispute, to wrangle, to vie with =hábil=, clever =habitantes=, inhabitants =hablar=, to speak =hacer=, to do, to make =hacer caso=, to take notice =hacer constar=, to show, to demonstrate =hacer falta=, to be wanted =hacer frente=, to face, to meet (bills, etc.) =hacerse=, to become =hacer una remesa=, to send a remittance =hachuelas (hachas)=, hatchets (axes) =hacienda=, property, shop, stores =hallar, encontrar=, to find =hambre=, hunger =hampa=, vagabonds (company of) =hasta que=, until =hasta la fecha=, to date =hasta que punto=, to what extent =hato=, wearing apparel, bundle of clothes =hay=, there is, there are =haya=, beech =heces de sebo=, tallow, greaves =hecho=, fact, action =helar=, to freeze =(la= _or_ =el) hélice=, the screw (of a boat) =herida=, wound, sting =herir=, to wound, to cut (fig.) =hermano=, brother =hermosamente=, beautifully =hermoso=, beautiful, fine, handsome =herramientas=, tools =hervir=, to boil =hidalguía=, nobleness, chivalry =hielo=, escarcha, frost =hierro=, iron =higos=, figs =higuera=, fig tree =hija política, nuera=, daughter-in-law =hijo=, son =hijodalgo=, gentleman by birth, squire =hijo político, yerno=, son-in-law =hilador=, spinner =hilados=, yarn =hilar=, to spin =hinchazón=, boom =hipoteca, mortgage =hipotecar=, to mortgage =historia=, history =holandas=, hollands =holgazán=, lazy =hombre=, man =hombre llano=, rough-and-ready man =honor=, honour =honradez=, honesty =honrar=, to honour =hora=, hour =hortelano= (fruit) gardener =hortera=, office boy (jocularly) =hoy=, to-day =huelga=, strike =huerta=, orchard =hueso=, bone =huir, escapar=, to flee, to escape =humear=, to smoke (of a chimney) =hundimiento=, subsidence =I= =el idioma=, the language =igual=, equal =igualar=, to equal, to match =ilustrado=, enlightened =ilustrar=, to illustrate =ilustre=, illustrious =impedir=, to hinder =imperfectos=, job lots =imponer=, to impose, also to inform =importaciones=, imports =importancia=, importance, amount =importar=, to matter =importar (en)=, to amount to =importe=, amount =imprimir (impreso)=, to print (printed) =imprevidencia=, want of foresight =imprevisto=, unforeseen =impuesto=, tax =impuesto de consumos=, octroi duties =incertidumbre=, uncertainty =incluir=, to enclose, to include =inconveniencia=, unsuitability, impropriety =inconveniente=, inconvenience =indemnidad=, indemnity, signed guarantee =indemnización=, indemnity (compensation for loss) =indicar=, to indicate, to point out =indígena=, native =industria=, industry =inercia=, idleness, inertia =infeliz=, unhappy =ínfimo=, infinitesimal =infinidad=, an infinite number =informe=, report =informes=, information(s), references =informar (de)=, to inform of, to acquaint with =ingeniero=, engineer =ingratitud=, ingratitude =ingresos netos=, net revenue =inmaturo, verde=, unripe =inmediato=, immediate =innavegable=, unnavigable =innoble=, ignoble =inquilino=, tenant =inquietarse=, to feel uneasy =integro=, integer, whole, upright =inteligencia=, intelligence =intención=, intention =intentar=, to intend =interés=, interest =interesante=, interesting =ínterin (en el)=, in the meantime =interino=, interim =interior=, interior, inland =intervista=, interview =interpretar=, to interpret =invertir=, to invest (money) =invierno=, winter =ir=, to go, to lead to =irrisorio=, laughable, absurd, ridiculously low (of prices) =irse=, to go away =isla=, island =izquierda=, left =J= =jabalí=, boar =jactarse=, to boast =jamón=, ham =jardín=, garden =jardinero=, gardener =jefe=, employer, chief =jornalero=, day-labourer =joven=, young, young man, young woman =judías=, French beans =Jueves=, Thursday =jugoso=, juicy =juicioso=, judicious, wise =Julio=, July =Junio=, June =junta de acreedores=, meeting of creditors =junto á=, near to, coupled with =justificar=, to justify, to warrant =justificarse=, to justify oneself =justo=, right, just, fair =jute, yute=, jute =juventud=, youth, young age =L= =la labor=, labour =laborioso=, laborious, hard-working =labrado=, figured--brocaded =lacre=, sealing-wax =lado=, side =ladrillos refractarios=, fire bricks =ladrón=, thief =lana=, wool =langosta=, lobster =lanillas para banderas=, bunting =lápiz=, pencil =lardo=, lard =largo=, long =largo de talle=, abundant, full =largura=, length =lástima=, pity =latón=, brass =lección=, lesson =la leche=, milk =lectura=, reading =leer=, to read =legajo=, bundle (of papers) =legislatura=, (parliamentary) session =lejos=, far away =lengua=, tongue, language =lento=, slow, remiss =letra=, bill of exchange, handwriting =levita=, frock-coat =la ley=, the law =libra=, pound sterling, pound weight =librarse=, to get rid of =libre=, free =libro=, book =libro de facturas=, invoice book =libro mayor=, ledger =liebre=, hare =lienzos=, linens =lienzos adamascados=, diapers =lienzos morenos=, brown (unbleached) linens =ligero=, slight, light =limitación=, curtailment, limitation =limitar=, to limit =límite=, limit =limones=, lemons =limpiar=, to clean =limpio=, clean =lingotes de hierro=, pig-iron =lino=, flax =linón, olán=, lawn =liquidar=, to liquidate, to settle, to clear off (goods) =líquido, neto=, nett =liso=, plain, smooth =lisonjearse=, to flatter oneself =lista, boletín=, price list =listados=, striped (goods) =el local=, the building, the premises =loco=, mad =locomotora=, locomotive =lograr=, to contrive, to attain =logro=, attainment =el lote, la partida=, lot =loza=, crockery =luchar=, to fight, to struggle against =luego=, at once, then =luego que=, as soon as =en lugar de=, instead of =Lunes=, Monday =luto=, mourning =LL= =llamar=, to call =llamarse (me llamo)=, to be called (my name is) =llantas=, tyres =llegar=, to arrive =llegar á ser=, to become, to contrive to be =lleno=, full =llevar=, to carry, to wear, to take =llevar á cabo=, to carry into effect =llevar chasco=, to be disappointed, to be baffled =llevarse bien=, to get on well =llover=, to rain =lloviznar=, to drizzle =lluvia=, rain =M= =maceta, portaramillete (portarramillete), florero=, flower-stand =machacar=, to hammer, to insist =madera=, timber, wood =madre=, mother =maestro=, teacher, master =maíz=, maize =mal=, badly =mala, correo=, post =malbaratar=, to undersell =malcontento=, uneasiness, discontent =maleta=, portmanteau =malgastar=, to waste, to squander =malo=, bad, wicked, _also_ ill =malversar=, to embezzle =mampostería=, masonry =mancha=, spot, stain =mandar=, to order, to send =mandar buscar=, to send for =mandato=, order (injunction) =manga=, sleeve (_also_ hose, pump) =de manga ancha=, not over-scrupulous =mango=, handle =manifestar=, to manifest, to inform, to say (in a letter) =mano=, hand, quire =mano de obra=, labour =manta=, blanket =manteca= (S. America, =mantequilla=), butter =manteca de puerco=, lard =mantener=, to maintain, to hold up =mantenerse=, to maintain oneself, to be maintained =manzana=, apple =mañana=, to-morrow, the morning =máquina á =vapor, steam engine =maquinaria=, machinery =mar alborotada=, heavy sea =maravillar=, to surprise =maravillarse=, to wonder =marca=, mark, brand =marcharse=, to go away =margarina=, margarine =marido=, husband =mariscos=, shell fish =mármol=, marble =martes=, Tuesday =martillos=, hammers =Marzo=, March =mas=, but =más=, more =más adelante=, later on =material rodante=, rolling-stock =(el) matiz=, shade of colour =matute=, smuggling =Mayo=, May =mayor=, larger =mayormente=, especially =(la) mayor parte=, most =mecanismo=, mechanism, contrivance (machinery of the law, etc.) =mecer=, to stir (a liquid), to rock (acradle, etc.) =mediana=, average =mediar=, to intervene =medias=, hose, stockings =médico=, doctor, physician =medida=, measure =mediería=, hosiery =medio=, half, means =medrar=, to prosper =mejor=, better =mejora, mejoría=, improvement, looking up (market) =mejorar=, to improve =melindroso=, squeamish, very particular =melocotones=, peaches =mención (hacer)=, to mention =mencionar=, to mention =menester=, necessary, needful =menor=, smaller =mensual=, monthly =(la) mente=, the mind =mercado=, market =mercancía=, merchandise, goods =merced á=, thanks to =mercería=, haberdashery =merma=, leakage =mes=, month =mesa=, table =método=, method =metro=, metre =miedo=, fear =miembro=, member =mientras=, while =mientras tanto=, meanwhile =miércoles=, Wednesday =mil=, thousand =milla=, mile =millón=, million =mina de carbón=, coal-mine, colliery =minero=, miner =mínimo=, minimum =ministro-erio=, minister, ministry =mirar=, to look =mismo=, same, self =la mitad=, the half =modista=, milliner =modo=, way, manner =moer=, mohair =moler=, to grind =montaje=, mounting (machinery) =monte, montaña=, mount, mountain =moratoria, moratorium=, time extension for payment =moreno=, brown, natural colour =moroso, lento=, remiss, slow (in payments) =mortal=, mortal =mostrar=, to show =motín=, riot =mover=, to move =mozalbete=, beardless youth =muchacho=, boy, lad =mucho=, much, exceedingly, greatly =muebles de bejuco=, rattan furniture =muestra=, sample =muestrarios=, pattern cards, sets =mujer=, woman, wife =multa=, a fine, penalty =mundial=, world (_adj_.) =mundo=, world =todo el mundo=, everybody =muselina=, muslin =museo=, museum =muy=, very =N= =nación=, nation =nada=, nothing =nanquín, mahón=, nankeen =nansú=, nainsook =naranjas=, oranges =nariz=, nose =naufragar (se)=, to wreck (to be shipwrecked) =navaja de afeitar=, razor =Navidad=, Christmas =navío, barco, buque=, ship, boat =necesario=, necessary =necesitar=, to want, to need =negar=, to deny =negarse=, to refuse =negativa=, refusal =negociado=, division (gov. office) =negociante=, merchant =negocio(s)=, business =negro=, black =neto, líquido=, nett =neumático=, pneumatic =nevar=, to snow =nieve=, snow =ninguno=, no one, any (after _neg_.) =niño=, child =niquelado=, nickel-plated =nivel=, level =no bien=, as soon as =noche=, evening, night =nombrar=, to appoint =nombre=, name =no obstante=, notwithstanding =norte=, north =no sea que=, lest =notas de banco=, bank notes =noticia(s)=, news =Noviembre=, November =novísimo=, brand new =nuera, hija política=, daughter-in-law =nuevo=, new =numero=, number =nunca=, ever, never =O= =objeto=, object =obligación=, bond, debenture, obligation. =obligar=, to compel =obligarse=, to bind oneself =obrar=, to operate, to work, to act =obrero=, workman =obsequio=, favour =observar=, to observe, to remark, to notice =obstruir=, to obstruct =obtener, conseguir=, to get, to obtain, to succeed in. =ocasión=, occasion =océano=, ocean =Octubre=, October =ocurrir=, to occur, to happen =oeste=, west =oficina, escritorio, despacho=, office =ofrecer=, to offer =ofrecimiento=, offer =oir=, to hear ¡=ojo=! attention, look out =el ojo=, the eye =olanes, linones=, lawns =ollería=, hollow-ware =olvidar (se)=, to forget =ómnibus=, omnibus =operaciones=, dealings, operations =operadores=, dealers (on 'Change), operators =oponerse=, to oppose =oportunidad=, opportunity, chance =óptimo=, very good, excellent =orden=, order =ordinario=, ordinary =organizar=, to organize =orilla=, bank (river), selvedge =oro=, gold =otoño=, autumn =otro=, other =ovillo (de algodón)=, ball (of cotton) =P= =padre=, father =padres=, parents =pagadero=, payable =pagar=, to pay =pagaré=, promissory note, note of hand =página=, page =paila, tacho=, pan (sugar manuf.) =país=, country (nation) =pájaro=, bird =palabra=, word =palacio=, palace =palas=, shovels, spades =palmera=, date-palm =palo de mesana=, mizzen mast =palo mayor=, main mast =pan=, bread, loaf =pana=, velveteen =pana acordonada=, cords, corduroy =paño=, cloth, suiting =pañol, carbonera=, bunker =pantalones=, trousers =pañuelo=, handkerchief =papel=, paper =papel secante=, blotting-paper =paquete=, packet, parcel =par=, pair, couple =á la par=, at the same time =para, por=, for =para con=, towards =para que=, so that =parecer=, to appear, to seem =el parte=, the report =la parte=, the part =partida=, lot, parcel (of goods) =partir=, to depart, to set out =pasar=, to pass, to hand =pasar por=, visitar, to call at =pasársele por alto á uno=, to escape one's notice. =pasas (de Corinto)=, raisins, currants =Pascua=, Easter =paseo=, promenade, walk, stroll =el pasivo, pasividades=, liabilities =paso=, step =dar pasos=, to take steps =patines=, skates =patria=, country, fatherland =patronos=, masters (of workmen) =pausa=, pause =paz=, peace =pedido=, order =pedir=, to ask, to demand =peligro=, danger =peligroso, arriesgado=, dangerous =pelo=, hair =penique=, penny =pensar (se)=, to think =Pentecostés=, Whitsuntide =(á) pequeña velocidad=, (by) slow train =pequeñeces=, trifles =pequeño=, small, little (_adj_.) =pera=, pear =percal=, calico =perder=, to lose =pérdida=, loss =perenne=, perennial =perfeccionar=, to perfect =perfectamente=, perfectly =perfecto=, perfect =periódico=, newspaper =perito=, expert =perjuicios=, damages =pero=, but =perro=, dog =perspectivas=, prospects =perturbar=, to disturb =pesado=, heavy =peso=, weight =pésimo=, very bad =petición=, request, petition =picos=, picks =(al) pie=, (at) foot =piel=, skin =pierna=, leg =piezas de repuesto=, spare pieces (machinery) =pimienta=, pepper =pino=, pine =pintura=, paint =pipa=, cask, pipe =pistola=, pistol =placer=, to please, pleasure =plan=, plan (idea) =planchas de hierro=, sheet iron =plano=, plan (sketch) =planta=, plant =plata=, silver =plaza=, market-place, square, place (town) =plazo=, term =plegar=, to fold =plomo=, lead (slate-colour) =pluma=, pen =población=, villa, town =pobre=, poor =poco=, little (_adv_. and _subs_.) =poder=, to be able =poder= (_n_.), power, power of attorney =(no) poder menos de=, not to be able to help ... =poderoso=, powerful =podrido=, rotten =póliza de seguro=, insurance policy =poner=, to put, to place =poner al corriente=, to inform =poner en conocimiento=, to inform, to acquaint with =poner en condiciones=, to enable =poner pleito=, to bring an action =por, para=, for =porcelana=, china =por decirlo así=, so to say, as it were =por de contado=, of course =porfiar=, to insist =por más que=, however much, although =(al) por mayor, por menor=, wholesale, retail =pormenores=, particulars, details =porta estampillas=, stamp-rack =portabandera=, standard-bearer =portanto=, therefore =portaramillete (portarramillete) maceta=, flower-stand =porte pagadero al destine, tra(n)sporte seguido=, carriage forward =portes, franqueo=, postage =pórtico=, porch =poseer=, to possess, to be worth =posición=, position, standing =postergar=, to delay, to put off =práctico=, practical =preceder=, to precede =precio=, price =precioso=, precious =preferible=, preferable =preliminar=, preliminary =premio=, reward, prize, premium =prescindir de=, to dispense with =presentar=, to present, to lay before, to produce, to introduce one person to another =prestar=, to lend, to render (help) =presupuesto=, estimate =prevalecer, reinar=, to prevail, to rule =prever=, to foresee, to anticipate =previsión=, foresight =prima=, premium =primavera=, spring =primer dependiente=, chief clerk =primo-a=, cousin =principal=, principal, chief, leading =principiar=, to commence =principio=, beginning =prisa=, speed, haste, hurry =probar=, to try, to prove, to attempt =proceso=, process, case, lawsuit =producir=, to produce =producto=, product, produce, output =productos accesorios=, bye-products =productos químicos=, chemicals =profesor=, professor =prohibir=, to prohibit =pronto=, quick, speedy, soon =propietario=, landlord, owner =propio=, own =proponer=, to propose =proponerse=, to intend, to purpose =proporcionado, adecuado=, adequate =proveer= (_p.p._), =provisto (proveído)=, to provide =provisorio=, interim =próximamente=, about, approximately (also shortly) =próximo=, next =proyecto=, scheme, plan, project =proyecto de ley=, parliamentary bill =prudente=, prudent =pruebas=, proofs, trials, evidence =publicar=, to publish =pueblo=, people, town, village =puerco=, pig =puerta=, door =puerto=, port, harbour =pues=, then, well... =puntitas=, pen-nibs =(al) punto=, (on) the spot =puntos=, points, dots, spots (in prints) =pupitre=, desk =puros, tabacos, cigarros=, cigars =Q= =que=, that, who, which =¿que?= what? =quebrantamiento=, breakdown =quebranto=, mishap, misfortune, loss =quedar(se)=, to remain =quehaceres=, business, occupations =queja=, complaint =quejarse=, to complain =querer=, to want, to wish to have =querer decir=, to mean =querido=, beloved, dear =queso=, cheese =quiebra=, bankruptcy =quien=, who, whom =quienquiera (que)=, whoever =quincalla=, smallware =quinta=, villa =quitar=, to take away =R= =radiograma=, wireless =ramo=, branch, line (of business) =rastrillos=, harrows =rayas=, stripes =rayos=, spokes, rays =razón=, reason =a razón de=, at the rate of =tener razón=, to be right =reanudar=, to resume =rebaja, reducción=, abatement, reduction, rebate =reborde=, rim, flange =rechazar=, to reject, to discard =recibir=, to receive =recibo=, receipt, reception =reclamación, reclamo=, claim =reclamar=, to claim =reclamo=, advertisement =recobrar=, to recover =recoger=, to gather, to collect, to take up =recomendar=, to recommend =reconocer, admitir=, to acknowledge =reconvenir=, to scold =recto=, straightforward, straight =recursos=, means, resources =redactar=, to draw up (deeds) =redondo=, round =reducción, rebaja=, reduction, abatement, rebate =reducir=, to reduce =referir=, to refer =reflejo=, reflection =reforma arancelaria=, tariff reform =refrán=, proverb =refrendar=, to countersign =refresco=, refreshment =refundir=, to refund =regadío=, irrigation =regalar=, to present =régimen=, rule, regime =regir=, to rule =regla=, rule, ruler =en regla=, in order =reglamentos=, regulations, bye-laws =regresar=, to come back =rehusar, negarse á=, to refuse =reina=, queen =reinar=, to reign, to rule, to prevail =reino=, kingdom =reir=, to laugh =reírse=, to laugh at, to mock =rejas=, ploughs =relación=, report =relampaguear=, to lighten =reloj=, watch, clock =remesa=, remittance, also shipment =remitir=, to remit, to send =remolacha=, beetroot =remolcar, traer a remolque=, to tow, to take in tow =remover=, to remove, to stir, to poke (the fire) =renglón=, line =reo=, culprit =reparar=, to notice =repasar=, to go over, to look over =repentino=, sudden =repetir=, to repeat =reprensible=, objectionable =representación exclusiva=, sole agency =representante=, representative, agent =representar=, to represent, to act for =requerir=, to require =repulgado, dobladillado=, hemmed =reservar=, to reserve =residir=, to reside =resortes=, springs =con respecto á, respecto de=, with respect to =respetar=, to respect =respeto=, respect =respire=, breath, breathing-time =responder=, to answer =responsible=, responsible (liable for) =resto, restante=, remainder =restos=, remnants =resultado=, result =resumir=, to recapitulate, to state briefly =retardar=, to delay, to be delayed =(los) reunidos=, those present =reunión=, meeting =al revés=, on the wrong side =revista=, review =revocar, contramandar=, to revoke, to countermand =rey=, king =rezumar=, to leak =ricamente=, richly =rico=, rich =riesgo=, risk =río=, river =riqueza=, wealth =rizados, crespolinas=, crimps =rizo (del ala)=, curl (of the brim of a hat) =robar=, to rob, to steal =roble, encina=, oak =rodajas de goma=, rubber heels (revolving) =rogar=, to ask, to beg, to require =rollo=, roll =romperse= (_p. p._, =roto=), to break =rosa=, rose, pink =rotura=, breakage =ruin=, base, sordid =rumbo=, course (of a ship) =rumor, especie=, rumour =S= =sábado=, Saturday =sábana=, sheet (bed) =(á) saber, es decir, viz=. =saber=, to know (through the mind), to know by heart =sabio=, wise =sacar=, to draw out, to get or pull out, to derive, to get back (one's money) =saldo=, settlement, clearing line =salir=, to come out, to go out (up) =salir en=, to come up to (amount) =salubre=, healthy =salvamento=, salvage ¡=salve=! hail! =santo=, holy, saint =sardinas=, sardines =sargento=, sergeant =sastre=, tailor =satines brochados=, brocaded satins =satisfecho=, satisfied =sea que=, whether =sebo (heces de)=, tallow (greaves) =secretario=, secretary =sed=, thirst =seda=, silk =según=, according to =seguir=, to continue, to follow =seguro=, sure, insurance =sellar=, to seal =sello=, seal, postage-stamp =semana=, week =semejante=, similar =semestre=, half-year =Senado=, Senate =señal=, sign, mark =sencillo=, plain, simple =señor=, gentleman =señora=, lady =sentir=, to feel, to be sorry =ser=, to be =(la) serie=, series =ser menester=, to be necessary =servicio=, service =servir=, to serve =Setiembre=, September =si=, if =sí=, oneself =sí=, yes =silla=, chair =siempre= always =sierra mecánica=, sawing machine =(un) si es no es=, just a little bit, ever so little =siguiente=, following =simpático=, pleasant, winsome, taking =simple=, single, simple, plain =sin, sin que=, without =sinceridad=, sincerity =sincere=, sincere =síndico=, trustee =sin embargo=, notwithstanding however =sin mirar a gastos=, regardless of expense =sin novedad=, safely, all well, safe and sound =(un) sinnúmero=, a large number, innumerable =sin precedente=, unprecedented =(los) síntomas=, symptoms =sitio=, spot, place =sobre=, on, upon =sobre= (_n._), envelope =sobrecargarse=, to overload oneself =sobre cubierta=, on deck =sobrestadía=, demurrage =sobrios=, quiet (colours) =socarrón=, sly, cunning =sociedad=, society =sociedad anónima= _or_ =por acciones=, limited company =socio=, partner =soda, sosa=, soda =sofá=, sofa, couch =soga=, rope =sol=, sun =solamente, sólo=, only (_adv_.) =soldado=, soldier =soler=, to be wont, to be accustomed to =solicitar=, to solicit =solidez=, solidity =solo=, only (_adj_.) =sombrero=, hat =sombrero de copa=, silk hat =someter=, to submit =sonrisa=, smile =soplar=, to blow =soportar=, to put up with =soportes=, bearings =sorprendente=, surprising =sorpresa=, surprise =sosa, soda=, soda =sospechar=, to suspect =su=, his, her, its, their, your =suave=, soft, mellow, gentle =(en) subasta=, (by) auction =subir=, to go, to come, up =subsanar=, to correct =suceder=, to happen, to succeed =sucursal=, branch house =sueldo=, salary, wages =suelo=, ground (soil) =sueño=, sleep =suerte=, fortune, luck =sufrimiento=, suffering =sufrir=, to suffer =sujetapapeles=, paper fasteners =suma=, sum, addition =sumar=, to add =suma redonda=, lump sum =superficie=, surface =suponer=, to suppose =suprimir=, to suppress =sur, sud=, south =surtido=, assortment, selection =suspender los pagos=, to stop payments =(en) suspense=, (in) abeyance =T= =tabacos, cigarros, puros=, cigars =tablilla=, board =tablón=, plank =tacharse=, to blame or censure oneself =tacho, paila, pan= (sugar manuf.) =tacones=, heels =tacos=, cues (billiard) =tacto=, feel, touch, tact =tal=, such =tal cual=, as it is =talvez=, perhaps =taller=, workshop =también=, also, too, as well =tambor=, drum (machinery, etc.) =tampoco=, neither, either (after _neg_.) =tan .... como=, so, as .... as =tapete=, carpet, rug =tarde=, afternoon, evening, late =tardo=, slow =tarea=, task =tarjeta=, card =tasajo=, jerked beef =té=, tea =tejedor=, weaver =tejer=, to weave =tejido elástico=, webbing =tejidos=, textiles, cloths =tela=, cloth =telar=, loom =telas para trajes (de señora)=, dress goods =telas para pantalones=, trouserings =telefonear=, to telephone =tema= (_m._), the exercise =tema= (_f._), the fear =temporada, estación=, season =temporal=, tormenta, storm =temporalmente=, temporarily =temprano=, early =tenazas=, tongs =tendero=, shopkeeper =tenedores=, forks, holders =tener=, to have, to hold =tener cuenta=, to pay (to be advantageous) =tener en cuenta=, to take into consideration, to bear in mind =tercio=, third =terciopelo=, velvet =terliz=, ticking =terreno=, land, estate =tesoro=, treasure =textil=, textile =(la) tez=, complexion =tienda=, shop =tierno=, tender =tijeras=, scissors =timbre=, stamp =tinta=, ink =tintero=, inkstand =tío,-a=, uncle, aunt =tiro, largura=, length =títulos=, bonds =tocino=, bacon =todavía=, yet, still =todo,-a,-os,-as=, all, every =tomar=, to take =tomar a mal=, to take amiss =tomar la delantera=, to take the start on =tomar vuelo=, to develop, to increase =tonelada=, ton =tonto=, simpleton, foolish =torcer=, to twist =tormenta=, temporal, storm =tornillos=, screws =torno=, lathe =trabajador=, hard-working =trabajar=, to work =trabajar, ir, á porfía=, to vie with =trabajo=, work =traer=, to bring, to carry =traer á remolque (remolcar)=, to tow, to take in tow =trámites (de la ley)=, routine of the law, legal means =tranquilo=, quiet, calm =transportar=, to transport, to convey =tra(n)sporte pagado (franco de porte)=, carriage paid =tra(n)sporte seguido, porte pagadero al destino=, carriage forward =trapiche=, sugar mill =trasmitir=, to convey =traspapelado=, mislaid (of a paper) =traspaso=, goodwill (of a business) =Tratado de arbitraje=, Arbitration Treaty =tratar=, to conduct (business), to treat, to try, to endeavour =travesía=, journey by sea (crossing) =tren=, train =trencilla=, braid =tribunal=, court =trigo=, wheat =trilladores=, threshing (machines) =trinquete=, foremast =tripas de buey=, ox-casings =tripulación=, crew =triste=, sad =trocar=, to exchange =tronar=, to thunder =tropezar=, to stumble =tubo=, pipe =tuercas=, nuts (mach.) =turba=, crowd (motley) =U= =ufano=, proud =últimamente=, lately =únicamente=, solely, only =útil=, useful =utilidad=, utility, usefulness, service, profit =uvas=, grapes =V= =vacío=, empty ¡=vale=! farewell! =valer=, to be worth =valer la pena=, to be worth while =valer más=, to be preferable =valiente=, brave =valor=, value, worth, courage =valores=, securities =válvula=, valve =vapor=, steamer =vara=, Spanish yard =varar=, to ground (ships) =variedad=, variety =varios=, several =vecino=, neighbour, inhabitant, ratepayer =veintena=, score =vejez=, old age =vela=, candle, sail =velero=, sailing vessel =vencer=, to win, to fall due =vender=, to sell =venir=, to come =venir á menos=, to come down in the world, to decline =venta=, sale =ventaja=, advantage =ventana=, window =ver=, to see =verano=, summer =verdad=, truth =verde=, green =vergüenza=, shame =verificarse=, to take place =vez, veces=, time, times =en vez de=, instead of =vía=, way, route, via =viajador=, traveller, navigator =viajante=, traveller (commercial) =viajar=, to travel =viaje de ida=, outward journey (trip) =viaje de vuelta=, homeward journey (trip) =viajero=, traveller, tourist, etc. =vida=, life, living =vidriado=, glass ware =viejo=, old =viento=, wind =Viernes=, Friday =viga=, beam =vigilar=, to watch over =villa, población=, town =viñas=, vineyards =vinícola=, wine (_adj._) =vino=, wine =violeta=, violet =virtualmente=, practically =virtud=, virtue =visitar=, to visit, to call upon, to wait upon =vista=, sight, view =á la vista=, at sight =visto que=, seeing that =viudo=, widower =vivamente=, vividly, earnestly =vivir=, to live, to reside =vivo=, alive, lively, vivid, bright (colour) =vocablo, palabra=, word =vocabulario=, vocabulary =volante=, fly-wheel =volar=, to fly =volcar=, to capsize =voluntad=, will, goodwill =volver=, to turn, to go, to come back =volverse=, to become =á la vuelta=, carried forward =de la vuelta=, brought forward =Y= =ya=, already, now, yet, etc. =yacer=, to lie =yerno, hijo político=, son-in-law =y pico (20 y pico, etc.)=, odd (20 odd, etc.) =yute, jute=, jute =Z= =zanjar=, to compromise =zapatos=, shoes =zarazas=, cotton prints =zinc=, zinc =zorra=, fox II. ENGLISH-SPANISH. =A= =to abandon=, abandonar, desinteresarse =abatement=, rebaja, reducción =(in) abeyance=, (en) suspenso =to be able=, poder =to abolish=, abolir =about=, próximamente, aproximadamente =abroad=, al extranjero =absence of=, falta de =absolutely=, absolutamente =absurd=, irrisorio =abundant=, cuantioso, largo de talle =abuse=, abuso =to accede=, acceder =accident=, accidente =to accomplish=, cumplir =according to=, según, conforme á =to accost=, abordar =account sales=, cuenta de venta =accurate=, exacto =to accuse=, acusar =to be accustomed=, soler =to ache=, doler =acute, artful=, corrido =to acknowledge=, reconocer, admitir =to acknowledge receipt=, acusar recibo =to acquaint with=, informar, poner en conocimiento =acquaintance=, conocimiento, conocido =to acquire=, adquirir =to act=, obrar =to act as=, funcionar de, proceder como =to act for=, representar =action=, acción =active=, activo =acts=, actas =to add=, añadir =to add=, sumar =addition=, suma =address=, dirección =to address oneself (to)=, dirigirse (á) =adequate=, adecuado, proporcionado =to adhere=, adherir =to adjust=, ajustar =adjustment=, ajuste =to admit=, admitir, acoger =advance=, anticipo =advantage=, ventaja =to take advantage=, aprovecharse =to be advantageous=, tener cuenta =adverse=, contrario =to advertise=, anunciar =advertisement=, anuncio, reclamo =advice=, aviso, consejo =to advise=, avisar =adzes=, azuelas =affair=, asunto =after=, después =afternoon=, tarde =against=, contra, en contra de =agency (sole)=, agencia, representación exclusiva =to agglomerate=, aglomerar =to agree=, convenir, acordar =agreeable=, agradable =agreement=, contrato, convenio, arreglo =agricultural=, agrícola =aim=, blanco =air pumps=, bombas de aire =alert=, alerta =alive=, vivo =to allege=, alegar =to allude to, to hint=, aludir a =to make an allowance=, bonificar =already=, ya =also=, también =to alter=, cambiar =although=, aunque, por más que =altogether, quite=, de todo punto =always=, siempre =ambassador=, embajador =amount=, importe, cantidad =to amount to=, importar en =ample=, amplio, cuantioso =to anchor=, anclar =ancient=, antiguo =angry=, enfadado =annoyed=, disgustado =to answer=, contestar, responder =anterior=, anterior =to anticipate=, prever =anticipation=, anticipatión =anxious to=, ansioso de =to be anxious to=, tener empeño =anyone=, alguno =anything=, algo =apartment=, cuarto =to appeal=, apelar =to appear=, aparecer, parecer =apple=, manzana =to appoint=, nombrar =to appreciate=, apreciar =appreciation=, estima =to approach=, aproximarse, abordar =approximately=, próximamente =April=, Abril =arbiter=, árbitro =Arbitration Treaty=, Tratado de Arbitraje =architect=, arquitecto =archive=, archive =arduous=, arduo =to argue=, argüir =arm=, brazo =army=, ejército =to arrange=, arreglar, disponer =arrangement=, arreglo =to arrive=, llegar =ash=, fresno =as it is=, tal cual =as it were=, por decirlo así =to ask=, pedir, rogar =assets and liabilities=, active y pasivo =to assist=, asistir =as soon as=, no bien, luego que =as soon as possible=, á la mayor brevedad =assortment=, surtido =as well=, también =at best=, á mejor andar =at foot=, al pie =at least=, al menos =at length=, detenidamente =at once=, en seguida, luego =at sight=, á la vista =to attain=, lograr =attainment=, logro =to attempt=, probar =to attend=, asistir, atender á =attention=, atención =attention=! ¡ojo! ¡atención! =at the rate of=, á razón de =attitude=, actitud =to attract=, atraer =to attribute=, atribuir =attribution=, atribución =(by) auction=, (en) subasta =August=, Agosto =autumn=, otoño =to avail oneself of=, aprovecharse de =available=, disponible =average=, mediano, término medio, avería =free of particular average=, franco de avería particular =averse to=, ajeno á =to avoid=, evitar =award=, dictamen =axe=, hacha =axle-shaft=, árbol de eje =B= =back=, espalda =bacon=, tocino =bad=, malo =very bad=, pésimo =badly=, mal =to be baffled=, llevar chasco =bagging=, arpillera =baize=, bayeta =to bake=, cocer =ball=, bola =ball (of cotton)=, ovillo (de algodón) =bank=, banco =bank holiday=, fiesta del comercio =bank notes=, billetes, notas de banco =bank (river)=, orilla =bankruptcy=, quiebra =bargain (cheap purchase)=, ganga =barley=, cebada =barrister=, abogado =base=, sordid, ruin =basis=, base =to bathe=, bañar =batiste=, batista =to be=, estar, estarse, ser =beam=, viga =beard=, barba, barbas =beardless youth=, mozalbete =bearings=, soportes, cojinetes =to bear in mind=, tener en cuenta =bearish, bear= (exch.), bajista =beautiful=, hermoso =beauty=, belleza =to become=, hacerse, volverse, llegar á ser =bed, bedstead=, cama, armazón de cama =beech=, haya =beef (jerked)=, carne (seca) =beer=, cerveza =beetroot=, remolacha =before (time)=, antes (de) =before (place)=, ante, delante de =to beg=, rogar =beginning=, principio =behaviour=, conducta =behind=, detrás =to believe=, creer =beloved=, querido =below=, abajo =belt=, cinturón =belting (machinery)=, correas =bench=, banco =beneficent=, benéfico =benefit=, beneficio =besides=, amén de =to betray=, atraicionar =better=, mejor =between, amongst=, entre =between decks=, entrepuentes =bicycle=, bicicleta =bill=, giro =billiards=, billar =bill market=, los cambios =bill of exchange=, letra =bill of lading=, conocimiento =to bind (books)=, encuadernar =to bind oneself=, obligarse =birch=, abedul =black=, negro =blacking=, betún =blame=, culpa =to blame oneself=, tacharse =blanket=, manta, frazada =blast furnace=, altos hornos =blind=, ciego =blotting paper=, papel secante =to blow=, soplar =blue=, azul =boar=, jabalí =board=, tablilla =to board=, abordar =boat=, buque, navío, barco =bobbin=, bobina =body=, cuerpo =to boil=, hervir, bullir =boiler=, caldera =bold, daring=, atrevido =bond=, obligación, título =bonded warehouses=, almacenes fiscales =bone=, hueso =to book (orders)=, asentar =book=, libro =book debts=, fiados =book-shelf=, estante =boom=, hinchazón =boot=, bota =boots=, botines =both=, ambos =bourse=, bolsa =box=, caja =boy=, muchacho =braid=, trencilla =branch=, ramo =branch house=, sucursal =brand=, marca =brand new=, novísimo =bread=, pan =breakdown=, quebrantamiento, daño =to break out=, estallar =breath=, respiro =breathing-time=, respiro =breeze=, brisa =brevity=, brevedad =brief=, corto =brig=, bergantín =to bring=, traer =to bring an action=, poner pleito =to bring upon oneself=, buscarse =brisk=, activo, animado =broad beans=, habas =brocade=, brocado, tela labrada =broker=, corredor =broom=, escoba =brother=, hermano =brother-in-law=, cuñado =brought forward=, de la vuelta =brown=, moreno =brush=, cepillo =bucket=, cubo, caldero =building=, edificio, local =bullish, bull (exch.)=, alcista =bundle (of papers)=, legajo (de papeles) =bunker=, carbonera, pañol =bunting=, lanillas para banderas =to burst=, estallar =business=, negocio, negocios =business (occupations)=, quehaceres =but=, pero, mas =butter=, manteca, mantequilla (S. America) =button=, botón =bye-law=, reglamento =bye-products=, productos accesorios =C= =cabbages=, berzas, coles =cable=, cable =cablegram=, cablegrama =to calculate=, calcular =to calculate on=, contar con =calculation=, cálculo =calico=, percal =to call=, llamar =to be called=, llamarse =to call at=, hacer escala (ships), pasar por, visitar =to call together=, convocar =to be called=, llamarse =calm=, tranquilo =to cancel=, anular =candidly=, con el corazón en la mano =candle=, vela =cane=, caña =canned=, en latas =cap=, gorra, gorro =caprice, whim=, antojo =to capsize=, volcar =captain=, capitán =to capture=, coger =card=, tarjeta =care=, cuidado =to take care=, cuidar =carefully=, cuidadosamente =cargo=, cargamento =carnation=, clavel =carpet=, alfombra, tapete =carriage forward=, tra(n)sporte seguido, porte pagadero al destino =carriage paid=, tra(n)sporte pagado, franco de porte =carried forward=, á la vuelta =to carry=, llevar, traer =to carry into effect=, llevar á cabo =cart=, carro =case=, caja =case, lawsuit=, proceso =in case=, en caso que =cash=, dinero efectivo =for cash=, al contado =in cash=, en efectivo, en metálico =cashier=, cajero =cask=, barrica, pipa =to cast=, echar =castillian=, castellano =cat=, gato =catalogue=, catálogo =to catch=, coger =cauldron (small)=, caldero =cautious=, cauteloso, cauto =to cede=, ceder =to be celebrated=, celebrarse =celebrated=, célebre =cellar=, bodega =to censure, to blame, oneself=, tacharse =certain=, cierto =to certify=, certificar =chair=, silla =change=, cambio =to change=, cambiar =charcoal=, carbón vegetal =to charge=, cobrar =to take charge=, encargarse =to charter=, fletar =cheap=, barato =cheapening=, abarata miento =cheese=, queso =chemicals=, productos químicos =chemist=, boticario =cheque=, cheque =to cherish (the hope)=, abrigar =chief=, principal =child=, niño =chimney=, chimenea =chin=, barba, barbilla =chivalry=, hidalguía =chocolate=, chocolate =to choose=, escoger, elegir =Christmas=, Navidad =cigars=, cigarros, puros, tabacos =cinnamon=, canela =to circulate=, circular =to cite=, citar =city=, ciudad =claim=, reclame, reclamación =to claim=, reclamar =clean=, limpio =to clean=, limpiar =clear=, claro =to clear=, despejar =clearing-house=, banco de liquidación =clearing-line=, saldo =clearly=, claramente, claro =clerk (chief)=, dependiente (primer) =clever=, hábil =client=, cliente =climate=, el clima =climatic=, climatológico =climax=, colmo =clock=, reloj =cloth=, tela, tejido, paño =cloves=, clavos =coal=, carbón de piedra =coal-mine=, mina de carbón =coarse=, basto =coast=, costa =coat=, americana, casaca =cock (machinery)=, grifo =coffee=, café =cold=, frío =to collect (money)=, recoger, cobrar =collection=, colección =colliery=, mina de carbón =colonial produce=, coloniales =colour (fast, loose)=, color (sólido, firme, falso, fugitivo) =colourings=, coloridos =column=, columna =to come=, venir =to come back=, regresar, volver =to come down=, bajar =to come down in the world=, venir á menos =to come out=, salir =to come up to (an amount)=, salir en =to commence=, comenzar, empezar, principiar, estrenarse =commerce=, comercio =commercial=, comercial =commission agent=, comisionista =to commit oneself=, comprometerse =common=, común, basto =company (limited)=, compañia anónima, por acciones =to compel=, obligar =to compensate=, compensar =competitor=, competidor, contrincante =to complain=, quejarse =complete=, completo =complexion=, la tez =to compromise=, zanjar, comprometer =to conceive=, concebir =to concern=, concerner =concern=, empresa =concisely=, concisamente =to conclude (a bargain)=, concluir, cerrar (un trato) =conduct=, conducta =to conduct (business)=, tratar =to confess=, confesar =confidence=, confianza =connecting rod=, biela =connection=, conexión =connection=, _clientéle_, clientela =to consider=, considerar =considerate, thoughtful=, comedido =to consign=, consignar =consignee=, consignatario =consignment=, consignación =consumer=, consumidor =contain, to be able to=, _or_ =to be able to be contained=, caber =content, contentment=, contento =contents=, contenido =continually=, continuamente =to continue=, continuar, seguir =contraband=, contrabando =contract=, contrato =contractor=, destajista =contrary=, contrario =to contribute=, contribuir =contrivance=, mecanísmo, medio =to contrive to be=, llegar á ser =to contrive=, lograr =control=, dominio =convenient=, conveniente =to convey=, tra(n)sportar, transmitir =to convince=, convencer =to cook=, cocer =copper=, cobre =copy book=, copiador =corded=, acordonado =cords, corduroy=, pana acordonada =corporal=, cabo =to correct=, subsanar, corregir =correspondence=, correspondencia =correspondent=, corresponsal =cost, insurance and freight (C.I.F.)=, costo, flete y seguro (C.F.S.) =cotton (spot)=, algodón disponible =cotton market=, mercado algodonero =cotton mill=, fábrica de algodón =cotton prints=, zarazas =to counsel=, aconsejar =to count=, contar =to countermand=, contramandar, revocar =to countersign=, refrendar =country=, país, patria, campo =couple=, par =coupled with=, junto á =couplings=, conexiones =courage, valor=, aliento, ánimo =course (of ship)=, rumbo =of course=, por de contado =court=, tribunal =courteously=, cortésmente =cousin=, primo =to cover=, cubrir =covered=, cubierto =to covet=, codiciar =cram full=, abarrotado =crank-shaft=, árbol de cigüeñal =cream=, crema =credit=, crédito =to credit=, abonar, acreditar =creditors' meeting=, junta de acreedores =crew=, tripulación =crimps=, crespolinas, rizados =crockery=, loza =crop=, cosecha =to cross=, atravesar, cruzar =crowd (motley)=, turba =cry=, grito =cubic=, cúbico =cudgel=, garrote =cue (billiards)=, taco =culprit=, reo =cupboard=, armario =curl (of hat brim)=, rizo (del ala) =currant=, pasas de Corinto =current=, actual, corriente =curtailment=, limitación =custom=, costumbre =customer=, cliente =custom house official=, guardia aduanera =custom house tariff=, arancel =customs=, derechos =to cut=, cortar =to cut (fig.)=, herir =cutting=, corte =cylinder=, cilindro =D= =damage=, avería, daño, perjuicio =to damage=, dañar =damask=, damasco =danger=, peligro =dangerous=, arriesgado peligroso =daring, bold=, atrevido =date=, fecha =date palm=, palmera =to date, up to date=, hasta la fecha =dated=, fecha de =dates=, dátiles =daughter-in-law=, nuera, hija política =to dawn=, alborear, amanecer =day=, día =lay day=, día de estadía =days of demurrage=, días de contraestadía =day before yesterday=, anteayer =day book=, diario =to dazzle=, deslumbrar =dealers=, operadores =fair dealing=, equidad =deal=, especulación =to deal=, tratar =dealings=, operaciones =dear=, caro, querido =debenture=, obligación =to debit=, adeudar, cargar, debitar =debt=, deuda =decadence=, decadencia =deceased=, difunto =December=, Diciembre =to decide=, decidir, decidirse =decidedly=, decididamente =decision=, decisión, dictamen =below deck=, bajo cubierta =on deck=, sobre cubierta =to declaim=, declamar =to declare=, declarar =decline=, baja =to decline=, venir á menos =to decree=, decretar =deeds=, hechos =deeds (law)=, actas =defect=, defecto =to defer=, diferir =to define=, definir =definite=, definitivo =degree=, grado, graduación =delay=, demora =to delay=, demorar, postergar =delegate=, delegado =to commit a delinquency=, delinquir =to deliver=, entregar =delivery=, entrega =to demand=, pedir, demandar =demurrage=, sobrestadía =to deny=, negar =to depend on=, depender de =to deplore=, deplorar =depôt=, depósito =to depress=, deprimir =to derive=, sacar =design=, dibujo, diseño =desire=, gana, deseo =to desire=, apetecer, desear =desk=, pupitre, banco =writing desk=, escritorio =despicable=, despreciable =detailed=, detallado =details=, detalles, pormenores, particulares =deterioration=, empeoramiento =to develop=, desarrollar, tomar vuelo =development=, desarrollo, fomento =to devote oneself=, dedicarse =devotion=, devoción =diapers=, lienzos adamascados =dictionary=, diccionario =different=, diferente, distinto =difficult=, difícil, arduo =difficulty=, dificultad =diligence=, diligencia =to direct=, dirigir =disappointed (to be)=, llevar chasco =disarmament=, desarme =to discard=, rechazar =to discharge=, descargar =to disconcert=, desanimar =to feel discouraged=, desanimarse =discreet=, discreto =to discuss=, discutir =disgusted=, disgustado =dishonour=, deshonra =to dispense with=, prescindir de =displeased=, disgustado =to dispose=, disponer =to distinguish=, distinguir =district=, distrito =disturbance=, disturbio =disturbed=, perturbado, disturbado =division (Govt. office)=, negociado =to do=, hacer =dock=, dique =doctor=, médico =doctrine=, doctrina =document=, documento =dog=, perro =door=, puerta =dot=, punto =doubt=, duda =down quilt=, colcha de plumón =dozen=, docena =draft=, giro =to drain=, agotar =draughtsman=, diseñador =to draw a bill=, girar =to draw near=, aproximarse =to draw out=, sacar =to draw up (deeds)=, redactar =dress goods=, telas para trajes =drill=, dril =to drizzle=, lloviznar =drum (machinery)=, tambor =to duplicate=, duplicar =during=, durante =E= =each=, cada =eager=, ansioso, deseoso =eagle=, águila =early=, temprano =to earn=, ganar =to be earnest=, tener empeño =earnestly=, vivamente =ease=, facilidad =east=, este =Easter=, Pascua =to eat=, comer =to economise=, ahorrar, economizar =to effect=, efectuar =effort=, esfuerzo =with great effort=, á duras penas =either= (after _negative_), tampoco =to elaborate=, elaborar =elegantly=, elegantemente =to embark=, embarcar =embarrassment=, embarazo apuro =to embezzle=, malversar =embossed=, grabado =to embrace=, abrazar, abarcar =embroidered=, bordado =to employ=, emplear =to be employed=, emplearse =employer=, jefe =empty=, vacío =to enable=, poner en condiciones =to enclose=, incluir, adjuntar =enclosed=, adjunto =to encounter=, exponerse á, arrostrar =encouragement=, fomento, estímulo =end=, cabo, fin =to endeavour, to treat, to try=, tratar =to endorse=, endosar =to engage=, empeñar =engagement=, empeño =engine=, máquina =engineer=, ingeniero =to enhance=, elevar =to enjoy=, gozar, disfrutar de =to enjoy oneself=, divertirse =to enlarge=, agrandar =enlightened=, ilustrado =to enlist=, alistar =to be enough=, bastar =to entangle=, embrollar =to enter=, entrar en =enterprise=, empresa =enterprising=, emprendedor =to entrust=, confiar á =envy=, envidia =epoch=, época =equal=, igual =to equal=, igualar =equipment=, equipo =equity=, equidad =error=, error =to escape=, escapar =to escape one's notice=, pasársele por alto á uno =especially=, mayormente =to establish=, establecer =to esteem=, estimar =eternally=, eternamente =this evening=, esta tarde =ever=, nunca =for ever=, eternamente =every=, cada =everybody=, todo el mundo, todos =exact=, exacto =examination=, examen =to exceed=, exceder =exceedingly=, mucho =excellent, very good=, óptimo =to exchange=, trocar, cambiar =exclusive=, exclusivo =to excuse=, dispensar, disculpar =to execute=, ejecutar =exercise (gram.)=, tema (el) =to exert oneself=, afanarse =to exhaust=, apurar, agotar =to exhibit=, exhibir =to expect=, esperar =to experience=, experimentar =experienced=, experto =to experiment=, experimentar =expert=, perito =to explain=, explicar, explanar =to exploit=, explotar =export=, exportación =exporter=, exportador =to expose oneself to=, exponerse á, arrostrar =to extend=, extender =extension of time for payment=, moratorium, moratoria =extinguished=, apagado =eye=, ojo =F= =face=, cara =to face=, hacer frente =to facilitate=, allanar =facility=, facilidad =fact=, hecho =to fade=, desteñir =to fail=, faltar =failure=, éxito malo =failure=, fracaso =fair=, equitativo, justo =fairness=, equidad =faithful=, fiel =to fall=, caer =fall= (_n._), caída, baja =to fall due=, vencer =to fall through=, fracasar =fame=, fama =famous=, famoso =fancies=, fantasías =far away=, lejos =farewell=! ¡vale! =farthing=, fardín =by fast train=, á grande velocidad =father=, padre =fatherland=, patria =fault=, falta =at fault=, culpado =favour=, obsequio =favourable=, favorable =fear=, miedo, tema (_f._) =February=, Febrero =feel=, tacto =to feel=, sentir =fender=, guardafuego =few=, pocos, (-as) =field=, campo =fig-tree=, higuera =to fight=, batirse, luchar, pelear =figured=, labrado =figures=, cifras =file=, ensartapapeles, guardapapeles =to file (papers), to string (beads)=, ensartar =to file a petition in bankruptcy=, declararse en quiebra =to finance=, comanditar =to find=, encontrar, hallar =fine=, hermoso =fine= (_n._), multa =finish=, acabado, apresto, aderezo =to finish=, acabar =fir=, abeto =fire-arms=, armas de fuego =firebricks=, ladrillos refractarios =firm, fast, strong=, fuerte =firm=, casa =firm= (_adj._), firme, fijo =firmness=, firmeza =to fix=, fijar =fixed=, fijo =to flatter oneself=, lisonjearse =flange=, reborde =flax=, lino =flourishing=, floreciente =flower=, flor =flower-stand=, portaramillete (portarramillete), maceta, florero =to fly=, volar =fly-wheel=, volante =to fold=, plegar =to follow=, seguir =fond of=, aficionado á =food-stuffs=, géneros alimenticios =foolish=, tonto =at foot=, al pie =footwear=, calzado =for=, para, por =to force=, forzar =forehead=, la frente =foreign=, extranjero =foreign to=, ajeno á =foreigner=, extranjero =foreman=, capataz =foremast=, trinquete =fork=, tenedor =form=, boletín, forma =formal=, formal =formerly=, antes =fortunately=, afortunadamente =fortune=, fortuna, suerte =to forward=, encaminar =to found=, fundar =foundry=, altos hornos =fountain=, fuente =fox=, zorra =frame,-ing (mach.)=, armadura =free=, libre =free of particular average (F.P.A.)=, franco de avería particular =to freeze=, helar =freight=, flete =to freight=, fletar =French beans=, judías =frequently=, frecuentemente =Friday=, viernes =friend=, amigo =friendly=, amistoso =friendship=, amistad =to frighten=, amedrentar =to be frightened=, espantarse =frilled=, alechugado =fringe=, franja =frock coat=, levita =front=, el frente =frost=, hielo, escarcha =frost-bitten=, tornado por la escarcha =fruit=, fruta =fruit= (of labour), fruto =full=, lleno =in full=, entero (por) =funds=, fondos =furious=, enfurecído, furioso =furniture=, muebles =blast furnace=, altos hornos =fustian=, fustán =G= =to gain=, ganar =gallon=, galón =garden=, jardín =gardener=, jardinero, hortelano =to gather=, recoger =gaudy= (colour), chillón =gearing=, engranaje =general=, general =generous=, generoso =gentle=, blando, suave =gentleman=, señor =gentleman by birth=, hidalgo (hijodalgo) =to get=, conseguir, obtener =to get back= (money), sacar =to get on well=, llevarse bien =to get out=, sacar =to get to know=, enterarse =ginghams=, guingas, carranclanes =to give=, dar =to give back=, devolver =to give on lease=, alquilar =to give thanks=, dar las gracias =to gladden=, alegrar =glassware=, vidriado =glove=, guante =glutted=, abarrotado =to go=, ir, andar =to go away=, marcharse, alejarse =God=, Dios =to go down=, bajar =gold=, oro =goloshes=, chanclos =good=, bueno, el bien =goods=, géneros =goods, merchandise=, mercancía =goodwill=, voluntad =goodwill= (of a business), traspaso =to go out=, salir =to go out (fire)=, apagarse =to go over=, repasar =to go round=, circular =gossip=, charla =to govern=, gobernar =government=, gobierno =grace, gracefulness=, gracia =gradation=, gradación =grain=, grano =grain market=, mercado de granos =to grant=, conceder =grape=, uva =gratis=, de balde =gratitude=, gratitud =gratuitous=, gratuito =gratuity=, gratificación =great=, gran, grande =great grandfather=, bisabuelo =greatly=, mucho =greed=, codicia =green=, verde =green peas=, guisantes =grey=, gris =to grind=, moler =ground=, suclo =group=, grupo, agrupación =to grow dark=, anochecer =to guarantee=, garantir, garantizar =H= =to hail=, granizar =hail=! ¡salve! =hair=, cabello=, pelo =half=, medio=, la mitad =ham=, jamón =to hammer=, machacar =hammers=, martillos =hand=, mano =to hand=, pasar, entregar =handkerchief=, pañuelo =handle=, mango =to hang=, colgar =to happen=, ocurrir, suceder, acertar á =harbour=, puerto =hard=, duro =hare=, liebre =harrows=, rastrillos =harvest, harvest time=, cosecha =haste=, prisa =to hasten=, apresurar (se) =hat=, sombrero =hatchets=, hachuelas =to have=, tener, haber =to have just=, acabar de =head=, cabeza =headache=, dolor de cabeza =health (indifferent)=, delicado de salud =healthy=, salubre =to heap up=, amontar =to hear=, oir =heat=, calor =heaven=, cielo =heavy=, pesado =heavy sea=, mar alborotada =hedged in=, aislado =heels=, tacones =to help=, asistir, ayudar =help (not to be able to)=, no poder menos de =hemmed=, dobladillado, repulgado =hemp, Manilla hemp=, cáñamo, abacá =hemstitched=, con dobladilla de ojo =her=, su =here=, aquí, acá =herewith=, adjunto =hides=, cueros =to hinder=, impedir =to hint, to allude=, aludir á =to hire=, alquilar =his=, su =history=, historia =to hit it=, dar en el clavo =hitch=, contratiempo =hoist=, ascensor =hold (ship)=, bodega =to hold=, tener =to hold up=, mantener =holder=, tenedor =hollow-ware=, ollería =holy, saint=, santo =honesty=, honradez =honorary=, honorario, gratuito =honour=, honor =to honour=, honrar =hook (clothes)=, garabato =horse=, caballo =hose=, manga =hose (half)=, medias, calcetines =hosiery=, mediería =hotel=, fonda, hotel =hour=, hora =house, firm=, casa =house (branch)=, sucursal =hub=, buje =hundred=, cien, ciento =hurry=, prisa =to hurt=, doler =husband=, marido, esposo =I= =if=, si =idleness, inertia=, inercia =ignoble=, innoble =ill=, enfermo, malo =to illustrate=, ilustrar =illustrious=, ilustre =immediate=, inmediato =imperfection=, defecto =importance=, importancia =imports=, importaciones =to impose=, imponer =impropriety=, inconveniencia =to improve=, mejorar =improvement=, mejora, mejoría =in case=, en caso que =inclination=, gana =to include=, incluir, abarcar =inconvenience=, inconveniente =to increase=, aumentar, tomar vuelo =indemnity=, indemnización =to indicate=, indicar =industry=, industria =inferior=, inferior, basto =an infinite number=, una infinidad =infinitesimal=, ínfimo =to inform=, imponer, informar =information=, informes =to infringe=, atropellar por =in full=, por entero =infuriated=, enfurecido =ingratitude=, ingratitud =inhabitants=, habitantes, vecinos =injunction=, mandato =injury=, daño =ink=, tinta =inkstand=, tintero =in order=, en regla, de conformidad =in proportion as=, á medida que =inside=, dentro de =to insist=, insistir, porfiar, machacar =by instalments=, á plazos =instant (month)=, actual, corriente =instead of=, en lugar de, en vez de =instruction=, disposición, instrucción =insurance=, seguro =insurance policy=, póliza de seguro =to insure=, asegurar =intelligence=, inteligencia =to intend=, proponerse, intentar =intention=, intención =interest=, interés =interesting=, interesante =interim=, provisorio, interino =interior=, interior =to interpret=, interpretar =to intervene=, intervenir, mediar =interview=, intervista =in the long run=, á la larga =to introduce (one to another)=, presentar =in truth=, á la verdad =in vain=, en balde =to invest=, invertir (dinero) =to investigate=, averiguar, apurar =to invoice=, facturar =invoice=, factura =invoice book=, libro de facturas =irrigation=, regardío =iron=, hierro =iron-clad=, acorazado =iron, pig=, lingotes de hierro =ironware=, ferretería =island=, isla =isolated=, aislado =to issue=, emitir, publicar =its=, su =J= =Jack (machinery)=, gato =jacket=, americana, chaqueta, casaca =jaconets=, chaconadas =January=, Enero =jeans=, coquillos =jerked beef=, carne seca, tasajo =jobs=, géneros imperfectos =journey (by sea)=, travesía =homeward journey=, viaje de vuelta =outward journey=, viaje de ida =judicious=, juicioso =juicy=, jugoso =July=, Julio =June=, Junio =just=, justo, cabal =just a little bit=, un si es no es =jute=, jute, yute =to justify=, justificar =K= =keen=, agudo =kind=, bondadoso =kindness=, amabilidad =king=, rey =kingdom=, reino =knife=, cuchillo =to know (a person, thing)=, conocer =to know (by heart)=, saber =knowledge=, conocimiento, doctrina =L= =label=, etiqueta, rótulo =labour=, labor, mano de obra =laborious=, laborioso =lace=, encaje =to lack=, carecer, faltar =lad=, muchacho =lady=, señora =land=, terreno =landlord=, propietario =language=, el idioma, la lengua =lard=, lardo, manteca de puerco =large=, grande =large number=, (un) sinnúmero =larger=, mayor =to last=, durar =late (deceased)=, difunto =late=, tarde =lately=, últimamente =later=, más adelante =lathe=, torno =to laugh, to laugh at=, reirse =law=, ley =lawns=, linones, olanes, batistas =lawsuit=, proceso =lawyer=, abogado =to lay before one=, presentar =lay days=, días de estadía =lazy=, holgazán =lead=, plomo =to lead=, conducir =to leak=, abrir agua, rezumar =leakage=, merma =to learn=, aprender =to leave=, dejar =ledger=, libro mayor =left=, izquierda =leg=, pierna =legal means=, trámites de la ley =lemon=, limón =to lend=, prestar =lesson=, lección =lest=, no sea que, de miedo que =to let=, dejar =letter=, carta, escrito =level=, nivel =to level=, allanar =liabilities=, pasivo, pasividades =liable for=, responsable =library=, biblioteca =to lie in bed=, guardar cama =life=, vida =lifeless=, desanimado =lift=, ascensor =light (colour)=, claro =to lighten=, relampaguear =to like=, gustar á uno =limit=, límite =to limit=, limitar =limitation=, limitación =limited company=, sociedad anónima, por acciones =line=, línea =line (of business)=, ramo =linen damask=, alemanisco =linens=, lienzos =linens (unbleached)=, lienzos morenos =lining=, forro =to liquidate=, liquidar =to listen=, escuchar =little=, poco (_adv._), pequeño (_adj._) =to live=, vivir =lively=, vivo =living=, vida =to load=, cargar =loaf=, pan =loan=, empréstito =lobster=, langosta =lock=, cerradura =to lock=, cerrar con llave =lock-out=, cierre =locomotive=, locomotora =long=, largo =to look=, mirar =to look for=, buscar, apetecer =looking up (market)=, haber mejora en =look out=! ¡ojo!, atención! =to look over=, repasar =loom=, telar =loose colours=, colores fugitives =to lose=, perder =loss=, pérdida quebranto =lot=, partida =cheap lot=, ganga =job lot=, imperfectos =to love=, amar =love=, amor =luck=, suerte =lucky=, dichoso, afortunado =lump sum=, suma redonda =M= =machine=, máquina =machinery=, maquinaria =mad=, loco =maidservant=, criada =to maintain (oneself)=, mantener (se) =maize=, maíz =to make=, hacer =to make a mistake=, equivocarse =to make a slip of the tongue=, correrse =to make a start=, principiar, estrenarse =main mast=, palo mayor =to make fun of=, burlarse =to make good=, compensar =to make one's appearance=, aparecer =to make over=, ceder =to make up=, confeccionar =to make up one's mind=, decidir (se) =man=, hombre =manager=, gerente, administrador =to manifest=, manifestar =manner=, manera, modo =manservant=, criado =manufacturer=, fabricante =marble=, mármol =March=, Marzo =margarine=, margarina =mark=, marca, señal =market=, mercado =market-place=, plaza =to marry=, casar (se) con =masonry=, mampostería =master=, amo, maestro =master spinner=, contramaestre de filatura =to match=, igualar =matches=, fósforos =matter=, asunto =to matter=, importar =May=, mayo =mayor=, alcalde =means=, medio =in the meantime=, en el ínterin =meanwhile=, mientras tanto =measure=, medida =meat=, carne =mechanism=, mecanísmo =to meet=, encontrar =to meet (bills)=, hacer frente =to meet requirements=, corresponder á las necesidades =meeting=, reunión, junta, mitín =megaphone=, bocina =mellow=, suave =member=, miembro =to mention=, citar, mencionar, hacer mención =merchandise, goods=, mercancía =merchant=, comerciante, negociante =method=, método =metre=, metro =mild=, apacible =mile=, milla =milk=, la leche =milliner=, modista =million=, millón =mind=, la mente =miner=, minero =minimum=, mínimo =minister=, ministro =ministry=, ministerio =mint of money=, dineral =miser, miserly=, avaro, avariento =misfortune=, desgracia, quebranto =mishap=, quebranto, contratiempo =mislaid (of a paper)=, traspapelado =mistake=, equivocación, error =mizzen mast=, palo de mesana =to mock=, reírse =mohair=, moer =Monday=, lunes =money=, dinero =money market=, mercado bursátil =month=, mes =monthly=, mensual =moratorium=, moratoria =more=, más =morning=, mañana =morocco leather=, cordobán =mortgage=, hipoteca =to mortgage=, hipotecar =mother=, madre =motive power=, fuerza motriz =motor-car=, automóvil =motor-boat=, barca á motor, automóvil =mountain=, monte, montaña =mounting (machinery)=, montaje =mourning=, luto =mouth=, boca =to move=, mover =much=, mucho =muffler=, bufanda =municipality=, concejo, cabildo, ayuntamiento, corporación =museum=, museo =muslin=, muselina =must=, deber =muster=, agrupación =N= =nail=, clavo =nainsook=, nansú =name=, nombre, fama =nankeen=, nanquín =nation=, nación, país =native=, indígena =near= (_adj._), cercano =near to=, junto a, cerca de =necessary=, necesario =to be necessary=, ser menester =to need=, haber menester, precisar =needle=, aguja =neighbour=, competitor, contrincante, vecino, prójimo =neither=, tampoco =net=, neto, líquido =net revenue=, ingresos netos =new=, nuevo =news=, noticias =newspaper=, periódico =next=, próximo =nickel-plated=, niquelado =night, evening=, noche =nobleness=, hidalguía nobleza =non-acceptance=, falta de aceptación =no one=, ninguno =north=, norte =nose=, nariz =note=, esquela, nota =note of hand=, pagaré =nothing=, nada =for nothing=, de balde =notice=, aviso =notice (of dismissal)=, aviso de despedida =to notice=, advertir, reparar =notwithstanding=, no obstante, sin embargo =November=, Noviembre =now=, ahora =number=, número =nuts (mach.)=, tuercas =O= =oak=, roble, encina =oats=, avena =object=, objeto =objection=, dificultad =objectionable=, reprensible =obligation=, empeño, obligación =to oblige=, complacer, agradar, contentar =to observe=, observar =to obstruct=, obstruir =to obtain=, conseguir, obtener =occasion=, ocasión =occupations=, quehaceres =to occur=, ocurrir =ocean=, océano =October=, Octubre =Octroi duties=, impuesto de consumos =octroi office=, fielato =odd (20 odd)=, y pico (veinte y pico) =of course=, por de contado =offer=, ofrecimiento, oferta =to offer=, ofrecer =office=, oficina, despacho =office (lawyer's)=, bufete (de abogado) =office boy (jocularly)=, hortera =of no avail=, de balde =often=, á menudo =oil=, aceite =old=, viejo, antiguo =old age=, vejez =omnibus=, ómnibus =on=, sobre =on deck=, sobre cubierta =onion=, cebolla =only= (_adj._), solo =only= (_adv._), sólo, solamente =to open=, abrir =opening=, apertura =openly=, á las claras, claro y redondo =to operate=, obrar =operations=, operaciones =operator=, operador =opportunity=, oportunidad =to oppose=, oponerse á =orange=, naranja =orchard=, huerta, huerto =to order=, mandar, pedir =order=, orden, pedido, encargo =ordinary=, ordinario =to organise=, organizar =osnaburgs=, cregüelas =other=, otro =other people's property=, (lo) ajeno =output=, producto =overdue=, atrasado =overhead=, aereo =to overload oneself=, sobrecargarse =to overstep=, exceder =to owe=, deber =owing to=, debido á =own=, propio =ox=, buey =ox casings=, tripas, de buey =P= =to pack=, empacar =packages=, bultos =packet=, paquete =page=, página =pain=, dolor =to pain=, doler =painful=, doloroso =paint=, pintura =pair=, par =palace=, palacio =pan (sugar manuf.)=, tacho, paila =paper=, papel =paper fasteners=, sujetapapeles =parcel=, paquete, partida =parents=, padres =parliamentary bill=, proyecto de ley =parliamentary session=, legislatura =part=, la parte =partner=, socio =pasha=, bajá =to pass=, pasar =pattern sets or cards=, muestrarios =to pawn=, empeñar =pause=, pausa =to pay=, pagar =to pay (to be advantageous)=, tener cuenta =payable=, pagadero =peace=, paz =peaches=, melocotones =pen=, pluma =penalty=, multa =pencil=, lápiz =penknife=, cortapluma =pen-nibs=, puntitas =penny=, penique =people=, gente, pueblo =pepper=, pimienta =perennial=, perenne =perfect=, perfecto =to perfect=, perfeccionar =perfectly=, perfectamente =perhaps=, talvez =petition=, petición =phrase=, frase =philosophy=, filosofía =physician=, médico =pickled beef=, carne en salmuera =picks=, picos =pig=, puerco =pig-iron=, lingotes de hierro =pigeon-holes=, casillero =pin=, alfiler =pine=, pino =pink (col.)=, rosa =pipe=, tubo, pipa =pistol=, pistola =to place=, colocar, poner =place=, plaza, sitio =plain=, sencillo, simple =plan (idea)=, plan, proyecto =plan (sketch)=, piano =plane=, cepillo =plank=, tablón =plant=, planta =plate (metal)=, chapa =plausible=, atendible =pleasant, winsome, taking=, simpático =to please=, gustar, placer =pleasure=, placer =pledge=, empeñar =plough=, arado =pneumatic=, neumático =pocket-book=, cartera =point=, punto =to point out=, indicar =to poke (fire)=, remover =poker=, atizador =politely=, cortésmente =pomegranates=, granadas =poor=, pobre =porch=, pórtico =port=, puerto =portfolio=, cartera =portmanteau=, maleta =position=, posición =possess=, poseer =post=, correo, mala =to post=, echar al correo =postage=, franqueo, portes =postman=, cartero =to postpone=, aplazar, diferir =pound=, libra =power of attorney=, poder =powerful=, poderoso =practical=, práctico =practically=, virtualmente =to precede=, preceder =precious=, precioso =preferable=, preferible =preference shares=, acciones preferentes =to prejudice=, comprometer =preliminary=, preliminar =premium=, premio, prima =present=, actual, presente =to present=, presentar, regalar =those present=, los reunidos =preserves=, conservas alimenticias =to press=, apremiar =pretty=, bonito =to prevail=, prevalecer, reinar =previous=, anterior =price=, precio =price list=, boletín, lista =principal=, principal =to print, printed=, imprimir, impreso =cotton prints=, zarazas, estampados =prize=, premio =to produce=, presentar, producir =product=, producto =professor=, profesor =profit and loss=, ganancias y pérdidas =pro forma account=, cuenta simulada =to prohibit=, prohibir =project=, proyecto =promenade=, paseo =promissory note=, pagaré =property=, hacienda, propiedad =to propose=, proponer =proof=, ensayo, prueba =prospects=, perspectivas =to prosper=, medrar =proud=, ufano =to prove=, probar =proverb=, refrán =to provide=, proveer =provided that=, con tal que =prudent=, prudente =to punish, to chastise=, castigar =pupil=, discípulo =to purchase=, comprar =to purify, to exhaust, to investigate=, apurar =to purpose=, proponerse =to put=, poner =to put off=, postergar =to put out=, desconcertar =to put out of gear=, descomponer =to put up=, llevar =to put up with=, soportar =Q= =quality=, calidad =quantity=, cantidad =quarter=, cuarto =queen=, reina =queer=, extraño =question=, cuestión, asunto =in question=, consabido =to question=, dudar, preguntar =quick=, pronto =quiet=, tranquilo, sobrio, apagado (colour) =quilting=, acolchado =quire=, mano =quite candidly=, con el corazón en la mano =quota=, cuota =quotation=, cotización, (cita) =to quote=, citar, cotizar =R= =to rack one's brains=, devanarse los sesos =rails=, carriles, rieles, railes =railway=, ferrocarril =rain=, lluvia =to rain=, llover =raisins=, pasas =ratepayer=, contribuyente, vecino =rattan furniture=, muebles de bejuco =rays=, rayos =razor=, navaja de afeitar =to read=, leer =reading=, lectura =ready=, pronto, listo =ready money=, dinero efectivo =reason=, razón =reasonable=, razonable, arreglado =rebate=, rebaja, reducción =to make a rebate=, bonificar =to recapitulate=, resumir =receipt=, recibo =to receive=, acoger, recibir =reception=, recibo =to recommend=, recomendar, abonar =record=, colmo =to record=, consignar =to have recourse=, acudir á =to recover=, recobrar =red=, encarnado, rojo =to reduce=, reducir =reduction=, rebaja, reducción =to refer=, referir =references=, informes =to reflect=, reflexionar =reflection=, reflejo =refreshment=, refresco =to refund=, refundir =refusal=, negativa =to refuse=, rehusar, negarse á =regardless of expense=, sin mirar á gastos =region=, comarca =to register (letters, etc.)=, certificar =registered office (of a firm)=, domicilio =regulations=, reglamentos =to reign=, reinar =to reject=, rechazar =to rejoice=, alegrarse =to relate=, contar, dar cuenta =relating to=, acerca de =to remain=, quedar =remainder=, resto, restante =to remark=, observar =remiss=, lento, moroso =to remit, to send=, remitir =remittance=, remesa =remnants=, restos =to remove=, remover, quitar =to render help=, prestar ayuda =to rent=, alquilar =to repeat=, repetir =to repent=, arrepentirse =to reply=, contestar, responder =report=, informe, parte, relación =to report=, dar cuenta =to represent=, representar =representative=, representante =reputation=, fama =request=, petición =to require=, requerir, exigir =requirements=, necesidades =to reserve=, reservar =to reside=, residir, vivir =residence=, domicilio =resources=, recursos =respect=, respeto =to respect=, respetar =respectable=, formal, respetable =with respect to=, con respecto á, respecto de =result=, resultado =to resume=, reanudar =retail=, al por menor =to return=, devolver, regresar =revenue=, ingresos =review=, revista =to revoke=, revocar =reward=, premio =ribbon=, cinta =rice=, arroz =rich, richly=, rico, acaudalado, ricamente =to get rid of=, librarse, deshacerse de =ridiculously low (of prices)=, irrisorio =right=, derecho, justo =to be right=, tener razón =rim=, reborde =riot=, motín =rise=, alza, aumento =risk=, riesgo, peligro =risky=, arriesgado, peligroso =river=, río =to rob=, robar =to rock (a cradle)=, mecer =roll=, rollo =to roll=, arrollar =roller=, cilindro =room=, cuarto, cabida =rope=, soga =rose=, rosa =rotten=, podrido =rough and ready man=, hombre llano =round=, redondo =route=, vía =rubber=, caucho, goma elástica =rubber heels (revolving)=, rodajas de goma =rug=, tapete =to ruin=, echar á perder, arruinar =to rule=, regir, gobernar, dominar, reinar =rule=, regla, régimen =ruler=, regla =rumour=, rumor, especie =to run=, correr =to run down=, atropellar =to run to=, acudir á =S= =sad=, triste =safely=, sin novedad, á salvamento =sail=, vela =sailing vessel=, velero=, buque=, de vela =saint, holy=, santo =salary=, sueldo =sale=, venta =salvage=, salvamento =same=, mismo =sardines=, sardinas =sash=, cinto =satins (brocaded)=, satines (brochados) =satisfied=, satisfecho =Saturday=, Sábado =to save=, ahorrar =sawing machine=, sierra mecánica =to say=, decir, manifestar =scalloped=, festoneado =scandalous=, escandaloso =scarcely=, apenas =schooner=, goleta =science=, ciencia =scissors=, tijeras =to scold=, reconvenir =score=, veintena =screw (of a boat)=, hélice (el _or_ la) =screws=, tornillos =not over-scrupulous=, de manga ancha =scuttle=, caja de carbón =seal=, sello =to seal=, sellar =sealing-wax=, lacre =to search=, buscar =season=, estación, temporada =to seat=, asentar =secretary=, secretario =to secure=, asegurar =securities=, valores =to see=, ver =seeing that=, visto que =to seem=, parecer =to select=, elegir, escoger =selection=, surtido =to sell=, vender =selvedge=, orilla =senate=, senado =to send=, enviar, mandar, remitir =to send back=, devolver =to send a remittance=, hacer una remesa =to send for=, mandar buscar =sensible=, discreto, juicioso =sentence=, frase =September=, Setiembre =sergeant=, sargento =series=, la serie =to serve=, servir =service=, servicio, utilidad =session (parliamentary)=, legislatura =to set out=, partir =set of patterns=, muestrario =to settle=, arreglar, definir, liquidar =settlement=, saldo =several=, varios =shade (of colour)=, el matiz =shame=, vergüenza =shape=, forma =share=, acción =shareholder=, accionista =sharp=, agudo =shawl=, chal =shears=, cizallas =sheet (bed)=, sábana =shell-fish=, mariscos =to shelter=, abrigar =shilling=, chelín =ship=, barco, buque, navío =to ship=, embarcar =shipment=, remesa, embarque =shipowners=, armadores =shipper=, exportador =shirt=, camisa =shocking=, escandaloso =shoes=, zapatos =shop=, tienda =shopkeeper=, tendero =short=, corto =short cut=, atajo =shortly=, en breve=, próximamente =shoulder=, espalda =shout=, grito =shovel=, pala =to show=, mostrar, acusar, exhibir, hacer constar, enseñar =shrewd=, fino =to shrink=, encojerse =shrivelled=, encojido =shrunk=, encojido =side=, lado =side arms=, armas blancas =sight=, vista =to sight=, avistar =sign=, señal =to sign=, firmar =signature=, firma =signed guarantee=, indemnidad =to be silent=, callarse =silk=, seda =silk hat=, sombrero de copa =silver=, plata =similar=, semejante =simpleton=, tonto, necio =sincere=, sincero =sincere man=, hombre llano =sincerity=, sinceridad =single, simple, plain=, simple =sister-in-law=, cuñada =skates=, patines =sketch=, croquis =skin=, piel =sky=, cielo =sky-blue=, azul celeste =slack=, flojo =slackness=, flojedad =slate colour=, plomo =sleep=, sueño =to sleep=, dormir =slender=, exiguo =slight=, exiguo, ligero =slip=, boletín, volante =slope=, cuesta =slow=, lento, moroso, tardo =by slow train=, á pequeña velocidad =slowly=, despacio =sly=, socarrón =small=, pequeño, exiguo =smaller=, menor =smallware=, quincalla =smile=, sonrisa =to smoke (of a chimney)=, humear =smooth=, liso =smuggling=, matute =to snow=, nevar =snow=, nieve =so and so=, fulano =so, as ... as=, tan ... como =society=, sociedad =socks=, calcetines =soda=, soda, sosa =sofa=, el sofá =soft=, blando, suave =to soften=, ablandar =soil=, suelo =soldier=, soldado =sole=, exclusivo =solely=, únicamente =to solicit=, solicitar =solicitor=, abogado (procurador legal) =solidity=, solidez =some=, algún, alguno, algunos, unos =something=, algo =somewhat=, algo =soon=, pronto =sordid=, ruin =sorrow=, dolor =to be sorry=, sentir =so that=, de modo que, para que =so to say=, por decirlo así =sour=, agrio =source=, fuente, manantial =source (to have from a good)=, tener de buena tinta =south=, sur, sud =space=, cabida =spades=, palas =Spanish=, español =Spanish peas=, garbanzos =spare pieces (machinery)=, piezas de repuesto =sparrow=, gorrión =to speak=, hablar =to speak for=, abonar =species=, especie =speculation=, especulación =speed=, prisa =speedy=, pronto =to spend=, gastar =spices=, especias =to spin=, hilar =spinner=, hilador =in spite of=, á pesar de =to spoil=, gastar, echar á perder =spoon=, cuchara =spokes=, rayos =spot=, mancha, punto, sitio =spot cotton=, algodón disponible =spring=, resorte =spring (season)=, primavera =squeamish=, melindroso =to squeeze out=, exprimir, arrancar =squire=, hijodalgo, hidalgo =stain=, mancha =stamp=, timbre =stamp-rack=, porta-estampillas =stamps (postage)=, sellos =standard-bearer=, porta-bandera =standing=, posición =to start from=, arrancar de =statement=, cuenta =statistics=, estadísticas =stay=, estancia =to steal=, robar =steam-engine=, máquina á vapor =steamer=, buque de vapor, vapor =steel=, acero =step=, paso =stick=, garrote =still=, todavía =sting=, herida (fig.) =to stir=, remover =stockings=, medias =stock-jobber=, agiotista =stocks=, existencias =stool=, escaño =to stop payment=, suspender los pagos =to stop short in the middle of one's speech=, cortarse =stores=, depósitos, almacenes =storm=, temporal, tormenta =stove=, estufa, calorífero =stowage=, estiva =straight=, derecho =straightforward=, recto, leal =to strain=, forzar =strange=, extraño =street=, calle =to stretch=, extender =strike=, huelga =striped goods=, listados =stripes=, rayas =stroll=, paseo =strong, fast, firm=, fuerte =to struggle against=, luchar =to study=, estudiar =to stumble=, tropezar =subject=, asunto =to submit=, someter =subsidence=, hundimiento =to succeed=, suceder =to succeed in=, conseguir, obtener =success=, buen éxito =such, such a=, tal =sudden=, repentino =to suffer=, sufrir =suffering=, sufrimiento =to suffice=, bastar =sugar=, azúcar =sugar mill=, trapiche =suitings=, paños =sum=, suma =summer=, verano =to summon=, citar ante los tribunales =sun=, sol =Sunday=, domingo =supper=, cena =to suppose=, suponer =to suppress=, suprimir =supply and demand=, demanda y oferta =to supply oneself=, abastecerse =surety=, fiador =surface=, superficie =to surprise=, maravillar =surprising=, sorprendente =to suspect=, sospechar =to sweep=, barrer =sword=, espada =symptoms=, síntomas =T= =table=, mesa =table (of figures)=, cuadro =tact=, tacto =tailor=, sastre =to take=, tomar =to take amiss=, tomar á mal =to take away=, quitar =to take care (of oneself)=, cuidar(se) =to take charge=, encargarse =to take into consideration=, tener en cuenta =to take into tow=, traer á remolque, remolcar =to take much trouble=, afanarse =to take notice=, hacer caso =to take on lease=, alquilar, tomar en arriendo =to take place=, verificarse =to take steps=, dar pasos =to take the start=, tomar la delantera =to take up=, recoger =tallow greaves=, heces de sebo =tariff reform=, reforma arancelaria =task=, tarea =tax=, impuesto =tea=, té =to teach=, enseñar =teaching=, enseñanza =teeth=, dientes =to telephone=, telefonear =to tell=, decir =temper=, genio =temporarily=, temporalmente =tenant=, inquilino =tender=, tierno =term=, plazo =terms=, condiciones =textile=, textil =textiles=, tejidos =to thank=, agradecer =thanks to ... =, merced á ... =that=, ese,-a,-o, aquel-lla-llo, que =their=, su =then=, entonces, luego, pues =there=, allá, allí, ahí =therefore=, portanto =there is=, =there are=, hay =there to be=, haber =thick=, grueso, espeso =thief=, ladrón =thimble=, dedal =thing=, cosa =to think=, creer, pensar =third= (_frac_.), tercio =thirst=, sed =this=, este,-a,-o =thousand=, mil =threshing machines=, trilladores =to throw=, echar =to thunder=, tronar =Thursday=, jueves =ticket, etiqueta=, rótulo =ticking=, terliz =timber=, madera =time=, tiempo, época =at the same time=, al mismo tiempo, á la par que =tin=, estaño =to tire=, cansar =to-day=, hoy =ton=, tonelada =tongs=, tenazas =tongue=, lengua =too (also)=, también =too, too much=, demasiado =tools=, herramientas =top=, cima =touch=, tacto =to tow=, traer á remolque, remolcar =towards=, para con, hacia =to what extent?=, ¿hasta qué punto? =town=, ciudad, población, villa, pueblo =trade=, comercio =trade union=, asociación de obreros =train=, tren =to transport=, tra(n)sportar =to travel=, viajar =traveller= (commercial), viajante =traveller= (tourist, etc.), viajero =treasure=, tesoro =to treat=, =to try=, =to endeavour=, tratar =tree=, árbol =trial=, prueba, ensayo =trick=, engañifa =trifles=, pequeñeces =to trifle with=, burlarse =trifling amount=, una friolera =trimmings=, guarniciones, adornos =trouserings=, telas para pantalones =trousers=, pantalones =trunk=, baúl =truss=, fardito =trust=, confianza =trustworthy=, fidedigno =to trust=, confiar =trustee=, síndico =truth=, verdad =to try=, probar, tratar =Tuesday=, martes =Turkey red handkerchiefs=, pañuelos de Andrinópolis =turn for the worse=, empeoramiento =to turn=, volver =turnover=, giro =twill=, asargado, cruzado, aterlizado, diagonal =twine=, bramante =to twist=, torcer =tyres=, llantas =U= =umpire=, árbitro =uncertainty=, incertidumbre =uncle=, tío =under=, debajo de =to undersell=, malbaratar =to understand=, comprender, entender =to undertake=, comprometerse, emprender =undertaking=, empresa =uneasiness=, malcontento =unfavorable=, desfavorable =to unfold=, desplegar =unforeseen=, imprevisto =unhappy, unfortunate=, desdichado, infeliz =unless=, á menos que =unloading=, descarga =unnavigable=, innavegable =unprecedented=, sin precedente =unripe=, inmaturo, verde =unsuitability=, inconveniencia =until=, hasta que =unwillingly=, de mala gana =upon=, sobre =upright=, íntegro, cabal =to upset=, desconcertar =to urge=, apremiar, apresurar =to use for the first time=, estrenar =useful=, útil =usefulness=, utilidad =utility=, utilidad =V= =vagabonds, (company of)=, hampa =value=, valor =valve=, válvula =variety=, variedad =varnish=, el barniz =velvet=, terciopelo =velveteen=, pana =venture=, ensayo =very=, muy =vest=, chaleco =via=, vía =to vie with=, trabajar, ir, á porfía, habérselas con =view=, vista =villa=, quinta =village=, pueblo =vineyards=, viñas =violet=, violeta =virtue=, virtud =to visit=, visitar =vivid=, vivo =vividly=, vivamente =viz=., es decir, á saber =vocabulary=, vocabulario =W= =wages=, sueldo =waistcoat=, chaleco =to wait for=, esperar =to wait upon=, visitar =to wake up=, despertar =walk=, paseo =to walk=, andar =to want=, necesitar, querer =to be wanted=, hacer falta =to be wanting=, faltar =want of foresight=, imprevidencia =war=, guerra =warehouse=, almacén =warehouseman=, almacenero, dependiente de almacén =to warn=, advertir =to take warning=, escarmentar =warrant=, cédula =to warrant=, justificar =to waste=, desperdiciar, malgastar =waste-paper basket=, cestilla =watch=, reloj =to watch over=, vigilar =water=, agua =way=, manera, modo, vía =wealth=, riqueza =wealthy=, acaudalado =to wear=, gastar, llevar =to wear for the first time=, estrenar =wearing apparel=, vestidos, ropa, hato =to weave=, tejer =weaver=, tejedor =webbing=, tejido elástico =Wednesday=, miércoles =week=, semana =weight=, peso =to welcome=, agasajar =well=, bien, pues =west=, oeste =to wet=, bañar =whale=, ballena =what=, qué (_inter_.), lo que =wheat=, trigo =when=, cuando =whenever=, cuandoquiera =where=, donde =wherever=, dondequiera =whether=, si, sea que =which=, que, el cual =whichever=, cualquiera =while=, mientras =whim=, antojo =Whitsuntide=, Pentecostés =white=, blanco =who=, que, quien, el cual =whoever=, quienquiera, cualquiera =wholesale=, al por mayor =whom=, quien =whose=, cuyo =wicked=, malo =widower=, víudo =width=, anchura, ancho =wife=, mujer, esposa =will=, voluntad =to win=, vencer =to win over=, granjearse =wind=, viento =window=, ventana =wine=, vino =wine (_adj_.)=, vinícolo =winsome=, simpático =winter=, invierno =wireless=, radiograma =wise=, juicioso, sabio =to wish=, desear =to wish to have=, querer =wishful=, deseoso =with great effort=, á duras penas =within=, dentro de =without=, sin, sin que =woman=, mujer =to wonder=, maravillarse =to be wont=, soler =wood=, madera =wool=, lana =word=, palabra, vocablo =to work=, trabajar, obrar =to work (mines)=, explotar =workman=, obrero, operario =workshop=, taller =world=, mundo =world (_adj_.)=, mundial =worth=, valor =to be worth=, poseer, valer =to be worth while=, valer la pena =wound=, herida =to wound=, herir =wrap=, bata =wreck=, naufragar =to wreck=, echar á perder =to wrench=, arrancar =to write=, escribir =to write to each other=, escribirse =writer=, escritor =writing (_n_.)=, letra, escríto =writing desk=, escritorio =writing pad=, carpeta =written agreement=, contrato =to wrangle with someone=, habérselas con uno =on the wrong side=, al revés =Y= =yard=, yarda =yard (Spanish)=, vara =yarn=, hilado =year=, año =yellow=, amarillo =yes=, sí =yesterday=, ayer =yet=, todavía, aun =to yield, to submit=, ceder, darse á partido =young=, joven =young age=, juventud =young man, woman=, joven =youth=, juventud =Z= =zinc=, zinc APPENDIX I PRINCIPAL EXCEPTIONS TO THE RULE ON SPANISH GENDER BY TERMINATION 1. Words of Greek etymology ending in _ma_-- El dilema (the dilemma) El diploma (the diploma) El epigrama (the epigram) El problema (the problem) El síntoma (the symptom) El telegrama (the telegram) etc., etc. But La amalgama (the amalgamation) La diadema (the diadem) La estratagema (the stratagem) La proclama (the proclamation) 2. Most of the compound nouns (very few in number)-- El cortaplumas (the penknife) El guardacosta (the coasting-vessel) El paraguas (the umbrella) El tirabala (the popgun) 3. El día (the day) El Etna (Etna (volcano)) El mapa (the map) El sofá (the sofa) El Volga [210] (the Volga) And all words ending in accented _a_. [Footnote 210: And all rivers and mountains ending in _a_.] 4. Masculine nouns ending in _d_-- El adalid (the warrior or chieftain) El ardid (the trick) El ataúd (coffin) El césped (the turf, lawn) El sud (the south) 5. Masculine nouns ending in _ión_-- El embrión (the embryo) El gorrión (the sparrow) El morrión (parts of an armour) El sarampión (measles) 6. Feminine nouns ending in _i_ or _y_-- La diócesi (the diocese) La grey (the flock) La ley (the law) La metrópoli (the metropolis) Almost all. 7. Feminine noun ending in _j_-- La troj (the granary) 8. Feminine nouns ending in _l_-- La cal (lime) La capital (capital--town) La cárcel (prison) La col (cabbage) La miel (honey) La piel (skin) La sal (salt) La señal (signal) La vocal (vowel) And a few more. 9. Feminine nouns ending in _n_-- La cargazón (the load) La crin (the horsehair) La desazón (the ailment) La imagen (the image) La razón (the reason) La sinrazón (the injustice) La sartén (the frying-pan) La sien (the temple) Almost all. 10. Feminine nouns ending in _o_-- La mano (the hand) Only word, excepting "nao" (ship), now obsolete, and "seo" (cathedral), little used. 11. Feminine nouns ending in _r_-- La flor (the flower) La labor (the needlework) La segur (the axe) Almost all. 12. Feminine nouns ending in _s_-- La bilis (the bile) La crisis (the crisis) La elipsis (ellipsis) La lis (fleur-de-lis) La mies (the crop) La perífrasis (the periphrase) La tos (the cough) And a few others. 13. Feminine noun ending in _u_-- La tribu (the tribe) 14. Feminine nouns ending in _z_-- La codorniz (the partridge) La cerviz (the cervix) La cruz (the cross) La coz (the back-kick) La luz (the light) La nariz (the nose) La nuez (the nut) La pez (the pitch) La voz (the voice) La raíz (the root) La tez (the complexion) La vez (the time, once, etc., etc.) And a few others less important. 15. Feminine nouns ending in _e_. (This is the most numerous list of exceptions)-- Las aves (the birds) La barbarie (the barbarity) La base (the basis) La calle (the street) La carne (the flesh) La fiebre (the fever) La fuente (the fountain) El hambre (_f._), (the hunger) La mente (the mind) La noche (the night) La parte (the part) La quiete (the quiet) La sangre (the blood) La serpiente (the serpent) La torre (the tower) Besides the masculine and feminine genders, some nouns are called: de género común, epiceno, and ambiguo. The noun is called "de género común" (common gender) when with the same termination it may indicate both a male and female being by using a different article-- Un--una albacea (an executor, executrix) Un--una artista (an artist, artiste) Un--una Belga[211] (a Belgian) Un--una idiota (an idiot) Un--una indígena (a native) Un--una mártir (a martyr) Un--una reo (a culprit) Un--una culpable (a culprit) Un--una gimnasta (a gymnast) Un--una homicida (a murderer, a murderess) Un--una suicida (one who commits suicide) Un--una testigo (a witness) [Footnote 211: And so all nouns of nationality ending in _a_ or _e_.] The noun is called Epicene when, with the same termination and the same article, it indicates both male and female-- El águila (the eagle--male and female) El buitre (the vulture--male and female) El avestruz (the ostrich--male and female) La rata (the rat--male and female) Distinction would be made by adding "macho" or "hembra." El águila macho (the eagle--male) El avestruz hembra (the ostrich--female) N.B.--Most of the names of animals belong to this class. The term "ambiguo" is applied to nouns which are masculine or feminine, with different meaning, or the gender of which is not well defined-- Análasis (analysis), doubtful gender El aroma (the aroma) La aroma (the acacia flower) La _or_ el arte (the art) Los _or_ Las artes Las bellas artes (the arts, generally _fem_.) (the fine arts, always _fem_.) La barba (the beard) El barba (a character in Spanish plays) El cabecilla (chieftain or ringleader La cabecilla (the little head) of rebels) El calavera (the madcap) La calavera (the skull) El canal (the canal) La canal (the gutter) El capital (money) La capital (the town) El cólera (cholera) La cólera (wrath) El cometa (comet) La cometa (the kite, _toy_) El corte (the cut) La corte (the court) El cura (the priest) La cura (the cure) El doblez (the fold) La doblez (duplicity) El _or_ la dote (dowry), generally Las dotes (good parts, gifts), _fem_. in the _pl_. always _fem_. El fantasma (the phantom) La fantasma (the bogie-man) El frente (the front) La frente (the forehead) El haz (the sheaf) La haz (face, surface) Lente (lenses), doubtful gender La orden (command, order for El orden (order); as, buen orden goods, etc.) (good order) Las sagradas órdenes (holy orders) Las varias órdenes (various religious orders) El parte (report) La parte (part) El pendiente (ear-ring) La pendiente (slope) El pez (fish) La pez (pitch) El tema (exercise, theme) La tema (fear, obstinacy) Tilde (~), doubtful gender "Mar" (sea) is either Masc. or fem., but names of particular seas are all masculine-- El mar rojo (the Red Sea) El mar Caspio (the Caspian Sea) The compounds of "mar" are feminine-- Baja mar (low sea) Pleamar (high water) The following masculine nouns have their equivalent feminine formed by inflexion. N.B.--We omit those in which the inflexion consists of the change of the last vowel to _a_, or the addition of _a_, as-- El autor, la autora (the author, authoress) El holgazán, la holgazana (the lazy man, lazy woman) El primo, la prima (the cousin, _masc._ and _fem._) El vecino, la vecina (the neighbour, _masc._ and _fem._) El abad (abbot) La abadesa (abbess) El actor (actor) La actriz (actress) El barón (baron) La baronesa (baroness) El canónigo (canon) La canonesa (canoness) El cantor (singer) La cantatriz (singer) El conde (count) La condesa (countess) El diacono (deacon) La diaconisa (deaconess) El duque (duke) La duquesa (duchess) El elector (elector) La electriz (electress) El emperador (emperor) La emperatriz (empress) El filósofo (philosopher) La filosofesa (philosopher) El gallo (cock) La gallina (hen) El héroe (hero) La heroína (heroine) El poeta (poet) La poetisa (poetess) El principe (prince) La princesa (princess) El profeta (prophet) La profetisa (prophetess) El rey (king) La reina (queen) El sacerdote (priest) La sacerdotisa (priestess) El vizconde (viscount) La vizcondesa (viscountess) El Zar (czar) La Zarina (czarina) Notice also-- El asistente (assistant) La asistenta (assistant) El infante (child under 7; La infanta (child; Span. Royal also Span., Royal Prince) Princess) El pariente (relative) La parienta (relative) El presidente (president) La presidenta (president) El sirviente (manservant) La sirvienta (maidservant) There are only a few more of this class. N.B.-- Un abogado makes in the fem. Una muger abogado Un médico " " " " " médico Un comadrón " " " " comadre (midwife) The following nouns of persons and animals have two different forms to represent the two sexes-- El buey (ox) La vaca (cow) El caballo (stallion) La yegua (mare) El carnero (ram) La oveja (ewe) El fraile (friar) La soror (sister) El hombre (man) La muger (woman) El macho cabrío or cabrón (he-goat) La cabra (she-goat) El marido (husband) La muger (the wife) El padre (father) La madre (mother) El padrastro (step-father) La madrastra (step-mother) El padrino (god-father) La madrina (god-mother) El toro (bull) La vaca (cow) El yerno (son-in-law) La nuera (daughter-in-law) Many names of animals are either common, as-- El ánade, la ánade (the duck) El liebre, la liebre (the hare) El tigre, la tigre (the tiger, tigress) Or they change _o_ of the masculine into _a_ or add _a_, to form the feminine, as-- Un ganso (a gander) Una gansa (a goose) Un león (the lion) Una leona (a lioness) Un mulo (a mule) Una mula (a she-mule) Un pollino (an ass) Una pollina (a she-ass) Most are epicene as already stated (p. 246). APPENDIX II SPANISH COMMON NOUNS, IN ORDINARY USE, WHICH ARE USED ONLY IN THE PLURAL Afueras (environs) Aguaderas (frames to carry water) Albricias (reward for good news--also used as interjection: joy! joy!!) Andas (stretcher, also frame for carrying an image) Calendas (calends) Calzoncillos (drawers) Carnestolendas (carnival) Celos (jealously--"Celo"--zeal) Hacer cosquillas (to tickle) Despabilladoras (snuffers) Enaguas (skirt) Fauces (gullet) Modales (manners) Mientes--also Mente (the mind) Parrillas (gridiron) Puches (sort of fritters) Tenazas (tongs, pincers) Tijeras (scissors) Tinieblas (utter darkness) Víveres (victuals) Zaragüelles (kind of breeches) Note the following-- Á ciegas (blindly) Á ojos cegarritas (blindly) Á horcajadas (astride) Á hurtadillas (on the sly) Á sabiendas (knowingly) De puntillas (on tiptoe) Á tientas (groping) De bóbilis bóbilis (without toil) De bruces (on all fours) En ayunas (fasting) En volandas (in the air, off one's feet) The following plurals, besides the ordinary, have also a different meaning from the singular-- El alfiler (pin) Los alfileres (pins, pin-money) El día (day) Los días (days, birthday) La esposa (wife) Las esposas (wives, handcuffs) El grillo (the cricket) Los grilles (crickets, shackles) La letra (letter) Las letras (letters--literary knowledge) El padre (father) Los padres[212] (fathers, parents) [Footnote 212: In the same manner all masculine plurals include also the plurals of both genders, as: Hermanos (brothers, also brothers and sisters).] We make the following remarks on the plural of compound words. The elements which concur to the formation of compound nouns are-- A B Verbs Adjectives Prepositions Nouns Adverbs Participles Conjunctions Pronouns Prefixes GENERAL RULE-- The elements in A are invariable except: Un bullebulle (busybody), Unos bullebulles Un quehacer (occupation), Unos quehaceres Pasapasa (sleight of hand), Pasapasas (sleight of hand tricks) The elements in B take the mark of the plural: Alzacuello (minister's collar) Alzacuellos Alzapaño (curtain hook), Alzapañios Andaniño (child's cart), Andaniñios Antepasado (ancestor), Antepasados Ave María (a prayer), Ave Marías Cualquiera (whatever), Cualesquiera Entremetido (intruder, busybody), Entremetidos Gentilhombre (man of gentle birth), Gentileshombres Guardafuego (fire-guard), Guardafuegos Hijodalgo (squire), Hijosdalgo Pasamano (handrail, lace-edgings), Pasamanos Pasatiempo (pastime), Pasatiempos Picaparte (latch or latchkey), Picapartes Pisaverde (beau), Pisaverdes Portaestandarte (standard bearer), Portaestandartes Portafusil (musket-sling), Portafusiles Puercoespín (porcupine), Puercosespines Quienquiera (whoever), Quienesquiera Quitasol (parasol), Quitasoles Ricahembra (woman of gentle birth), Ricashembras Sobrecama (counterpane), Sobrecamas Sobredicho (aforesaid), Sobredichos Tapaboca (slap on the mouth), Tapabocas Tirabotón (button-hook), Tirabotones N.B.--When the second of the two words commences with _r_ this letter should be doubled-- Ropa (clothes), guardarropa (wardrobe), guardarropas (pl.) In compound nouns (very rare) formed of two nouns of which the first stands as an adjective to the second, the first noun remains invariable, the second only taking the mark of the plural-- Ferrocarril (railway), Ferrocarriles Madreselva (honeysuckle), Madreselvas In the following compound nouns formed of an adjective and a noun, the adjective remains invariable in the plural, as-- Bajamar (low tide), Bajamares Bajorelieve (bas-relief), Bajorelieves Belladona (belladonna), Belladonas Blancomanjar (blanc-mange), Blancomanjares Plenamar (full tide), Plenamares Salvoconducto (safe conduct), Salvoconductos Salvaguardia (safeguard), Salvaguardias Santa Bárbara (powder magazine), Santa Bárbaras In compound nouns formed of two words, the first of which has suffered the loss or change of a letter, this first component remains invariable-- (N.B.--Many such words are found in Spanish.) Artimaña (trick), Artimañas Barbicano (white-bearded man), Barbicanos Barbilindo (beardless man), Barbilindos Boquirrubio (rosy-lipped), Boquirrubios Cojitranco (lame fellow--disparagingly), Cojitrancos Cuellierguido (stiff-necked man), Cuellierguidos Gallipavo (turkey), Gallipavos Manirroto (spendthrift), Manirrotos Marisabidilla (blue stocking), Marisabidillas Ojinegro (black-eyed), Ojinegros Ojizarco (blue-eyed), Ojizarcos Patizambo (bandy-legged), Patizambos Pechicolorado (robin redbreast), Pechicolorados Pleamar (high tide), Pleamares Tragicomedia (tragi-comedy), Tragicomedias Viandante (wayfarer), Viandantes The following make their plural as follows-- Bancarrota (bankruptcy), Bancarrotas Coliflor (cauliflower), Coliflores Dares y tomares (wrangling), used only in _pl._ Dimes y diretes (ifs, ands and buts), used only in _pl._ Don Diego de noche (four o'clocks--flower), Don Diegos de noche Maritornes (ill-shaped woman), Maritornes Parabién (compliment), Parabienes Vaivén (vibration), Vaivenes The following are examples of the large class of nouns (compound) formed with a verb or adverb and a plural noun and which are used for both numbers-- Azotacalles (idler) Buscavidas (pryer) Cortaplumas (penknife) Chupaflores (humming-bird) Destripaterrones (navvy) Lavamanos (wash-hand stand) Limpiabotas (boot-black) Matamoros (boaster) Mondadientes (toothpick) Papahueros (ninny) Papamoscas (ninny) Papanatas (ninny) Paracaídas (parachute) Paraguas (umbrella) Pelagatos (ragamuffin) Pintamonas (slap-dasher or bad partner) Sacacorchos (corkscrew) Salvavidas (life-boats) Sepancuantos (slap or blow) The following also are used for both numbers without alteration-- Correveidile (tale-bearer) Hazmereir (laughing-stock) Metomentodo (busybody) Paternoster (Lord's Prayer) Quitaipón (ornament for headstall of draught beasts) Sábelotodo (presumptious man) Sinvergüenza (barefaced man) APPENDIX III PRINCIPAL NAMES OF COUNTRIES, TOWNS, ETC., (WITH CORRESPONDING SPANISH ADJECTIVES) Abisinia (abisinio), Abyssinia Adrianópolis, Adrianopole África (africano), Africa Álava (alaveño, alavés), Alava Albania (albanés), Albania Alcalá de Henares (complutense), Alcalá Alemania (alemán), Germany Alicante (alicantino), Alicante Alsacia (alsaciano), Alsatia Amberes, Antwerp América (americano), America Andalucía (andaluz), Andalusia Antillas (antillano), West Indies Arabia (árabe, arábigo), Arabia Aragón (aragonés), Arragon Argel (argelino), Algiers Argentina (argentine), Argentine Armenia (armenio), Armenia Asia (asiático), Asia Atenas (ateniense), Athens Austria (austríaco), Austria Ávila (abulense), Avila Barcelona (barcelonés), Barcelona Basilea, Basle Baviera (bávaro), Bavaria Belén, Bethlehem Bélgica (belga, bélgico), Belgium Bilbao (bilbaíno), Bilbao Bohemia (bohemo), Bohemia Bolivia (boliviano), Bolivia Bolonia (boloñés), Bologna Brasil (brasileño), Brazil Bretaña (bretón), Brittany Brujas, Bruges Bruselas, Brussels Buenos Aires (bonaerense, porteño), Buenos Aires Bulgaria (búlgaro), Bulgaria Burdeos, Bordeaux Burgos (burgalés), Burgos Cádiz (gaditano), Cadiz Calabria (calabrés), Calabria Caldea (caldeo), Chaldaea Canadá (canadiense), Canada Canarias (canario), Canary Islands Caracas (caraqueño), Caracas Cartago (cartaginés), Carthage Castilla (castellano), Castille Cataluña (catalán), Catalonia Cerdeña (sardo), Sardinia Chile (chileno), Chili China (chino), China Colombia (colombiano), Colombia Copenhague, Copenhagen Córdoba (cordobés), Cordova Córcega (corso), Corsica Corfú (corfiota), Corfu Dardanelos, Dardenelles Dinamarca (danés, dinamarqués), Denmark Dresde, Dresden Ecuador (ecuatoriano), Equador Egipto (egipcio), Egypt Escocia (escocés), Scotland Esmirna, Smyrna España (español), Spanish Estocolmo, Stockholm Etiopia (etíope), Ethiopia Europa (europeo), European Extremadura (extremeño) Extremadura Fenicia (fenicio), Phoenician Filipinas (filipino), Philippine Islands Flandes (flamenco), Flanders Florencia (florentino), Florentine Francia (francés), France Gales (galés), Wales Galicia (gallego), Galicia (Spain) Gascuña (gascón), Gascony Génova (genovés), Genoa Gibraltar (gibraltareño), Gibraltar Ginebra (ginebrino), Geneva Gran Bretaña (británico), Great Britain Granada (granadino), Granada Grecia (griego), Greece Guadalajara (guadalajareño), Guadalajara Guatemala (guatemalteco), Guatemala Guipúzcoa (guipuzcoano), Guipuzcoa Habana (habanero, habano), Havannah Holanda (holandés), Holland Honduras (hondureño), Honduras Hungría (húngaro), Hungary India (indios), India Inglaterra (inglés), England Irlanda (irlandés), Ireland Italia (italiano), Italy Japón (japonés), Japan La Mancha (manchego), La Mancha León (leonés), Leon (Spain) Lieja, Liège Lima (limeño), Lima Liorna (liornés), Leghorn Lisboa (lisbonense), Lisbon Lombardia (lombardo), Lombardy Londres (londinense), London Macedonia (macedonio), Macedonia Madrid (madrileño), Madrid Málaga (malagueño), Malaga Malta (maltés), Malta Mallorca (mallorquín), Majorca Maracaibo (maracaibero), Maracaibo Marruecos (marroquí), Morocco Marsella (marsellés), Marseilles Menorca (menorquín), Minorca Méjico (mejicano), Mexico Murcia (murciano), Murcia Nápoles (napolitano), Naples Navarra (navarro), Navarre Normandia (normando), Normandy Noruega (noruego), Norway Pamplona (pamplonés), Pamplona Paraguay (paraguayano), Paraguay Paris (parisiense), Paris Persia (persa _or_ persiano), Persia Perú (peruano), Peru Piamonte (piamontés), Piedmont Polonia (polaco), Poland Portugal (portugués), Portugal Puerto Rico (portorriqueño), Porto Rico Roma (romano), Rome Rumania (rumano), Roumania Rusia (ruso), Russia Saboya (saboyardo), Savoy Sajonia (sajón), Saxony Salamanca (salmantino, salamanques), Salamanca Salvador (salvadoreño), Salvador San Sebastian (donostiarra), San Sebastian Serbia (serbio), Serbia Sevilla (sevillano), Seville Sicilia (siciliano), Sicily Suecia (sueco), Sweden Suiza (suizo), Switzerland Tetuán (tetuaní), Tetuan Troya (troyano), Troy Túnez (tunecino), Tunis Turquía (turco), Turkey Uruguay (uruguayano), Uruguay Valencia (valenciano), Valencia Valladolid (valisoletano), Valladolid Varsovia (varsoviano), Warsaw Vascongadas, Provincias (vascongado, vascuence), Basque Provinces Venecia (veneciano), Venice Venezuela (venezolano), Venezuela Vera Cruz (veracruzano), Vera Cruz Viena (vienés), Vienna Vigo (vigués), Vigo Vitoria (vitoriano), Vitoria Yucatán (yucateco), Yucatan Zaragoza (zaragozano), Zaragoza APPENDIX IV AUGMENTATIVES AND DIMINUTIVES[213] [Footnote 213: The terminations _ón_ and _ito_ or _ico_ may be taken by practically all nouns (avoiding cacophony, as: Pantalonón, habitacionóna, etc.); the others may not and consequently should not be used by students, until learnt by practice.] Bestiecita (little beast) Bestiezuela (little beast) (disparaging) Chiquito (little child) Chiquitín (little child) Florecita (little flower) Florecilla (little flower) (insignificant) Hombrón (big, tall man) Hombrote (big, tall man) (disparaging) Hombracho (big, tall man) (disparaging) Hombrachón (big, tall man) (disparaging) Hombrazo (big, tall man) (disparaging) Hombronazo (big, tall man) (disparaging) Juanito (little John) Labradorcito (little labourer) Lagarto--Lagartija (little lizard) Lío--Liecito (little bundle) Librón (large, big book) Librazo (large, big book) (disparaging) Libracho (large, big book) (disparaging) Librote (large, big book) (disparaging) Llavín (little key, latchkey) Manuel--Manolo (little Manuel) Manuel--Manolito (little Manuel) Madrecita (little mother) Madrecica (little mother) Pajarraco (big bird) (disparaging) Papelón (large paper) Plazoleta (little square) Reinecita (little queen) Tamborcito[214] (little drum) Tamborcico (little drum) [Footnote 214: _Ito_ is more Castillian. _Ico_ is more Aragonese. They are both used.] We repeat that the peculiarity of Augmentative and Diminutive terminations (with the exception of the Augment. _on_, which denotes only increase) is that besides the idea of increase or diminution a further disparaging or endearing meaning is implied although not _distinctly defined_. These terminations in many cases substitute the use of adjectives to great advantage, and are largely used by Spaniards, especially the diminutives which, for this reason, should be carefully noticed. A diminutive noun can also be further qualified by an adjective, as-- Mi padre me regaló este gracioso librito: My father made me a present of this pretty little book. Diminutives can be made of Augmentatives and vice-versa-- Escoba (broom), Escobilla, Escobillón Sala (drawing-room), Salón, Saloncillo If a masculine noun ends in _a_ its diminutive also ends in _a_-- Un drama (drama), Un dramita Un poema (poem), Un poemita But not nouns that indicate male persons-- Papá (Papa), Papaíto Although _ón_ and _ote_ are generally augmentative terminations, in the following words and a few more, they are used as diminutives-- Calle (street) Callejón (narrow street, alley) Carro (cart) Carretón (little cart) Isla (island) Islote (little barren island) Torre (tower) Torrejón (turret) Besides Augmentative and Diminutive terminations, there are some terminations which, without indicating increase or decrease, are used to indicate disparagement pure and simple-- Calducho (bad broth) Gentualla (mob) Gentuza (insignificant people) Libraco (nasty book) Madrastra (step-mother) Medicastro (bad doctor) Mujeruca (old wife, gossip) Poetastro (bad poet) The Augmentative and Diminutive terminations (especially the latter) are found added to adjectives and, although more rarely, to other parts of speech also. They must be learnt by practice, however, as they cannot be used indiscriminately. EXAMPLES-- El picarillo (picaruelo) quiere el otro cuello que es más blanquito: The little rogue wants the other collar which is nice and clean (lit., whiter). Como me gusta la blanca nieve acabadita de caer: How pretty is the snow just newly fallen. Mira á aquella chica tan bien vestidita de azul: Look at that little girl so prettily dressed in blue Vino callandito: He came in as quietly as a mouse. Vive cerquita de nuestra casa: He lives quite close to our house. Poquito á poco hila la vieja el copo (proverb): Little by little the old woman spins her distaff (Slow and sure wins the race) Translation of the English "ish" after colours-- Amarillento (yellowish) Azulado (bluish) Azulino (bluish) Blanquecino (whitish) Morenito (brownish) Que tira á moreno (brownish) Negruzco (blackish) Pardusco (greyish) Que tira á pardo ó gris (greyish) Rojizo (reddish) Verdoso (greenish) Verdusco (greenish) Notice also-- Anaranjado (orange-coloured) Avellanado (nut-coloured, tawny) Celeste (sky-blue) Dorado (golden) Pajizo (straw-coloured) Perlino (pearl-coloured) Plateado (silvery) Rosado (rose-coloured, pink, rosy) Terreo (ashen-pale) Trigueño (brown, wheat-coloured) APPENDIX V VERBS WHICH DIFFER IN REGIMEN FROM THEIR ENGLISH EQUIVALENTS. EXTRACTED FROM THE GENERAL LIST OF THE GRAMMAR OF THE SPANISH ACADEMY[215] [Footnote 215: This list is comprehensive, but not exhaustive; some of these verbs, besides the preposition given, may be followed by others. Practice in reading is the best master.] Abordar (una nave) á (_or_ con) otra: To board (a ship). Abrasarse en deseos: To be burning with desire. Abundar de (_or_ en) riquezas: To abound with riches. Abusar de la amistad: To abuse friendship. Acertar con la casa: To find the right house. Adelantarse á otros: To take the start on others. Admirarse de un suceso: To wonder at an event. Aficionarse á alguna cosa: To grow fond of anything. Alejarse de su tierra: To depart from one's country. Alimentarse con (_or_ de) yerbas: To feed on vegetables. Anticiparse á otro: To forestall another. Apiadarse con los pobres: To have pity on the poor. Aportar á Barcelona: To put into Barcelona. Apreciar en mucho: To appreciate highly. Arder de cólera: To burn with anger. Armarse de paciencia: To arm oneself with patience. Arrimarse á la pared: To lean against the wall. Arrostrar (con (_or_ por)) los peligros: To face the dangers. Atender (á) los negocios: To attend to business. Aventajarse á otros: To excel others. Bañar con (de _or_ en) lágrimas: To bathe with tears. Barbear con la pared: To run against the wall. Brindar á la salud de alguno: To drink the health of someone. Brindar con regalos: To give presents. Burlarse de algo: To laugh at something. Caber de pies: There to be standing room. Calificar de docto: To call one learned. Cambiar una cosa con (_or_ por) otra: To exchange one thing for another. Campar por su respeto: To keep to oneself. Carecer de medios: To lack means. Casar _or_ casarse con alguno: To marry someone. Cesar de correr: To cease running. Cifrar su dicha en la virtud: To make one's happiness consist in virtue. Clavar á (_or_ en) la pared: To nail on the wall. Cojear del pie derecho: To limp with the right foot. Colgar de un clavo: To hang on a nail. Colmar de mercedes: To load with benefits. Comerciar con su crédito: To trade on one's credit. Comprar de (_or_ á) una persona: To buy from someone. Comprar al fiado: To buy on credit. Comprometerse á pagar: To undertake to pay. Confiar en (_or_ de) alguno: To trust anybody. Conservarse con (_or_ en) salud: To keep in good health. Contar con su auxilio: To count on his help. Contravenir á la ley: To contravene the law. Convenir al enfermo: To suit the patient. Correr con los gastos: To undertake the expense. Cortar por lo sano: To cut short (an argument, etc.). Cumplir á uno hacer una cosa: To be one's duty to do something. Chancearse con alguno: To joke with someone. Dañarse del pecho: To injure one's chest. Dar con la carga en el suelo: To throw down the load. Dar con quien lo entiende: To come across someone who understands it. Dar contra un poste: To knock against a post. Dar de barato: To grant for argument's sake. Darse por vencido: To give it up. Decir bien una cosa con otra: To match well together. Decir para sí: To say to oneself. Dejar de escribir: To cease writing, to fail to write. Demandar ante el juez (_or_ en juicio): To summon. Depender de alguno: To be dependent on someone. Desayunarse con chocolate: To breakfast on chocolate. Desconfiar de alguno: To mistrust one. Descuidarse de (_or_ en) su obligación: To neglect one's duty. Desfallecer de ánimo: To lose courage. Deshacerse de los géneros: To get rid of the goods. Detestar de la mentira: To hate lying. Disfrutar de buena renta: To enjoy a good income. Doblar por un difunto: To sound the death knell. Dudar de alguna cosa: To doubt something. Echar en tierra: To throw on the ground. Echar de casa: To turn out of the house. Echar de ver una cosa: To perceive (realise) a thing. Echarla de rico: To assume airs of a rich man. Embelesarse con alguna cosa: To go into raptures over anything. Embutir de algodón: To stuff with cotton. Enajenarse de alguna cosa: To do away with anything. Encargarse de algún negocio: To undertake a business. Encontrarse con un amigo: To meet a friend. Encuadernar á la rústica, en pasta: To bind in paper covers, in boards. Escarmentar con la desgracia: To take warning from misfortune. Esmerarse en alguna cosa: To take pains with anything. Fiarse á (de, en) alguno: To trust in anyone. Firmar de propria mano: To sign with one's own hand. Forrar de (con, en) pieles: To line with skins. Fumar en pipa: To smoke the pipe. Girar á cargo de alguno: To draw on someone. Girar sobre París: To draw on Paris. Guardarse de alguno: To guard against anybody. Gustar de bromas: To be fond of joking. Habérselas con otros: To wrangle, to have a bone to pick, to vie with Hacer de galán en un drama: To take the part of principal actor in a drama. Herir de muerte: To wound fatally. Hincarse de rodillas: To fall on one's knees. Hocicar con (contra, en) alguna cosa: To run against anything. Igualar (igualarse) á (_or_ con) otro: To equal another, to match. Indemnizar del perjuicio: To indemnify for the loss. Influir con el jefe: To influence the chief. Insistir en (sobre) una cosa: To insist on something. Inspirar una idea á alguno: To inspire anybody with an idea. Inundar de (_or_ en) agua: To flood with water. Librar á cargo de un banquero: To draw on a banker. Librar una letra sobre Paris: To draw a bill on Paris. Lindar (una tierra) con otra: To border on another. Llegar á la posada: To reach the inn. Llevarse bien con el vecino: To get on well with the neighbour. Llover á cantaros: To rain in bucketfuls. Maravillarse con (_or_ de) una noticia: To be surprised at some news. Marcar á fuego: To brand. Mejorar de condición: To improve in condition. Mejorar en tercio y quinto: To improve greatly. Oler á rosas: To smell of roses. Parecerse á otro: To be similar to another. Pensar en (sobre) alguna cosa: To think of something. Pensar para sí: To think to oneself. Perecerse de risa: To die with laughter. Pintar de azul: To paint blue. Poblar de árboles: To plant with trees. Ponerse á escribir: To commence writing. Prescindir de una cosa: To dispense with anything. Presumir de rico: To feign riches. Proveer á la necesidad pública: To provide the needs of the public. Quedar á deber: To remain owing. Quedarse con lo ajeno: To keep other people's property. Rebosar de alegría: To teem with joy. Recibir á cuenta: To receive on account. Recibir de criado: To admit as a servant. Recibir por esposa: To receive as a wife. Reclamar á fulano: To claim from so and so. Responder á la pregunta: To answer the question. Reventar de risa: To burst with laughter. Rodear de una pared: To surround with a wall. Saber á vino: To taste of wine. Salirse con la suya: To have one's own way. Salvarse á nado: To save oneself by swimming. Sentarse á la mesa: To sit down at table. Soñar con ladrones: To dream of thieves. Suplicar (apelar) de la sentencia: To appeal against the sentence. Tachar de ligero: To tax one with levity. Tener á menos hablar á uno: Not to deign to speak to one. Tenerse de pie: To stand on foot. Teñir de (en) negro: To dye black. Tomar á pecho: To take to heart. Tomar hacia la derecha: To turn to the right. Trabajar á destajo: To do work by the job. Trabarse de palabras: To quarrel. Transportar á lomo: To carry on one's back. Varar en la playa: To run aground. Velar á los muertos: To watch over the dead. Vengarse de una ofensa: To avenge an insult. Vengarse en el ofensor: To avenge oneself on the offender. Venir á casa: To come home. Ver de hacer algo: To try and do something. Vestir á la moda: To dress in the fashion. Vestir de máscara: To dress in fancy dress. Vestirse de paño: To dress in cloth. Vivir á su gusto: To live after one's taste. CONJUGATION OF THE REGULAR AND AUXILIARY VERBS The Simple tenses only are given--Compound tenses are formed with the verb "haber" followed by the past participle. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Infinitive | | | | | | Mood. | Hablar | Temer | Partir | Tener | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Pres. Part. | Hablando | Temiendo | Partiendo | Teniendo | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Past Part. | Hablado | Temido | Partido | Tenido | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Indic. Pres. | Hablo | Temo | Parto | Tengo | | | Hablas | Temes | Partes | Tienes | | | Habla | Teme | Parte | Tiene | | | Hablamos | Tememos | Partimos | Tenemos | | | Habláis | Teméis | Partís | Tenéis | | | Hablan | Temen | Parten | Tienen | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Indic. Imperf. | Hablaba | Temía | Partía | Tenía | | | Hablabas | Temías | Partías | Tenías | | | Hablaba | Temía | Partía | Tenía | | | Hablábamos | Temíamos | Partíamos | Teníamos | | | Hablabais | Temíais | Partíais | Teníais | | | Hablaban | Temían | Partían | Tenían | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| |Past Def. | Hablé | Temí | Partí | Tuve | | | Hablaste | Temiste | Partiste | Tuviste | | | Habló | Temió | Partió | Tuvo | | | Hablámos | Temimos | Partímos | Tuvimos | | | Hablasteis | Temisteis | Partisteis | Tuvisteis | | | Hablaron | Temieron | Partieron | Tuvieron | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Future | Hablaré | Temeré | Partiré | Tendré | | | Hablarás | Temerás | Partirás | Tendrás | | | Hablará | Temerá | Partirá | Tendrá | | | Hablaremos | Temeremos | Partiremos | Tendremos | | | Hablaréis | Temeréis | Partiréis | Tendréis | | | Hablarán | Temerán | Partirán | Tendrán | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Conditional. | Hablaría | Temería | Partiría | Tendría | | | Hablarías | Temerías | Partirías | Tendrías | | | Hablaría | Temería | Partiría | Tendría | | | Hablaríamos| Temeríamos | Partiríamos | Tendríamos | | | Hablaríais | Temeríais | Partiríais | Tendríais | | | Hablarían | Temerían | Partirían | Tendrían | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Pres. | Hable | Tema | Parta | Tenga | | | Hables | Temas | Partas | Tengas | | | Hable | Tema | Parta | Tenga | | | Hablemos | Temamos | Partamos | Tengamos | | | Habléis | Temáis | Partáis | Tengáis | | | Hablen | Teman | Partan | Tengan | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Imperf. | Hablase | Temiese | Partiese | Tuviese | |(1st form) | Hablases | Temieses | Partieses | Tuvieses | | | Hablase | Temiese | Partiese | Tuviese | | | Hablásemos | Temiésemos | Partiésemos | Tuviésemos | | | Hablaseis | Temieseis | Partieseis | Tuvieseis | | | Hablasen | Temiesen | Partiesen | Tuviesen | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Imperf. | Hablara | Temiera | Partiera | Tuviera | |(2nd form) | Hablaras | Temieras | Partieras | Tuvieras | | | Hablara | Temiera | Partiera | Tuviera | | | Habláramos | Temiéramos | Partiéramos | Tuviéramos | | | Hablarais | Temierais | Partierais | Tuvierais | | | Hablaran | Temieran | Partieran | Tuvieran | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Future. | Hablare | Temiere | Partiere | Tuviere | | | Hablares | Temieres | Partieres | Tuvieres | | | Hablare | Temiere | Partiere | Tuviere | | | Habláremos | Temiéremos | Partiéremos | Tuviéremos | | | Hablareis | Temiereis | Partiereis | Tuviereis | | | Hablaren | Temieren | Partieren | Tuvieren | |----------------------------------------------------------------------| | Imperative. | Habla | Teme | Parte | Ten | | | Hable | Tema | Parta | Tenga | | | Hablemos | Temamos | Partamos | Tengamos | | | Hablad | Temed | Partid | Tened | | | Hablen | Teman | Partan | Tengan | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ Auxiliary Verbs +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Infinitive | | | | | Mood. | Haber | Ser | Estar | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Pres. Part. | Habiendo | Siendo | Estando | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Past Part. | Habido | Sido | Estado | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Indic. Pres. | He | Soy | Estoy | | | Has | Eres | Estás | | | Ha | Es | Está | | | Hemos | Somos | Estamos | | | Habéis | Sois | Estáis | | | Han | Son | Estan | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Indic. Imperf. | Había | Era | Estaba | | | Habías | Eras | Estabas | | | Había | Era | Estaba | | | Habíamos | Éramos | Estábamos | | | Habíais | Erais | Estabais | | | Habían | Eran | Estaban | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Past Def. | Hube | Fuí | Estuve | | | Hubiste | Fuiste | Estuviste | | | Hubo | Fué | Estuvo | | | Hubimos | Fuimos | Estuvimos | | | Hubisteis | Fuisteis | Estuvisteis | | | Hubieron | Fueron | Estuvieron | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Future | Habré | Seré | Estaré | | | Habrás | Serás | Estarás | | | Habrá | Será | Estará | | | Habremos | Seremos | Estaremos | | | Habréis | Seréis | Estaréis | | | Habran | Serán | Estarán | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Conditional. | Habría | Sería | Estaría | | | Habrías | Serías | Estarías | | | Habría | Sería | Estaría | | | Habríamos | Seríamos | Estaríamos | | | Habríais | Seríais | Estaríais | | | Habrían | Serían | Estarían | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Pres. | Haya | Sea | Esté | | | Hayas | Seas | Estés | | | Haya | Sea | Esté | | | Hayamos | Seamos | Estemos | | | Hayáis | Seáis | Estéis | | | Hayan | Sean | Estén | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Imperf. | Hubiese | Fuese | Estuviese | | (1st form) | Hubieses | Fueses | Estuvieses | | | Hubiese | Fuese | Estuviese | | | Hubiésemos | Fuesemos | Estuviesemos | | | Hubieseis | Fueseis | Estuvieseis | | | Hubiesen | Fuesen | Estuviesen | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Imperf. | Hubiera | Fuera | Estuviera | | (2nd form) | Hubieras | Fueras | Estuvieras | | | Hubiera | Fuera | Estuviera | | | Hubiéramos | Fueramos | Estuvieramos | | | Hubierais | Fuerais | Estuvierais | | | Hubieran | Fueran | Estivieran | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Subj. Future | Hubiere | Fuere | Estuviere | | | Hubieres | Fueres | Estuvieres | | | Hubiere | Fuere | Estuviere | | | Hubiéremos | Fuéremos | Estuviéremos | | | Hubiereis | Fuereis | Estuviereis | | | Hubieren | Fueren | Estuvieren | |------------------------------------------------------------------| | Imperative | Hé | Sé | Está | | | Haya | Sea | Esté | | | Hayamos | Seamos | Estemos | | | Hayed | Sed | Estad | | | Hayan | Sean | Estén | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "SER" AND "ESTAR" (for easy reference). Ser is used-- i. To form the Passive Voice. ii. To denote an inherent quality. Estar is used-- i. To denote state in locality, viz., "to be" in a place. ii. To denote condition (as opposed to inherent quality). SUPPLEMENTARY RULES. Use Ser-- i. Before a noun (even if an adjective or an article intervenes). ii. When "to be" is used impersonally. iii. When "to be" denotes possession. iv. Before _pobre_, _rico_, _felis_, and _infeliz_. =APPENDIX VI= PRINCIPAL VERBS, THE LAST ROOT VOWEL OF WHICH CHANGES INTO A DIPHTHONG WHEN THE STRESS OF THE VOICE FALLS ON IT, AS--- =Pensar= (to think). _Pres. Ind._, Pienso, piensas, piensa,--,--, piensan. _Pres. Subj._, Piense, pienses, piense,--,--, piensen. _Imperative_, Piensa, piense,--,--, piensen. =Entender= (to understand). _Pres. Ind._, Entiendo, entiendes, entiende,--,--, entienden. _Pres. Subj._, Entienda, entiendas, entienda,--,--, entiendan. _Imperative_, Entiende, entienda,--,--, entiendan. =Sentir= (to feel). _Pres. Ind._, Siento, sientes, siente,--,--, sienten. _Pres. Subj._, Sienta, sientas, sienta, sintamos,[217] sintáis,[217] sientan. _Imperative_, Siente, sienta, sintamos,[217]--, sientan. =Acordar= (to agree). _Pres. Ind._, Acuerdo, acuerdas, acuerda,--,--, acuerdan. _Pres. Subj._, Acuerde, acuerdes, acuerde,--,--, acuerden. _Imperative_, Acuerda, acuerde,--,--, acuerden. =Mover= (to move). _Pres. Ind._, Muevo, mueves, mueve,--,--, mueven. _Pres. Subj._, Mueva, muevas, mueva,--,--, muevan. _Imperative_, Mueve, mueva,--,--, muevan. =Dormir= (to sleep).[216] _Pres. Ind._, Duermo, duermes, duerme,--,--, duermen. _Pres. Subj._, Duerma, duermas, duerma, durmamos,[217] durmáis,[217] duerman. _Imperative_, Duerme, duerma, durmamos,[217]--, duerman. [Footnote 216: _Morir_ (to die) is the only verb conjugated like _Dormir_; but past part. _Muerto_.] [Footnote 217: Notice the additional irregularities.] Principal Verbs conjugated like "Pensar"-- Acertar (to hit the mark) Acrecentar (to increase) Alentar (to encourage) Apretar (to squeeze) Arrendar (to lease, to hire) Asentarse (to sit down) Aterrar (to pull down) Atravesar (to cross) Calentar (to warm) Cegar (to blind) Cerrar (to shut, to close) Comendar (to commend) Comenzar (to begin) Confesar (to confess) Desmembrar (to dismember) Despertar (to awake) Empedrar (to pave) Empezar (to begin) Encerrar (to shut in) Enmendar (to correct) Gobernar (to govern) Manifestar (to manifest) Mentar (to mention) Negar (to deny) Plegar (to fold) Quebrar (to break) Recomendar (to recommend) Reventar (to burst) Temblar (to tremble) Tentar (to tempt, to attempt) Tropezar (to stumble) Principal Verbs conjugated like "Entender"-- Ascender (to go up) Atender (to attend) Condescender (to condescend) Contender (to contend) Defender (to defend) Descender (to descend) Encender (to light) Extender (to extend) Perder (to lose) Tender (to stretch) Verter (to shed, to spill) Principal Verbs conjugated like "Sentir"-- Adherir[218] (to adhere) Adquirir[218] (to acquire) Advertir[218] (to notice, to warn) Arrepentirse (to repent) Asentir (to assent) Consentir (to consent) Erguir (to erect, to raise) Hervir (to boil) Mentir (to lie) [Footnote 218: And all in _erir, irir, ertir_.] Principal Verbs conjugated like "Acordar"-- Acostarse (to go to bed) Almorzar (to breakfast) Apostar (to bet) Aprobar (to approve) Avergonzarse (to be ashamed) Colgar (to hang) Consolar (to comfort) Contar (to relate) Costar (to cost) Encontrar (to meet) Forzar (to force) Hollar (to tread) Mostrar (to show) Poblar (to people) Probar (to prove) Recordar (to remind, to remember) Renovar (to renew) Rodar (to roll) Rogar (to pray) Soldar (to solder) Soltar (to loosen) Sonar (to sound) Soñar (to dream) Tostar (to toast) Trocar (to exchange, to barter) Volar (to fly) Principal Verbs conjugated like "Mover"-- Absolver (_And all in _olver_) (to absolve) Cocer (to bake, to cook) Demoler (to demolish) Doler (to ache) Moler (to grind) Morder (to bite) Oler (to smell)[219] [Footnote 219: _Huelo_, etc., (because no words begin with _ue_).] Promover (to promote) Soler (to be accustomed) Torcer (to twist) LIST OF PRINCIPAL VERBS CONJUGATED LIKE "PEDIR"-- Ceñir (And all in _eñir_) (to gird) Competir (to compete) Concebir (to conceive) Corregir (to correct) Derretir (to melt) Elegir (to elect, to select) Embestir (to run down, to assail) Freir (to fry) Gemir (to moan) Impedir (to prevent) Medir (to measure) Regir (to rule, to govern) Reir (to laugh) Repetir (to repeat) Seguir (to follow) Servir (to serve) Vestir (to dress, to clothe) END ================================================== Transcriber's note: The edition of this book that was used to produce the document is as follows: ================================================== PITMAN'S COMMERCIAL SPANISH GRAMMAR BY C. A. TOLEDANO LATE LECTURER IN THE VICTORIA UNIVERSITY, MANCHESTER; EXTERNAL EXAMINER, UNIVERSITY OF BIRMINGHAM; H.M. ASSISTANT INSPECTOR FOR SPANISH; SPANISH MASTER AT THE MANCHESTER MUNICIPAL SCHOOL OF COMMERCE, MANCHESTER ATHENAEUM, ETC. _SECOND EDITION REVISED AND ENLARGED_ LONDON SIR ISAAC PITMAN & SONS, LTD., 1 AMEN CORNER, E. C. BATH, NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_ 2s 6d net =PITMAN'S COMMERCIAL FRENCH GRAMMAR=. By F.W.M DRAPER, M A. (Cantab.), _Licencié ès Lettres_. =ITALIAN=. By LUIGI RICCI, AND =GERMAN=. By JETHRO BITHELL =KEY TO COMMERCIAL SPANISH GRAMMAR= In crown 8vo, cloth, 66 pp, 2s. net. For Complete List of Pitman's Language Text-books, see Catalogue contained at the end of this book. PRINTED BY SIR ISAAC PITMAN & SONS, LTD, LONDON, BATH, NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE A MI SEÑOR PADRE, --LO QUE PUEDO _Reprinted_, 1917 
40617	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's Notes: Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently corrected. A list of other changes made can be found at the end of the book. Footnotes were sequentially numbered and placed at the end of each chapter. The page headers of the book on the odd numbered pages have been marked as [Header]. For this text version, diacritical marks that cannot be represented in plain text are shown in the following manner: Ligature [oe] is encoded as oe. p. 87: [O] o with macron above (dOucement). [E] e with macron above (doucemEnt). p. 283: [^] upside down V. Mark up: _italics_ =bold= PUBLICATIONS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER FRENCH SERIES No. III THE FRENCH LANGUAGE IN ENGLAND Published by the University of Manchester at THE UNIVERSITY PRESS (H. M. McKECHNIE, Secretary) 12 LIME GROVE, OXFORD ROAD, MANCHESTER LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. LONDON: 39 Paternoster Row NEW YORK: 443-449 Fourth Avenue and Thirtieth Street CHICAGO: Prairie Avenue and Thirty-fifth Street BOMBAY: 8 Hornby Road CALCUTTA: 6 Old Court House Street MADRAS: 167 Mount Road THE TEACHING AND CULTIVATION OF THE FRENCH LANGUAGE IN ENGLAND DURING TUDOR AND STUART TIMES WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER ON THE PRECEDING PERIOD BY KATHLEEN LAMBLEY, M.A. _Lecturer in French in the University of Durham_ _Sometime Assistant Lecturer in French in the University of Manchester_ MANCHESTER AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 12 LIME GROVE, OXFORD ROAD LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. LONDON, NEW YORK, BOMBAY, ETC. 1920 PUBLICATIONS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER No. CXXIX _All rights reserved._ PREFACE The present work, begun during the author's tenure of a Faulkner Fellowship in the University of Manchester, and completed in subsequent years, is an endeavour to trace the history of the teaching and use of French in England during a given epoch, ending with the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes and the Revolution of 1689, which events mark the beginning of a new period in the study of the French language in this country. No attempt has been made to treat the wider topic of French influence in England in its literary and social aspects (this has already been done by competent hands), though this side of the question is naturally touched upon occasionally by way of reference or illustration. I gladly take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to Professor L. E. Kastner, at whose suggestion this investigation was undertaken, for his generous assistance, and the unfailing interest he has shown in my work during the whole course of its preparation. I am likewise considerably indebted to Dr. Phoebe Sheavyn for helpful criticism and advice, to Professor Tout for kindly reading through the introductory chapter, and to Mr. J. Marks for a careful revision of the proofs and many useful indications. I owe a great deal to my father also, whose sympathetic advice and encouragement did much to lighten my task. Nor can I close this list of acknowledgments without recording my obligation to the Secretary of the Press, Mr. H. M. McKechnie, for the valuable assistance he has so freely given me during the progress of this volume through the Press. KATHLEEN LAMBLEY. DURHAM, _January 1920_. TABLE OF CONTENTS PART I INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER I PAGE THE THIRTEENTH AND FOURTEENTH CENTURIES 3 French grammars in mediaeval England--The use of the French language--Latin, French, and English vocabularies--French at the Universities--Popularity of French in the thirteenth century--Ceases to be a vernacular in England--Treatises for teaching French--A treatise on French verbs--The _Orthographia Gallica_--The _Tractatus Orthographiae_--T. H. Parisiis studentis--Walter de Bibbesworth--French in the schools and Universities--The fourteenth century--Treatises on French--The _Nominale_--Model letters--Recovery of English in the second half of the fourteenth century--Deterioration of Anglo-French--English in official documents and correspondence--Decline in use of French. CHAPTER II THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 26 Triumph of continental French over Anglo-French--"Doux françois de Paris" a foreign language--Standard of French taught in England--_Femina_--Treatises on Grammar--Barton's _Donait_--Epistolaries--Books of conversation in French--The Cambridge manuscript in French and English--First printed books for teaching French--Dialogues in French and English--Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde, and Pynson--French by conversation--Approaching improvement in the standard of French taught in England--Palsgrave's Grammar. PART II TUDOR TIMES CHAPTER I THE FRENCH LANGUAGE AT COURT AND AMONG THE NOBILITY 61 French at the Court of the Tudors--English neglected by foreigners--Latin a spoken language--Defective pronunciation of the English--Interest in modern languages awakened--French holds the first place--Its use in correspondence and in official documents--The French of Henry VIII., his courtiers, and the ladies--Of Anne Boleyn and the other Queens--Of the royal family, Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth--French tutors--Bernard André--French Grammars--Alexander Barclay's _Introductory_--Practice and Theory--Pierre Valence, tutor to the Earl of Lincoln--His _Introductions in French_--Fragment of a Grammar at Lambeth--French Humanists as Language masters--Bourbon and Denisot--England and the _Pléiade_. CHAPTER II FRENCH TUTORS AT COURT--GILES DUWES--JOHN PALSGRAVE--JEAN BELLEMAIN 86 French tutors at Court--John Palsgrave and Giles Duwes--Palsgrave's _Esclarcissement_--The pronunciation of French--His second and third books--The vocabulary--The _Introductorie_ of Duwes--His Dialogues--The methods of the two teachers--Dates of composition and editions--Attitude of the two teachers to each other--Duwes on English teachers of French--Palsgrave's claims--Palsgrave's acquaintance with French literature--Incidents in Duwes's career in England--His royal pupils--Palsgrave's teaching career--Mary Tudor his pupil--The Duke of Richmond, Gregory Cromwell, etc.--Palsgrave in the North, at Oxford, and in London--Jean Bellemain, tutor to Edward VI.--The King's French exercises--Intercourse with Calvin--Bellemain on French orthography--French tutor to Elizabeth--Her translations from the French--A. R. Chevallier. CHAPTER III THE INFLUENCE OF RELIGIOUS REFUGEES ON THE TEACHING OF FRENCH IN ENGLAND--OPENINGS FOR THEM AS TEACHERS--DEMAND FOR TEXT-BOOKS--FRENCH SCHOOLS IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND 114 Effects of the persecution of the Protestants on the teaching of French in England--Protestant refugees--Registers and returns of aliens--French churches in London--Reception and treatment of foreigners--Incivility of the common people--Courtesy of the gentry--Refugees received into English families--French in polite education--French tutors and text-books--Converse with foreigners--Shakespeare's French--Professional schoolmasters--No opening in the grammar schools--French schools--Du Ploich's school--His Treatise in French and English and method of teaching--His works in manuscript--Claude Holyband--His _French Schoolemaister_ and _French Littleton_--His French school--Holyband as private tutor--His method of teaching--Schools in connection with the French churches--Schools at Canterbury and elsewhere--Saravia's school at Southampton--Joshua Sylvester--Place of French in the public schools of Scotland--In the parish and private schools--No French grammars produced in Scotland. CHAPTER IV HUGUENOT TEACHERS OF FRENCH--OTHER CLASSES OF FRENCH TEACHERS--RIVALRIES IN THE PROFESSION--THE "DUTCH" AND ENGLISH TEACHERS 155 Importance of the Huguenot teachers in London--St. Paul's Churchyard the centre of the profession--The group of Normans--Robert Fontaine--Jacques Bellot--His French and English grammars, and _Jardin de Vertu_--The _French Methode_--G. de La Mothe--His French Alphabet and method of teaching--French teachers from the Netherlands--Roman Catholic schoolmasters--Objections raised against French teachers--The right of the English to teach French--John Eliote--His attack on French teachers--His love of Rabelais and debt to French literature--His 'merrie vaine'--The _Ortho-Epia Gallica_ and his other works. CHAPTER V METHODS OF TEACHING FRENCH--LATIN AND FRENCH--FRENCH AND ENGLISH DICTIONARIES--STUDY OF FRENCH LITERATURE 179 Usual methods of learning French--Reading and translation--Pronunciation--Rules of grammar--Importance of 'practice'--Latin and French text-books--Contrast of methods--Grammar and Practice--Books in French and English--French by translation--French dictionaries--Holyband's Dictionaries--Dictionary printed by Harrison--A place given to French in some Latin dictionaries--Veron--Baret--John Higgins--French-Latin dictionaries--Cotgrave's great French-English Dictionary--Sherwood's English-French Dictionary--Howell's editions of Cotgrave--The reading of French literature--Attitude of French teachers--Favourite authors--Histories and Memoirs of military life for soldiers and statesmen. CHAPTER VI FRENCH AT THE UNIVERSITIES 198 Latin the language of the Universities--Retention of the use of French formulae--Modern languages read--French a relaxation from 'severer studies'--French tutors and French grammars--Morlet's _Janitrix_--French grammars written in Latin--Antonio de Corro--John Sanford--Wye Saltonstall--Henry Leighton--French grammarians and teachers at Oxford--Robert Farrear--Pierre Bense--French teachers at Cambridge--Gabriel du Grès at Cambridge and Oxford--On the teaching of French--French at the Universities at the time of the Restoration--The French of the Universities and of the fashionable world--French at the Inns of Court--One-sidedness of the University curriculum--Steps taken to supplement it. CHAPTER VII THE STUDY OF FRENCH BY ENGLISH TRAVELLERS ABROAD 211 Travel in France and on the Continent--In the suite of ambassadors--Children in France--Course of studies--Girls in France--Objections to children being sent to France--France and Italy--Protests against travel--Prejudices against travel--Preference for France--Necessity of the French language--The travelling tutor--The age for travel--Literati as travelling tutors--Travel without a governor--Books on travel--'Methods' of travel--The study of French--Dallington and Moryson--Study of French before travel--French 'by rote'--Language masters for travellers--French grammars for travellers--Charles Maupas of Blois and his son--Antoine Oudin--Other grammars--Père Chiflet--The 'exercises'--Travellers at the Universities--At the Protestant Academies--Geneva--Isaac Casaubon--The 'idle traveller'--The 'beau'--Affectations of newly returned travellers--Commendation and censure of travel. CHAPTER VIII THE STUDY OF FRENCH AMONG MERCHANTS AND SOLDIERS 239 Merchants and the study of French--Text-books for merchants--Relations with the Netherlands--The 'book from Anvers'--Barlement's book of dialogues--Meurier's manuals for teaching French to the English in Antwerp--The study of French in the Netherlands--French for soldiers--The Verneys--John Wodroeph--The difficulty of the French language--Necessity of rules as well as practice--_The Marrow of the French Tongue_. PART III STUART TIMES CHAPTER I FRENCH AT THE COURTS OF JAMES I. AND CHARLES I.--FRENCH STUDIED BY THE LADIES--FRENCH PLAYERS IN LONDON--ENGLISH GENERALLY IGNORED BY FOREIGNERS 259 The French language in England in the time of the early Stuarts--In the royal family--French tutors--John Florio--Guy Le Moyne--Massonet--Sir Robert Le Grys--French among the ladies--Erondelle's _French Garden_ for English ladies--His dialogues--His career as a teacher--His earlier works--The French Queen of England--French plays in London--The English language neglected by foreigners--English literature ignored in France--English players abroad--The study of English--English grammars for foreigners in England--French teachers and merchants further the study of English--Provision for teaching English in the Netherlands and in France. CHAPTER II FRENCH GRAMMARS--BOOKS FOR TEACHING LATIN AND FRENCH--FRENCH IN PRIVATE INSTITUTIONS 281 Robert Sherwood, teacher of French and English--His school and _French Tutour_--William Colson, another English teacher--His 'method' and writings--Maupas's French grammar in England--William Aufeild--How to study French--The _Flower de Luce_--Laur du Terme on the teaching of French--Paul Cogneau's French grammar--His method--Continued use of the sixteenth-century French grammars--Latin and French--Latin school-books adapted to teaching French--Books for teaching Latin and French together--The _Janua_ of Comenius--Wye Saltonstall--De Grave--French in private institutions--The _Museum Minervae_--Gerbier's Academy--French in schools for ladies. CHAPTER III THE "LITTLE BLOIS" IN LONDON 301 The Blois group of French teachers--Claude Mauger and his French grammar--Its popularity and development--Mauger's Letters--Other writings--Life in London--Teaches English--Mauger's method of teaching--Mauger at Paris--The demand for his grammar abroad--Paul Festeau--His French and English grammars--Editions and contents--Pierre Lainé--His French grammar--Encouragement of the study of French literature. CHAPTER IV THE FRENCH TEACHING PROFESSION AND METHODS OF STUDYING THE LANGUAGE 319 Vogue of French romances in England--Dorothy Osborne--Pepys on French literature--His French books--French text-books and the _précieux_ spirit--William Herbert--His criticism of the French teaching profession--Rivalry among teachers--Need for protection--Herbert's later works--His early career in England--Quarrels with a minister of the French church--English gentry at the French church--Pepys a regular attender--French teachers encourage the practice--The method of 'grammar and rote'--French 'by rote'--Examples of how French was studied--Latin by grammar--Calls for reform--The case against grammar--French taught on the 'right method'--Attempts to teach Latin on the same lines as French--Contrast between the learning of Latin in England 'by grammar' and of French in France 'by rote.' CHAPTER V THE TOUR IN FRANCE 341 The Protestant schools and Academies--A group of English students at Saumur--Travellers at the French Universities--A method of travel--Attitude of the French teachers to the tour in France--Guide books--Routes followed--Favourite resorts for study--_Auberges_ and _pensions_--Language masters in France--Grammars for travellers--Howell's instructions for travellers--Suitable books for students--The 'Grand' and 'Petit' Tour in France--Paris--Inexperienced young travellers--Sir John Reresby in France. CHAPTER VI GALLOMANIA AFTER THE RESTORATION 361 Gallomania in England after the Restoration--The royal family in France--Their knowledge of the language--English courtiers and gentry in France--Men of letters in France--French and the French at the English court after the Restoration--French 'salons' London--French valets, cooks, dancing masters, tailors--The French language--French among the ladies--The 'Frenchified' lady--The 'beaux' or English 'monsieurs'--French influence at the theatre--Popularity of French actors in London. CHAPTER VII THE TEACHING OF FRENCH AND ITS POPULARITY AFTER THE RESTORATION 381 French grammars after the Restoration--Pierre de Lainé, tutor to the children of the Duke of York--The _Princely Way to the French Tongue_--Guy Miège--His Dictionaries--His French Grammars--His method of teaching--Rote and grammar--Miège's other works--Other French Grammars--Pierre Berault--The universality of French--Supremacy over Latin in the world of fashion and diplomacy--Position of French in the educational world--The classics read in French--'All learning now in French'--French recognized by writers on education--Projects for reformed schools--Numerous French schools in and about London--Villiers' school at Nottingham--Academies for ladies--Academies for training gentlemen in the necessary social accomplishments and for business--Effects of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. APPENDICES I CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF MANUALS AND GRAMMARS FOR TEACHING FRENCH TO THE ENGLISH 403 II BIBLIOGRAPHY, ARRANGED ALPHABETICALLY, OF MANUALS FOR TEACHING THE FRENCH LANGUAGE TO THE ENGLISH, FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY TO THE END OF THE STUART PERIOD 410 INDEX 429 PART I INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER I THE THIRTEENTH AND FOURTEENTH CENTURIES The first important grammar of the French language was printed in England and written by an Englishman. This enterprising student was John Palsgrave, "natyf de Londres et gradué de Paris," whose work, entitled _L'Esclarcissement de la langue francoyse_, was published in 1530. It is an enormous quarto of over a thousand pages, full of elaborate, detailed and often obscure rules, written in English in spite of the French title. It was no doubt the solid value and exhaustiveness of Palsgrave's work which won for it the reputation of being the earliest grammar of the French language.[1] Yet Palsgrave himself informs us that such was not the case, though he claims to be the first to lay down 'absolute' rules for the language. The kings of England, he declares, have never ceased to encourage "suche clerkes as were in theyr tymes, to prove and essay what they by theyr dylygence in this matter myght do." "This like charge," he continues, "have dyvers others had afore my dayes ... many sondrie clerkes have for their tyme taken theyr penne in hande.... Some thyng have they in writing lefte behynde them concerning into this mater, for the ease and furtheraunce as well of suche as shilde in lyke charge after them succede, as of them whiche from tyme to tyme in that tong were to be instructed ... takyng light and erudition of theyr studious labours whiche in this matter before me have taken paynes to write.... I dyd my effectuall devoire to ensertche out suche bokes as had by others of this mater before my tyme ben compyled, of which undouted, after enquery and ensertche made for them dyvers came into my handes as well suche whose authors be yet amongst us lyveng, as suche whiche were of this mater by other sondrie persons longe afore my dayes composed." The living predecessors to whom Palsgrave refers--authors of short works of small philological value, but of great interest to-day as evidence of the wide use of the French language in England--were likewise acquainted with earlier works on the subject. Giles Duwes, tutor in French to Henry VIII. and other members of the royal family, frequently invokes the authority of the 'olde grammar.' The poet Alexander Barclay, in his French Grammar of 1521, informs us that "the said treatyse hath ben attempted of dyvers men before my dayes," and that he had "sene the draughtes of others" made before his time; moreover, in times past, the French language "hath ben so moche set by in England that who hath ben ignorant in the same language hath not ben reputed to be of gentyll blode. In so moche that, as the cronycles of englande recorde, in all the gramer scoles throughout englande small scolars expounded theyr construccyons bothe in Frenche and Englysshe." Thus the French grammarians in England in the early sixteenth century were acquainted with, and to some extent indebted to, a series of mediaeval treatises on the French language,--a type of work which, even at the time they wrote, was unknown on the Continent.[2] That England, before other countries, took on herself the study of the French language, was the result of events which followed the Conquest. From that time French had taken its place by the side of English as a vernacular. It was the language of the upper classes and landed gentry, the cultivated and educated; English was used by the masses, while all who read and wrote knew Latin, the language of clerks and scholars. For nearly three centuries after the Conquest almost all writings of any literary value produced in England were in French, though the bulk of composition was in Latin; English never ceased to be written, but was used in minor works for the most part. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that from an early date Latin was at times construed or translated into French[3] as well as English in the grammar schools, both languages serving as vernaculars. There are still extant examples of this custom,[4] dating from the twelfth century; for instance, a version of the psalter, in which the French words are placed above the Latin without any regard to the order of the French sentence.[5] Others are found in some of the first vocabularies written for the purpose of teaching Latin,[6] which consist of lists of words grouped round subjects and arranged, as a rule, in sentence form. Two of these works seem to have been particularly well known, judging from the number of manuscripts still in existence--those of the English scholars, Alexander Neckam (1157-1217) and John de Garlande, both of whom were indebted to France for most of their learning. Neckam, who in 1180 had attained celebrity as a Professor of the University of Paris, was the author of a Latin Vocabulary--_De Utensilibus_--which was glossed in Anglo-French.[7] In this he enumerates the various parts of a house and the occupations and callings of men, and gives scenes from feudal and agricultural life. The _Dictionarius_ (_c._ 1220) of John de Garlande, a student of Oxford and Paris, and one of the first professors of Toulouse University, deals roughly with the same topics.[8] It is glossed in both French and English--the sign of a later period--as was also a Latin vocabulary or _nominale_ of the names of plants,[9] dating from a little later in the same century, though probably existing in earlier manuscripts. At the universities a decided preference for French was shown in the rare occasions on which the use of a vernacular was allowed. The speaking of French was encouraged in some of the colleges at both Oxford and Cambridge, chiefly those belonging to the second set of foundations.[10] The scholars and fellows of Oriel could use either Latin or French in their familiar conversation and at meals. Similar injunctions were in force at Exeter and Queen's. Among the Cambridge colleges[11] the statutes of Peterhouse allow French to be used for "just and reasonable cause"; at King's it was permitted on occasion, and at Clare Hall French was countenanced only if foreigners were present as visitors. At Pembroke, founded by a Frenchwoman, Mary de Valence, special favour was shown to Frenchmen in the election of Fellows, provided that their total number did not exceed a quarter of the whole body.[12] The cosmopolitanism of the mediaeval centres of learning encouraged a number of such French students to come to England. In 1259, for instance, owing to the disturbed state of the University of Paris, Henry III. invited the Paris students to come to England and take up their abode wheresoever they pleased;[13] no doubt those who accepted his invitation settled at one or other of the two English universities. We also find in the Treaty of Bretigny (1360) a clause to the effect that the subjects of the French and English kings should henceforth be free to resume their intercourse and to enjoy mutually the privileges of the universities of the two countries, "comme ils povoient faire avant ces presentes guerres et comme ils font a present."[14] On the other hand, the English frequented the French universities in large numbers; at Paris in the thirteenth century they formed one of the four nations which composed the University.[15] The authors of the early Latin vocabularies, Alexander Neckam and John de Garlande, were both connected with the University of Paris, while most of the other English scholars of the period were indebted for much of their learning to the same great centre. Many, no doubt, could have written with Garlande: Anglia cui mater fuerat, cui Gallia nutrix Matri nutricem praefero mente meam.[16] In the thirteenth century French was still widely used in England. The fact that the fusion between conquerors and conquered was then complete,[17] and that at the same time French was very popular on the Continent undoubtedly helped to make its position in England stronger. It was then that the Italian Brunetto Latini wrote his _Livres dou Tresor_ (1265), in French rather than in his native tongue, because French was "plus delitable et plus commune à toutes gens." During the same century French came to be used in correspondence on both sides of the Channel.[18] Little by little it was recognized as the most convenient medium for official uses, and the language most generally known in these sections of society which had to administer justice.[19] In the second half of the thirteenth century Robert of Gloucester complained that there was no land "that holdeth not to its kindly speech save Englonde only," admitting at the same time, however, that ignorance of French was a serious disadvantage. An idea of the extent to which the language was current in England may be gathered from the fact that in 1301 Edward I. caused letters from the Pope to be translated into French so that they might be understood by the whole army,[20] and in the previous year the author of the _Miroir des Justices_ wrote in French as being the language "le plus entendable de la comun people." French, indeed, appears to have been used among all classes, save the very poorest;[21] some of the French literature of the time was addressed more particularly to the middle classes.[22] Nevertheless, as the thirteenth century advanced, French began to hold its own with some difficulty. While it was in the unusual position of a vernacular gradually losing its power as such, there appeared the earliest extant treatise on the language. This, and those that followed it, were to some extent lessons in the vernacular; yet not entirely, as may be judged from the fact that they are set forth and explained in Latin, the language of all scholarship. The first work on the French language, dating from not later than the middle of the thirteenth century, is in the form of a short Latin treatise on French conjugations,[23] in which a comparison of the French with the Latin tenses is instituted.[24] As it appeared at a time when French was becoming the literary language of the law, and was being used freely in correspondence, it may have been intended mainly for the use of clerks. A treatise of considerably more importance composed towards the end of the century, appears to have had the same purpose. That he did not intend it exclusively for clerks, however, the author showed by adding rules for pronunciation, syntax and even morphology as well as for orthography. Like most of the early grammatical writings on the French language, this _Orthographia Gallica_ is in Latin. The obscurity of many of its rules, however, called forth commentaries in French which appeared during the fourteenth century, and exceed the size of the original work. The _Orthographia_ was a very popular work, as the number of manuscripts extant and the French commentary prove. The different copies vary considerably, and there is a striking increase in the number of rules given; from being about thirty in the earliest manuscript, they number about a hundred in the latest.[25] It opens with a rule that when the first or middle syllable of a French word contains a short _e_, _i_ must be placed before the _e_, as in _bien_, _rien_, etc.--a curious, fumbling attempt to explain the development of Latin free short _e_ before nasals and oral consonants into _ie_. On the other hand, continues the author, _e_ acute need not be preceded by _i_, as _tenez_. It is not surprising that these early writers, in spite of much patient observation, should almost always have failed to grasp fundamental laws, and group a series of corresponding facts into the form of a general rule. We continually find rules drawn up for a few isolated examples, with no general application. The most striking feature in the treatment of French orthography in this work is the continual reference to Latin roots, and the clear statement of the principle that, wherever possible, the spelling of French words should be based on that of Latin. The _Orthographia_ does not by any means limit its observations to spelling; there are also rules for pronunciation, a subject which in later times naturally held a very important place in French grammars written for the use of Englishmen, while orthography became one of the chief concerns of French grammarians. That orthography received so much attention at this early period in this country, is explained by the fact that these manuals were partly intended for "clerks," who would frequently have to write in French. As to the pronunciation, we find, amongst others, the familiar rule that when a French word ending in a consonant comes before another word beginning with a consonant, the first consonant is not pronounced. An _s_ occurring after a vowel and before an _m_, writes the author, in another rule, is not pronounced, as in _mandasmes_, and _l_ coming after _a_, _e_, or _o_, and followed by a consonant is pronounced like _u_, as in _m'almi_, _loialment_, and the like. A list of synonyms[26] is also given, which throws some light on the English pronunciation of French at this period, and there are also a few hints for the translation of both Latin and English into French. Nor are syntax and morphology neglected; rules concerning these are scattered among those on orthography and pronunciation, with the lack of orderly arrangement characteristic of the whole work. Thus we are told to use _me_ in the accusative case, and _moy_ in all other cases; that we should form the plural of verbs ending in _t_ in the singular by adding _z_, as _il amet_, _il list_ become _vous amez_, _vous lisez_; that when we ask any one for something, we may say _vous pri_ without _je_, but that, when we do this, we should write _pri_ with a _y_, as _pry_, and so on. The claim of the _Orthographia Gallica_ to be the first extant work on French orthography, has been disputed by another treatise, also written in Latin, and known as the _Tractatus Orthographiae_. More methodically arranged than the _Orthographia_, this work deals more particularly with pronunciation and orthography.[27] It opens with a short introduction announcing that here are the means for the youth of the time to make their way in the world speedily and learn French pronunciation and orthography. Each letter of the alphabet is first treated in turn,[28] and then come a few more general observations. Like the author of the _Orthographia_, the writer of the _Tractatus_ would have the spelling of French words based on that of Latin whenever possible. He claims that his own French is "secundum dulce Gallicum" and "secundum usum et modum modernorum tam partibus transmarinis quam cismarinis." Though he apparently places the French of England and the French of France on the same footing, it is noteworthy that he carefully distinguishes between the two. The _Tractatus Orthographiae_ bears a striking resemblance to another work of like nature, which is better known--the _Tractatus Orthographiae_ of Canon M. T. Coyfurelly, doctor in Law of Orleans[29]--and for some time it was thought to be merely a rehandling of Coyfurelly's treatise which did not appear till somewhere about the end of the fourteenth century, if not later. But Coyfurelly admits that his work was based on the labours of one 'T. H. Parisii Studentis,' and there appears, on examination,[30] to be no doubt as to the priority of the anonymous _Tractatus_ described above, which, on the contrary, is evidently the treatise rehandled by Coyfurelly, and the work of 'T. H. Student of Paris.' Besides being the original which Coyfurelly recast in his _Tractatus_, it also appears that T. H. may reasonably dispute with the author of the _Orthographia Gallica_, the honour of being the first in the field. His work shows no advance on the rules given for pronunciation in the _Orthographia_, while the orthography is of a decidedly older stamp. At about the same time as these two treatises on orthography, probably a few years earlier, there was composed a work of similar purpose but very different character. It is of particular interest, and shows that, towards the end of the thirteenth century, French was beginning to be treated as a foreign language; the French is accompanied by a partial English gloss, and the author states that "touz dis troverez-vous primes le Frauncois et pus le Engleys suaunt." The author, Gautier or Walter de Bibbesworth,[31] was an Englishman, and appears to have mixed with the best society of the day. He was a friend of the celebrated statesman of the reign of Edward I., Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln. The only work by which his name is known to-day, in addition to the treatise in question, is a short piece of Anglo-Norman verse,[32] written on the occasion of the expedition of Edward I. to the Holy Land in 1270, shortly before he came to the throne. We gather from letters of protection granted him in that year that Bibbesworth himself took part in this venture. In this poem he is pictured discussing the Crusade with Lacy, and trying to persuade his friend to take part in it. The name of Bibbesworth also occurs several times[33] in official documents of no special interest, and as late as 1302 a writ of Privy Seal was addressed to the Chancellor suing for a pardon under the Great Seal to W. de Bibbesworth, in consideration of his good services rendered in Scotland, for a breach of the park of Robert de Seales at Ravenhall, and of the king's prison at Colchester.[34] Bibbesworth, however, interests us less as a crusader or a disturber of public order, than as the author of a treatise for teaching the French language, entitled _Le Treytyz qe mounsire Gauter de Bibelesworthe fist a ma dame Dyonisie de Mounchensy[35] pur aprise de langwage_. The large number of manuscripts still in existence[36] suggest that it was a popular text-book among the children of the higher classes of society. The treatise reproduces, as might be expected, the chief characteristics of the vocabularies for teaching Latin. In addition to giving a collection of words and phrases arranged in the form of a narrative, it also incidentally aims at imparting some slight grammatical information. Its contents are of a very practical character, and deal exclusively with the occurrences and occupations of daily life. Beginning with the new-born child, it tells in French verses how it is to be nursed and fed. Rime was no doubt introduced to aid the memory, as the pupil would, in all probability, have to learn the whole by heart. The French is accompanied by a partial interlinear English gloss, giving the equivalent of the more difficult French words. This may, perhaps, be taken as an indication of the extent to which French was regarded as a foreign language.[37] After describing the life of the child during its earliest infancy, Bibbesworth goes on to tell how it is to be taught French as soon as it can speak, "that it may be better learned in speach and held up to scorn by none": Quaunt le enfes ad tel age Ke il set entendre langage, Primes en Fraunceys ly devez dire Coment soun cors deyt descrivere, Pur le ordre aver de moun et ma, Toun et ta, soun et sa, _better lered_ Ke en parlole seyt meut apris _scorned_ E de nul autre escharnys. In accordance with this programme the parts of the human body, which almost invariably forms the central theme in this type of manual, are enumerated. Special care is taken to distinguish the genders and cases, to teach the children "Kaunt deivunt dire _moun_ et _ma_, _soun_ et _sa_, _le_ et _la_, _moy_ et _jo_ . . .," and to explain how the meaning of words of similar sound often depends on their gender: _lippe and an hare_ Vous avet la levere et le levere, _a pound_ _a book_ Et la livere et le livere. La levere si enclost les dens; Le levere en boys se tent dedens; La livere sert en marchaundye; Le livere nous aprent clergye. Throughout Bibbesworth seizes every opportunity to point out distinctions of gender of this kind, regardless, it appears, of the difference between the definite and indefinite articles. When the pupil can describe his body, the teacher proceeds to give him an account of "all that concerns it both inside and out" ("kaunt ke il apent dedens et deores"), that is of its clothing and food: Vestet vos draps mes chers enfauns, Chaucez vos brays, soulers, e gauns; Mettet le chaperoun, covrez le chef, etc. --a passage which illustrates the practical nature of the treatise, Bibbesworth's aim being to teach children to know the properties of the things they see ("les propretez des choses ke veyunt"). When the child is clothed, Bibbesworth next feeds him, giving a full account of the meals and the food which is provided, and, by way of variety, at the end of the dinner, he teaches his pupil the names given to groups of different animals, and of the verbs used to describe their various cries. ("Homme parle, cheval hennist," etc.). By this time the child is ready to observe Nature, and to learn the terms of husbandry,[38] and the processes by which his food is produced. From the fields he passes to the woods and the river, where he learns to hunt and to fish, subjects which naturally lead to the introduction of the French names of the seasons, and of the beasts and birds that are supposed to present themselves to his view. During the whole of this long category the verse form is maintained, and the intention of avoiding a vocabulary pure and simple is manifest. How superior this method was to the more modern lists of words separated from the context is also evident. Besides giving a description of all the objects with which the child comes in contact, and of all the actions he has to perform, as well as examples for the distinctions of genders and of _moy_ and _jo_--difficulties for which he makes no attempts to draw up rules--Bibbesworth claims for his work that it provides gentlemen with adequate instruction for conversational purposes ("tot le ordre en parler e respoundre ke checun gentyshomme covent saver"). And as he did not wish to neglect any of the items of daily life, he finally gives a description of the building of a house and various domestic arrangements, ending with a description of an old English feast with its familiar dish, the boar's head: Au primer fust apporté _a boris heued_ La teste de un sengler tot armé, _the snout_ _wit baneres of flurs_ E au groyn le colere en banere; E pus veneysoun, ou la fourmenté; Assez par my la mesoun _tahen of gres tyme_ De treste du fermeyson. Pus avyent diversetez en rost, Eit checun autre de cost, _Cranes_, _pokokes_, _swannes_ Grues, pounes, e cygnes, _Wilde ges_, _gryses_ (_porceaus_), _hennes_, Owes, rosées, porceus, gelyns; Au tercez cours avient conyns en gravé, Et viaunde de Cypre enfundré, De maces, e quibibes, e clous de orré, Vyn blanc e vermayl a graunt plenté. _wodekok_ Pus avoyunt fesauns, assez, et perdriz, _Feldefares larkes_ Grives, alowes, e pluviers ben rostez; E braoun, e crispes, e fritune; Ke soucre roset poudra la temprune. Apres manger avyunt a graunt plenté Blaunche poudre, ou la grosse dragé, Et d'autre nobleie a fusoun, Ensi vous fynys ceo sermoun; Kar de fraunceis i ad assez, De meynte manere dyversetez, Dount le vous fynys, seynurs, ataunt A filz Dieu vous comaund. Ici finest la doctrine monsire Gauter De Byblesworde. As time went on a conscious effort was made to retain the use of the French language in England. Higden, writing at about the middle of the fourteenth century,[39] informs us that English was then neglected for two reasons: "One is bycause that children than gon to schole lerne to speke first Englysshe and then ben compelled constrewe ther lessons in Frenssh"; "Also gentilmens children ben lerned and taught from theyr yougthe to speke frenssh.[40] And uplandish men will counterfete and likene them self to gentilmen and arn besy to speke frensshe for to be more sette by. Wherefor it is sayd by a common proverbe Jack wold be a gentilmen if he coude speke frensshe." At the University of Oxford, likewise, the Grammar masters were enjoined to teach the boys to construe in English and in French, "so that the latter language be not forgotten."[41] The same university gave some slight encouragement to the study of French. There were special teachers who, although not enjoying the privileges of those lecturing in the usual academic subjects, were none the less recognised by the University. They had to observe the Statutes, and to promise not to give their lessons at times which would interfere with the ordinary lectures in arts. The French teachers were under the superintendence of the masters of grammar, and had to pay thirteen shillings a year to the Masters in Arts to compensate them for any disadvantage they might suffer from any loss of pupils; if there was only one teacher of French he had to pay the whole amount himself. As for those learning "to write, to compose, and speak French," they had to attend lectures in rhetoric and grammar--the courses most akin to their studies[42]--and to contribute to the maintenance of the lecturers in these subjects, there being no ordinary lectures in French. In the meantime, more treatises for teaching French appeared; Bibbesworth's book soon found imitators, and early in the new century an anonymous author, clearly an Englishman, made free use of Bibbesworth in a treatise called _The Nominale sive Verbale in Gallicis cum expositione ejusdem in Anglicis_.[43] This anonymous writer[44] however, thought it necessary to make the interlinear English gloss much fuller than Bibbesworth had done, which shows that French had become more of a foreign language in the interval between the two works. He also placed the English rendering after the French, instead of above it. The later work differs further from the earlier in the order of the subject headings, as well as by the introduction of a few new topics. Enumerating the parts of the body,[45] as Bibbesworth had done, the author proceeds to make his most considerable addition to the subjects introduced by Bibbesworth in describing "la noyse et des faitz que homme naturalment fait": Homme parle et espire: _Man spekyth & vndyth._ Femme teinge et suspire: _Woman pantyth & syketh._ Homme bale et babeie: _Man dravelith & wlaffyth._ Femme bale et bleseie: _Woman galpyth & wlispyth._ He then describes all the daily actions and occupations of men: Homme va a la herce: _Man goth at the harewe._ Femme bercelet berce: _Woman childe in cradel rokkith...._ Enfant sa lessone reherce: _His lessone recordeth_, and so on for about 350 lines. Other additions are of little importance, and, for the rest, the author treats subjects first introduced by Bibbesworth, though the wording often differs to a certain extent.[46] When, towards the end of the thirteenth century, French began to be used in correspondence, need for instruction in French epistolary art arose; and early in the fourteenth century guides to letter-writing in French, in the form of epistolaries or collections of model letters, were produced.[47] The letters themselves are given in French, but the accompanying rules and instructions for composing them are in Latin. French and Latin have changed rôles; in earlier times Latin had been explained to school children by means of French. Forms for addressing members of the different grades of society are supplied, from epistles to the king and high state and ecclesiastical dignitaries down to commercial letters for merchants, and familiar ones for private individuals. Women, too, were not forgotten; we find similar examples covering the same range--from the queen and the ladies of the nobility to her more humble subjects. Each letter is almost invariably followed by its answer, likewise in French. Some contain interesting references to the great men or events of the day, but those of a more private nature possess a greater attraction, and throw light on the family life of the age. A letter from a mother to her son at school may be quoted:[48] Salut avesque ma beniçon, tres chier filz. Sachiez que je desire grandement de savoir bons nouelles de vous et de vostre estat: car vostre pere et moy estions a la faisance de ces lettres en bon poynt le Dieu merci. Et sachiez que je vous envoie par le portour de ces lettres demy marc pur diverses necessaires que vous en avez a faire sans escient de vostre pere. Et vous pri cherement, beau tres doulz filz, que vous laissez tous mals et folyes et ne hantez mye mauvaise compagnie, car si vous le faitez il vous fera grant damage, avant que vous l'aperceiverez. Et je vous aiderai selon mon pooir oultre ce que vostre pere vous donnra. Dieus vous doint sa beniçon, car je vous donne la mienne. . . . From about the middle of the fourteenth century a feeling of discontent with the prerogative of the French language in England becomes prominent. The loss of the greater part of the French possessions, and the continued state of hostilities with France during the reign of Edward III. brought home forcibly to the English mind the fact that the French were a distinct nation, and French a foreign tongue. This tardy recovery is sufficient proof of the strong resistance which had to be overcome. Chaucer is the greatest representative of the new movement. "Let Frenchmen endite their quaint terms in French," he exclaims, "for it is kindly to their mouths, but let us show our fantaisies in suche words as we learned from our dames' tongues." His contemporary, Gower, was less quick to discern the signs of the times. Of the four volumes of his works, two are in Latin, one in French, and one in English; but the order in which he uses these languages is instructive--first French, then Latin, and lastly English. Some writers made a compromise by employing a mixture of French and English.[49] French, however, continued to hold an important place in prose writings until the middle of the fifteenth century; but such works are of little literary value. The reign of French as the literary language of England, as Chaucer had been quick to discern, was approaching its end. The same period is marked by a growing disrespect for Anglo-French as compared with the French of France. The French of England, cut off from the living source, had developed apart, and often with more rapidity than the other French dialects on the Continent. What is more, the language brought by the invaders was not a pure form of the Norman dialect; men from various parts of France had joined in William's expedition. The invaders, always called 'French' by their contemporaries, brought in a strong Picard element; and in the twelfth century there was a similar Angevin influence. Moreover, during Norman and Angevin times, craftsmen and others immigrated to England, each bringing with him the dialectal peculiarities of his own province.[50] Thus no regular development of Anglo-French was possible, and it can hardly be regarded as an ordinary dialect, notwithstanding its literary importance.[51] This disparity in the quality of Anglo-French is illustrated in a remarkable way by the literature of the period. Those who had received special educational advantages, or had travelled on the Continent, spoke and wrote French correctly; others used forms which contrasted pitiably with continental French. Moreover, the fourteenth century saw the triumph of the Île de France dialect in France; the other dialects ceased, as a rule, to be used in literature,[52] and this change was not without effect on Anglo-French, which shared their degradation. Chaucer lets us know the poor opinion he had of the French of England; his Prioress speaks French "full fayre and fetisly," but After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, For French of Paris was to her unknowe. William Langland admits that he knew "no frenche in feith, but of the ferthest ende of Norfolke."[53] As early as the thirteenth century English writers had felt bound to apologize as Englishmen for their French. Nor were their excuses superfluous in many cases; William of Wadington, the author of the _Manuel des Pechiez_, for example, wrote:[54] De le françois ne del rimer Ne me doit nuls hom blamer, Car en Engleterre fu né Et nurri lenz et ordiné. Such apologies became all the more necessary as time went on. Even Gower, whose French was comparatively pure,[55] owing no doubt to travel in France in early life, deemed it advisable to explain that he wrote in French for "tout le monde en general," and to ask pardon if he has not "de François la faconde": Jeo suis Englois si quier par tiele voie Estre excusé. At about the same time the anonymous author of the _Testament of Love_ finds fault with the English for their persistence in writing in bad French, "of which speech the Frenchmen have as good a fantasy as we have in hearing of Frenchmen's English."[56] The notoriety of the French of Englishmen reached France. Indeed this was a time when the English were more generally known in France than they were to be for several hundreds of years afterwards--until the eighteenth century. Englishmen filled positions in their possessions in France, and during the long wars between the two countries in the reign of Edward III., many of the English nobility resided in that country with their families. Montaigne refers to traces of the English in Guyenne, which still remained in the sixteenth century: "Il est une nation," he writes in one of his Essays, "a laquelle ceux de mon quartier ont eu autrefois si privée accointance qu'il reste encore en ma maison aucune trace de leur ancien cousinage."[57] The opinions formed by the French of the English were naturally anything but flattering. We find them expressed in songs of the time.[58] But the recriminations were mutual, and the English had already hit upon the epithet which for centuries they applied to Frenchmen, and most other foreigners indiscriminately: Franche dogue dit un Anglois. Vous ne faites que boire vin, Si faisons bien dist le François, Mais vous buvez le lunnequin. (bière.)[59] Even in the _Roman de Renart_ we come across traces of familiarity with English ways, and also of the English language.[60] It is not surprising, then, that Anglo-French was a subject of remark in France, especially when we remember that already in the thirteenth century the provincial accents of the different parts of France herself had been the object of some considerable amount of raillery.[61] The English, says Froissart, a good judge, for he spent many years in England, "disoient bien que le françois que ils avoient apris chies eulx d'enfance n'estoit pas de telle nature et condition que celluy de France estoit."[62] And this 'condition' was soon recognized as a plentiful store for facetious remarks and parodies of all kinds. In the _Roman de Jehan et Blonde_, the young Frenchman's rival, the Duke of Gloucester, is made to appear ridiculous by speaking bad French; and one of the tricks played by Renart on Ysengrin, in the _Roman de Renart_, is to pretend he is an Englishman:[63] Ez vos Renart qui le salue: "Godehelpe," fait il, "bel Sire! Non saver point ton reson dire." And Ysengrin answers: Et dex saut vos, bau dous amis! Dont estes vos? de quel pais? Vous n'estes mie nés de France, Ne de la nostre connoissance. A _fabliau_ of the fourteenth century[64] pictures the dilemma of two Englishmen trying to make their French understood in France; one of them is ill and would have some lamb: Si tu avez un anel cras Mi porra bien mengier ce croi. His friend sets out to try to get the 'anel' or 'lamb'; but no one understands him, and he becomes the laughing-stock of the villagers. At last some one gives him a 'small donkey' instead of the desired 'agnel,' and out of this he makes a dish for the invalid who finds the bones rather large. In the face of a reputation such as this it is no wonder that the English found additional encouragement to abandon the foreign language and cultivate their own tongue. English was also beginning to make its way into official documents.[65] In 1362 the King's Speech at the opening of Parliament was pronounced in English, and in the following year it was directed that all pleas in the courts of justice should be pleaded and judged in English, because French was "trope desconue en ledit realme." Despite that, the act was very tardily obeyed, and English progressed but slowly, French continuing to be written long after it ceased to be spoken in the Law Courts. There were a few public documents issued in English at the end of the century, but the Acts and Records of Parliament continued to be written in French for many years subsequently. English first made its way into the operative parts of the Statutes, and till 1503 the formal parts were still written in French and Latin. Protests were made to Henry VIII. against the continued use of French, "as thereby ys testyfied our subjectyon to the Normannys"; yet it was not before the eighteenth century that English was exclusively used in the Law Courts, and for many years French, in its corrupt form, remained the literary language of the English law. Till the seventeenth century works on jurisprudence and reports on cases were mainly written in French. _Les Cases de Gray's Inn_ shows French in accounts of discussions on difficult legal cases as late as 1680.[66] Sir John Fortescue (1394?-1476), Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench, in his _De Laudibus Legum Angliae_, suggests that this Law French is more correct at bottom than ordinary spoken French, which, he contends, is much "altered by common use, whereas Law French is more often writ than spoken." In later times no such illusions prevailed. Swift thus estimates the value of the three languages of the English Law:[67] Then from the bar harangues the bench, In English vile, and viler French, And Latin vilest of the three. At about the same time as Swift wrote, the 'frenchified' Lady, then in fashion, who prided herself on her knowledge of the "language à la mode" is described as being able to "keep the field against a whole army of Lawyers, and that in their own language, French gibberish."[68] And long after French ceased to be used in the Law many law terms and legal and official phrases remained, and are still in use to-day.[69] Anglo-French also lingered in some of the religious houses after it had fallen into discredit elsewhere, and continued to do so in some cases till the time of their dissolution. The rules and accounts of the nunneries were more often in French than not.[70] And John ap Rhys, visitor of monasteries in the reign of Henry VIII., wrote to Cromwell regarding the monastery of Laycock in Wiltshire, that he had observed one thing "worthy th'advertisement; the ladies have their Rule, th'institutes of their Religion and the ceremonies of the same written in the Frenche tongue, which they understand well and are very perfyt in the same, albeit that it varieth from vulgar Frenche that is now used, and is moche like the Frenche that the common Lawe is written in."[71] During this same period English began to be used occasionally in correspondence; but here again its progress was slow. Some idea of the extent to which French was utilized for that purpose may be gathered from the fact that three extant letters of William de Wykeham, addressed to Englishmen, are all in that tongue. Not till the second and third decades of the fifteenth century were English and French employed in correspondence to an almost equal extent, and during the following years, especially in the reign of Henry VI., English gradually became predominant.[72] French remained in use longer in correspondence of a public and official nature, but became more and more restricted to foreign diplomacy. Towards the middle of the fourteenth century, at the beginning of the long wars with France, French lost ground in England in yet another direction. Edward III. is said to have found it necessary to proclaim that all lords, barons, knights, burgesses, should see that their children learn French for political and military reasons;[73] and when Trevisa translated Higden's _Polychronicon_, he wrote in correction of the earlier chronicler's description of the teaching of French in the grammar schools of England:[74] "This maner was moche used before the grete deth (1349). But syth it is somdele chaunged. Now (_i.e._ 1387) they leave all Frensch in scholes, and use all construction in Englisch. Wherin they have advantage on way that they lerne the soner ther gramer. And in another disadvantage. For nowe they lerne no Frenssh ne can none, whiche is hurte for them that shall passe the see," and thus children of the grammar schools know "no more French than knows their lefte heele." Thus the custom of translating Latin into French passed out of use early in the second half of the fourteenth century. No doubt there had been signs of the approaching change in the preceding period, and it is of interest here to notice that while Neckham's Latin vocabulary, which dates from the second half of the twelfth century, is glossed in French alone, that of Garlande, which belongs approximately to the third decade of the following century, is accompanied by translations in both French and English. In the universities, however, where French had been slower in gaining a foothold, it remained longer; in the fifteenth century teachers of French were still allowed to lecture there as they had done previously, but it is to be noticed that in all the colleges founded after the Black Death (1349), from which the change in the grammar schools is dated, the regulations encouraging the speaking of French in Hall are absent. The change appears also to have affected the higher classes, who did not usually frequent the grammar schools and universities, but depended on more private methods of instruction. Trevisa here again adds a correction to the earlier chronicle, and informs us that "gentylmen haveth now myche lefte for to teach their children Frensch." We thus witness the gradual disappearance of the effects of the Norman Conquest in the history of the use of the French language in England. The Conquest had made Norman-French the language of the Court, and to some extent, of the Church; it had brought with it a French literature which nearly smothered the national literature and replaced it temporarily; it had led to the system of translating Latin into French as well as into English in the schools. In the later fourteenth century French was no longer the chief language of the Court, and the king spoke English and was addressed in the same tongue. In the Church the employment of French had been restricted and transitory, though, as has been mentioned, it lingered in some of the monasteries until the sixteenth century; yet Latin never found in it a serious rival in this sphere, and the ecclesiastical department of the law never followed the civil in the adoption of the use of French. How French lost ground in the other spheres has already been traced: in all these cases its employment may be regarded as a direct result of the Conquest. This great event had also indirect results. French became the official language of England, and the favourite medium of correspondence in the thirteenth century, when the fusion between the two races was complete. But it is highly improbable that French would have spread in these directions if the Conquest had not in the first place made French the vernacular of a considerable portion of Englishmen, and that the most influential. With its use in official documents and in correspondence, may be classed the slight encouragement French received at Oxford. In all these spheres it remained longer than it had done where its status had been a more direct result of the Conquest. Meanwhile the desire to cultivate and imitate the French of France had been growing stronger and stronger; and when, towards the end of the fourteenth century, the older influences were getting feebler, and in some cases had passed away, the influence of the continental French, especially the French of Paris, now supreme over the other dialects, became more and more marked. And it is this language which henceforth Englishmen strove to learn, gradually relinquishing the corrupt idiom with which for so long their name had been associated. FOOTNOTES: [1] This was the opinion of Ames: "This seems to be the first grammar of the French language in our own country, if not in Europe." Dibdin, Herbert Ames's _Typographical Antiquities_, 1819, iii. p. 365. [2] The grammar of Jacques Sylvius or Dubois appeared in 1531, a year after Palsgrave's. No attempt at a theoretical treatment of the French language appeared in France in the Middle Ages. There are, however, two Provençal ones extant. (F. Brunot, "Le Français à l'étranger," in L. Petit de Julleville's _Histoire de la langue et de la littérature française_, ii. p. 528.) [3] One of the chief effects of the Conquest in the schools is said to have been the substitution of Norman for English schoolmasters (Leach, _Schools of Mediaeval England_, 1915, p. 103). [4] The majority of early Latin vocabularies extant, however, are accompanied by English translations (cp. T. Wright, _Volume of Vocabularies_, 2 vols., 1857), as was also the comparatively well-known _Promptorium Parvulorum_ (_c._ 1440), Camden Soc., 1865. [5] The text is given in L. E. Menger's _Anglo-Norman Dialect_, Columbia University Press, 1904, p. 14. The psalms, together with Cato, Ovid, or possibly Virgil, formed the usual reading material in the Grammar Schools. Cp. Rashdall, _Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages_, Oxford, 1895, ii. p. 603. [6] Adam du Petit Pont (_d._ 1150) wrote an epistle in Latin, many words of which were glossed in French. But there is no evidence that it was used in England. It was published by E. Scheler in his _Trois traités de lexicographie latine du 12e et 13e siècles_, Leipzig, 1867. [7] Ed. T. Wright, _Volume of Vocabularies_, i. 96, and Scheler, _op. cit._ Both editions are deemed unsatisfactory by Paul Meyer (_Romania_, xxxvi. 482). [8] It has been published five times: (1) At Caen by Vincent Correr in 1508 (_Romania_, _ut supra_); (2) H. Géraud, in _Documents inédits sur l'histoire de France_: "Paris sous Philippe le Bel d'après les documents originaux," 1837; (3) Kervyn de Lettenhove, 1851; (4) T. Wright, _Volume of Vocabularies_, i. pp. 120 _sqq._; (5) Scheler, _Trois traités de lexicographie latine_. [9] Wright, _op. cit._ pp. 139-141. [10] _Statutes of the Colleges of Oxford_, 3 vols., Oxford and London, 1853; A. Clark, _Colleges of Oxford_, 1891, p. 140; H. C. Maxwell Lyte, _History of the University of Oxford_, 1880, pp. 140-151. [11] _Documents relating to the Universities and Colleges of Cambridge_, 1852, ii. p. 33; J. Bass Mullinger, _The University of Cambridge_, 1873; G. Peacock, _Observations on the Statutes of the University of Cambridge_, 1841, p. 4. [12] J. Heywood, _Early Cambridge University and College Statutes_, 1885, ii. p. 182. [13] C. H. Cooper, _Annals of Cambridge_, Cambridge, 1852, i. p. 40. [14] Rashdall, _op. cit._ ii. p. 519 _n._ [15] Rashdall, _op. cit._ i. pp. 319 _et seq._ Later the English nation was known as the German; it included all students from the north and east of Europe. On the English in the University of Paris see Ch. Thurot, _De l'organisation de l'enseignement dans l'Université de Paris_, Paris, 1850; and J. E. Sandys, "English Scholars of Paris, and Franciscans of Oxford," in _The Cambridge History of English Literature_, i., 1908, chap. x. pp. 183 _et seq._ [16] Quoted, E. J. B. Rathery, _Les Relations sociales et intellectuelles entre la France et l'Angleterre_, Paris, 1856, p. 11. [17] A writer of about 1180 says it was impossible to tell who were Normans and who English ("Dialogus de Scaccario": Stubbs, _Select Charters_, 4th ed., 1881, p. 168). [18] "Discours sur l'état des lettres au 13e siècle," in the _Histoire littéraire de la France_, xvi. p. 168. [19] D. Behrens, in H. Paul's _Grundiss der germanischen Philologie_, Strassbourg, 1901, pp. 953-55; Freeman, _Norman Conquest_, v. 1876, pp. 528 _sqq._; Maitland, "Anglo-French Law Language," in the _Cambridge History of English Literature_, i. pp. 407 _sqq._, _History of English Law_, 1895, pp. 58 _sqq._, and _Collected Papers_, 1911, ii. p. 436. At the universities, where Latin was the usual language of correspondence, letters and petitions were often drawn up in French (Oxford Hist. Soc., _Collectanea_, 1st series, 1885, pp. 8 _sqq._). [20] Bateson, _Mediaeval England_, 1903, p. 319. [21] Maitland, _Collected Papers_, 1911, ii. p. 437. [22] Such are Bozon's _Contes moralisés_ (_c._ 1320), ed. P. Meyer, in the _Anciens Textes Français_, 1889. In his Introduction Meyer lays stress on the widespread use of French in England at this time, and its chance of becoming the national language of England, an eventuality which, he thinks, might have been a benefit to humanity. [23] MS. at Trinity Col. Cambridge (R. 3. 56). [24] Paul Meyer calls it the work of a true grammarian (_Romania_, xxxii. p. 65). [25] There are four MSS. extant. These have been collated and published by J. Sturzinger in the _Altfranzösische Bibliothek_, vol. viii., Heilbronn, 1884; cp. _Romania_, xiv. p. 60. The earliest MS. is in the Record Office, and was published by T. Wright in Haupt and Hoffman's _Altdeutsche Blaetter_ (ii. p. 193). Diez quoted from this edition in his _Grammaire des langues romanes_, 3rd ed. i. pp. 415, 418 _sqq._ The three other MSS. are in the Brit. Mus., Camb. Univ. Libr. and Magdalen Col. Oxon., and belong to the three succeeding centuries. Portions of the Magdalen Col. MS. are quoted by A. J. Ellis, in his _Early English Pronunciation_, pp. 836-839, and by F. Génin, in his preface to the French Government reprint of Palsgrave's Grammar, 1852. It is the British Museum copy, made in the reign of Edward III., which contains the French commentary. [26] Early English writers on the French tongue were fond of drawing attention to the opportunities for punning afforded by the language. [27] Edited by Miss M. K. Pope in the _Modern Language Review_ (vol. v., 1910, pt. ii. pp. 188 _sqq._), from the Brit. Mus. Addit. MS. 17716, ff. 88-91; it also exists at All Souls, Oxford (MS. 182 f. 340), and at Trinity Col. Cambridge (MS. B 14. 39, 40); in the last MS. the introduction of the two preceding ones is lacking (cp. Meyer, _Romania_, xxxii. p. 59). [28] For instance, we are told that _a_ is sounded almost like _e_ as in _savez vous faire un chauncoun . . ._; that the phrases _a_, _en a_, _i a_ which mean one and the same thing when they come from the Latin _habet_, should be written without _d_; that _aura_, _en array_ should be written without _e_ in the middle, and sounded without _u_, as _aray_, _en array_, though the English include the _e_. [29] Published by Stengel, in the _Zeitschrift für neufranzösische Sprache und Literatur_, 1879, pp. 16-22. [30] Miss Pope, _ut supra_. [31] His name has provoked some discussion as to its correct form. It is frequently written as Biblesworth, and one MS. gives it the form of Bithesway; the correct form, however, is Bibbesworth, the name of a manor in the parish of Kempton (Herts), of which Walter was the owner (P. Meyer, _Romania_, xv. p. 312, and xxx. p. 44 _n._; W. Aldis Wright, _Notes and Queries_, 1877, 4th Series, viii. p. 64). [32] Printed from the MS. in the Bodleian, in Wright and Halliwell's _Reliquiae Antiquae_, i. p. 134. [33] _Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1247-58_, pp. 58, 103, 187. He received exemption from being put on assizes or juries in 1249. [34] _Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1301-1307_, p. 39. [35] She died in 1304; her father was one of the leaders on the king's side at the battle of Lewes (1264). [36] There are many MSS. in the British Museum; others at Oxford and Cambridge, and one in the Library of Sir Th. Phillips at Cheltenham. The best-known edition of the vocabulary is that of T. Wright, _Volume of Vocabularies_, i. pp. 142-174, which is the one here quoted, and which reproduces Arundel MS. 220, collated with Sloane MS. 809. P. Meyer has given a critical edition of the first eighty-six lines in his _Recueil d'anciens textes--partie française_, No. 367 (cp. _Romania_, xiii. p. 500). [37] In the vocabularies written in imitation of Bibbesworth at later dates, the English gloss is fuller, and in the latest one complete, as French became more and more a foreign language. [38] "Pus to le frauncoys com il en court en age de husbonderie, com pur arer, rebiner, waretter, semer, sarcher, syer, faucher, carier, batre, moudre, pestrer, briser," etc. [39] _Polychronicon_, lib. 1, cap. 59 (ed. Babington and Lumly, Rolls Publications, 41, 1865-66, vol. ii. pp. 159 _sqq._). [40] Cp. the thirteenth-century romance in which Jehan de Dammartin teaches French to Blonde of Oxford (ed. Le Roux de Lincy, Camden Soc., 1858). [41] F. Anstey, _Monumenta Academica_, 1868, p. 438. [42] Anstey, _op. cit._, 1868, p. 302. [43] Published from a MS. in Cambridge University Library (Ee 4, 20), by Skeat, in the _Transactions of the Philological Society_ (1903-1906). [44] The MS. in which the work is preserved dates from about 1340, but is probably copied from an earlier one. [45] "Corps teste et hanapel _Body heuede and heuedepanne_ Et peil cresceant sur la peal. _And here growende on the skyn_," etc. [46] How close the resemblance is between the two works may be judged by the following quotations: Par le gel nous avons glas, Et de glas vient verglas. (NOMINALE.) Pur le gel vous avomus glas, Et pluvye e gele fount vereglas. (BIBBESWORTH.) And it is in words almost identical with those of Bibbesworth that the author describes the difference in the meaning of some words according to their gender: La levere deit clore les dentz. _The lippe._ Le levere en boys se tient de deynz. _The hare._ La livre sert a marchauntz. _The pounde._ Le livere aprent nous enfauntz. _The boke._ [47] The earliest of these MSS. dates from the second decade of the fourteenth century. These epistolaries are found in the following MSS.: Harleian 4971 and 3988, Addit. 17716, in the Brit. Mus.; Ee 4, 20 in Cantab. Univ. Library; B 14. 39, 40 in Trinity Col. Camb.; 182 at All Souls, Oxford, and 188 Magdalen Col. Oxford (cp. Stürzinger, _Altfranzösiche Bibliothek_), viii. pp. xvii-xix. The Introductions to these letters were edited in a Griefswald Dissertation (1898), by W. Uerkvitz. [48] Stengel, _op. cit._ pp. 8-10. [49] _Romania_, iv. p. 381, xxxii. p, 22. [50] W. Cunningham, _Growth of English Industry and Commerce_, Cambridge, 1896, pp. 635 _sqq._ [51] L. Menger, _Anglo-Norman Dialect_; Behrens, _art. cit._ pp. 960 _sqq._; Brunot, _Histoire de la langue française_, i. pp. 319 _sqq._, 369. [52] Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 331. [53] Jusserand, _Histoire littéraire du peuple anglais_, 1896. p. 240 n. [54] Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 369. [55] P. Meyer commends Gower's French (_Romania_, xxxii. p. 43). [56] T. R. Lounsbury, _Studies in Chaucer_, London, 1892, p. 458. [57] Livre ii. ch. xii. [58] As in those of Olivier Basselin. [59] Eustache Deschamps, _Oeuvres_, ed. Crapelet, p. 91, quoted by Rathery, _op. cit._ p. 181 (cp. also _English Political Songs_, ed. T. Wright. Camden Soc., 1839). [60] Jusserand, _op. cit._ p. 153 n. The fourteenth branch of the _Roman_ is specially mentioned: cp. Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 369, n. 4. [61] Brunot, _op. cit._ i. 330. It is not rare to find English pronunciation of French ridiculed in France, and Englishmen represented as talking a sort of gibberish; cp. _Romania_, xiv. pp. 99, 279, and Brunot, _op. cit._ p. 369 n. [62] Behrens, _op. cit._ p. 957. [63] Ed. E. Martin, 1882, l. 2351 _sqq._ [64] _Recueil général et complet des fabliaux_, ed. Montaiglon et Raynaud, ii. p. 178. [65] Maitland, _Collected Papers_, 1911, ii. p. 436; Freeman, _op. cit._ p. 536; Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 373. [66] F. Watson, _Religious Refugees and English Education_, London, 1911, p. 6. There are numerous entries of such works in the _Stationers' Register_. [67] Answer to Dr. Lindsey's epigram, _Works_, ed. 1841, i. p. 634. [68] [H. Dell], _The Frenchified Lady never in Paris_, London, 1757. [69] Pepys in his Diary notes the use of French in such phrases, and the Abbé Le Blanc (_Lettres d'un Français sur les Anglais_, à la Haye, 1745) was also struck by the custom. [70] Bateson, _Mediaeval England_, p. 342; Warton, _History of English Poetry_, p. 10 n. [71] Ellis, _Original Letters_, 3rd series, 1846, i. p. xi. [72] M. A. E. Green (_née_ Wood), _Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies_, London, 1846; _The Paston Letters_, new edition by J. Gairdner, 3 vols., London, 1872-75; H. Ellis, _Original Letters_, 3rd series, London, 1846; J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps, _Letters of the Kings of England_, London, 1846; C. L. Kingsford, _English Historical Literature in the Fifteenth Century_, Oxford, 1893, pp. 193 _et seq._; Hallam, _Literature of Europe_, 6th ed., London, 1860, i. p. 54. [73] "Que tout seigneur, baron, chevalier et honestes hommes de bonnes villes mesissent cure et dilligence de estruire et apprendre leurs enfans le langhe françoise, par quoy il en fuissent plus avec et plus costumier ens leurs gherres" (Froissart, quoted by Behrens, _op. cit._ p. 957 n.). [74] Higden, _ut supra_. CHAPTER II THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY These great changes which took place in the status of French in England did not, however, affect fundamentally the popularity of the language: they had to do with Anglo-French alone. French, as distinct from this and as a foreign language, received more attention than ever before, especially from the higher classes, and from travellers and merchants. It was the language of politeness and refinement in the eyes of Englishmen, not only as a result of the Conquest, but for its inherent qualities; and so it retained this position when it gave way to English or Latin in other spheres where its predominance had been due, either directly or indirectly, to the Conquest. French had enjoyed a social reputation in England before the arrival of the invaders,[75] and had already made some progress towards becoming the language which the English loved and cultivated above all modern foreign tongues, and to which they devoted for a great many years more care than they did to their own. "Doulz françois," writes an Englishman at the end of the fourteenth century in a treatise for teaching the language,[76] is the most beautiful and gracious language in the world, after the Latin of the schools,[77] "et de tous gens mieulx prisée et amée que nul autre; quar Dieu le fist se doulce et amiable principalement a l'oneur et loenge de luy mesmes. Et pour ce il peut bien comparer au parler des angels du ciel, pour la grant doulceur et biaultée d'icel"--a more eloquent tribute even than the more famous lines of Brunetto Latini. Another writer of the same period informs us that "les bones gens du Roiaume d'Engleterre sont embrasez a scavoir lire et escrire, entendre et parler droit François," and that he himself thinks it is very necessary for the English to know the "droict nature de François," for many reasons.[78] For instance, that they may enjoy intercourse with their neighbours, the good folk of the kingdom of France; that they may better understand the laws of England, of which a great many are still written in French; and also because "beaucoup de bones choses sont misez en François," and the lords and ladies of England are very fond of writing to each other in the same tongue.[79] As a result of the altered circumstances which were modifying the attitude of the English, there is a corresponding change in the standard of the French which the manuals for teaching that language sought to attain. All the best text-books of the end of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries endeavour with few exceptions to impart a knowledge of the French of Paris, "doux françois de Paris" or "la droite language de Paris," as it was called, in contrast with the French of Stratford-atte-Bowe and other parts of England. Those authors of treatises for teaching French of whose lives we have any details, had studied French in France, at Paris, Orleans, or some other University town. The fact that many of their productions still contain numbers of words belonging to the Norman and other dialects does not diminish the importance and significance of their more ambitious aims. These pioneer works on the French language, written in England by Englishmen without the guidance of any similar work produced in France, were bound to contain archaisms as well as anglicisms.[80] Fluency in speaking French was the chief need of the classes of society in which the demand for instruction was greatest. Correctness in detail was only of secondary importance, and grammar, though desirable, was not considered indispensable. The importance of speaking French naturally brought the subject of pronunciation to the fore. No doubt most of the early teachers shared the opinions of their successors, that rules and theoretical information were of little avail in teaching the sounds of the language, compared with the practice of imitation and repetition; nevertheless, many of them attempted to supply some information on the subject. When, in the second decade of the fifteenth century, another writer based a new treatise for teaching French on the vocabulary of Bibbesworth, which had then been current for well over a century, the chief point in which it differed from its original was precisely in the provision of guidance to facilitate pronunciation. This new treatise was styled _Femina_,[81] because just as the mother teaches her young child to speak his native tongue, so does this work teach children to speak French naturally.[82] It covers almost exactly the same ground as the vocabulary of Bibbesworth, but, as in the case of the earlier imitation of the same work, the _Nominale_, the order of arrangement varies, and the whole is permeated with a lively humour which makes it at least equal in interest to the work on which it is based. The French lines are octosyllabic and arranged in distichs, each pair being followed by an English translation, which is given in full, contrary to the practice in the earlier works of the same kind. The author endeavours to teach the French of France[83] as distinguished from that of England, and, although he lavishes provincialisms from the local dialects of France--Norman, Picard, Walloon--in the main they are French provincialisms, and many of them may be due to errors on the part of the scribe. To assist pronunciation notes are provided at the bottom of the page, giving pseudo-English equivalents of the sounds of words written otherwise in the text. The treatise opens with an exhortation to the child to learn French that he may speak fairly before wise men, for "heavy is he that is not taught": Cap: primum docet rethorice loqui de assimilitudine bestiarum. a b Beau enfaunt pur apprendre c d En franceis devez bien entendre Ffayre chyld for to lerne In french ye schal wel understande e Coment vous parlerez bealment, Et devaunt les sagez naturalment. How ye schal speke fayre, And afore ye wysemen kyndly. f g Ceo est veir que vous dy, h i Hony est il qui n'est norry. That ys soth that y yow say Hevy ys he that ys not taugth k l Parlez tout ditz com affaites m Et nenny come dissafaites Spekep alway as man ys tauth And not as man untauth. Parlez imprimer de tout assemblé n o Dez bestez que Dieu ad formé. Spekep fyrst of manere assemble alle Of bestes that God hath y maked. (_a_) beau debet legi bev, (_b_) enfaunt, (_c_) fraunceys, (_d_) bein, (_e_) belement, (_f_) ce, (_g_) cet vel eyztt, (_h_) Iil, (_i_) neot, (_k_) toutdiz, (_l_) afetes, (_m_) dissafetes, (_n_) beetez, (_o_) dv et non Dieu. The subsequent chapters deal with the same subjects as in Bibbesworth, and sometimes the wording is almost identical. The concluding chapter, "De moribus infantis," is taken from another source, and gives admonitions for discreet behaviour, quoting the moral treatise of the pseudo-Cato, the Proverbs of Solomon, and the like. The passage in which _Femina_ deals with the upbringing of the child may be of interest, as showing how the later author repeats the earlier, while altering the wording; and as throwing some light on the way French was then learnt: Et quaunt il court en graunt age Mettez ly apprendre langage. And when he runs in great age[84] Put him to learn language. En fraunceys a luy vous devez dire Comez il doit soun corps discrire. In French to him ye shall say How first he shall his body describe. Et pur ordre garder de moun et ma, Toun et ta, son et sa, masculino et feminino. And for order to kepe of mon and ma, Toun and ta, soun and sa, for ma souneth. Quia ma sonat feminino moun masculino. To femynyn gender and moun to masculyn. Cy que en parle soit bien apris, Et de nule homme escharnis. So that in speach he be well learned, And of no man scorned. At the end is a 'calendar,' or table of words arranged alphabetically in three parallel columns. The first gives the orthography of the word, the second the pronunciation, and the third the explanation of its meaning and construction, which usually takes the form of an English equivalent. In the meanwhile the grammatical study of French was not neglected. There are still extant numerous small treatises[85] dealing with different aspects of French grammar, chiefly the flexions, and belonging to the end of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The conjugation of verbs receives special attention, and there are several manuscripts providing paradigms and lists of the chief parts of speech--often very incorrect, and of more value as showing the interest taken in French in England than as illustrating any development in the history of the conjugations of French verbs. The usual verbs described in these fragmentary works[86] are _amo_, _habeo_, _sum_, _volo_, _facio_, and the French paradigms are generally accompanied by Latin ones, on which they are naturally based, and which were intended to help the student to understand the French ("cum expositione earundem in Latinis"). The two most considerable of these works known add many verbs to the list mentioned above. Of these the first, the _Liber Donati_,[87] gives examples of law French rather than literary French;[88] but the other, written in French, endeavours to teach "douce françois de Paris"--_cy comence le Donait soloum douce franceis de Paris_.[89] The _Donait_ belongs to the fifteenth century, and is the work of one R. Dove, who also wrote some _Regulae de Orthographia Gallica_ in Latin,[90] which show considerable resemblance to those of the earlier _Orthographia Gallica_. The same is true of some of the rules devoted to orthography in the _Liber Donati_, which also owes something to the work of 'T. H., Student of Paris,' either in the original form, or, more probably, in the recast, due to Canon Coyfurelly. In this respect, Coyfurelly continues the efforts of the earlier writer to purify English spelling of French--efforts which at this time would meet with more success than was the case earlier.[91] Another topic touched on in the _Regulae_ of R. Dove is the formation of the plural of nouns, and of the feminine of adjectives. The substance of one of these rules may be quoted, as an example of the failure of these early writers to grasp general principles. All nouns ending in _ge_, like _lange_, says the grammarian, take _s_ in the plural, as _langes_; all nouns ending in _urc_, as _bourc_, have _z_ or _s_ in the plural and drop the _c_, as _bours_; all nouns ending in _nyn_, as _conyn_, take _s_ in the plural, as _chemyns_; all nouns ending in _eyn_, as _peyn_, form their plural by adding _s_, as _peyns_. Such is the rule for the formation of the plural of nouns, and that for the feminine of adjectives, which follows, is on the same lines. Pronouns also received some attention from these early grammarians. The _Liber Donati_[92] contains a few remarks on the personal, demonstrative and possessive pronouns, giving the different forms for the singular and plural and the various cases; thus it tells us that _jeo_ and sometimes _moy_ are used for _I_ (_ego_) in the nominative case, and in other cases _moy_ or _me_ in the singular, while _nous_ is used for the plural in all cases, and so forth. We thus see that the verbs, nouns and pronouns received consideration, varying in degree, at the hands of these pioneers in French grammar. Neither were the indeclinable parts of speech neglected; at the end of the _Liber Donati_ there is a list of some of these as well as of the ordinal and cardinal numbers in both Latin and French, while the _Donait_ gives the numbers only. Some manuscripts contain lists of adverbs, prepositions and conjunctions in Latin and French.[93] Others give lists of the cardinal and ordinal numbers in French, and one adds to these a nomenclature of the different colours.[94] The names of the days, months, and feast-days were another favourite subject. Of these small treatises that which nearest approaches the form of a comprehensive grammar is the _Liber Donati_, which includes observations on the orthography and pronunciation, on verbs and pronouns, and lists of adverbs, conjunctions, and numerals. But there appeared at the beginning of the fifteenth century, before 1409, a more comprehensive treatise of some real value--the _Donait françois pur briefment entroduyr les Anglois en la droit langue du Paris et de pais la d'entour_,[95] a work which but for its very many anglicisms might be placed on a level with some of the similar grammars of the sixteenth century.[96] The origin of this _Donait_ is interesting. A certain Englishman, John Barton, born and bred in the county of Cheshire, but a student of Paris, and a passionate lover of the French language, engaged some good clerks to compose the _Donait_, at his own great cost and trouble, for the benefit of the English, who are so eager ("embrasez") to learn French.[97] Judging from the lines with which Barton closes his short but communicative preface, the work was intended mainly for the use of young people--the "chers enfants" and "tres douces pucelles," 'hungering' to learn French: "Pur ce, mes chiers enfantz et tresdoulcez puselles," he writes, "que avez fam d'apprendre cest Donait scachez qu'il est divisé en belcoup de chapiters si come il apperera cy avale." Barton then retires to make way for his 'clerks,' whose remarks are entirely confined to grammatical teaching and who, like Barton, write in French. Most of the early treatises on French grammar which appeared in England are written in Latin. Latin appears to have been the medium through which French was learnt and explained to a large extent, although in the case of the riming vocabularies English was used for teaching the young children for whom these nomenclatures were chiefly written. But grammar, probably intended to be learnt by older students, was usually studied in Latin, which was also found to be a help in learning French. Students are told to base French orthography on that of Latin, and there are constant references from French words to their Latin originals. The _Donait soloum douce franceis de Paris_ is apparently the only work of any importance written in French before that of Barton. English was not used for this purpose before the sixteenth century, when it was almost invariably employed, even by Frenchmen. A grammar such as Barton's would, no doubt, be read and translated with the help of a tutor; and it is highly probable that the children for whom it was intended would have previously acquired some practical knowledge of French from some such elementary treatise as Bibbesworth's vocabulary. Moreover, French was so generally in use in the higher classes of society, and had been for so long a kind of semi-national tongue, that it would hardly be approached as an entirely foreign language, as in later times. In writing a French grammar in French, Barton and those who followed the same course merely adopted for the teaching of French a method in common use in the teaching of Latin. The advisability of writing French grammars in French was a question, as we shall see, much discussed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as well as in much more recent times. The clerks employed by Barton made free use of the observations on French grammar which had appeared previously. But their work had an additional value; the rules are stated with considerable clearness and are usually correct.[98] The opening chapters deal with the letters and their pronunciation, set forth, like the rest of the grammar, in a series of questions and answers: Quantez letters est il? Vint. Quellez? Cinq voielx et quinse consonantez. Quelx sont les voielx et ou seroit ils sonnés? Le premier vouyel est _a_ et serra sonné en la poetrine, la seconde est _e_ et serra sonné en la gorge, le tiers est _i_ et serra sonné entre les joues, le quart est _o_ et serra sonné du palat de la bouche, le quint est _u_ et serra sonné entre les levres. To these observations on the vowels are added a few on the consonants, and "belcoup de bones rieules" (six in all) treating the avoidance of hiatus between two consonants and the effects of certain vowels and consonants on each other's pronunciation. Next come a few observations on the parts of speech; for "apres le Chapitre des lettres il nous fault dire des accidens." Instead of giving a number of isolated instances as rules for the formation of the plural, the general rule for the addition of _s_ to the singular is evolved and emphasized by this advice: "Pour ceo gardez vous que vous ne mettez pas le singuler pour le pulier (pluriel) ne a contraire, si come font les sots." Further, we must avoid imitating the 'sottez gens,' to whom frequent reference is made, in using one person of a tense for another, and saying _je ferra_ for _je ferray_.[99] In this section of the work the rules follow each other without any orderly arrangement.[100] At about the same time an English poet is said to have written a French grammar, as another poet, Alexander Barclay, actually did later. An early bibliographer[101] includes in his list of Lydgate's works one entitled _Praeceptiones Linguae Gallicae_, in one book, of which no further trace remains to-day. Lydgate, however, was well acquainted with French; he made the customary foreign tour, besides visiting Paris again on a later occasion in attendance on noble patrons, and put his knowledge of the language to the test by translating or adapting several works from the French, like most contemporary writers.[102] The same early authority informs us that, as soon as Lydgate returned from his travels, he opened a school for the sons of noblemen, possibly at Bury St. Edmunds. Probably Lydgate wrote a French grammar for the use of these young noblemen, who would certainly have to learn the language; and, after serving their immediate purpose, these rules, we may surmise, were lost and soon forgotten. In the fifteenth century, instruction in French epistolary style of all degrees continued to be supplied in collections of model letters; and at the end of the fourteenth century a new kind of book for teaching French appeared--the _Manière de Langage_ or model conversation book, intended for the use of travellers, merchants, and others desiring a conversational and practical rather than a thorough and grammatical knowledge of French. Contrary to the custom, prevalent at this later period, of providing English translations, the earliest of these contain no English gloss, but simply the French text without any attempt at even the slight grammatical instruction provided in the vocabularies. Their sole purpose was to give the traveller or wayfarer a supply of phrases and expressions on the customary topics; grammatical instruction could be sought elsewhere. The earliest of these[103] is the first work for teaching French to which a definite date can be assigned. A sort of dedication at the end is dated from Bury St. Edmunds, "la veille du Pentecote, 1396." We have not the same definite information as to the author.[104] The anglicisms make it clear that he was an Englishman, while the references to Orleans and its university, and the trouble there between the students and the townspeople in 1389, suggest that he was a student of that university, then much frequented by the English and other foreigners, especially law students. He may have been Canon M. T. Coyfurelly, Doctor of Law of Orleans,[105] and author of the contemporary recasting of T. H.'s treatise on French orthography. The author tells us he undertook his task at the request of a "tres honoré et tres gentil sire"; that he had learnt French "es parties la mere," and that he wrote according to the knowledge he acquired there, which, he admits, may not be perfect. Indeed his French is full of anglicisms; _que homme_ is written for 'that man'; _oeuvrer_ for 'worker'; _que_ for 'why,' and so on; there are also many grammatical mistakes such as wrong genders, _au homme_, _de les_ for _des_, _de le_ for _du_. This "manière" must have enjoyed a very considerable popularity, judging from the number of manuscripts, of various dates, still in existence. And, in modern times, it presents a greater interest to the reader than any of the treatises mentioned before, partly from the naïveté and quaintness of its style, partly owing to the vivid picture it gives us of the life of the time at which it was written. It opens in a religious strain, with a prayer that the students of the book may have "sens naturel" to learn to speak, pronounce, and write "doulz françois": A noster commencement nous dirons ainsi: en nom du pere, filz et Saint Esperit, amen. Ci comence la Maniere de Language qui t'enseignera bien a droit parler et escrire doulz françois selon l'usage et la coustume de France. Primiers, au commencement de nostre fait et besogne nous prierons Dieu devoutement et nostre Dame la benoite vierge Marie sa tres douce mere, et toute la glorieuse compaigne du Saint reaume de Paradis celeste, ou Dieux mette ses amis et ses eslus, de quoi vient toute science, sapience, grace et entendement et tous manieres vertuz, qu'il luy plaist de sa grande misericorde et grace tous les escoliers estudianz en cest livre ainsi abruver et enluminer de la rousée de sa haute sapience et entendement, qu'ils pouront avoir sens naturel d'aprendre a parler, bien soner et a droit escrire doulz françois. Then, because man is the noblest of all created things, the author proceeds to give a list of the parts of his body, which recalls the old riming vocabularies. This, however, is the only portion in which conversation is sacrificed to vocabulary. In the rest of the work, though the vocabulary is increased by alternative phrases wherever possible, it is never allowed to encroach too much on the conversation. The second chapter presents a scene between a lord and his page, in which the page receives minute instructions for commissions to the draper, the mercer, and upholsterer--an excellent opportunity of introducing a large choice of words. Conversation for travellers is the subject of the third chapter, the most important, and certainly the most interesting in the whole book. It tells, "Coment un homme chivalchant ou cheminant se doit contenir et parler sur son chemin qui voult aler bien loin hors de son pais." After witnessing the preparations for the journey, the reader accompanies the lord and his page through an imaginary journey in France. Dialogue and narrative alternate, and the lord talks with his page Janyn or whiles away the time with songs: Et quant il aura achevée sa chanson il comencera a parler a son escuier ou a ses escuiers, ainsi disant: "Mes amys, il est bien pres de nuyt," vel sic: "Il sera par temps nuyt." Doncques respont Janyn au son signeur bien gentilment en cest maniere: "Vrayement mon seigneur, vous ditez verité"; vel sic: "vous ditez voir"; vel sic: "vous dites vray"--"Je panse bien qu'il feroit mieux pour nous d'arester en ce ville que d'aller plus avant maishuy. Coment vous est avis?"--"Ainsi comme vous vuillez, mon seigneur." "Janyn!"--"Mon signeur?"--"Va devant et prennez nostre hostel par temps."--"Si ferai-je, mon seigneur." Et s'en vait tout droit en sa voie, et quant il sera venu a l'ostel il dira tout courtoisement en cest maniere. "Hosteler, hosteler," etc. The page then proceeds to make hasty preparations for the coming of his master to the inn, and we next assist at the arrival of the lord and his evening meal and diversions--another opportunity for the introduction of songs--and his departure in the morning towards Étampes and Orleans. More humble characters appear in the next chapter: "Un autre manière de parler de pietalle, comme des labourers et oeuvrers de mestiers." Here we have conversations between members of the working classes. A gardener and a ditcher discuss their respective earnings, describe their work, and finally go and dine together; a baker talks with his servant, and so gives us the names of the chief things used in his trade, just as the gardener gave a list of flowers and fruits. A merchant scolds his apprentice for various misdemeanours, and then sends him off to market: Doncques l'apprentiz s'en vait au marchié pour vendre les danrées de son maistre et la vienment grant cop des gens de divers pais de les achater: et apprentiz leur dit tout courtoisement en cest maniere,--'Mes amis venez vous ciens et je vous monstrerai de aussi bon drap comme vous trouverez en tout ce ville, et vous en aurez de aussi bon marché comme nul autre. Ore regardez, biau sire, comment vous est avis; vel sic: comment vous plaist il; and after some bargaining he sells his goods. In the next "manière de parler" a servant brings a torn doublet to a mender of old clothes, and enlists his services. A chapter of more interest and importance is that dealing with greetings and salutations to be used at different times of the day to members of the various ranks of society: Quant un homme encontrera aucun au matinée il luy dira tout courtoisement ainsi: "Mon signour Dieux vous donne boun matin et bonne aventure," vel sic: "Sire Dieux vous doint boun matin et bonne estraine, Mon amy, Dieux vous doint bon jour et bonne encontre." Et a midi vous parlerez en cest maniere: "Monsieur Dieux vous donne bon jour et bonnes heures"; vel sic: "Sire, Dieu vous beneit et la compaignie!" A peitaille vous direz ainsi: "Dieux vous gart!" . . . Et as oeuvrers et labourers vous direz ainsi: "Dieux vous ait, mon amy," and so on. One traveller asks another whence he comes and where he was born, and the other says he comes from Orleans, where there is a fierce quarrel between the students and the townspeople; and was born in Hainaut, where they love the English well, and there is a saying that "qui tient un Henner (Hennuyer) par la main, tient un Englois par le cuer." We are next taught how to speak to children: "Quant vous verez un enfant plorer et gemir, vous direz ainsi: Qu'as tu, mon enfant," and comfort him, and when a poor man asks you for alms, you shall answer, "Mon amy, se je pourroi je vous aidasse tres volantiers. . . ." From this we return to subjects more suited to merchants and wayfarers--how to inquire the road, and to go on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Thomas-à-Becket. The work closes with a gathering of companions in an inn, which, like the rest of the chapters, is full of life and interest. Last of all, a sort of supplement is added in the form of a short poem on the drawbacks of poverty: Il est hony qui pouveres est, and a _fatrasie_ in prose. Another treatise of the same kind, written about three years later, was intended chiefly for the use of children, _Un petit livre pour enseigner les enfantz de leur entreparler comun françois_.[106] It was not the first of its kind. The metrical vocabularies of Bibbesworth and his successors were chiefly intended for the use of children. There is also some evidence to show that the grammatical treatises were used by children; the commentary was added to the _Orthographica Gallica_ because the rules were somewhat obscure "pour jeosne gentz," and Barton, in his introduction, mentions the "chiers enfantz" and "tresdoulez puselles," as those whom his grammar particularly concerns. In the _Petit livre_, however, the teaching is of the simplest kind, and specially suited to children. The dialogue lacks the interest of the earlier 'manière,' and inclines, in places, to become a list of phrases pure and simple. The work opens abruptly with the words: "Pour ce sachez premierement que le an est divisé en deux, c'est asscavoir le yver et la esté. Le yver a six mois et la esté atant, que vallent douse," and so on to the other divisions of the year and time. The children are then taught the numbers in French, the names of the coins, and those of the persons and things with which they come into daily contact. Then follow appropriate terms for addressing and greeting different persons, and the author even goes so far as to provide the child with a stock of insulting terms for use in quarrels. The rest of the treatise does not appear to be intended for children. There are conversations in a tavern, lists of salutations, familiar talk for the wayside and for buying and selling, all of which has little special interest, and is designed apparently to meet the needs of merchants more than any other class. In the chatter on the events of the day there occurs a passage which enables us to date the work. The traveller tells the hostess of the captivity of Richard II. as a recent event: "Dieu, dame, j'ay ouy dire que le roy d'Angleterre est osté."--"Quoy desioie!"--"Par ma alme voir."--"Et les Anglois n'ont ils point de roy donques?"--"Marie, ouy, et que celuy que fust duc de Lancastre, que est nepveu a celluy que est osté."--"Voire?"--"Voire vraiement."--"Et le roygne que fera elle?"--"Par dieu dame, je ne sçay, je n'ay pas esté en conceille."--"Et le roy d'Angleterre ou fust il coronné?"--"A Westmynstre."--"Fustez vous la donques?"--"Marie, oy, il y avoit tant de presse que par un pou que ne mouru quar a paine je eschapey a vie."--"Et ou serra il a nouvel?"--"Par ma foy je ne sçay, mais l'en dit qu'il serra en Escoce." The authorship is not so easy to ascertain. The manual may be due to Canon T. Coyfurelly, probable author of the earlier and better-known work also.[107] The many mistakes and anglicisms, such as _quoy_ for _quelle_ ('what') and the exclamatory 'Marie' in the quotation just given, show it to be the work of an Englishman. Another book of conversation appeared in 1415,[108] as may be gathered from its first two chapters, in which a person fresh from the wars in France tells of the siege of Harfleur and the battle of Agincourt, and announces the return of the victorious English army. The rest of the dialogues are represented as taking place in and about Oxford. There is the usual tavern scene. Travellers from Tetsworth arrive at an Oxford inn, and are present at the evening meal and diversions. The hostess describes the fair at Woodstock and the articles bought and sold there; her son, a boy of twelve years, wants to be apprenticed in London; he goes to the school of Will Kyngesmylle, where writing, counting, and French are taught. One of the merchants calls the lad and questions him as to his knowledge of French: "Et que savez vous en fraunceys dire?--Sir je say moun noun et moun corps bien descrire.--Ditez moy qu'avez a noun.--J'ay a noun Johan, bon enfant, beal et sage et bien parlant engleys, fraunceys et bon normand, beneyt soit la verge que chastie l'enfant et le bon maistre qui me prist taunt! Je pri a Dieu tout puissant nous graunte le joye tous diz durant!" The lad then proceeds to give proof of his knowledge by naming the parts of his body and his clothing, always, it appears, the first things learnt. This reference to the teaching of French in the school of an Oxford pedagogue shows that, though French had at this time lost all standing in the Grammar Schools, it was still taught in private establishments.[109] It seems highly probable that Will Kyngesmylle was the author of this work, and that he used his text-book as a means of self-advertisement, a method very common among later teachers of French. At the close comes a chapter belonging to another work of the same type, which is only preserved in this fragment; no doubt other such works existed and have been entirely lost. It is likely that in the fifteenth century these conversational manuals supplanted, to a considerable extent, the earlier type of practical manual for teaching French--the metrical vocabulary--with which they had something in common. At any rate, there is no copy of such nomenclatures extant after _Femina_ (1415). The 'manières' provided in their dialogues much of the material found in the vocabularies, giving, wherever possible, groups of words on the same topics--the body, its clothing, houses, and men's occupations. Further, the vocabularies, which had never departed from the type instituted by Bibbesworth in the thirteenth century, dealt more with the feudal and agricultural life of the Middle Ages, and so had fallen behind the times. The 'Manières de Langage' were more in keeping with the new conditions. Towards the end of the century (and perhaps at the beginning of the sixteenth century) we come to a manual,[110] which, while resembling the 'manières' in most points, reproduces some of the distinctive external marks of the vocabularies. For instance, the French is arranged in short lines, which, however, do not rime, and vary considerably in the number of syllables they contain; and these are followed by a full interlinear English gloss, as in the later vocabularies. The subject matter, however, is similar to that of the early conversation books. First comes gossip at taverns and by the wayside: Ditez puisse ie savement aler? Saie may I saufly goo? Ye sir le chemyn est sure assez. Yes sir the wey is sure inough. Mes il convent que vous hastez. But it behoveth to spede you. Sir dieu vous donne bon aventure. Sir god geve you good happe. Sir a dieu vous commaunde. Sir to god I you betake. Sir dieu vous esploide. Sir god spede you. Sir bon aventure avez vous. Sir good chaunce have ye. Sir par saint Marie cy est bon servise. Sir by saint Marie her is good ale. Sir pernes le hanappe, vous comenceres. Sir take the coppe, ye shal beginne. Dame ie ne feray point devaunt vous. Dame I wil not doo bifor you. Sir vous ferrez verrement. Sir ye shal sothely. After some disconnected discourse on inquiring the time, asking the way, etc., we again return to the tavern: Dame dieu vous donne bon jour. Dame god geve you good daie. Dame avez hostel pour nous trois compaignons? Dame have ye hostel for us iij felowes? Sir quant longement voudrez demourer? Sir how long wol ye abide? Dame nous ne savons point. Dame we wote not. Et que vouldrez donner le iour pour vostre table? And what wil ye geve a daie for your table? Dame que vouldrez prendr pour le iour? Dame what wol ye take for the daie? Sir non meynns que vj deniers le iour. Sir noo lesse thenne vj d. the day ... etc. Next comes the usual scene between buyers and sellers, followed by another inn scene of greater length. After attending to their horses, the travellers sup and spend the night at the inn, and set out the next morning after reckoning with their hostess. The manuscript ends abruptly in the midst of a list of salutations. The nature of the French[111] betrays the author's nationality; he was evidently an Englishman. As to the English, the quaint turn given to many of the phrases is usually explained by the writer's desire to give a literal translation of the French; many of the inaccuracies in both versions are probably due to careless work on the part of the scribe. Merchants thus appear to have been one of the chief classes among which there was a demand for instruction in French. In addition to the large part assigned to them in the 'Manières de Langage,' and in the epistolaries, where letters of a commercial nature are a usual feature, there exist collections of model forms for drawing up bills, indentures, receipts and other documents of similar import. They are usually called 'cartularies,' are accompanied by explanations in Latin, and may be looked upon as the first text-books of commercial French.[112] One author explains their origin and aim by this introductory remark:[113] "Pour ceo qe j'estoie requis par ascunz prodeshommez de faire un chartuarie pour lour enfantz enformer de faire chartours, endenturs, obligations, defesance, acquitancez, contuaries, salutaries, en Latin et Franceys ensemblement . . . fesant les chartours, escripts munimentz a de primes en Latyn et puis en Franceys." More emphasis is laid on the demand for instruction in French among the merchant class by the fact that the earliest printed text-books were designed chiefly for their use. The first of these may be classed with the new development of the 'Manières de Langage,' comprising dialogues in French and English, although it does not exactly answer to this description.[114] It was issued from the press of William Caxton in about 1483, and at least one other edition appeared at a later date.[115] In form it is a sort of narrative in French, with an English translation opposite. The aim of the work is stated clearly in an introductory passage which informs the reader that "who this book shall learn may well enterprise merchandise from one land to another and to know many wares which to him shall be good to be bought, or sold for rich to become." Caxton thus recommends the book to the learner: Tres bonne doctrine Rygt good lernyng Pour aprendre For to lerne Briefment fransoys et engloys. Shortly frenssh & englyssh. Au nom du pere In the name of the fadre Et du filz And of the soone Et du sainte esperite And of the holy ghost Veul comnencier I wyll begynne Et ordonner ung livre, And ordeyne this book, Par le quel on pourra By the which men shall mowe Raysonnablement entendre Resonably understande Françoys et Anglois, Frenssh and Englissh, Du tant comme cest escript Of as moche as this writing Pourra contenir et estendre, Shall conteyne & stratche, Car il ne peut tout comprendre. For he may not all comprise. Mais ce qu'on n'y trouvera But that which cannot be founden Declairé en cestui Declared in this Pourra on trouver ailleurs Shall be founde somwhere els En aultres livres. In other bookes. Mais sachies pour voir But knowe for truthe Que es lignes de cest aucteur That in the lynes of this auctour Sount plus de parolles et de raysons Ben moo wordes & reasons Comprinses, et de responses Comprised, & of answers Que en moult d'aultres livres. Than in many other bookes. Qui ceste livre vouldra aprendre Who this booke shall wylle lerne Bien pourra entreprendre May well enterprise Merchandises d'un pays a Marchandise fro one land to l'autre, anoothir, Et cognoistre maintes denrées And to know many wares Que lui seroient bon Which to him shall be good to be achetés bought Ou vendues pour riche devenir. Or sold for rich to become. Aprendes ce livre diligement, Lerne this book diligently, Grande prouffyt y gyst vrayement. Grete prouffyt lieth therein truly. The 'doctrine' itself opens with a list of salutations with the appropriate answers. A house and all its contents come next, then its inhabitants, which introduces the subject of degrees of kinship: Or entendes petys et grands, Je vous dirai maintenant Dune autre matere La quele ie commence. Se vous estes mariés Et vous avez femme Et vous ayez marye, Se vous maintiens paisiblement Que vos voisins ne disent De vous fors que bien: Ce seroit vergoigne. Se vous aves pere et mere, Si les honnourés tousiours; Faictes leur honneur;. . . Si vous aves enfans, Si les instrues De bonnes meurs; Le temps qu'ilz soient josnes Les envoyes a l'escole Aprendre lire et escripre. . . . At the end of the category come the servants and their occupations, which affords an opportunity of bringing in the different shops to which they are sent and of specifying the meat and drink they purchase there. We then pass to buying, selling, and bargaining in general, and to merchandise of all kinds, with a list of coins, popular fairs, and fête-days. After an enumeration of the great persons of the earth comes the main chapter of the work, giving a fairly complete list of crafts and trades. This takes the form of an alphabetical list of Christian names, each of which is made to represent one of the trades, beginning with Adam the ostler: "For this that many words shall fall or may fall which be not plainly heretofore written, so shall I write you from henceforth divers matters of all things, first of one thing, then of another, in which chapter I will conclude the names of men and women after the order of a, b, c." The baker may be selected as a fair example: Ferin le boulengier Fierin the baker Vend blanc pain et brun. Selleth whit brede and brown. Il a sour son grenier gisant He hath upon his garner lieng Cent quartiers de bled. One hundred quarters of corn. Il achete a temps et a heure, He byeth in tyme and at hour, Si qu'il n'a point So that he hath not Du chier marchiet. Of the dere chepe (high buying prices). At last the author, "all weary of so many names to name, of so many crafts, so many offices, so many services," finds relief in certain considerations of a religious order: "God hath made us unto the likeness of himself, he will reward those who do well and punish those who do not repent of their sins, and attend the holy services: If ye owe any pilgrimages, so pay them hastily; when you be moved for to go your journey, and ye know not the waye, so axe it thus." The usual directions for inquiring the way follow with the description of the arrival at an inn, and the customary gossip. The reckoning and departure on the following morning afford an opportunity of including a further list of Flemish and English coins together with the numerals; and Caxton concludes his work by commending it to the reader with a prayer that those who study it may persevere sufficiently to profit by it: Cy fine ceste doctrine, Here endeth this doctrine, A Westmestre les Loundres At Westmestre by London En formes impressée, In fourmes enprinted, En le quelle ung chaucun In the whiche one everish Pourra briefment aprendre May shortly lerne François et Engloys. French and English. La grace de sainct esperit The grace of the holy ghosst Veul enluminer les cures Wylle enlyghte the hertes De ceulx qui le aprendront, Of them that shall lerne it, Et nous doinst perseverance And us gyve perseverans En bonnes operacions, In good werkes, Et apres cest vie transitorie And after lyf transitorie La pardurable ioye et glorie! The everlasting ioye and glorie! The short introduction and epilogue were most probably the composition of Caxton himself. The rest of the book is drawn from a set of dialogues in French and Flemish, first written at the beginning of the fourteenth century, called _Le Livre des Mestiers_ in reference to its main chapter.[116] This would possibly be known to merchants trading with Bruges and other centres of the Low Countries; and when we notice the numerous points of resemblance between it and the English manuals of conversation, the first of which did not appear before the end of the same century, it seems very probable that the Flemish original had some influence on the works produced in England. Caxton was a silk mercer of London, and his business took him to the towns of the Low Countries, especially Bruges, where the English merchants had a large commercial connexion. There, no doubt, he became acquainted with the _Livre des Mestiers_, and probably improved his knowledge of French by its help, for he studied and read the language a good deal during his long sojourn abroad. There also he probably added an English column to his copy of the French-Flemish phrase-book, as a sort of exercise rather than with any serious intention of publication; and when he had set up his press at Westminster, remembering the need he had felt for French, in his own commercial experience, and the little book which had assisted him, he would decide to print it. Caxton's copy of the _Livre des Mestiers_ belonged, no doubt, to a later date than the one extant to-day,[117] probably to the beginning of the fifteenth century. It must have been fuller, and have had different names attached to the characters, so that, as the names are still arranged in alphabetical order, it is difficult, at a glance, to distinguish the identity of the two texts. Caxton's rendering of the French is often inaccurate, owing perhaps to the influence of the Flemish version from which he seems to have made his translation.[117] Moreover, at the early date at which Caxton, probably, added the English column to the _Livre des Mestiers_, his knowledge of French had not yet reached that state of thoroughness which was to enable him to translate such a remarkable number of French works into English. He himself tells us in the prologue to the _Recuyell of the Histories of Troy_ of Raoul le Fèvre (Bruges, 1475)--the first of his translations from the French, and, indeed, the first book to be printed in English--that his knowledge of French was not by any means perfect. With the exception of the introductory and closing sentences, Caxton made few additions to his original. He did indeed supply the names of English towns, coins, bishoprics, and so on; but, on the whole, the setting of the work is foreign; Bruges, not London, is the centre of the action, and no doubt the place where the original was composed. Not long after the publication of Caxton's doctrine another work of like character and purpose appeared. It claims to be "a good book to learn to speak French for those who wish to do merchandise in France, and elsewhere in other lands where the folk speak French." The atmosphere is entirely English, and consequently its contents bear a closer resemblance to its English predecessors. In the arrangement of the dialogue it is identical with the Cambridge conversation book, except that the English lines come before the French, and not the French before the English.[118] The four subjects round which the dialogue turns, namely, salutations, buying and selling, inquiring the way, and conversation at the inn, were all favourites in the early "Manières de Langage." For the rest it follows in the steps of its English predecessors in confining itself to dialogue pure and simple, while Caxton's 'doctrine' adopted the narrative form. In one point, however, the work differs from the latest development of the old "Manière de Langage," as preserved in the Cambridge Dialogues in French and English; the dialogues are followed by a vocabulary, then a reprint of one of the old books on courtesy and demeanour for children, with a French version added, and finally commercial letters in French and English. The work is thus made much more comprehensive than any of its type which had as yet appeared, and includes samples, so to speak, of all the practical treatises for teaching French which had appeared in the Middle Ages. It was printed separately by the two chief printers of the time, both foreigners: Richard Pynson, a native of Normandy and student of Paris, who came to England and began printing on his own account about 1590-1591; and Wynkyn de Worde, a native of Alsace, and apprentice to Caxton, with whom he probably came to England from Bruges in 1476, and to whose business he succeeded in 1491.[119] Although neither of the printers dated their work, it seems probable that the earliest edition was issued by Pynson. There is a unique copy of his edition in the British Museum; it is without title-page, pagination, or catch-words, and the colophon reads simply "Per me Ricardum Pynson." The colophon of Wynkyn's work, of which there is a complete copy in the Grenville Library (British Museum),[120] and a fragment of two leaves in the Bodleian, is slightly more instructive and runs as follows: "Here endeth a lytyll treatyse for to lern Englyshe and Frensshe. Emprynted at Westmynster by my Wynken de Worde." Now as Wynkyn moved from Westminster in 1500 to set up his shop in the centre of the trade in Fleet Street, opposite to that of his rival Pynson, his edition of the work must have appeared before that date, because it was issued from what had been Caxton's house in Westminster. On the other hand, the type used by Pynson is archaic,[121] and the work is evidently one of the earliest issued from his press. It is inferior to Wynkyn's edition from the technical point of view. A headline is all there is by way of title; while in Wynkyn's copy we find a separate title-page, containing the words, "Here begynneth a lytell treatyse for to lern Englishe and Frensshe," and a woodcut of a schoolmaster seated in a large chair, with a large birch-rod in his left hand, and, on a stool at his feet, three small boys holding open books. This particular woodcut was a favourite in school-books of the period;[122] it appears, for instance, in a little treatise entitled _Pervula_, giving instructions for turning English into Latin, which Wynkyn de Worde printed about 1495.[123] Moreover, each page of Wynkyn's edition has a descriptive headline, "Englysshe and Frensshe," which is not found in Pynson's. The text also is in many places more accurate than that of the Norman printer, and gives the impression of having been corrected here and there. It is therefore probable that Pynson first printed the treatise shortly after 1490,[124] and that another edition was issued by Wynkyn de Worde during the period intervening between the date of the issue of Pynson's edition and the end of the century. A remnant, consisting of one page of yet another edition, is preserved in the British Museum, and shows some variations in spelling from the two other texts. This little book, then, seems to have enjoyed considerable popularity during its short life. On the whole it is more elementary in character than the 'doctrine' of Caxton. The first things taught are the numbers and a list of ordinary mercantile phrases. The opening passage is very much like that written by Caxton for his work: Here is a good boke to lerne to speke Frenshe. Vecy ung bon livre apprendre parler françoys. In the name of the fader and the sone En nom du pere et du filz And of the holy goost, I wyll begynne Et du saint esperit, je vueil commencer To lerne to speke Frensshe, A apprendre a parler françoys, Soo that I maye doo my marchandise Affin que je puisse faire ma marchandise In Fraunce & elles where in other londes, En France et ailieurs en aultre pays, There as the folk speke Frensshe. La ou les gens parlent françoys. And fyrst I wylle lerne to reken by lettre. Et premierement je veux aprendre a compter par lettre. . . . Next come the cardinal numbers and a vocabulary of words "goode for suche as use marchaundyse": Of gold & sylver. D'or et d'argent. Of cloth of golde. De drap d'or. Of perles & precyous stones. De perles et Pieres precieuses. Of velvet & damaskes. De velours et damas etc. . . . and so on for nearly a page, in which the names of various cloths, spices, and wines are provided. Then follows another "manner of speeche" in a list of salutations arranged in dialogue form: Other maner of speche in frensshe. Autre magniere de langage en françoys. Syr, God gyve you good daye. Sire, Dieu vous doint bon iour. Syr, God gyve you goode evyn. Sire, Dieu vous doint bon vespere. Syr, God gyve you goode nyght & goode reste. Sire, Dieu vous doint bon nuyt et bon repos. Syr, how fare ye? Sire, comment vous portez vous? Well at your commaundement. Bien a vostre commandement. How fare my lorde & my lady? Coment se porte mon seigneur et ma dame? Ryght well blessyd be God. Tres bien benoit soit Dieu. Syr, whan go ye agayne to my lorde, Sire, quant retournez vous a mon seigneour, I praye you that ye wyll recommaunde me unto hym, Je vous prie que me recomandez a lui, And also to my lady his wyfe. Et aussi a ma dame sa femme. Syr, God be wyth you. Sire, Dieu soit avecques vous. Yet another favourite subject is next introduced--a conversation on buying and selling: Other maner of speche to bye and selle. Aultre magniere de langage pour vendre et achatter. Syr, God spede you. Sire, Dieu vous garde. Syr, have ye not good cloth to sell? Sire, n'avez vous point de bon drapt a vendre? Ye syr ryght good. Ouy sire tres bon. Now lette me see it and it please you. Or le me laisses voir s'il vous plest. I shall doo it with a good wyll. Je le feray voulentiers. Holde, here it is. Tenez sire, le veez cy. Now saye how moche the yerde is worthe Or me dites combyen l'aune vault. Ten shelynges. Dix solz. Forsothe ye set it to dere. Vrayment vous le faictez trop cher. I shall gyve you eyght shelynges. Je vous en donneray huyt soulz. I wyll not, it is to lytell. Non feroy, cest trop pou. The yerde shall coste you nyne shelynges, L'aune vous coustra neuf soulz, Yf that ye have it. Si vous l'airez. Ye shall have it for no lasse. Vous ne l'avrez pour riens mains. The merchant has also to be able to ask for directions on his way, and to gossip with the landlady of the wayside inn; the phrases necessary for these purposes are recorded in the next "manner of speech," where, as in the first treatise of 1396, the scene is laid in France: For to aske the waye. Pour demander le chemin. Frende, God save you. Amy, Dieu vous sauve. Whiche is the ryght waye Quelle est la voye droite For to goo from hens to Parys? Pour aller d'icy a Paris? Syr, ye muste holde the waye on the ryght hande. Sire, il vous fault tenir le chemin a la droite main. Now saye me, my frende, Or me ditez, mon amy, Yf that any good lodginge Y a il point de bon logis Be betwixt this and the next vyllage? Entre cy et ce prochayn village? There is a ryght good one. Il en y a ung tres bon. Ye shall be there ryght well lodged, Vous serez tres bien logé, Ye & also your horse. Vous et aussi vostre chevaul. My frende, God yelde it you, Mon ami, Dieu vous le rende, And I shall doo an other tyme Et ie feraye ung aultre foiz As moche for you and I maye. Autant pour vous se ie puis. God be with you. Dieu soit avecques vous. The passage proceeds to describe, always in the form of a dialogue, the traveller's arrival at the inn, his entertainment there, and his departure: Dame, shall I be here well lodged? Dame, seroy ie icy bien logé? Ye syr, ryght well. Ouy sire, tres bien. Nowe doo me have a good chambre Or me faites avoir ungue bonne chambre And a good fyre, Et bon feu, And doo that my horse Et faites que mon chevaul Maye be well governed, Puisse estre bien gouverné, And gyve hym good hay and good otes. Et lui donnés bon foin et bon avoine. Dame, is all redy for to dyne? Dame, est tout prest pour aller digner? Ye syr, whan it please you. Oui sire, quant il vous plaise. Syr, moche good do it you. Sire, bon preu vous face. I praye you make good chere Je vous prie faictez bonne chere And be mery, I drynke to you. Et soyez ioieux, ie boy a vous. Now, hostes, saye me how moche have we spende at this dyner. Hostesse, or me dites combien nous avons despendu a ce digner. I shall tell you with a good wyll. Je vous le diray voulentiers. Ye have in alle eyght shelyngs. Vous avez en tout huyt solz. Nowe well holde your sylver and gramercy. Or bien tenez vostre argent et grandmercy. Do my horse come to me. Or me faittz venir mon cheval. Is he sadled and redy for to ryde? Est il sellé et appointé pour chevaucher? Ye syr, all redy. Ouy sire, tout prest. Now fare well and gramercy. Or adiu et grandmercy. Here the 'manière de langage' ends. It is followed by a list of nouns arranged under headings. The enumeration begins with the parts of the body,[125] followed by the clothing and armour--a list containing valuable information on the fashions of the time; then come the natural phenomena, the sun, the stars, water, the winds, and so on; the products of the earth and the food they supply, and finally, the names of the days of the week. With the exception of the last page, each word is preceded by a possessive adjective or an article indicating its gender. The English rendering is sometimes placed above the French word, sometimes opposite. After the vocabulary, which covers nearly five pages, comes the courtesy book in English and French, occupying the next seven pages. It is a reprint of the _Lytylle Chyldrenes Lytil Boke_,[126] which contains a set of maxims for discreet behaviour at meals, in which children are told not to snatch meat from the table before grace is said; not to throw bones on the floor; nor pick their teeth with their knife; nor do many other things, which, when we remember that such books were intended for the instruction of the gentry, throw interesting sidelights on contemporary manners. The inclusion of such precepts for children in a text-book for teaching French was not without precedent; in the last of the series of riming vocabularies, _Femina_ (1415), there is a collection of moral maxims taken, in this instance, from the ancient writers, and printed in Latin, French, and English. In conclusion, the author reverts to the more strictly commercial side of the treatise, with two letters, given in both French and English. One is from an apprentice who writes to his master reporting on some business he is transacting at Paris, and asking for more money. In the second a merchant communicates to his 'gossip' the news of the arrival at London and Southampton of ships laden with rich merchandise, and proposes that they should "find means and ways in this that their shops shall be well stuffed of all manner of merchandise." In both these letters the English comes first: _A prentyse wryteth to his mayster, fyrste in Englysshe and after in frensshe._[127] Ryght worshypful syr, I recommaunde me unto you as moche as I may, and please you wete that I am in ryght goode helth thanked be God. To whome I praye that so it may be of you and of all your good frendes. As for the mater for the whiche ye sent me to Parys, I have spoken with kynges advocate the which sayd to me I must go to the kynge and enfourme his royalle majeste thereof, and have specyal commaundement. Therfore consyderynge the tyme I have taryed at Parys in the pursute of this and the grete coste and expence done bycause of this. Please you for to knowe that for to pursue that mater unto the kyng, the which is at Monthason next Tours, and for to go thyder it is nedefull to sende me some monye and with the grace of God I shalle do suche dylygence that I shall gete your hertes desyre. No more wryte I to you at this tyme but God have you in hys protectyon. Wryten hastely the XIX daye of this moneth. Tres honnoré sire, ie me recommande a vous tant comme je puis, et plaise vous savoir que ie suis en tres bonne santé la marcy Dieu au quel ie prie que ainsi soit il de vous et de tous vos bons amys. Quant pour la matiere pour la quelle vous me envoiastes a Parys, g'ay parlé avec l'advocat du roy le quel m'a dit quil me fault aller au roy et advertir sa royalle maiesté de ce et ay un specyal commandement. Pource consyderant le temps que j'ay attendu a Paris en cest poursuite et lez granz costz et despens faitz par cause de ce. Plaise vous savoir que pour poursuir ceste matiere au roy, le qyel est a Monthason pres Tours, et pour aller la il est mestier de m'enuoyer de l'argent. Et avecques la grace de Dieu je feray telle diligence que aurez ce que vostre cueur desire. Aultre chos ne vous escripz a ceste foiz mays que Dieu vous ayt en sa protection. Escript hastivement le dixneufieme jour du moys. And so ends this interesting little book.[128] The texts of the two complete editions are in the main identical. The arrangement of the matter on the pages is different, and the spelling of the words, both French and English, varies considerably. Slips which occur in Pynson's text, such as the rendering of 'neuf' by 'ten,' or the accidental omission of a word in the French version, are sometimes corrected in Wynkyn's version. On the other hand, similar mistakes, though much fewer in number, are found in Wynkyn's edition and not in Pynson's; while yet others are common to both the printers. Dialect forms are scattered through the two editions with equal capriciousness. Both texts contain a few anglo-normanisms. Pynson's shows numerous characteristics of the North-Eastern dialects, Picard or Lorrain, but at times there is a Picard form in Wynkyn's version, where the pure French form occurs in the other. Apart from such variations, the wording of the two editions is usually similar. In cases where it differs, the improvements are found in Wynkyn's edition, in spite of the fact that, as a general rule, the output of Pynson's press reaches a higher literary level than that of the more business-like Alsatian. This exception may, no doubt, be explained by the fact that Pynson was the first to print the _Good Book to learn to speak French_.[129] Yet here again mistakes are sometimes common to both texts, as, for instance, the rendering of the lines: For the clerks that the seven arts can Sythen that courtesy from heaven came, by the French: Pour les clers qui les sept arts savent Puisque courtoisie de paradis vint, in which the wrong interpretation of the English 'for' (conjunction) and 'sythen' (taken as meaning 'since,' not 'say') destroys the sense. On the whole, the impression conveyed by the perusal of the two editions is that the work is a compilation of treatises already in existence in manuscript. Neither the letters nor the vocabulary present any strikingly new features. The origin of the courtesy book is known, and it is even possible that the fragment of one leaf preserved belongs, not to another edition of the _Good Book to learn to speak French_, but to an earlier edition of the courtesy book in French and English, printed probably by Caxton, with the intention of imparting a knowledge of polite behaviour and of the favourite language of polite society at the same time. The fact that it reproduces the original courtesy book more fully than does either of the complete texts of Wynkyn and Pynson, suggests that it belonged to some such edition, or to an edition of the _Good Book_ earlier than either of these. As to the dialogues, they may have belonged to the group of conversational manuals, which were, no doubt, fairly numerous. Caxton, while maintaining that his 'doctrine' contains more than "many other books," adds: "That which cannot be found declared in it, shall be found elsewhere in other books." That such practical little books shared the fate of the great majority of school manuals is not surprising. The hypothesis that the work is a compilation of older treatises would, moreover, explain the variations in the quality of the French. The dialogues and letters, it would appear, were in the first place written by Englishmen. Pynson corrected them here and there, without, however, eliminating all the anglicisms, archaisms, and provincial forms; and when they passed through the hands of Wynkyn they underwent still further emendation. The English version contains gallicisms, just as the French contains anglicisms,[130] which were, however, probably due to a desire to make the English tally with the French. This same supposition also makes it easier to understand how it came about that the treatise was printed by the two rival printers within the space of a few years, and explains how it was they repeated the same obvious mistakes. Thus, of the matter found in the mediaeval treatises for teaching French, grammar rules alone are unrepresented in this _Good Book_. Its aim is entirely practical. It seeks to teach those who wish to "lerne to _speke_ Frensshe" for practical purposes, that is, "to do their merchaundise," and there is no mention of any deeper or wider knowledge of the language. That the work was intended for the use of children as well as for merchants is shown by the introduction of the courtesy book, and, in the later edition, of the favourite frontispiece for children's school-books described above. But these do not form a vital part of the work itself, and are mere supplements, added probably with the intention of increasing the public to which the book would appeal. The children who used it, we may assume, would probably be of the class of the boy, "John, enfant beal et sage," who appears in the 'manière' of 1415, and learns French that he may the more quickly achieve his end of being apprenticed to a London merchant. To such children the apprentice's letter quoted above would be of much interest. Grammar did not hold a very large place in the teaching of French at this time. Practice and conversation were the usual methods of acquiring a knowledge of spoken French, and no doubt such books as those of Caxton and of Pynson and Wynkyn de Worde found many eager students. The two editions of the first and the three editions of the second with which we are acquainted, all of which probably appeared in the course of the last decade of the fifteenth century, bear testimony to this. Reference has already been made to the probable existence of numerous works of a similar scope in manuscript, and later in print. Such were the "little pages, set in print, with no precepts," to which Claude Holyband, the most popular French teacher of London in the second half of the sixteenth century, refers with contempt; he accuses them of wandering from the 'true phrase' of the language, and of teaching nothing of the reading and pronunciation, "which is the chiefest point to be considered in that behalf," and hence of serving but little to the "furtherance of the knowledge of the French tongue." Yet, though such was the case in all these early works, they seem, without exception, to have enjoyed great popularity at the time they were written, when to speak French fluently was an all-important matter. The difficulty of this accomplishment was realised to the full. We find it expressed in a few disconnected sentences added in French probably at the beginning of the sixteenth century, at the end of the 'manière de langage' of 1396: "We need very long practice before we are able to speak French perfectly," says the anonymous writer, evidently an Englishman, "for the French and English do not correspond word for word, and the fine distinctions are difficult to seize." He proceeds to urge the necessity of a glib tongue in making progress in French, and quotes the case of an unfortunate man, good fellow though he might otherwise be, who lacked this faculty: "Il ne luy avient plus a parler franceis qu'à une vache de porter une selle, a cause que sa langue n'est pas bien afilée, et pour cela n'entremette il pas à parler entre les fraunceis." In the early part of the sixteenth century, however, French began to be studied with more thoroughness in England. Communication with France and the tour in France were no longer fraught with the same dangers and difficulties, and favoured the use of a purer form of French. Fluent was no longer sufficient without correct pronunciation and grammar. The standard of French taught was also raised by the arrival of numerous Frenchmen, who made the teaching of their language the business of their lives. Further, the spread of the art of printing had rendered French literature more accessible, and supplied a rich material from which the rules of the language might be deduced. And so it became possible for John Palsgrave, the London teacher and student of Paris, to complete the first great work on the French language, in which, however, he did not forget to render due homage to his humble predecessors,[131] then fast passing into oblivion. FOOTNOTES: [75] Freeman, _Norman Conquest_, ii., 1868, pp. 16 _sqq._, 28 _sqq._ [76] _Manière de Langage_, 1396; cp. _infra_, p. 35. [77] "Doulz françois qu'est la plus bel et la plus gracious language et plus noble parler, apres latin d'escole, qui soit au monde." [78] Jehan Barton, _Donait François_, _c._ 1400. [79] "Afin qu'ils puissent entrecomuner bonement ove lour voisin c'est a dire les bones gens du roiaume de France, et ainsi pour ce que les leys d'Engleterre pour le graigneur partie et ainsi beaucoup de bones choses sont misez en François, et aussi bien pres touz les sirs et toutes les dames en mesme roiaume d'Engleterre volentiers s'entrescrivent en romance--tresnecessaire je cuide estre aus Englois de scavoir la nature de François." [80] Which no doubt became more numerous, as English, rather than Latin, became the medium through which French was learnt. Thus we find _pour honte_ written for 'for shame'; _il est haut temps_, for 'it is high time'; _quoi_ ('why') for _pourquoi_; _de les_ for _des_, and so on. [81] Edited from a unique MS. in Trinity College, Cambridge, by W. Aldis Wright, for the Roxburghe Club, 1909 (Camb. Univ. Press). G. Hickes published part of the first chapter, with remarks on its philological value, in his _Linguarum Veterum Septentrionalium Thesaurus Grammatico-Criticus et Archaeologicus_, Oxford, 1705, i. pp. 144-151. [82] "Liber iste vocatur femina quia sicut femina docet infantem loqui maternam, sic docet iste liber iuvenes rethorice loqui Gallicum prout infra patebit." [83] P. Meyer, _Romania_, xxxii. pp. 43 _et seq._ [84] The English spelling, very corrupt in the original, is here modernized. [85] These MSS. have been described and classified by J. Stürzinger, _Altfranzösische Bibliothek_, viii. pp. v-x. [86] Brit. Mus. Harl. MS. 4971; Addit. MS. 11716, and Camb. Univ. Libr. MS. Ee 4, 20. [87] Camb. Univ. Libr. MSS. Dd 12, 23. and Gg 6, 44. [88] P. Meyer, _Romania_, xv. p. 262. [89] Brit. Mus. Sloane MS. 513, pp. 135-138. [90] Brit. Mus. Sloane MS. 513, fol. 139. [91] There is a fragment, very indistinct, on French pronunciation in the Brit. Mus. MS. Harl. 4971: _Modus pronunciandi dictiones in Gallicis_. [92] Cp. also the Brit. Mus. Addit MS. 17716, fol. 100. [93] Camb. Univ. Libr. MS., Ee 4, 20; Oxford, All Souls, MS. 182. [94] Brit. Mus. MS. Harl. 4971; MS. Addit. 17716 (preceding the observations on pronouns and verbs mentioned above); Camb. Univ. Libr., Ee 4, 20; Oxford Magdalen College, MS. 188, and All Souls, MS. 182. [95] Published by Stengel, _op. cit._ pp. 25-40, from MS. 182 of All Souls, Oxford. [96] Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 376. [97] "A le honneur de Dieu et de sa tresdoulce miere et toutz les saintez de paradis, je Johan Barton, escolier de Paris, née et nourie toutes foiez d'Engleterre en la conté de Cestre, j'ey baillé aus avantdiz Anglois un Donait françois pur les briefment entroduyr en la droit language du Paris et de pais la d'entour la quelle language en Engleterre on appelle doulce France. Et cest Donat je le fis la fair a mes despenses et tres grande peine par pluseurs bons clercs du language avantdite." [98] Brunot, _op. cit._ i. p. 376. [99] "Cy endroit il fault prendre garde qu'en parlant François on ne mette pas une personne pour une aultre si come font les sottez gens, disantz ainsi _je ferra_ pour _je ferray_. . . ." [100] We pass from the numbers of nouns to the person of verbs, then to the genders and kinds (proper, appellative) of nouns and their cases, six in number on the analogy of Latin, which is naturally the basis of the terminology of this work and all others for many years after; then come observations on the degrees of comparison, after which we return to the verbs, and their moods and tenses. The following sections deal with the parts of speech; the four indeclinables (adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections) are merely mentioned. Nouns, adjectives, and pronouns receive some attention, but the chief subject is the verb: "Cy maintenant nous vous baillerons un exemple coment vous fourmeres touz les verbs françois du monde, soient-ils actifez, soient-ils passivez, en quelque meuf ou temps qu'ils soient. Et ceste exemple serra pour cest verbe _jeo aime_. . . ." But the verbs are not classified, and only a few of the best known are conjugated as examples. In the list of impersonal verbs which closes the treatise, English is sometimes used to explain their meaning: "Me est avis, _Me seemth_." [101] J. Bale, _Illustrium Maioris Britanniae scriptorum summarium_. Ipswich, 1548, p. 203. [102] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [103] Preserved in a considerable number of MSS.: Brit. Mus. (Harl. 3988, Addit. 17716), Oxford (All Souls, 182), Camb. Univ. Libr. (Bd 12, 23), and in Sir Thomas Philipps's Library at Cheltenham (MS. No. 8188). The earliest (Harl. 3988) was published by P. Meyer in the _Revue Critique_, 1873, pp. 373-408. [104] The name of Kirmington, which occurs at the end, is no doubt that of the copyist. [105] _Athenaeum_, Oct. 5, 1878: article by Stengel. [106] Published by Stengel, _op. cit._ pp. 12-15. [107] Stengel, _Athenaeum_, Oct. 5, 1878. Coyfurelly also rehandled the _Tractatus Orthographiae_ of 'T. H., Student of Paris.' [108] Ed. Paul Meyer, _Romania_, xxxii. pp. 49-58. It exists in three MSS.; at the end of _Femina_ in Camb. Univ. Libr. (Dd 12, 23), at Trinity Col. Camb. (B 14. 39, 40), and in the Brit. Mus. (Addit. 17716). [109] French, however, still had some standing at Oxford at this date. [110] Preserved in Cambridge University Library. [111] Containing such anglicisms as the rendering of 'already' by _tout prest_. [112] Such collections exist in MSS. Harl. 4971 and Addit. 17716, Brit. Mus.; and in Ee 4, 20, Camb. Univ. Libr. [113] Harl. 4971; cp. Stürzinger, _op. cit._ p. xvi. [114] Early bibliographers seem to have been uncertain as to what category it belonged to: for some time it was called a _Book for Travellers_; then a _Vocabulary in French and English_ (Blades, _Life and Typography of Wm. Caxton_, 1861-63), and finally by the more appropriate title of _Dialogues in French and English_. [115] Caxton's edition contains ff. 24, with about 24 lines on a page. There are three complete texts extant (at Ripon Cathedral, Rylands Library, and Bamborough Castle), and one fragmentary one (in the Duke of Devonshire's Library). The Ripon copy was reprinted for the Early English Text Society in 1900, by H. Bradley (extra series lxxix.). The other edition, of which a fragment exists in the Bodleian, was probably printed by Wynkyn de Worde (W. C. Hazlitt, _Handbook ... to the Literature of Great Britain_, 1867, p. 631). [116] Published from a MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale, by M. Michelant: _Le Livre des Mestiers, dialogues français-flamands, composés au 14e siècle par un maître d'école de la ville de Bruges_. Paris, 1875. [117] H. Bradley: Introduction to the edition of Caxton's _Dialogues_. [118] Caxton's arrangement of the French and English in opposite columns is no doubt accounted for by the fact that he wrote the English version by the side of the French in his copy of the original phrase book. [119] E. G. Duff, _A Century of the English Book Trade_, Bibliographical Soc., 1905; and _Handlists of Books Printed by London Printers_, Bibliog. Soc., 1913, ad nom. The work is here given the inappropriate title of a "Vocabulary in French and English." [120] It was to have been reprinted by H. B. Wheatley in a collection of early grammars, for the Early English Text Society. [121] W. C. Hazlitt, _Bibliographical Collections and Notes_, 3rd series, London, 1887, p. 293. [122] For instance, the _Cato cum commento_ (1514), _Stans puer ad mensam_ (1516), and _Vulgaria Stanbrigi_ (_c._ 1520). [123] "What shalt thou do when thou haste an englyssh to be made in Latine? I shall reherce myn englyssh fyrst, ones, twyces, and loke out my princypal verbe, and aske hym this questyon _who_ or _what_. And that worde that answeryth to the questyon shall be the nomynatif case to the verbe." [124] In the British Museum Catalogue Wynkyn's edition is dated 1493? and Pynson's 1500?; the year 1500? is also put forward as the date for the fragmentary edition. W. C. Hazlitt dates Wynkyn's edition at about the year 1498, and Pynson's at about 1492-3 (_Bibliographical Collections_, _ut supra_, and _Handbook_, London, 1867, p. 210). [125] My heres. Mes cheveulx. My browes. Mez sourcieulx. Myn eres. Mez oreilles. Myn teeth. Mez dens. My forhede. Mon front. Myn eyen. Mez yeulx. My nose. Mon nez. My tong. Ma langue . . . etc. [126] Published by E. J. Furnivall, _Manners and Meals in Olden Time_, 1868, pp. 16 _sqq._ The MS. used by the compiler of the French manual was no doubt of a later date than the one here printed. [127] Pp. 19-20 _in fine_. [128] It contains 11 quarto leaves, of the size of the time, with usually 29 lines to a page. [129] Thus in Pynson's edition the order of the personal pronouns before the verb is often inverted ("le vous diray," "le vous rende"), while it is correct in Wynkyn's; and some lines of the French version of the courtesy book are almost unintelligible, whereas their meaning is clearly expressed by Wynkyn. [130] Such phrases as "say me my friend" for _dites-moi mon ami_; "do me have a good chamber" for _faites-moi avoir une bonne chambre_. [131] In addition to the works already mentioned, some reference to these mediaeval treatises is also found in an article by H. Oelsner, in the _Athenaeum_ (Feb. 11, 1905); in A. Way's edition of the _Promptorium Parvulorum_ (Camden Soc., 1865, No. 89; Appendix, pp. xxvii _sqq._ and pp. lxxi _sqq._); Ellis, _Original Letters_, 3rd series, ii. p. 208. PART II TUDOR TIMES CHAPTER I THE FRENCH LANGUAGE AT COURT AND AMONG THE NOBILITY At the beginning of the sixteenth century the gradual changes which brought about the extinction of Anglo-French were complete to all intents and purposes; this corrupt form of the language lingered only in a few religious houses and the law courts. The French spoken at the English Court in the Middle Ages had remained purer than elsewhere; for centuries the kings of England were as much attached to France as to England; they had spent much of their time in France and fought for the French crown as their natural right, not as Englishmen in strife with Frenchmen. From the thirteenth century, however, English was understood, though not widely spoken, at Court. It progressed gradually until, two centuries later, in the reign of Henry VI., it was used more frequently than French. By the sixteenth century French was an entirely foreign language at the English Court, and it was round the Court circles that developed the new and more serious study of the language which then arose--a study which led to the production of so important a work as John Palsgrave's _L'Esclarcissement de la langue françoyse_. It will therefore be well to consider the extent to which French was used among the nobility and gentry of the time. The personal ascendancy of the Tudors and the pomp of their Court began to attract the attention of foreigners, and to excite their curiosity. Consequently numerous travellers made their way to the English capital; and later in the same period religious persecution, raging on the Continent, drove many Protestants, frequently men of distinction, to seek refuge in England. What language would these visitors employ in their intercourse with their hosts? English is excluded from the purview, because at this time, and indeed for some time after, our language received no recognition, and certainly no homage from any foreigner, and but scant deference from English scholars themselves.[132] Several foreign visitors in London have left an account of their impressions on hearing this entirely unknown and strange language spoken. Thus Nicander Nucius, the Greek Envoy at the Court of Henry VIII., says of the English that "they possess a peculiar language, differing in some measure from all others"; although it is "barbarous," he finds in it a certain charm and attraction, and judges it "sweeter" than German or Flemish.[133] Others formed a less favourable opinion.[134] The physician Girolamo Cordano, for instance, when he first heard Englishmen speaking, thought they were Italians gone mad and raving, "for they inflect the tongue upon the palate, twist words in the mouth, and maintain a sort of gnashing with the teeth." The Dutchman, Immanuel von Meteren, gathered the impression that English is broken German, "not spoken from the heart as the latter, but only prattling with the tongue." We have, however, to recollect that, among the learned, Latin was in general use as a spoken language; it was the ideal of the Humanists to make Latin the universal language of the educated world. Erasmus was able to live several years in England, and in familiar intercourse with Englishmen, without feeling the necessity for learning English or using any other modern language; but he mingled almost entirely with scholars, such as Grocyn, Linacre, Latimer, Colet, and More--men with whom Henry VIII. loved to surround himself. Still, the great Dutchman was an exception even amongst Humanists, who nearly all, at some period in their lives, forsook Latin for their native tongue. Moreover, Latin was not fluently or colloquially spoken by the majority of the English nobility and gentry. The poet, Alexander Barclay, tells us that "the understandyne of Latyn," in the early years of the sixteenth century, was "almost contemned by Gentylmen."[135] [Header: THE SPEAKING OF LATIN] "I have not these twenty years used any Latin tongue,"[136] said Latimer at his trial for heresy in 1554--a striking testimony on the lips of one whose natural sympathies were towards Humanism. Some years later the great Huguenot scholar, Hubert Languet, wrote to his young English friend, Sir Philip Sidney--then newly returned from continental travel--to express his apprehension lest the young man should forget all his Latin at the English Court and entirely give up the practice of it; he urges him to do his best to prevent this, and maintain his Latin along with his French. Languet affirms that he has never heard Sidney pronounce a syllable of French incorrectly, and wishes his pronunciation of Latin were as perfect.[137] Sidney, however, does not appear to have considered Latin of as much importance to a courtier as French: "So you can speake and write Latine not barbarously," he wrote to his brother Robert in 1580,[138] "I never require great study ordinarily in Ciceronianisme, the cheife abuse of Oxford." No doubt Sidney voices a general sentiment in this verdict. It is increasingly clear that the supremacy of Latin was beginning to be questioned on all sides, and, while Latin remained to a large extent the language of scholars, it was not generally employed in society. Further, when the English did speak Latin, foreigners had considerable difficulty in understanding them, on account of their notoriously bad pronunciation. The great scholar Scaliger, who was in England in 1590, tells that he once listened to an Englishman talking Latin for a quarter of an hour, and at last excused himself, saying that he did not understand English![139] To the same effect is the observation of Tom Coryat, the traveller, who, on his journey on the Continent,[140] found his Latin so little understood, that he had to modify his pronunciation. At a later date, when the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Cosmo III., visited the two English Universities,[141] he was unable to understand the Latin speeches and orations with which he was greeted. A Latin comedy which the Cambridge students performed in his honour was equally unintelligible to him. "To smatter Latin with an English mouth," wrote Milton in a well-known passage, "is as ill a hearing as Law French." At the same time a quickened interest in modern languages generally was felt in England as in other countries. Two of these, Italian and Spanish, entered the arena to challenge the supremacy of French in the world of fashion and intellect. The real issue of the contest, however, was never in doubt. The Renaissance and the new Humanism appeared for a time to favour the Italian rival,[142] but the inherent merits of French, with its particular genius for precision and clarity, easily won the day. Those circles--often very brilliant circles--of distinguished men and women for whom the Renaissance was as the dawn of a new day, often made Italian a more serious object of study than French; but though it was widely learned for the sake of its literature, it was never so widely spoken or so universally popular as French. Italian, and to a minor degree Spanish, were indeed seriously cultivated by the Tudor group of distinguished linguists,[143] and so became a sort of fashion, which, spreading to more frivolous circles, soon degenerated into mere affectation. These dilettanti had been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps, to use Shakespeare's words. Such affectation was naturally felt to be dangerous. While Roger Ascham renders due homage to the linguistic attainments of his queen,[144] he finds it necessary to reproach the young gentlemen of the day with their deficiency in this respect. [Header: INTEREST IN MODERN LANGUAGES] Professional teachers of modern languages likewise complain of the lack of seriousness on the part of many of their pupils. John Florio,[145] for example, bewails the fact that when they have learned two words of Spanish, three words of French, and four words of Italian, they think they have enough, and will study no more; and a French teacher[146] expresses the same thought in almost identical terms; according to him they learn a little French one day, then a bit of Italian and a snatch of Spanish, and think themselves qualified for an embassy to the Grand Turk. Shakespeare's Falconbridge, the young baron of England, may be taken as a fair example of such dilettantism.[147] Thus Italian was never a really dangerous rival to French, which had struck its roots deep into the English soil long before Italian influence reached our shores. Not only was this the case, but French was also widely known throughout Europe. Even in the early years of this period, the poet Alexander Barclay, himself the author of a French grammar, affirms that French was spoken even by the Turks and Saracens. The French themselves are said to have been in love with their own language, and, as a result, to have neglected Latin;[148] when the English ambassador at Paris, Sir Amias Poulet, sent to England for a chaplain for his household, he wrote: "Yt were to be wished that he had at the least some understandinge in the French tongue for his better conference with the Frenche ministers, whereof many are not best able to utter there mynde in Lattyn."[149] We may therefore safely conclude that French was the language commonly spoken by Englishmen in their intercourse with foreigners, although Latin was sometimes used in conversation, and Italians were occasionally addressed in their own tongue. English was so little used in the Court and its circles that foreigners were apt to forget that England had a language of her own; one of them considers it a merit in Henry VIII. that he was able to speak English! In London, indeed, the use of French was so common that several foreign observers deemed the fact worthy of note. Nicander Nucius, the Greek envoy who visited London in 1545, remarks[150] that, for the most part, the English use the French language, besides having a great admiration for everything else French--an observation which cannot safely be taken as referring to any other class than the nobility, as his relations would be almost wholly restricted to that class. When the Duke of Württemberg visited the court of Elizabeth, where he found ample occasion to exercise his own admirable knowledge of French, he left on record the fact that many English courtiers understood and spoke French very well. The spread of French at the English Court attracted the attention of Frenchmen also, and several years after Nicander's account, Peletier du Mans states that in England, at least among the princes and their courts, French is spoken on all occasions.[151] French was also not infrequently used in correspondence. Apart from such diplomatic correspondence as exists, numerous examples of the interchange of private letters in French among the English nobility have come down to us. Even among scholars Latin was by no means the only medium of communication. In the sixteenth century the chief scholars of the two countries corresponded with each other, and, though Englishmen never wrote in their native tongue, Frenchmen did occasionally use their own language rather than Latin. Bacon wrote in French to the Marquis of Effiat, and Hotman, on the other hand, in French to Camden: "Me sentant detraqué de l'usage de la langue latine, je vous escris cette lettre en françois pour renouveller avec vous notre amitié ancienne et correspondance."[152] John Calvin corresponded with Edward VI. and Protector Somerset in French, and Henry IV. of France carried on a voluminous correspondence in his own language with his "tres chere et tres aimée bonne soeur," Elizabeth, as well as with her chief ministers.[153] [Header: FRENCH REGARDED WITH SPECIAL FAVOUR] French was thus more than a mere accomplishment for the English gentleman, and soon became an absolute necessity for all those who desired employment under the Crown. It is true that an interpreter might be had, but the practice was looked upon with great disfavour as very unsuitable where private negotiations had to be conducted. The necessity for a knowledge of French on the part of a minister of state may be gathered from the large number of petitions and other documents addressed to them in that language and preserved among the State Papers.[154] A rather curious instance of the favour with which the use of French was regarded in official circles is supplied by the case of a Scotch prisoner in London, who, when he desired leave on parole, on the ground of ill-health, was advised to make his application in French, "to shew his scholarship."[155] Copies of proclamations, issued in foreign countries, were frequently translated into French before being sent to the English Government; and time after time we find a lack of knowledge of French regarded as a serious disqualification for diplomatic or other public service. One young gentleman regrets that he "cannot be engaged on any work of importance as he does not know French." The drawbacks arising from an inadequate knowledge of the language appear from the case of a certain Thomas Thyrleby who writes from Valance to Wriothesly in 1538 telling him how much discouraged he is concerning his knowledge of French. He says he went with the Bishop of Winchester and Brian to the Constable that morning at eight o'clock, and that he could understand them, but not the Grand Master's answer, except by conjecture, guessing at a word here and there; after dinner he had audience of the French king and bore away never one word but "l'empereur, l'empereur" often rehearsed; and he feels he must diligently apply himself to learn the language or the king will be ill served when he is left alone.[156] The Tudors appear to have regarded the study of French with much favour. The first king of this line had lived for many years in France and was strongly imbued with French tastes.[157] He encouraged Frenchmen to visit England, and appointed one of them, Bernard André, his Poet Laureate and Historiographer as well as tutor to his sons. There were also troupes of French comedians and minstrels who performed at Court from time to time.[158] The king always received with favour at his Court those who were fluent in the French tongue. No doubt Stephen Hawes secured the king's patronage partly by his facility in the use of this language, and partly from his really profound knowledge of French literature, of which the king also was an eager student. Yet this first of the Tudor kings belongs rather to the Middle Ages and the Old Learning than to the Renaissance. Not until we reach the period of Henry VIII., a distinct favourer of the New Learning, do we enter fully into the spirit of the new movement. In a true sense Henry may be called the first King of England, for England was his real home, and while using the ancient title "King of France," he had no truly filial attachment to the country. He may thus be taken as a fair example of the attitude of the cultivated English noble towards foreign languages. He spoke French fluently though he had never been in France, and also conversed in Latin with ease; Italian he understood, but made no attempt to speak. He always addressed foreigners in either French or Latin.[159] An admirer of French fashions, he copied in such matters his friend and rival, the French king, even allowing his beard to grow when he heard that Francis wore one, and having his hair dressed "short and straight after the French fashion." When the Venetian ambassador, Piero Pasqualigo, came from Paris to London in 1515, Henry eagerly seized the opportunity to institute a comparison between himself and the French king. Pasqualigo, meeting Henry at Greenwich, writes how he on one occasion beheld his majesty mounted on a bay Frieslander, and dressed entirely in green velvet; directly the envoy came in sight, he began to make his horse to curvet and perform such feats, that Pasqualigo says he thought himself looking upon Mars. He came into our tent, the narrator continues, and, addressing me in French, said, "Talk with me a while."[160] [Header: HENRY VIII.'S KNOWLEDGE OF FRENCH] Henry then proceeded to question him about Francis and to induce him to draw comparisons between himself and the French king. The ambassador remarks that Henry spoke French "very well indeed." The campaign of 1513 supplies another example of the ease with which Henry spoke French. The English king was accompanied by Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who later incurred the royal anger by his presumption in marrying Henry's sister Mary, the Dowager of France. On the present occasion, however, the king's knowledge of French was of great service to Suffolk, who found some difficulty in pressing his suit with the Lady Margaret of Savoy, owing to his ignorance of that language. The Duke had half seriously removed a ring from the lady's finger, and, as she particularly desired to reclaim it, and he refused to return it, she called him a thief; but he could not understand the word "larron," so she was forced to call upon the king to explain.[161] There are extant several examples of Henry's compositions in French. Much of his private correspondence was written in this tongue; and he also essayed to write verses in French, possibly in imitation of Francis I. Their quality may be judged from the following specimens:[162] Adieu madam et ma mastres, Adieu mon solas et mon joy, Adieu jusque vous revoy, Adieu vous diz par graunt tristesse. or: Helas madam cel qe je metant [j'eme tant], soffre qe soie voutre humble svant [servant]; ie seray [vous] a tousiours e tant que ie vivray alt n'airay qe vous.[163] We gather from Henry's spelling of French that he had learnt the language chiefly by ear. There is a curious example of the fluency with which the king and his courtiers spoke French, in a scene described by Wolsey's gentleman usher and afterwards dramatized by Shakespeare.[164] The cardinal was among the few at the Court of Henry VIII. who did not speak French with ease. During a banquet he was giving at the palace of Whitehall, Henry and a band of courtiers landed unexpectedly at the Whitehall Stairs, disguised as foreign noblemen. Wolsey sent the Lord Chancellor to bid them welcome, because he could not speak French himself.[165] The visitors were introduced, and passed for a time as foreigners, the Lord Chancellor acting as their interpreter to Wolsey. At last the royal joker and his companions disclosed their identity amidst a tumult of exclamations, and then joined in the festivities.[166] The ladies of the Court rivalled the noblemen in their knowledge of French. When the French ambassadors with their brilliant suite, who had come to England for the ratification of peace in 1514, were entertained in great state at Greenwich, all the ladies and gentlewomen were able to converse in good French with their French partners, "which delighted them much to heare the Ladies speake to them in their owne language."[167] It is not surprising, therefore, to find French holding an important place in the education of women of high birth. The princess Mary Tudor, one of the most attractive figures at the English Court, had, like the king her brother, been early initiated in the difficulties of the French language.[168] At the age of twelve she pronounced in French her betrothal vows to the Prince of Castile (1513); and when it fell to her lot to marry Louis XII. of France, she continued still more to apply herself to the study of the language. She was able to write to her future husband in his own tongue,[169] and even occasionally made use of it in her correspondence with her brother, the English king. [Header: FRENCH AMONG THE LADIES] Henry's first queen did little to forward French tastes and never modified her natural preference for all things Spanish, but with the advent of Queen Anne Boleyn French acquired a powerful and enthusiastic patroness. Anne was entirely French by education and tastes. She had been brought up by a French governess,[170] and had from an early age used the French language in her correspondence with her father during his absences at the Court and elsewhere. It was her fluency in this language which led to her rapid advancement on her arrival at Court. She was soon chosen to accompany the king's sister Mary to France, and just before her appointment wrote to her father in French, telling him that the presence of the Queen of France would inspire her with a still greater desire to speak French well.[171] Anne stayed in France several years, first in the service of Mary during the few months she was Queen of France, then in that of her successor, Queen Claude, consort of Francis I., and finally in the more lively household of Margaret of Alençon, afterwards Queen of Navarre. On her return to the English Court she became maid of honour to Queen Katherine, and her skill in dress and her French manners[172] did much to promote the taste for French fashions. The famous Elizabethan antiquary Camden asserts that Anne's French jollity first attracted to her the notice of Henry. At any rate the courtship was largely carried on in French. Out of the seventeen love letters of Henry to Anne Boleyn, which are preserved in the Vatican Library, more than half are in French.[173] One of these may be quoted as an example of the English king's powers in French prose. It was written to Anne during one of the absences she deemed expedient to make from the Court: Ma Maitresse et amie, moy et mon coeur s'en remettent en vos mains, vous suppliant les avoir pour recommander a votre bonne grace, et que par absence votre affection ne leur soit diminué. Car pur augmenter leur peine ce seroit grande pitié, car l'absence leur fait assez, et plus que jamais je n'eusse pensé . . . vous asseurant que de ma part l'ennuye de l'absence deja m'est trop grande. Et quand je pense a l'augmentation d'iceluy que par force faut que je soufre il m'est presque intollerable, s'il n'estoit le ferme espoir que j'aye de votre indissoluble affection vers moi, et pour le vous rementevoir alcune fois cela, et voyant que personellement je ne puis estre en votre presence, chose la plus approchante a cela qui m'est possible au present, je vous envoye, c'est-a-dire ma picture mise en braisselettes a toute la devise que deja sçavez, me souhaitant en leur place quant il vous plairoit. C'est de la main de--Votre serviteur et amy, H. R. Of Henry's other queens, Jane Seymour and Katherine Howard were both ardent admirers of the French language. The former had, like Anne Boleyn, completed her education at the French Court. Henry's chief objection to Anne of Cleves was her lack of French refinements. We know from the French ambassador Marillac that Henry was ill pleased at Anne's German costume and made her dress in the French style,[174] which, according to the same authority, had been favoured by Queen Katherine Howard and all her ladies. Moreover, the new queen could speak neither French[175] nor English, and her own language was displeasing to the king's ears; consequently he refused to converse much with her by means of an interpreter.[176] As for Katharine Parr, she was one of the most distinguished linguists of her time, and did much to encourage the studies of the royal family. French was one of the principal studies of Henry VIII.'s children. It appears to have been the only modern foreign language with which Edward VI. was acquainted; he is said to have been "in the French and Latin Tongues singularly perfect."[177] Mary, on the other hand, knew Spanish as well as she did French. This is, however, accounted for by the fact that she was early destined to become the wife of the Emperor Charles V. [Header: FRENCH STUDIED IN THE ROYAL FAMILY] The emperor had even tried to persuade Henry to allow his daughter to be brought up in Spain. His request was refused, but a promise was given that the princess should be educated in all points as a Spanish lady.[178] In addition to this, her mother, Katherine of Aragon, superintended her early education, and her attendants were all Spanish. Thus Spanish was for a time almost her native tongue. Yet French was by no means neglected, especially after the Spanish marriage was broken off. Fresh impetus was given to this study by the possibility of a French match, when in 1518 negotiations for a union with the Dauphin, son of Francis I., were set on foot. On the testimony of Marillac, Mary spoke and wrote French well; the ambassador had seen letters of hers written in French at the time of her mother's divorce.[179] The princess was also well acquainted with Latin, and understood Italian, though, like many others, she did not attempt to speak it.[180] Elizabeth alone of the royal family spoke Italian with almost as much ease as she did French.[181] "French and Italian she speaks like English," wrote her tutor, Roger Ascham, "Latin with fluency, propriety, and judgment"; and in addition she had some knowledge of Greek. When queen, she retained her early fancy for Italian, and prided herself on using no other language in the presence of Italians.[182] The Scotch ambassador, Sir James Melville, a very competent judge, remarks that she spoke it "raisonable weill."[183] French, however, was her usual means of intercourse with other foreigners, even when, like Melville, they spoke English. The queen commended Melville's French. "She said my French was gud," he writes in his memoirs, where he likewise gives his own opinion of the queen's attainments in the language: "hir Maiestie culd speak as gud Frenche as any that had never bene out of the contrie, but yet she laiketh the use of the Frenche court language, quhilk was frank and schort and had oft tymes twa significations, quhilk discreit and famylier frendes tok always in the best part."[184] If not idiomatic, the queen's French is generally allowed to have been fluent. Her accent is reported to have been harsh and unpleasing; she spoke with a drawl, and, according to M. Drizanval, resident in London for the French king,[185] she constantly repeated the phrase "_paar Dieu, paar maa foi_" in a ridiculous tone. Another visitor, the Duke of Württemberg, records that he once heard her deliver an appropriate speech in French,[186] which, as usual, was the language in which he addressed her. Towards the end of her reign the queen still practised the use of French and Italian. In 1598 the German Hentzner, travelling in England, describes how he saw Elizabeth "as she went along in all her State and magnificence," and how "she spoke very graciously first to one then to another (whether foreign ministers or those who attend for different reasons) in English, French, and Italian."[187] She also wrote French with some ease. One of her earliest literary efforts was a translation from the French of Margaret of Navarre's _Miroir de l'Ame pécheresse_. She likewise composed devotions and prayers in French--a habit which she retained after she had been queen for many years. At the time when her marriage with the Duke of Alençon, her "little frog," as she calls him, was under discussion, the queen compiled a curious little volume, containing six prayers, written on vellum in a very neat hand; in addition to devotions in French and English there are others in Italian, Latin, and Greek. In the front of this work there is a miniature of the Duke, and at the end, one of Elizabeth.[188] Other examples of her compositions in French are found in her correspondence, where this language holds a considerable place. It thus appears that the majority of the English nobility and gentry spoke and understood French at least tolerably well. [Header: FRENCH TUTORS AND FRENCH GRAMMARS] We are led to ask how they came by their knowledge, and what facilities there were in England for learning French, seeing that many of them never visited France. In the sixteenth century private tuition played a large part in the education of the gentry; and the professional tutor was, in many cases, a Frenchman, who would naturally further the study of his native tongue. The Court itself encouraged the custom of employing French tutors by engaging several in its midst; and as, at this time, the Court became a powerful factor in English social life, and the chief means of entering the service of the State, noblemen and gentlemen wishing to figure on the social stage endeavoured to adapt themselves to Court requirements. French tutors were to be found in all the chief families of the time. Étienne Pasquier remarks that there was no noble family in England without its French tutor to instruct the children in the French language.[189] This condition of things was still further developed a few years later when religious persecution in France and the Netherlands drove increasingly large numbers of Protestant refugees to take asylum in England. All traces of the majority of these tutors have been lost; those of whom anything is known were, for the most part, either the authors of manuals for teaching French, or had won repute as writers or Humanists before leaving their native land. One of these Humanists was Bernard André, familiarly called "Master Barnard," the blind poet--an infirmity to which he frequently refers. He was a native of Toulouse, and probably came to England with Henry VII., his patron.[190] It is a curious fact that soon after his accession Henry appointed this Frenchman, author of verses in French and Latin but never a line in English, Poet Laureate of England. In addition to this he bestowed on him repeated marks of favour. For a time André was engaged as a tutor at Oxford, and in 1496 was chosen as governor to Prince Arthur, and probably had much to do with the education of his brother, afterwards Henry VIII. Appointed Historiographer Royal, he began in this capacity to write his patron's life. Like so many other men of education, André was in Holy Orders; he received preferment from time to time, and was finally presented to the living of Guisnes near Calais, which he resigned in 1521, having attained an "extreme old age." In the early sixteenth century, as in the Middle Ages, England took the initiative in the production of French grammars.[191] The numbers which appeared are so many testimonies to Englishmen's interest in the French language. The chief and best known of these grammars is the great work of John Palsgrave (1530), already mentioned, which stands out in contrast with the slight treatises which had previously appeared on the subject in England. Considering the time when it was written and the irregular and unsettled condition of the language with which it deals, it is truly remarkable for its fulness and comprehensiveness. Almost alone of its predecessors and its immediate successors, it answered more than a merely temporary and professional purpose, and is still of very great value to the student of the English and French languages at that time, and a great storehouse of obsolete words in both languages. Perhaps the very reason which makes it so valuable to the student of to-day hindered its success in the sixteenth century; most students of French then preferred the shorter and more practical manuals. Palsgrave had a very exalted idea of the French tongue; he desired to place it on a level with the "three perfect tonges"--Latin, Greek, and Hebrew--and to make it a fourth and classical tongue, by drawing up "absolute" rules for its use. Palsgrave's grammar acquires additional importance from the fact that no similar work had been produced in France. It is the first systematized attempt to formulate rules for the French language, or indeed for any modern tongue. Only one year later, however, Sylvius or Dubois published his _In Linguam Gallicam Eisagoge_ (1531). In the address to Henry VIII., which precedes his work, Palsgrave speaks of the "great nombre of clerkes, whiche before season of this mater have written nowe sithe the beginnyng of your most fortunate and most prosperous raigne." All these "clerkes," he says, have treated chiefly of two things, which they judged specially useful to the English--the pronunciation of French, and "wherein the true analogie of the two tongues did rest." [Header: BARCLAY'S "INTRODUCTORY"] No doubt many of these treatises were in manuscript and are among the lost treasures of the sixteenth century. Yet some have come down to us. Palsgrave mentions three writers by name, Alexander Barclay, Petrus Vallensys, and Giles Duwes, copies of whose works are still in existence. The earliest of these grammars--so far as is known the first French grammar ever printed--was the work of Alexander Barclay, well known as a prolific writer and poet, who devoted much of his time to translation and did much to make contemporary French literature known in England. Barclay had spent a time "full of foly and unprofytable stody" at some university, possibly Paris; he had travelled, and was well acquainted with French; from his youth upwards, he says, he had been exercised in the two languages of French and English. It was late in his literary career, when he had "withdrawen" his pen from its "olde dylygence," that he undertook to compose a grammar of the French language, at the request of the Duke of Norfolk, Lord Treasurer of England, and of "certain other gentlemen." The work appeared in 1521[192] under the title of _Here begynneth the introductory to wryte and to pronounce frenche compyled by Alexander Barclay, compendiously at the commandement of the right hye excellent and myghty prynce, Th. duke of Northfolke_. The printer, Robert Coplande, himself a good French scholar, composed some lines on the coat of arms of the Duke in French, and printed them at the beginning of the book; at the end he placed a translation of Lambert Danneau's _Traité des Danses_, also from his own pen.[193] Barclay's endeavour is to make his grammar as short and concise as possible; his rules, so far as they go, are stated very clearly; he plunges straight away into his subject without any preliminary observations: "_je_ in frenche," he begins, "is as moche to say in english as I, _tu_, thou, _il_, he, _nous_, _vous_, _ilz_ or _els_: we may use sometyme _ceux_ for this worde _ilz_. If we answere to a question by this worde 'I' usynynge no verbe withall then shall not '_ie_' be set for 'I' but '_moy_,' as in this example, '_qui fist ce livre_' ... If I sholde answere saynge I, addynge no verbe withall, I must say '_moy_,' and not '_ie_.'" After giving similar rules for the second person singular, he proceeds to explain how, when the words _nous_, _vous_, _ilz_ are placed before a verb beginning with a consonant, their last consonant is not pronounced, although it remains in the spelling; but if they come before a verb beginning with a vowel, the consonants are pronounced. He then turns to the conjugation of the two auxiliaries and some of the most common irregular verbs, to show "how these pronouns are ioyned with verbes." On the back of folio 4 he begins his "introductory of orthography or true wrytynge wherby the diligent reder may be infourmed truly and perfytely to wryte and pronounce the Frenche tunge after the dyvers customes of many contress of France." Barclay, then, does not adopt an exclusive attitude towards provincial accents; he rather calls attention to them,[194] though probably merely stating facts and drawing distinctions with no intention of teaching provincial forms. Palsgrave, on the other hand, deals only with the French spoken between the Seine and the Loire, which he regarded as the only pure French. Barclay's attitude to dialectal forms may possibly be explained by the fact that he transcribed freely from the mediaeval treatises, especially the _Donait françois_ of John Barton. His debt was early noted by Palsgrave, who wrote: "I have sene an olde boke written in parchment, in all thynges lyke to his sayd _Introductory_, whiche, by conjecture, was not unwritten this hundred yeares."[195] So freely, indeed, and so carelessly did Barclay use his sources, that he did not even trouble to modernize the spelling, which contains many obsolete forms; in this connexion Palsgrave, who criticizes Barclay very severely when occasion arises,[196] remarks on his use of _k_ for _c_. Having exemplified the pronunciation of some of the French letters by comparison with English sounds,[197] Barclay suddenly[198] passes to the consideration of the number and gender of nouns,[199] besides supplying a short list of nouns beginning with the first two letters of the alphabet. After this digression he concludes his observations on the pronunciation,[200] and proceeds to give an alphabetical vocabulary of nouns,[201] adjectives and verbs, apparently the earliest known attempt at an alphabetical French-English vocabulary; the earlier method of arranging words under headings is discarded, though it continued to be the usual form adopted in most French grammars until the end of the eighteenth century. Barclay's vocabulary consists of a list of words pure and simple, with no indication of gender or flexions. The _Introductory_ ends with lists of ordinal numerals, days, seasons, and so on, together with words of learned origin common to both languages "amonge eloquent men," and, last of all, pieces of prose composition in both French and English, arranged in alternate lines.[202] As is usual in these early grammars, there is an obvious lack of orderly arrangement, and the work, as a whole, gives the impression of being a collection of rough notes rather than a carefully planned treatise. Barclay does not, however, make any claim to completeness, nor pretend to lay down "absolute" rules as Palsgrave claimed to do. He shared the opinion, common at that time among Frenchmen, that it was impossible to formulate anything like adequate rules for the French language. The sketchy nature of his rules may be judged by that given for the position of the objective pronoun: "oft times that thynge whiche cometh before the verbe in Englyshe commyth after it in frenche as il m'a fait tort . . . je ne me puis lever." He was of opinion that rules were not of much use in learning French: that language is best learnt by "custome and use of redynge and spekynge, by often enquirynge and frequentynge of company of frenchmen and of suche as have perfytnes in spekynge the sayd language." This opinion prevailed throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in England, and, as a result, rules are reduced to a minimum in manuals for teaching French. "Who so desyreth to knowe more of the sayd language, must provyde for mo bokes made for the same intent," Barclay notes at the end of his short and interesting treatise. Charles, Duke of Suffolk, the husband of Mary, sister to Henry VIII. and Dowager Queen of France, was soon to make the necessary provision. This "syngular good lorde," says Palsgrave, "by cause that my poore labours required a longe tracte of tyme, hath also in the meane season encouraged maister Petrus Vallensys, scole maister to his excellent yong sonne the Erle of Lyncolne to shewe his lernynge and opinion on this behalfe." Such was the origin of the _Introductions in Frensche for Henry the Yonge Erle of Lyncoln (childe of greate esperaunce) sonne of the most noble and excellent princesse Mary (by the grace of God, queen of France etc.)_,[203] which is undated and anonymous, but clearly the work of Petrus Vallensys or Pierre Valence, French tutor to the Earl of Lincoln, and must have been written sometime in the third decade of the century.[204] Valence is said to have taught French after a "wonderesly compendious facile prompte and ready waye,"[205] and Gregory Cromwell, whom he also counted among his pupils, is reported to have made good progress under his direction. [Header: PIERRE VALENCE, TEACHER OF FRENCH] Pierre Valence was one of the natives of Normandy, so numerous in England at this time that the fact was commented on by Étienne Perlin, a French priest who visited England at the end of the reign of Edward VI. He describes them as being "du tout tres mechans et mauditz François," worse than all the English, which, according to him, is a very grave charge.[206] The date at which Valence came to England is unknown, but he is said to have studied at Cambridge in or about 1515.[207] He was in all probability a refugee for religious reasons. He is known to have held Lutheran opinions, and, whilst at Cambridge, caused a disturbance by defacing a copy of the Pope's general indulgence, which had been set up over the gates of the schools. Vigorous but ineffectual attempts were made to discover the writer, against whom the Chancellor pronounced sentence of excommunication. Valence is alleged finally to have acknowledged the act as his, to have expressed contrition, and to have been absolved. There are several points of contact between this man and his greater contemporary, John Palsgrave: both were students at Cambridge, possibly at the same time, though Palsgrave was the senior; both had as their pupil the son of Mr. Secretary Cromwell--the one for French and the other for Latin; both were protégés of the Dowager Queen of France (sister of Henry VIII. and Palsgrave's pupil for French) and of her husband the Duke of Suffolk. In 1535 Valence received a grant of letters of denization,[208] and ultimately became domestic chaplain and almoner to Dr. Goodrich, Bishop of Ely, and appears to have maintained this position under the bishop's successor. He was still living in 1555, since, in that year, he visited some heretics in Ely jail, and conjured them to stand loyally by the truth of the Gospel.[209] Among the works of "dyvers clerkes" on the French language, to which Palsgrave refers, is probably to be reckoned a short treatise bearing the date 1528. This work is only known by a fragment consisting of two leaves now preserved in the library at Lambeth.[210] These pages are of quarto size and bear the signature "B. B." The right-hand page is in French, the left in English; the former is in Roman characters, the latter in black letter. Although these two pages contain the date, and the last is not full, they do not appear to be the end of the work, as the writer refers to what is to come hereafter.[211] One gathers from internal evidence that the author was a foreigner--no doubt a Frenchman. He speaks, for instance, of the "gentz Englois" as though he was not one of them; and it appears to be quite certain that the work was originally composed in French, and translated into English rather carelessly, and probably by another hand, for in the version it is rendered almost unintelligible by the translation of the French illustrative examples as well as the text itself. The contents are of a light and entertaining character. The author holds that many rules do but "trouble and marre" the understanding. He counsels students rather to follow the example of good writers as likely to be more helpful. He treats entirely of the pronunciation, and devotes special attention to the difficulties of the English,[212] laying emphasis on the importance of placing the accent on the right syllable. The rules are put in an amusing way, thus: "_a_ should be pronounced fro the botom of the stomake and all openly, _e_ a lytell higher in the throte there properly where the Englishman soundeth his _e_; _i_, in the roundnesse of the lippes; _u_, in puttynge a lytell of wynde out of the mouthe." Further uses of the vowel _a_ are thus set forth: it may be placed before all verbs, in the infinitive mood, and before all manner of nouns and pronouns, as "to Robert," "to May," and so on. Again, "it betokeneth 'have' when it cometh of the Latin verb _habeo_." The consonants are next dealt with and disposed of in much the same way. Some attention is also given to the question, then much discussed, whether the etymological consonants in the words where they are not pronounced should be retained or not. The author's opinion was that every letter in a word ought to be sounded, yet he feels himself utterly unable to struggle against custom, and falls back on the rule "go as you please": [Header: TWO FRENCH POETS TEACH FRENCH] "Pronounce ech one as he shal please, for to difficyl it is to correct olde errours." Among the French teachers in England at this time were also two Frenchmen of considerable literary distinction--Nicolas Bourbon, the Latin poet and well-known scholar, friend of Rabelais and Marot; and Nicolas Denisot, who likewise held an important place among French humanists, and finished his literary education under Daurat, the famous Hellenist. Bourbon came to England under the protection of Anne Boleyn, who appears to have taken a special interest in him;[213] she had, he tells us, procured his liberation from imprisonment. Bourbon was for some time a private tutor in Paris, and soon after he regained his freedom he crossed to England, intending to continue his work there. He had a cordial welcome, and invariably speaks of his stay and treatment in London with gratitude. His Latin verses[214] show him to be acquainted with the chief Englishmen who gathered round the Court, where he occupied his leisure by writing satirical verses against the queen's enemies, especially Sir Thomas More,[215] and in eulogizing Cromwell, Cranmer, and the Reform Party then in power. It was on the recommendation of the king and queen, he informs us, that he was engaged as French tutor in several families of distinction, including the Carews, Norrisses, and Harveys. John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, was one of his patrons, and from him Robert Dudley, afterwards Earl of Leicester, together with his brothers, learnt French as children. Bourbon left England in 1535, on hearing of the death of his father. He had probably been in the country at least two years, and, perhaps happily for himself, left it a year before the fall of his patroness Anne Boleyn. At a somewhat later date, 1547, the elegant poet and artist Nicolas Denisot arrived in England, driven from Paris by an unfortunate love affair.[216] His nephew, Jacques Denisot, declares he was "fort bien accueilliz dans la cour d'Angleterre où son estime et sa reputation estoit deja cogneue." He mixed with the writers and politicians[217] of the day, and attracted the notice of the Court by writing verses in honour of the young king, Edward VI.[218] He soon found himself in the distinguished position of French and Latin tutor to the three daughters of the Protector Somerset,--Anne, Margaret, and Jane,--who were destined shortly to become famous in Paris as his pupils, and to form an important link in the literary relations of the two countries. Calvin corresponded with one of Denisot's pupils, the Lady Anne; and in 1549 he wrote requesting her to use her knowledge of French in transmitting to her mother an expression of his gratitude for a ring he had received from that lady, he being unable to do so, on account of his ignorance of English.[219] In this same year, 1549, Denisot's engagement in the house of Somerset came to an end rather abruptly, probably on account of some misunderstanding with the duke. He returned to France after spending three years in England, and thence kept up a friendly correspondence with his former pupils. On the death of Queen Margaret of Navarre, whom, no doubt, Denisot had taught them to admire, the sisters composed four hundred Latin distichs in her honour, and sent them to their former master, who welcomed them with enthusiasm, and published them in 1550. In the following year the verses appeared again, accompanied by French, Italian, and Greek translations, and verses from the pen of Ronsard, Du Bellay, and other literary friends of Denisot.[220] It is a striking fact that before the Pléiade was fully known in France, the fame of some of its members had reached England, where a particular interest would be taken in this development of the work of the three princesses. Ronsard, Denisot's intimate friend, wrote one of his earliest odes in honour of Denisot's pupils, in which he celebrates the intellectual union of France and England: [Header: THE PLÉIADE IN ENGLAND] Denisot se vante heuré D'avoir oublié sa terre Et passager demeuré Trois ans en Angleterre. . . . . les espritz D'Angleterre et de la France Bandez d'une ligue ont pris Le fer contre l'ignorance, Et (que) nos Roys se sont faitz D'ennemys amys parfaitz Tuans la guerre cruelle Par une paix mutuelle. Herberay des Essarts, the translator of the famous _Amadis_, wrote a letter in praise of the princesses, which was printed at the beginning of Margaret's "tombeau." With full justice has Denisot been called the "ambassador" of the French Renaissance in England. FOOTNOTES: [132] It was, however, an English scholar, Richard Mulcaster, Headmaster of Merchant Taylors' School (1561) and of St. Paul's School (1596), who boldly urged that the English language was a subject worthy of study by Englishmen, though this was not till 1582, when his _Elementarie_ was published. [133] _The Second Book of the Travels of Nicander Nucius_, 1545, Camden Society, London, 1841, p. 13. [134] W. B. Rye, _England as seen by Foreigners_, London, 1865, _passim_. [135] Translation of Sallust's _Bellum Jugurthinum_: Dedication to the Duke of Norfolk. [136] _Remains_, Parker Society, p. 470. Quoted by J. J. Jusserand, _Histoire littéraire du peuple anglais_, Paris, 1904, p. 86, n. 3. [137] _The Correspondence of Sir Philip Sidney and Hubert Languet_, ed. W. A. Bradly, Boston, 1912, pp. 41 and 112. [138] _Sidney Papers_, ed. A. Collins, in _Letters and Memorials of State_, 2 vols., London, 1746, vol. i. pp. 283-5. [139] _Letters of Descartes_, quoted by E. J. B. Rathery, _Les Relations sociales et intellectuelles entre la France et l'Angleterre . . ._ Paris, 1856. [140] Which provided the material for that "bonnie bouncing book," as Ben Jonson called it--Coryat's _Crudities: Hastily gobled up in Five Months' Travells in France_, etc. 1611. [141] Rye, _op. cit._ pp. xxxv-xxxvii. [142] L. Einstein, _The Italian Renaissance in England_, New York, 1907. [143] The Tudor group of distinguished linguists includes the names of many women. The chronicler Harrison remarks that it is a rare thing to hear of a courtier that has but his own language, and to tell how many ladies are skilled in French, Spanish, and Italian is beyond his power (_Holinshed's Chronicle_, 1586, i. p. 196). Nicholas Udal writes in the same strain in his dedication to Queen Katherine Parr of his translation of Erasmus's _Paraphrase of the Gospels_; we are told that a great number of noble women at that time in England were given to the study of human sciences and of strange tongues; and that it was a common thing to see "young virgins so nouzled and trained in the study of letters that thei willingly set all other vain pastymes at nought for learnynge's sake." Amongst the most accomplished of such "Queens and Ladies of high estate and progeny" were Queen Katherine Parr and Lady Jane Grey. Mulcaster in his _Positions_ (1581) praises English ladies for their fondness of serious study, and so does the Italian teacher Torriano in his _Italian reviv'd_ (1673), p. 99. Many examples of fluent linguists are found in Ballard's _Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain_, 2nd ed., 1775. [144] Elizabeth's command of foreign languages was constantly a subject of remark. Dr. William Turner in the dedication of his _Herbal_ (1568) to the queen, addresses her thus: "As to your knowledge of Latin and Greek, French, Italian, and others also, not only your own faythful subiectes, beynge far from all suspicion of flattery, bear witness, but also strangers, men of great learninge, in their books set out in Latin tonge, give honourable testimonye." Best known of these learned observers was Scaliger (_Scaligeriana_, Cologne, 1695, p. 134). Similar eulogies in verse were left by French poets: Ronsard, _Elegies, Mascarades et Bergeries_ (1561), reproduced in _Le Bocage royal_ (1567); Jacques Grévin, _Chant du cygne_; Du Bartas, _Second Week_; and Agrippa d'Aubigné; also by John Florio, _First Frutes_, 1578, ch. xiii. [145] _First Frutes_, 1578, ch. i. [146] John Eliote, _Ortho-Epia Gallica_, 1596. [147] _Merchant of Venice_, Act I. Scene 2. [148] Cp. Brunot, _Histoire de la langue française_, ii. pp. 2 _sqq._ Dallington in his _View of France_ remarks on the same neglect. In _The Abbot and the Learned Woman_, Erasmus praises the latter for studying the classics and not, as was usual, confining herself to French (_Colloquia_, Leiden, 1519). [149] _Copy Book of Sir Amias Poulet's Letters_, Roxburghe Club, 1866, p. 129. [150] _The Second Book of the Travels of Nicander Nucius_, Camden Soc., 1841, p. 14. [151] _Dialogue de l'ortografe et pronunciacion françoese departi en deus livres_, Lyon, 1558. [152] Peiresc wrote in French to the scholars Selden and Camden, who answered in Latin. Other French scholars who maintained a correspondence with Englishmen are de Thou, Jérôme Bignon, Duchesne, du Plessis Mornay, H. Estienne, Hubert Languet, Pibrac, and the Sainte-Marthe brothers. [153] _Lettres missives de Henri IV_, 9 tom., Paris, 1843. For an example of Elizabeth's French in her intercourse with her neighbours, see Rathery, _Les Relations sociales et intellectuelles entre la France et l'Angleterre_, Paris, 1856, p. 31 n.; _Unton Correspondence_, Roxburghe Club, 1847, _passim_. [154] See the _Calendars of State Papers_ for the period. [155] _Calendar of State Papers_, Domestic, 1595-97, p. 328. [156] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, vol xiii. pt. i. No. 977. [157] Henry VII.'s mother, the Countess of Richmond, was also an accomplished French scholar; she translated several works from the French, and encouraged others to follow her example. [158] J. P. Collier, _Annals of the English Stage_, 1831, vol. i. pp. 48, 51, 53. [159] Cp. Rye, _op. cit._ pp. 76, 79. [160] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, ed. Brewer, vol. ii. No. 411; Rawdon Brown, _Four Years at the Court of Henry VIII._, 1854, vol. i. pp. 76-79 and 86. [161] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, vol. i. p. xxiii. [162] _Songs, Ballads, and Instrumental Pieces composed by King Henry VIII._, Oxford, 1912. Barclay says in his _Eclogues_ that French minstrels and singers were highly favoured at Court. Jamieson, _Life and Writings of Barclay_, 1874, p. 44. [163] "Je serai à [vous] toujours et tant que je vivrai autre n'aimerai que vous." [164] _Henry VIII._, Act I. Scene 4. [165] Wolsey spoke Latin well. Like Charles II. he considered it diplomatic to affect ignorance of French at times. Such is his advice to those who accompanied him on his embassy to France: "The nature of the Frenchmen is such that at their first meeting they will be as familiar with you as if they had knowne you by long acquaintance, and will commune with you in their French Tongue as if you knew every word. Therefore use them in a kind manner, and bee as familiar with them as they are with you: if they speake to you in their natural tongue, speake to them in English, for if you understand not them, no more shall they you." Puttenham, in his _Arte of English Poesie_, advises ambassadors and messengers not to use foreign languages of which they have not perfect command, lest they commit blunders similar to that of the courtier who said of a French lady, "Elle chevauche bien,"--blunders which might have serious results in diplomatic transactions. [166] _The Negociations of Th. Wolsey, The Great Cardinal of England, containing his Life and Death. Composed by one of his own servants, being his gentleman usher_ (G. Cavendish?), London, 1641. [167] _Negociations of Th. Wolsey_, _ut supra_. [168] M. E. A. Green, _Lives of the Princesses of England_, 1849-1855, v. p. 20. [169] Green's _Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies_, 1846. See also Ellis, _Original Letters_, 1st series, vol. i. p. 115. [170] _Life of Anne Boleyn_, in Strickland's _Lives of the Queens of England_, London, 1884, ii. pp. 179, 181. [171] Ellis, _Orig. Letters_, 2nd series, vol. ii. p. 11. Anne's French spelling is curious and suggests that, like Henry VIII., she learnt French mainly by ear: "Mons. Je antandue par vre lettre que aves envy que tout onnete feme quan je vindre à la courte et ma vertisses que Rene prendra la pein de devisser a vecc moy, de quoy me regoy bien fort de pensser parler a vecc ung personne tante sage et onnete, cela me ferra a voyr plus grante anvy de continuer a parler bene franssais." [172] A French poem of the time, preserved in MS. and quoted by Rathery, _op. cit._ p. 21, celebrates Anne's French accomplishments--_Traité pour feue dame Anne de Boulant, jadis royne d'Angleterre, l'an 1533_: "La tellement ses graces amenda Que ne l'eussiez oncques jugée Angloise En ses fachons, ains naïve Françhoise. Elle sçavoit bien danser et chanter, Et ses propos sagement agencer, Sonner du luth et d'autres instrumens Pour divertir les tristes pensemens." [173] Pub., with English translation, in the _Harleian Miscellany_, vol. iii., 1745, pp. 52-62. [174] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, xv. 179, and xvi. 12. [175] Ellis, _Orig. letters_, series 1, vol. ii. p. 122. [176] Strickland, _Lives of the Queens_, 1884, ii. p. 299. [177] This is the testimony of Girolamo Cordano, a physician and astrologer of Milan who was called upon to exercise his art on the young king of England in 1552. Rye, _England as seen by Foreigners_, pp. lxviii _sqq._ [178] Strickland, _op. cit._ ii. pp. 477-8. [179] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, xvi. No. 1253. [180] Ellis, _Original Letters_, 3rd series, ii. p. 236. [181] One of Elizabeth's Italian masters was Baptista Castiglione, a religious refugee in 1557. Elizabeth, however, had acquired some knowledge of Italian before 1544; in that year she addressed a letter in Italian to Queen Katharine Parr (printed in G. Howard's _Lady Jane Grey and her Times_, 1822). Other Italian letters of the queen are published in Green's _Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies_, 1846. [182] Account of the Venetian ambassador at the Court of Mary--Michel Giovanni. Rye, _op. cit._ p. 266. [183] _Memoirs of his own Life, 1549-93_, Bannatyne Club, 1827, p. 125. Elizabeth's Dutch he pronounces "not gud," and later says that neither the King of France nor the Queen of England could speak Dutch (p. 341). [184] _Memoirs of his own Life, 1549-93_, Bannatyne Club, 1827, p. 117. [185] J. Nichols, _Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_, 1788-1821, i. p. x. [186] Rye, _op. cit._ p. 12. [187] Rye, _op. cit._ p. 104. [188] The MS. was reproduced in facsimile in 1893. The prayers in French begin thus: "Mon Dieu et mon pere puis qu'il t'a pleu desployer les tresors de ta grande misericorde envers moy ta tres humble servante, m'ayant de bon matin retirée des profonds abismes de l'ignorance naturelle et des superstitions damnables pour me faire iouir de ce grand soleil de justice . . . etc." [189] _Lettres_, Amsterdam, 1723, liv. i. p. 5. [190] An account of the little that is known of André's life is given in Gairdner's _Memorials of Henry VII._, pp. viii _et seq._ [191] Of foreign countries, the Netherlands seem to have come next to England in zeal for the study of French, and Germany takes the next place. Countries in which sister Romance tongues were spoken, Italy and Spain, were apparently entirely dependent on practice for learning French. [192] The printing was completed by Robert Coplande on the 22nd March 1521. The book consists of sixteen leaves of the folio size of the time, in black letter, with signatures A-B in sixes and C in fours. There is a unique copy in the Bodleian. [193] Bale, _Scriptorum Britanniae Summarium_, 1548, p. 723, and Pits, _Relationes Historicae de rebus Anglicis_, 1619, p. 745, attribute to Barclay a work called _De pronuntiatione linguae gallicae_. This suggests that possibly the _Introductory_ was first written in Latin. [194] Time after time he mentions the usages of different parts of the country, as _piecha_ for _pieça_ in certain districts; _jeo_ and _ceo_ for _je_ and _ce_ in Picard and Gascon; the writing of the names of dignitaries and officers in the plural instead of the singular, as _luy papes de Rome_. [195] _L'Esclarcissement de la langue françoyse_, bk. i. ch. xxxv. [196] "There is a boke which goeth about in this realme, intitled _The Introductory to write and pronounce French_, compyled by Alexander Barclay. I suppose it is sufficient to warne the lerner that I have red over that boke at length, and what my opinion is therein it shall well apeare in my boke's self, though I make thereof no further expresse mencion." [197] Thus the vowel _a_ is sometimes a letter, sometimes a word. In the former case it is often sounded like English _a_; when it is a word _d_ should not be added. This section of the work is reprinted in A. J. Ellis's _Early English Pronunciation_, Early Engl. Text Soc., 1869, etc., pt. iii. pp. 804 _sqq._ [198] On the back of folio 5. [199] "Howsoever the singular number end, the plural number must end in _s_ or _z_." Such is the rule for the formation of the plural. As for the genders, he gives a few isolated examples and converts them into rules. [200] On folio 8vº. [201] Folios 9-14. The vocabulary begins with the letter M, and after proceeding to the end of the alphabet, resumes at the beginning--an arrangement probably due to some blunder on the part of the printer. [202] Both deal with agricultural subjects; the first gives the life of a grain of wheat, and the second may explain itself: "Dieu sauve la charue, God save the ploughe, Et celui qui la mane. And he the whiche it ledeth. Primierement hairois la terre, Firste ere the grounde, Apres semer le blé ou l'orge. After sow the whete or barley. Les herces doivent venir apres, The harrowes must come after, Le chaclir oster l'ordure. The hoke to take away wedes, En Aoust le foyer ou faucher, In August reap it or mowe it, D'une faucille ou d'une faux." There is no English rendering of the last line. [203] In the Library of the Marquis of Bath. [204] The Earl was born in 1516. [205] Ellis, _Orig. Letters_, 1st series, i. pp. 341-43. [206] _Description des royaulmes d'Angleterre et d'Escosse_, Paris, 1558. [207] C. H. and T. Cooper, _Athenae Cantabrigienses_, vol. i., 1858, p. 155. [208] _List of Denizations, 1509-1603_, Huguenot Society Publications VIII. [209] _Athenae Cantab._ _ut supra_. [210] S. R. Maitland, _List of some of the early printed books in the Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth_, 1843, pp. 290 _et seq._ [211] "'_a_' also betokeneth 'have' or 'has,' when it cometh of this verbe in Latin, _habeo_, as hereafter ye may see." [212] "Sur toultes choses doibuit noter gentz Englois que leur fault accustomer de pronuncer la derniere lettre du mot françois quelque mot que ce soit (rime exceptée) ce que la langue engleshe ne permet, car la ou l'anglois dit 'goode breade,' le françois diroit 'goode' iii sillebes et 'breade' iii sillebes." [213] J. A. Jacquot, _Notice sur Nicolas Bourbon de Vandoeuvre_, Troyes et Paris, 1857. Bourbon was born in 1503, and died in 1550. He went to Paris in 1531, leaving behind him in his native town a reputation won by his Latin verses. On his return from England, Queen Margaret of Navarre entrusted to him the education of her daughter, Jeanne, who was the mother of Henry IV. [214] _Nicolai Borbonii vandoperani Lingonenis_ [Greek: Paidagôgeion], Lugduni, 1536. [215] J. H. Marsden, _Philomorus_, 2nd ed., 1878, p. 261. [216] Clement Jugé, _Nicolas Denisot du Mans, 1515-1559_, Paris and Le Mans, 1907. [217] He also began his work as a secret agent in the service of France, and it is said that Calais was recovered by the French in 1558, from a plan which Denisot submitted to the Duc de Guise. [218] There was a MS. copy of Latin poems by Denisot in the Library of Edward VI. (Nichols, _Literary Remains_, 1857.) [219] J. Bonnet, _Récits du seizième siècle_, 1864, p. 348. [220] _Le Tombeau de Marguerite de Navarre faict premierement en Distiques latins par les trois soeurs, Princesses en Angleterre: Depuis Traduits, en Grec, Italien et François par plusieurs des excellentz Poetes de la France. Avecques plusieurs Odes, Hymnes, Cantiques, Epitaphes sur le mesme subiect._ Paris, 1551. CHAPTER II FRENCH TUTORS AT COURT--GILES DUWES--JOHN PALSGRAVE--JEAN BELLEMAIN The two most popular French tutors at the Court of Henry VIII. were undoubtedly Giles Duwes and John Palsgrave. Palsgrave is the only one of these early French tutors who is well known to-day as a writer on the French tongue. He was a Londoner, and received his education at Cambridge and Paris. Giles Duwes was a Frenchman and seems to have enjoyed a greater popularity in his own day. He had been teaching French at the English Court for over ten years when Palsgrave received his first appointment there, as French tutor to the king's "most dere and entierly beloved" sister Mary, afterwards Queen of France. Both teachers were protégés of Henry VIII., and taught in the royal family--Duwes was tutor to the king himself; and both were authors of grammars of the French language. That of Palsgrave has been mentioned already. It appeared in 1530 under the title of _L'Esclarcissement de la langue françoyse_. Duwes's was not published till three years later approximately, at the request of his pupil, Princess Mary, afterwards Queen of England. It was called _An Introductorie for to learne to rede, to prononce and to speke French trewly, compyled for the rigid high excellent and most vertuous Lady Mary of Englande, daughter to our most gracious soveraign, Lorde Kyng Henry the Eight_.[221] His treatise is a small quarto of 102 leaves, forming a striking contrast to Palsgrave's enormous folio[222] of over 1000 pages. The contents and style of the two books are as different as their size. [Header: JOHN PALSGRAVE'S FRENCH GRAMMAR] Like all the French grammarians of the time, Palsgrave opens his work with rules for the pronunciation, and the whole of the first book is devoted to an elaborate study of this subject. Earlier writers had treated it very slightly, if at all, trusting that the student would find some opportunity of learning the sounds of the language by mixing with those who spoke it. We are told[223] that as a result there was no means of acquiring a good pronunciation, save in early youth by practice and use for a year or two. And it came to be supposed in a manner a thing impossible; "in so much that whereas there be hundreds in this realm, which with a little labour and the aid of Latin, do so perfectly understand this tongue that they be able to translate at the first sight anything out of the French tongue into ours, yet have they thought the thing so strange to leave the consonants unsounded whiche they saw written in such books as they studied, that they have utterly neglected the Frenchmen's manner of pronunciation, and so read French as their fantasy or opinion did lead them and, by that means, perceiving in themselves a want and swerving from the truth, which they wot not how to amend, utterly leave to speak or exercise the language as a thing which they despair of."[224] One of the chief difficulties of these early students then was the numerous consonants found in French words for etymological reasons, and which were not pronounced. Other difficulties were found in the accentuation of vowel sounds. The English were in the habit of placing the accent on the wrong syllable, saying _doUcement_ instead of _doucemEnt_, and of not giving the vowel its full and pure sound, both mistakes being due to peculiarities of their native tongue. "We must leave that kind of reading and pronouncing if we will sound the French Tongue aright," says Palsgrave, "for the French in their pronunciation do chiefly regard three things: to be armonious in theyr speking, to be brefe and sodayne in soundyng of theyr words, avoydyng all manner of harshenesse in theyr pronunciation, and thirdly to gyve every worde that they abyde and reste upon theyr most audible sounde." There is something solemn about his assurance of the successful results to be attained by the study of his rules: "whereas nowe the very grounde and consyderation of the Frenchmen in this behalf ones knowen, it hath been proved by experience that it is but a senyghts labour, or, at the most, a fournyghtes to lerne this poynt concernyng to theyr pronounciatyon an to be sure herof for ever." Palsgrave devotes attention to each letter of the alphabet in turn, and seeks to elucidate the value of the sounds by reference to contemporary English or Italian, and by attempting to give the position of the vocal organs.[225] _A_, he says, has two diverse sounds. "Sometimes he is sounded as in English, and sometimes like the diphthong _au_ and a little in the nose. The most usual pronunciation given it by the French, is the same as those who speak the best English, that is like the Italian sound _a_, or those of the English who sound the Latin tongue aright. When _m_ or _n_ follow the vowel it is pronounced as _au_ and somewhat in the nose, _chambre_ being sounded _chaumbre_," etc. More general topics are also touched on--the accent, the length of vowels, and the intonation which is so "brief, so sudden and so hard." In his second book,[226] Palsgrave treats what he calls the second difficulty of the French tongue--the accidence of the nine parts of speech. Throughout, constant reference is made to the third book, "whiche is a very comment expositour unto my second." This last book deals with the more syntactical side of the subject, and was added on the model of Theodore Gaza's Greek grammar. It occupies by far the largest portion of the whole work,[227] and besides giving elaborate and often obscure rules to govern every French inflexion,[228] includes an English-French alphabetical vocabulary which reaches the size of a dictionary. This vocabulary is arranged according to the parts of speech, and numerous phrases and idioms illustrative of different uses of the words are freely given. [Header: THE "INTRODUCTORIE" OF GILES DUWES] Nothing like it in dimensions had yet appeared, and, contrary to custom, the English is placed before the French. Duwes's manual, on the other hand, opens with an acrostich in French with an interlinear English translation containing the author's name--Giles Duwes or de Vadis,--followed by a short address in verse to the Princess Mary, "filleule a saincte Marie" (also in French, accompanied by an English interlinear version), and lists of French words beginning with each of the letters of his royal pupil's name. The grammar itself is written in English, for Duwes was one of the few Frenchmen of the time who knew English; neither Bourbon nor Denisot, though they lived in England some years, and taught French to English pupils, knew our language; and no doubt they helped to continue the long-standing relation between the teaching of Latin and the teaching of French. Duwes's work is divided into two books, the first of which is devoted to rules of grammar. He dismisses the pronunciation with seven short and inadequate rules, and proceeds to give his pupil a copious vocabulary of words and phrases, in which the English word is printed over the French one. The headings with which the earlier vocabularies have made us familiar are again utilized, though with variety in detail, and many passages are reminiscent of the mediaeval nomenclatures. After his pupil has gained a knowledge of pronunciation, and acquired a good vocabulary, Duwes proceeds to give him an insight into the grammar of the language. He treats the parts of speech, with the exception of the verb, in a very summary fashion; thus, with regard to the gender of pronouns, all he has to say is that those ending in _a_ are feminine, and those ending in _on_ or _e_ are masculine. "But there be certain names of the feminine, which do require the pronouns masculine, that must be accepted (excepted), as _mon ame_; _me_ and _se_ be indifferent." He devotes nearly the whole of his space to a lengthy and elaborate treatment of the French verb, which he divides into two conjugations, according as there is not or is an _s_ before the termination _-ons_ of the first person plural, present indicative! Thus the forms _aimons_, _avons_, _batons_, _donons_ prove the verbs _aimer_, _avoir_, _batir_, _donner_ to belong to the first conjugation; and similarly the forms _baisons_, _taisons_, etc., indicate that these verbs belong to the second conjugation--an arrangement not at all conducive to lucidity. A considerable part of his work is occupied by the conjugation of verbs of all sorts, in a variety of forms and both negatively and interrogatively. He usually adopts the practice, frequent in modern text-books, of attaching words to the verbs as he conjugates them, and so providing them with a context. Thus he writes _j'ai grand desir_, and not simply the verb form _j'ai_. A knowledge of French verbs was, in Duwes's opinion, the key to the knowledge of the French language.[229] The second book occupies more than half the volume. It contains practical exercises in the form of "letters missive in prose and in rime, also diverse communications by way of dialogue, to receive a messenger from the emperor, the French King or any other prince, also other communications of the propriety of meat, of love, of peace, of wars, of the exposition of the mass, and what man's soul is, with the division of time and other conceits." Each exercise is provided with an interlinear English translation, and all, as may be gathered from their subject matter, were in the first place written specially for the use of the Princess Mary. They deal with the daily events of her life, and, though occasionally public affairs are touched on, these exercises are of greatest interest in disclosing the affectionate relations existing between Mary and her tutor. Whenever possible, Duwes introduces alternative phrases as well as variations of number and gender, and this attention to his pupil's vocabulary and knowledge of the flexions often encumbers his sentences. As for the English version, it gives a word-for-word rendering of the French, without regard to the natural order of words in an English sentence. The methods of the two teachers seem to have been as different as their works. Everything tends to prove that Duwes's manner of teaching was practical, light, and entertaining, and at the same time efficient--a rare combination of good qualities. [Header: HIS METHOD] Henry VIII.'s skill in French has already been noticed, and Duwes's other pupils seem to have been equally accomplished. In his opinion, a good vocabulary and a thorough knowledge of the verbs were the two essentials in teaching French. To learn French quickly, he thinks, the student must practise turning the verbs in all possible ways, affirmatively, negatively, and interrogatively--a principle of repetition. In this way he acquires fluency of speech and is able to "make diverse and many sentences with one word, and perconsequent come shortly to the French speach." For instance, thirty-six variations may be got in one tense, by turning each person in six different ways, "that is to say, the affirmative three ways, and the negative likewise." Duwes reaches this large total by giving the following forms of each person: "I have, have I?, why have I?" for the singular of affirmation, "I have not, have I not?, why have I not?" for the singular of negation, and so on with other persons and the corresponding plural forms. He further counsels the student to practise 108 similar variations in the same tense, by means of the use of the pronouns _me_, _te_, _se_; "for the first person, I have me, I have thee, I have him, and we turn it, we shall have, Have I me, have I thee, have I him. Then putting why before it we shall have, Why have I me," etc., and so on, on lines exactly similar to the example for thirty-six variations. Apparently such exercises were the mainstay of his grammatical instruction, for rules of grammar are reduced to a minimum. Practice held a higher place than theory in Duwes's estimation, and his attitude towards attempts to draw up rules for the French language was very sceptical; to be complete, the numbers of such rules would be infinite, and, what is more, rules are of more use to the teacher than to the learner. Palsgrave, on the contrary, had a firm belief in the value and soundness of grammar rules. He seems to have been the first to advocate the learning of French chiefly by means of grammar. The earliest treatises had been intended more to correct the French of those who read them than to teach the language; and though in later times the rules were intended to impart a knowledge of the language, they were not put in the first place, and it was always felt that they were very secondary to "custom and the use of reading and speaking." Before Palsgrave's grammar appeared, declares his enthusiastic pupil Andrew Baynton, Englishmen did in a manner despair of learning French except by an "importune and long continued exercise and that begun in young and tender age." Sir Thomas Elyot in _The Boke of the Governour_, which appeared a year after Palsgrave's grammar, seems to regret this interference with long-standing custom, by means of which French was "brought into as many rules and figures and as long a grammar as is Latin or Greek."[230] He was afraid that the "sparkes of fervent desire of learnynge" should be "extincte with the burdone of grammar, lyke as a lytell fyre is sone quenched with a great heape of small stickes: so that it can never come to the principale logges where it shuld longe bourne in a great pleasaunt fire." Many years elapsed, however, before the deadening effect of too much grammar, apprehended by Elyot, was felt in the teaching of French. Palsgrave's method of teaching, therefore, was the reverse of that of his fellow-worker, although he professes a desire to induce his pupils not only to love their studies, but to be merry over them.[231] It appears that he was fond of making his pupils learn rules by heart,[232] while the dynamic of his method was translation from English into French--an exercise not very popular amongst teachers at this time. So great was his faith in his rules that he felt that the student might, with their aid, even dispense with the assistance of a teacher. By an attentive study of the first book the reader "shal undouted attayne to the right and naturall pronunciation of this sayde tonge." And he assures the student that by reading the general information in the introduction to his first two books, and by learning by heart the three perfect verbs in his second book (_Je parle_, _Je convertis_, _Je fais_, representatives of the three conjugations into which Palsgrave arranges French verbs) and the three irregulars (_J'ai_, _Je suis_, and _Je m'en vais_), he will know French tolerably well, and be able, with the help of the vocabulary in the third book, to translate from English into French, and "so incontinente accustome hym to have theyr common speache"; and, again using the vocabulary, he will be able to read any French author by his own study, without help or teacher, if he knows the second book perfectly. [Header: HIS DIALOGUES IN FRENCH AND ENGLISH] However, he advises those who desire to attain perfection, or to qualify themselves for foreign service, to read and study the whole of the three books. Palsgrave seems to assign the priority to Duwes by mentioning him as one of his immediate predecessors, although Duwes's work was not published until after Palsgrave's. Yet it is improbable that the debt on either side was anything but trifling. Duwes had been teaching many years before we first hear of Palsgrave. As he taught he drew up grammatical rules for the use of his pupils; and when he was tutor to the Princess Mary, she requested him to collect together and publish the material he had used in teaching the king, her father, as well as other members of the royal family.[233] According to Palsgrave, diverse noblemen supported the princess's request. Thus most of the rules published in Duwes's grammar had been composed very many years before they were published, for Duwes had then been teaching for over thirty years. And no doubt Palsgrave, who was also employed at Court, had opportunities of seeing them in manuscript. As to the dialogues and other practical exercises, they were all specially written for the use of the princess, and so are of later date than most of the rules. Duwes had doubtless composed for the benefit of his earlier pupils similar exercises, which remained in manuscript form and were lost. Some idea of the dates at which the dialogues were written and of the period during which Duwes was engaged in teaching the princess may be gathered from references to topical events which occur in the text. For instance, mention is made of a peace newly proclaimed throughout the kingdoms of France and England, which was, no doubt, that of 1525, when England joined with France to counteract the excessive power of Spain. We also find a somewhat vague reference to a possible marriage for the princess with a "king or emperor," and remember that it was in 1525 that negotiations for her marriage with Charles V. were broken off, and others for an alliance with the French king, Francis I., begun. Another circumstance points to this same period. One of the dialogues takes place at Tewkesbury Park; it was in 1526 that Mary was created Princess of Wales, and sent to Ludlow to hold her Court there, and in November of the same year six of her Council addressed a letter to Wolsey from Tewkesbury. Duwes is not mentioned by name in a list of the princess's household appointed on this occasion, probably because he was already in her service; and it is interesting to note that the Countess of Salisbury, her lady governess, had instructions "without fatigacion or weariness to intende to her learninge of Latine tongue and French," as well as her music, dancing and diet.[234] In May 1527, Mary had returned to London, and took part in the festivities given at Greenwich in honour of the French ambassadors who had come to ask for her hand on behalf of the French king's second son, Henry, Duke of Orleans. We may therefore conclude that Duwes's grammar rules were composed at various dates from the beginning of the century, and the dialogues probably between the years 1524 and 1527. Palsgrave, on the other hand, began his great work when Henry VIII. appointed him French tutor to his sister Mary, the future Queen of France, in 1512. He had "conceyved some lyttle hope and confidence" by receiving such a noble charge, and thought it a convenient occasion for showing his gratitude by means of his works. Several years later he completed "two sondrie bookes" on the subject, which he offered in manuscript to his former pupil, the Dowager Queen of France, and her husband the Duke of Suffolk. On their advice and encouragement he undertook to enlarge these and to add a third, and present the whole to the king. In 1523, Palsgrave had planned the whole of the three books, for in that year he made a contract with the printer, Richard Pynson, in which it is stipulated that "the sayd Richarde, his executors and assignes shall imprint or cause to be imprynted on boke callyd 'lez lesclarcissement de la langue Françoys,' contayning iii sondrye bokes, where in is shewyd howe the saide tong schould be pronownsyd in reding and speking, and allso syche gramaticall rules as concerne the perfection of the saide tong, with ii vocabulistes, oone begynnyng with English nownes and verbes expownded in frenshe, and a general vocabulist contayning all the wordes off the frenshe tong expound in Englishe." Pynson undertook to begin at once and to print every whole working day, at the rate of a sheet a day, interrupting the work for nothing save a royal order. [Header: POPULARITY OF DUWES] The third book was not fully written when the first two passed into the hands of the printer, as Palsgrave constantly refers in it to the mistakes made already by the printer in his second book,--mistakes unavoidable in so "newe and unaccustomed worke." He also seems to have modified his plan for the vocabulary; in that which actually appeared in the third book there is a separate English-French dictionary for each part of speech--noun, adjective, verb, adverb, conjunction, and interjection. In the meantime, Pynson died, and the book was completed by John Hawkins, this being the only known production of his press. The two writers, then, were both engaged on their work for a great many years. Duwes was the first in the field, but he wrote with no view to publication, merely to satisfy the needs of his pupils. Palsgrave, on the other hand, from the very first intended to publish his work, and had great ambitions. Although he no doubt saw some of Duwes's manuscript, his debt was of the slightest character, if it can be called a debt at all. The respective size of the two volumes is enough to prove this. Duwes's small treatise, however, seems to have enjoyed a greater popularity than that of Palsgrave;[235] the latter did not reach a second edition, whereas the former went through three in rapid succession. This was no doubt largely due to its conciseness and practical nature, which would appeal to the student, discouraged at the sight of Palsgrave's immense work. The first edition (as far as is known) of Duwes's _Introductorie_ must have appeared at least three years after Palsgrave's _Esclarcissement_. The first two editions, printed, one by Thomas Godfray, and the other by Nicholas Bourman for John Reyns at the sign of the George in Paul's Churchyard, were published during the years when Anne Boleyn was queen, and after the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, as they both contain a "laude and prayse" of the King, Queen Anne, and her daughter. This leaves a period of under three years for the publication of the two editions, seeing that Elizabeth was born in September 1533, and Anne was put to death on the 19th of May 1536, Jane Seymour becoming queen in her stead on the 20th. The third edition[236] appeared after Duwes's death in 1535, as perhaps the second edition may have done also. The dedication to Anne is omitted, and a new one inserted, addressed to Henry alone. The second part is here said to be "newly corrected and amended"; but it is difficult to find in what the corrections consist, for, with the exception of slight variations of spelling, the edition is identical with the two earlier ones. It was issued from the press of John Waley, who began to practise his trade as printer in about the year 1546.[237] Most probably, then, this edition appeared in the last months of the reign of Henry VIII. (1547), and was one of the earliest works issued from Waley's press. It is hardly likely that he would have inserted the "laude and prayse" of the king if the work had appeared after his Majesty's death. Several reasons combine to explain how it was that Palsgrave's work does not appear to have been as widely used as that of Duwes.[238] While his book was still in the press, alarming rumours as to its size began to circulate, and caused the great demand there had been for the work previously to diminish noticeably. Some of Palsgrave's pupils made efforts to stop the report, one of whom was Andrew Baynton, already mentioned, a favourite courtier of Henry VIII. and vice-chamberlain to three of his queens. "The labour needed to master the book is not in proportion to his size!" he wrote indignantly to three distinguished fellow-students, who helped him to contradict the rumour. On the contrary, he argues, it may rather be thought too small; it is as complete as can be expected when we consider that it is the first of its kind: clerks have laboured for years at Latin grammar and still find something new; French grammar, then, cannot be expected to attain completeness in this first attempt. But "he that will seek, may find and in a brief time attain to his utterest desire." Palsgrave deemed it wise to publish this letter as a prefatory notice to his grammar; it may, indeed, have been written in the first place with that object in view. [Header: SALE OF PALSGRAVE'S GRAMMAR] He also judged it expedient to explain how students, not wishing to study the whole, might learn enough French to serve their purpose by selecting and learning certain sections of the grammar.[239] Moreover, Palsgrave himself restricted the sale of his book. On account of "his great labours, the ample largeness of the matter, and the great difficulty of the enterprise," as well as its "great costs and charges" (for he had the work printed at his own expense), he was anxious to keep his grammar for himself, his friends, and his pupils, "lest his profit by teaching the French tongue might be minished by the sale of the same to such persons as besides him were disposed to study the French tongue." His chief aim was to keep his book out of the hands of rival teachers, who might use it for their own ends. Yet this attitude conflicts strangely with Palsgrave's generous declaration in his epistle to the king, expressing the hope that by means of his poor labours on this occasion "the frenche tongue may hereafter by others the more easely be taught, and also be attayned unto by suche as for their tyme therof shal be desyrous." Nor was this the only precaution taken by Palsgrave to ensure safety and fair dealing for his grammar. He obtained from Henry VIII., to whom he dedicated the work, a privilege for seven years,[240] the king being greatly "moved and stirred by due consideration of his said long time and great diligence about this good and very necessary purpose employed." The fact that Palsgrave altered his original contract with Pynson twice[241] shows how careful he was in all his proceedings. He wished to be sure of having complete control of the 750 copies which were printed. He did not trust the "sayd Richarde" further than he could help, and intended to see that Pynson "used good faith" in his dealings with him. Pynson was to give Palsgrave six copies to present to the king and his friends. The rest were to be left at Pynson's house, in a room of which Palsgrave kept the key, and to be sold only to such as Palsgrave desired. When Pynson had paid himself,[242] the remaining books were to be given to Palsgrave, either to take away or leave, as he willed. A striking example of the difficulty there was in obtaining Palsgrave's grammar is illustrated by the case of Stephen Vaughan. Again and again he begged Palsgrave to let him have a copy, but Palsgrave would not grant this favour at any price; and it is easy to form an idea, from Vaughan's persistence, of the great value attached to the grammar among serious students; so great and unparalleled a work was credited with almost supernatural powers. Finally, in despair, Vaughan wrote to his patron Cromwell, asking him to use his influence with the French teacher in obtaining this "jewell."[243] Cromwell had received one of Palsgrave's presentation copies, and, as a last resort, Vaughan begs him to let him have this. It is to be hoped that the young man succeeded in getting a copy. At any rate he seems to have made good progress in the French language.[244] It is not surprising to find that the fashionable Court tutors were personally acquainted with each other. Palsgrave seems to have had a great respect for Duwes, and to have set a high value on the opinions of "that singular clerk." He feels he "cannot too much praise his judgment concerning the French Tongue." And he quotes Duwes's authority on the subject of mean verbs, a matter about which he had consulted him personally. We thus see that Palsgrave probably was more indebted to Duwes in this direct way, than by any help he received from such manuscripts as came into his hands. "Maister Gyles," who was librarian to the king, also showed Palsgrave a very old text of the _Roman de la Rose_ in the Guildhall, "to shewe the difference betweene tholde Romant tong and the right french tong." The _Roman de la Rose_ was a text frequently quoted by Palsgrave in support and illustration of his rules. Thus Palsgrave has nothing but praise for Duwes, and no doubt Duwes took a friendly interest in his younger rival, though he could not bring himself to excuse what seemed to him his presumption in attempting to write rules for a language not his own. [Header: DUWES ON ENGLISH TEACHERS OF FRENCH] Like many Frenchmen of the time, Duwes firmly believed that it was not possible to draw up anything like infallible rules for the French language, and that Englishmen should presume, not only to teach it, but to do this also, appeared to him preposterous. Would it not seem strange, he cries, to see a Frenchman endeavouring to teach the Germans their own language? Why should it be considered less strange for Englishmen to teach French and lay down rules and principles for the French language, a thing very few of those who have the language "by nature" are able to do? That these presumptuous Englishmen may be well read, and possess a good knowledge of French--"au moins pour non estre natif du territoire et pais"--does not alter the case; for Art, though it follow Nature closely, can never overtake her. Duwes himself, he tells us, had been teaching his language for over thirty years, he had searched and worked hard, but had never been able to find these so-called infallible rules--for it is not possible to do so. Yet there are Englishmen who claim to have done this great thing, though they have been studying French for but a short time. With Greek and Latin the matter is different. The rules of these languages have grown up through the ages, and are the common property of all nations. This tirade against English writers on the French language is evidently aimed at Palsgrave and his predecessors, all those who since the beginning of Henry's "well-fortuned reign of this thing had written"--but above all at Palsgrave and his ambitious aspirations. Duwes's half-ironical assumption of humility as to the value of his own rules, although the fruit of over thirty years' experience in teaching, is probably meant as a rebuke to Palsgrave, who claimed to have "reduced the French tongue under a rule and grammar certain," and to have laid down "rules certain and precepts grammatical like as the other three perfect tongues." And when Duwes expresses, time after time, his intention of avoiding all prolixity and 'super-fluity' of words, we are also led to think that he is perhaps directing his remarks at Palsgrave's wordy rules and the size of his work. Duwes may have been a little annoyed at being anticipated in publication by his younger rival. But it is still more likely he resented, as a Frenchman, that the honour of having first produced a great work on the French language should be generally ascribed to an Englishman. For Palsgrave, with very natural and just pride, laid claim to this honour, and was supported by his contemporaries. Andrew Baynton, in the letter already mentioned, speaks of his "master" as being "the first author of our nation or of the french mennes selfe that hath so farre waded in all maner thinges necessary to reduce that tong under rules certayne." The French, it is true, were beginning to take some interest in their own language, and a French writer of the time, Geoffrey Tory of Bourges, had urged the necessity of reducing the French language to rules in his _Champ fleury_ (1529). "Would to God," he cried, "that some noble soul would busy himself in drawing up and writing rules for our French tongue!"[245] Palsgrave was acquainted with Tory's work, and thought he had realized Tory's ideal and "done the thynge which by the testimony of the excellent clerke, maister Geffroy Tory de Bourges (a late writer of the French nation) in his boke entituled _Champ fleury_, was never yet amongst them of that contraes self hetherto so moche as ones effectually attempted." Leonard Coxe, the Principal of Reading College, a popular philological writer of the time, also connects the names of Tory and Palsgrave in some Latin verses that were printed at the beginning of the grammar. The short interval which elapsed between the appearance of the two volumes renders it impossible for Palsgrave to have got his first suggestion from Tory, and makes it very improbable that Tory had even the smallest influence on his work.[246] Tory had begun his work in 1522. Before this date Palsgrave had already completed two books of his Grammar. He notes, however, as a coincidence, that Tory and himself quote the same French authors. [Header: PUPILS OF DUWES] Throughout his Grammar, Palsgrave continually alludes to the authority of French authors, for he studied French a great deal in books. It would not indeed have been possible to produce so comprehensive a work in England without constant reference to French writers, who, owing to the spread of printing, were becoming more and more accessible. Palsgrave refers most frequently to Alain Chartier and Jean Lemaire de Belges, while Guillaume de Lorris (_Roman de la Rose_), Octovian de St. Gelais, Jean Meschinot, Guillaume Alexis, and Froissart are all consulted and quoted--a list in which, it will be noticed, the name of no contemporary French poet figures. Palsgrave was not content with simply referring to his authorities; he sought to awake an interest in French literature by quoting selections in verse and prose, with guides for pronunciation. Apparently Duwes's attack on Palsgrave was only one of many. Much before this Palsgrave had complained of unreasonable opposition from his contemporaries, and the "unpleasantness" to which he had to submit. One should not, however, attach too much importance to such complaints, for they seem to have been more or less habitual among writers of the day. Duwes appears to have suffered in a similar way, judging by the acrostic which closes his first book, and contains an unusually vehement attack on the "correcteurs et de toutes oeuvres repreveurs," those "grosses gens de rudes affections, ivrognes bannis de vray sentement." It is hard to imagine whence came such severe criticism; probably from other French teachers, but most certainly not from Court circles, where both these teachers enjoyed the greatest popularity. Nearly all the members of the royal family for two generations learnt French from Duwes. He counted among his pupils Henry VIII. when prince, his elder brother Arthur, his sister Margaret, who became Queen of Scotland, and his daughter Mary, afterwards Queen of England, besides many English noblemen. There is also evidence that Henry's favourite sister Mary, afterwards Queen of France, learnt the first principles of French from Duwes before she became the pupil of Palsgrave. His favourite scholar, however, appears to have been the Princess Mary, afterwards queen, at whose request he published his observations on the French language. When Duwes began to teach her he was an old man, and a little inclined to melancholy. He was beginning to feel the effects of the English climate and complains bitterly of his chief enemies, December and January: Par luy (Decembre) ay fait pleurs et soupirs mains, Ja ne sera que ne m'en remembre, luy et Janvier mont tollu ung membre qui me fera que tant que je vivray en grant doulleur doresavant iray; pourquoy je crains qu'en grant melancolie, en fin fauldra que j'en perde la vie. Gout, his chief affliction, often nailed him to his chair, and prevented him from attending his pupil--a greater sorrow, he says, than to suffer sickness and danger. On one occasion he was so ill that he feared he would not see the princess again, and sent a letter, asking pardon if ever he had rebuked her in his lessons. His whole consolation "lies in the hope that Spring, seeing him in such a piteous state, will take pity on him." Mary seems to have returned fully the affection of her old master. He was her almoner and treasurer, and she playfully called him her "adopted husband." Duwes spent a great deal of his time with his pupil, and his "adopted wife" appears to have become impatient when his gout or any other reason kept him from her. In one of the dialogues she is shown rebuking him for his absence one evening: _Mary._ Comment Giles, vous montrés bien qu'avés grant cure et soing de m'aprendre quand vous vous absentés ainsy de moy. _Gyles._ Certes madame, il me semble que suis continuellement ici. _Mary._ Voire, et ou estiés vous hier a soupper je vous prie. _Gyles._ Veritablement, madame, vous avez raison, car je m'entroubliay ersoir a cause de compagnie et de communication. _Mary._ Je vous prie, beau sire, faictes nous parçonniere de vostre communication, car j'estime quelle estoit de quelque bon purpos. _Gyles._ Certes, madame, elle estoit de la paix, laquelle (come on disoit) est proclamée par tout ce royaume. . . . Then master and pupil are pictured discussing at length the subject of peace. Love, the nature of the soul, and the meaning of the celebration of Mass were other topics on which they had long conversations; and they would accompany their supper--for the princess begged her master to dine with her as often as possible, in order to talk French--by discourse on health and diet, in the course of which Duwes gave the princess much friendly advice. [Header: QUEEN MARY'S FRENCH STUDIES] His eloquence on the subject suggests that when he calls himself a "doctor" he means a doctor of medicine. Thus Mary's practice in the language was not by any means limited to regular lessons, and these lessons were always kept in close contact with her daily life. She is taught how to receive a messenger from the king, her father, or from any foreign potentate, in French, or how to accept presents from noble friends. Duwes sometimes used his lessons as a means of conveying to Mary messages from different members of her household. Lady Maltravers exhorts her to study French seriously that reports of her ability may not be belied, and that she may be able to speak French with the king her father, and her future husband, "whether king or emperor"; and her carver, John ap Morgan, writes to her when she is ill, to express his hopes for her speedy recovery. When Duwes's gout prevented him from waiting on the princess, he would send her a poem of his own composition, in French with an interlinear English version--Duwes wrote singularly crude and inharmonious verses--which the princess learnt by heart by way of lesson. Or he would excuse his absence in a letter, which, he assures her, "will not be of small profit" to her if she learns it. Such were the relations of Duwes with his favourite pupil. Little else is known of his life beyond the fact that he taught French for nearly forty years in the highest ranks of English society. He himself tells us that he was a Frenchman, and in all probability he was a native of Picardy, for his name is of Picard origin, and there are a few traces of picardisms in his work. We also know that he was librarian to both Henry VII. and Henry VIII.,[247] and that in 1533 he was appointed a gentleman waiter in the Princess Mary's household, and his wife one of the ladies-in-waiting;[248] that, curiously enough, he was a student of alchemy and wrote a Latin dialogue, _Inter Naturam et Filium Philosophiae_, dated from the library at Richmond (1521), and dedicated to his friend "N. S. P. D.";[249] that he died in 1535, about two years after the publication of his _Introductorie_; and that he was buried in the Parish Church of St. Olave in Old Jury, where he was inscribed as "servant to Henry VII. and Henry VIII., clerke to their libraries, and schoolmaster of the French Tongue to Prince Arthur, and to the Ladie Mary"--a by no means complete list of his illustrious pupils. Among Duwes's earliest pupils had been Henry's sister Mary, afterwards Queen of France. This princess, however, was to continue her study of the language under John Palsgrave, and the first we hear of Palsgrave as a teacher of French is on the occasion of his appointment by Henry VIII. as tutor to his sister, probably towards the end of 1512, when negotiations for the princess's marriage with the Prince of Castile, afterwards Charles V., were in progress.[250] And when at last it fell to the lot of the princess to marry, not the emperor, but the French king, Louis XII., in 1514, Palsgrave remained in her service, and accompanied her to France in the capacity of almoner. Like the majority of her English followers, he was soon dismissed from her service. Yet Mary did not forget her former tutor. From time to time she wrote to Wolsey, seeking to obtain preferment for him;[251] like many other men of his standing, Palsgrave was in Holy Orders, and became later chaplain to the king. In November 1514 the Queen of France wrote to Wolsey to beg his favour on behalf of Palsgrave that he may continue at "school."[252] From this we may conclude that Palsgrave was continuing the studies he had begun at an earlier date at the University of Paris. He calls himself "gradué de Paris" in 1530, and no doubt also, his work on the French language was making headway. How long he remained in France is uncertain, but we are told that on his return he was in great demand as a teacher of French and Latin to the young English nobility and gentry.[253] Sir Thomas More, writing to Erasmus in 1617, mentions that Palsgrave is about to go to Louvain to study there. This second sojourn at a foreign university was not of long duration, for Erasmus, in a letter dated July the same year, informs Tunstall that Palsgrave had started for England.[254] Palsgrave was soon to receive from the king a second important appointment as tutor. [Header: PALSGRAVE'S PUPILS] On the formation of the household of his natural son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, in 1525, when his "worldly jewel," as Henry called the young duke, was made Lieutenant-General of the North, the king entrusted Palsgrave with the charge of bringing him up "in virtue & learning."[255] Palsgrave was allowed three servants and an annual stipend of £13:6:8. He took great pains with his young pupil's education, and the king seems to have approved of his method.[256] Such was not the case with Gregory Cromwell, who, it appears, shared the lessons of the duke. When Gregory went to Cambridge under John Cheking's care, the latter wrote to Cromwell that he had to unteach his charge all he had learnt, and that if such be Palsgrave's style of teaching, he does not think he will ever make a scholar.[257] Palsgrave declares that he suffered much, when in the North, from poverty and calumny.[258] His friend, Sir Thomas More, lent him money, and Palsgrave begged him to continue to help him to "tread underfoot" that horrible monster poverty. He also petitions his constant patroness the Dowager Queen of France and her husband the Duke of Suffolk. All he has to live by and pay his debts and maintain his poor mother is little more than £50.[259] Among Palsgrave's other pupils of note were Thomas Howard, brother to the Earl of Surrey; my Lord Gerald, probably the brother of the fair Geraldine, the object of Lord Surrey's passionate sonnets; Charles Blount, son and heir of Lord Montjoie; Thomas Arundel, who later lost his head for conspiring with the Duke of Somerset against Northumberland, and Andrew Baynton, who has been mentioned already: all students of French, who were acquainted with his book before it was published, and knew his "hole intente and consyderation therein," and who called Palsgrave "our mayster" with a certain amount of pride. The year after the publication of his grammar, Palsgrave went to Oxford, where he was incorporated M.A. and took the degree of B.D.[260] He was, however, back in London in the following year, taking pupils into his house and visiting others daily. He had, for instance, promised to serve Mr. Baynton and Mr. Dominico in the house of the latter till Candlemas. Of the pupils who were "with him," the "best sped child for his age" was William St. Loe, afterwards Sir William and captain of Elizabeth's Guard. Palsgrave seems to have suffered much from interruptions in his pupils' studies caused by visits to their mothers, or by their leaving London on account of the unhealthiness of the city. He writes to William St. Loe's father that if he takes his son away for either of these reasons the child will not "recover this three years what he has lost in one," and moreover he will have "killed a schoolmaster," for Palsgrave vows he will never teach any more. He also writes that after spending a little time at Cambridge, where he could take the degree of D.D., he intends to keep school in Black Friars, and have with him Mr. St. Loe's son, Mr. Russell's son (who is a good example of what results from interruption of studies by a visit home), the younger brother of Mr. Andrew Baynton, and Mr. Norice's son, of the Privy Chamber.[261] At Cambridge, also, he would be able to get an assistant, as at present the strenuous and continuous application to teaching is ruining his health. Nothing else is known of Palsgrave's teaching career. He seems to have spent a good deal of time towards the end of his life at one or other of the rectories[262] to which he was collated by Archbishop Cranmer, and where, no doubt, he continued to receive pupils till the time of his death in 1554. Palsgrave's great French Grammar was not his only professional work. He also published a text-book for the use of students of Latin. This was a Latin comedy, Acolastus,[263] which had made its way into English schools. Palsgrave added an English translation of his own, and the whole appeared in 1540, with a dedication to the king. He says it is a translation according to the method of teaching Latin in grammar schools, "first word for word, and then according to the sense." [Header: EDWARD VI.'S FRENCH EXERCISES] Palsgrave had also announced his intention of publishing a book of French proverbs; he had written in his grammar: "There is no tongue more aboundante of adages or darke sentences comprehendyng great wysdome. But of them I differ at this time to speake any more, intendyng by Goddes grace to make of thes adages a booke aparte." There is, however, nothing to show that he ever realized this intention, even partially. Another French teacher in the royal family was Jean Bellemain, tutor to Edward VI. Edward refers to his French master in the passage in his diary[264] in which he gives an account of his education. Speaking of himself in the third person, he writes: "He was brought up until he came to six years old among the women. At the sixth year of his age he was brought up in learning by master Dr. Cox, who was after his almoner, and John Chepe, M.A., two well-learned men, who sought to bring him up in learning of Tongues, of scripture, philosophy and all liberal sciences: also John Belmaine, French man, did teach him the French language." It appears from a letter of Dr. Cox to Secretary Paget, that the prince had his first lesson in French on October 1, 1546.[265] His teacher was a zealous Protestant, a friend and correspondent of Calvin, and he had probably some influence on the religious opinions of his pupil. The three French exercises in the king's hand which are still in existence show that he made rapid progress in the language.[266] They all bear on religious subjects, showing how carefully Bellemain attracted the attention of his young pupil to this matter. All were written after his accession to the throne (1547), and were dedicated to his uncle, Protector Somerset. The first two are very similar in composition. Edward made a collection of texts out of the Bible in English, bearing on two subjects, Idolatry and Faith. He then proceeded to turn these from English into French as an exercise in translation. After they had been corrected by his master, the king had them transcribed into a paper book--the first consisting of twenty pages, the second of thirty-five--and sent them to the Protector.[267] The first was written when Edward had been learning French for about a year (in 1547), and the second shortly afterwards. The third exercise is much longer than the two earlier ones, and differs from them in being not a translation, but a composition of Edward's own in French. It is entitled, _A l'encontre des abus du Monde_, and was begun on December 13, 1548, and finished on March 14 of the following year, so that its composition occupied Edward for over three months. The manuscript is corrected throughout by Bellemain, who makes the interesting entry at the end, that the young king, who was then not yet twelve, had written the whole without the help of any living person. Bellemain seems to have been very proud of his pupil's performance; he sent a copy of it to Calvin as "flowers whose fruit would be seen in due season."[268] Calvin in turn sent Bellemain observations on the composition for him to transmit to his pupil, and advised its publication, which Edward would not hear of.[269] Bellemain remarks that Edward took great delight in Calvin's works, and from time to time the French tutor acted as a medium of communication between the two, as in the case just mentioned. Calvin did not scruple to give the young monarch advice on religious subjects,[270] while Cranmer invited him to write to the young king. Bellemain himself made a translation of the English Liturgy of 1552, and sent it to Calvin to have his opinion on it.[271] Besides these three exercises, two of Edward's French letters have also survived. One is addressed to Queen Katharine Parr and the other to the Princess Elizabeth. In the former he compliments the queen, whom he more usually addressed in Latin, on her beautiful handwriting.[272] [Header: JEAN BELLEMAIN] The other is to Elizabeth, who, it appears, had written to him in French, inviting him to reply in the same language. He takes her advice: Puisque vous a pleu me rescrire, tres chere et bien aymée soeur, je vous mercie de bien bon cuer, et non seullement de vostre lettre, mais aussy de vostre bonne exhortation et example, laquelle, ainsy que j'espere, me servira d'esperon pour vous suivre en apprenant. Priant Dieu vous avoir en sa garde. De Titenhanger, 18 jour de decembre et l'an de nostre seigneur, 1548.--Vostre frere, EDWARDUS. PRINCE. a ma treschere et bien aymée soeur Elizabeth.[273] We see from the date of this letter that Edward had been learning French nearly three months when it was written. Bellemain's salary as French tutor to the king was £6:12:4 per quarter. In 1546 he received an annuity of fifty marks for life; in 1550 a lease for twenty-one years of the parsonages of Minehead and Cotcombe, county Somerset; in 1553 a lease of the manor of Winchfield in Hampshire;[274] and in 1551 a grant of letters of denization.[275] He stayed in England until the king's death in 1553, and was present at his funeral. No doubt, with his religious sympathies, he would find the England of Mary's time an uncongenial home, and leave it at as early a date as possible. Bellemain did not compose any treatise on the French language. He says that he had long nourished the hope of writing some rules for French pronunciation and orthography; but he changed his mind, thinking it mere folly to attempt to give rules for that which was not yet fixed and certain. In a translation into French of the Greek Epistle of Basil the Great to St. Gregory upon solitary life, which he dedicated to the Princess Elizabeth,[276] he expresses his opinion upon the new style of French orthography, then promoted by certain writers, with whom he did not agree on most points. These writers[277] wished to make the orthography tally with the pronunciation and to discard the letters which are not pronounced; they would thus change the spelling still used for the most part by scholars and courtiers, and which in Bellemain's opinion is preferable to that proposed by the so-called reformers. He argues that an alteration of the spelling of French would necessitate a corresponding change in Latin, where the letters have the same sound and meaning, a thing which appears ridiculous to the merest observer. Besides, the derivative consonants are useful, as they serve to distinguish words of identical sound but different meaning and derivation, and to indicate the length of the preceding vowel. On the other hand, letters have been added by versifiers merely to suit their rimes, and these writers have done more than any others to corrupt French orthography. Of what avail is it, asks Bellemain, to compose rules on a subject so much in dispute? For these reasons he abstained from increasing the number of works on the French language produced in England. In the dedication to Elizabeth of his translation of Basil the Great's Epistle to St. Gregory, Bellemain shows that he was familiar with the books which the princess read, and also expresses his desire that she will not let her French be corrupted by the so-called reformed orthography she may meet in some of these books.[278] Thus Bellemain took an interest in Elizabeth's French, and it is highly probable that he was her tutor in that language.[279] [Header: QUEEN ELIZABETH'S KNOWLEDGE OF FRENCH] In the year 1546, when he began to teach Edward French, the Princess Elizabeth shared for some time her brother's studies. It is said that they began with religious instruction in the morning, and the rest of the forenoon, breakfast alone excepted, was devoted to the languages, science, and moral learning. Edward then went to his outdoor exercises and Elizabeth to her lute or viol.[280] No doubt, then, she received lessons from the French tutor until she left her brother in December. Elizabeth, however, had made considerable progress in the language some years before this date, and before 1544, so that it is extremely likely that Bellemain had been teaching her for several years before he was appointed French tutor to Edward, perhaps owing to his success with Elizabeth. At any rate there does not seem to be any trace of any other French tutor to the princess, and the fact that he received an annuity of £50 for life suggests that he had already rendered some service in the royal family. The scholar Leland praised Elizabeth's skill in French and Latin when he saw her at Ampthill with her brother, and already in 1544 she had completed the first composition in which she exerted her early activity in the French language. This was a translation of Margaret of Navarre's _Miroir de l'ame pecheresse_,[281] which she called _The Miroir or Glasse of the Synneful Soul_, and dedicated to Queen Katharine Parr.[282] It was published in 1564 under the title, _A godly meditacyon of the Christian soule concerning a love towards God and Hys Christe, compyled in Frenche by Lady Margarete, Quene of Naver, and aptly translated into Englysh by the right vertuous lady Elizabeth, daughter of our late Soverayne Kynge Henri the VIII._[283] The translation itself is not very good, and the style is awkward. But Elizabeth was only eleven years old when she undertook it, and observes apologetically that she "joyned the sentences together as well as the capacite of (her) symple witte and small lerning coulde expende themselves." In the following year (1545) she translated some prayers and meditations written in English by the queen, Katharine Parr, into Latin, French, and Italian, and dedicated them to her father.[284] Of greater interest is a little book the princess wrote in French, and also offered to the king--a translation into French of the _Dialogus Fidei_ of Erasmus, thus inscribed: "A Treshaut Trespuissant et Redoubté Prince Henry VIII de ce nom, Roy d'Angleterre, de France et d'Irlande, défenseur de la foy, Elizabeth sa Treshumble fille rend salut et obedience." This treatise, composed before the death of the king in 1547,[285] was preserved in the Library at Whitehall, and often attracted the attention of foreign visitors in London.[286] Thus Elizabeth was well accomplished in French before the reign of Edward VI. It was while her brother was king that the great Hebrew scholar, Antony Rudolph Chevallier, commonly called Monsieur Antony, was for a short time her tutor in French. Chevallier was a Norman who had studied Hebrew under Vatable at Paris, and had been forced to take refuge in England on account of his religious opinions. He studied at Cambridge and lived for a year in the house of Archbishop Cranmer,[287] who brought him to the notice of the young king (then famous for his patronage of foreign scholars of the Reform) and of Protector Somerset, who appointed him tutor to the Princess Elizabeth.[288] On the death of Edward VI., Chevallier, like Bellemain, left England. He taught Hebrew at Strasburg and Geneva, where he came into contact with English student refugees under the reign of Mary I., and made the acquaintance of Calvin. He returned to England in the reign of Elizabeth (1568) to solicit the queen's help for the French Protestants. He received a good welcome, and in 1569 was made a lecturer in Hebrew at Cambridge, where "he was accounted second to none in the realme." He returned to France before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew (1570), and died as a result of the hardships he suffered in making his escape. [Header: RELIGIOUS OPINIONS OF FRENCH TUTORS] It is a curious fact that the religious opinions of the French tutors in Henry VIII.'s family were reflected in the reigns of their pupils--the Protestant Edward VI., the Roman Catholic Mary, and the Protestant Elizabeth. Both Duwes and Bellemain allowed the subject of religion to make its way into their lessons, and they probably exercised some influence, differing in degree, on the religious convictions of their pupils. FOOTNOTES: [221] First edition. Printed at London, by Th. Godfray, _c._ 1534. Sig. A-Ea in fours. [222] Both these grammars were reprinted by Génin, in the _Collection des documents inédits sur l'Histoire de France_. II. _Histoire des lettres et sciences_. Paris, 1852. [223] By Andrew Baynton, in a letter prefixed to Palsgrave's grammar. [224] Palsgrave in his grammar. [225] Both Palsgrave's and Duwes's observations on the pronunciation of French are utilized by M. Thurot: _De la prononciation française depuis le commencement du_ 16e _siècle d'après les témoignages des grammairiens_. 2 tom. Paris, 1881. For further treatment of Palsgrave's grammar, see A. Benoist, _De la syntaxe française entre Palsgrave et Vaugelas_. Paris, 1877. [226] The second book begins on folio xxxi. and ends on folio lix. In the third book the pagination begins anew: folio 1 to folio 473. [227] Four hundred and seventy-three folios, while the first and second books together occupy only fifty-nine folios. [228] The fulness, originality, and exhaustive character of the work may be illustrated by the treatment of such a point as the agreement of the past participle with its subject, when used with the auxiliary _avoir_. "... yet when the participle present followeth the tenses of _Je ay_, it is not ever generall that he shall remain unchaunged, but ... yf the tenses of _Je ay_ have a relatyve before them or governe an accusative case eyther of a pronoune or substantyve, the participle for the most part shall agree with the sayd accusatyve cases in gendre and nombre, and in such sentences not remayne unchaunged. Helas, I have loved her, _helas je l'ay aimée_ ..." etc. [229] Duwes's plan is as comprehensive as Palsgrave's, as is seen by the following table: "In the first part shal be treated of rules, that is to say, howe the fyve vowelles must be pronounced in redynge frenche, and what letters shal be left unsounde, and the course thereof. "The second part shal be of nounes, pronounes, adverbes, participles, with verbes, propositions, and coniunctions. "Also certayne rules for coniugation. "Item fyve or syx maners of coniugations with one verbe. "Item coniugations with two pronounes and with thre and finally combining or ioinyng 2 verbes together." [230] _The Boke of the Governour ..._ ed. H. H. S. Croft, 1883, vol. i. p. 55. [231] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ iv. 5806. [232] _Ibid._ iv. 4560. [233] ". . . m'a comandé et enchargé de reduire et mectre en escript la maniere coment g'ay procedé envers ses dictz progeniteurs et predecesseurs, coe celle aussi y la quelle ie l'ay (tellement quellement) instruit et instruis iournellment. . . ." [234] _Privy purse expenses of the Princess Mary_, ed. F. Madden, 1831, pp. xli-xliii. [235] "Duwes avait d'une main leste et sure esquissé la petite grammaire de Lhomond: Palsgrave avait laborieusement compilé la grammaire des grammaires: L'in-folio fut étouffé par l'in-8vo. Cela se voit souvent dans la littérature où le quatrain de St. Aulaire triomphe de la Pucelle de Chapelain" (Génin's Introduction). It seems an exaggeration to use the word "étouffer." At any rate the victory was not final. Palsgrave's work is not forgotten to-day, like that of Duwes. [236] There are copies of all three editions in the Bodleian. The British Museum contains one copy of Bourman's edition, and two of Waley's (the third). Génin used Godfray's edition in his reprint. [237] E. G. Duff, _A Century of the English Book Trade_, Bibliog. Society, 1905. [238] There are, however, a larger number of Palsgrave's one edition extant than of Duwes's three. This is, no doubt, because its size and value prevented it from being used with the lack of respect with which school-books are usually treated. There is a copy of the _Esclarcissement_ in the Bibliothèque Mazarine at Paris; two in the British Museum; one in the Bodleian, one in Cambridge University Library, and one in the Rylands Library. [239] _Supra_, p. 92. [240] Dated September 2, twenty-second year of his reign (_i.e._ 1530). [241] There were three drafts of the indenture with Pynson, _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ iii. 3680, iv. 39. The first two were probably drawn up in 1523. The last is dated January 18, 1524. The first two were printed by Dr. Furnivall for the Philological Society, 1868. The third draft is in Cromwell's hand, corrected by Palsgrave. There is a clause that Pynson shall not print more than the given number--750--until that number is sold. Pynson seems to have printed only the first two parts of 59 leaves. After this there comes a third part, with a fresh numbering of leaves from 1 to 473. The printing was finished July 18, 1530, by J. Hawkins. [242] At the rate of 6s. 8d. a ream. [243] Ellis, _Orig. Letters_, 3rd series, vol. ii. p. 214. [244] He found it useful in diplomatic service. He writes to his patron: "I am well asseyed here and my little knowledge of French well exercised" (Brussels, Nov. 20, 1538), _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ xiii. pt. ii. No. 882. [245] "O devotz amateurs de bonnes lettres pleust a Dieu que quelque noble coeur s'employast a mettre et ordonner par regle nostre langaige françois! Ce seroit moyen que maints milliers d'hommes se evertueroient a souvent user de belles et bonnes paroles. S'il n'y est mis et ordonné on trouvera que de cinquante en cinquante ans la langue françoise pour la plus grande part sera changée et pervertie" (folio 1, verso). Tory sketched a plan of a great work on the language to which his _Champ fleury_ was intended only as an introduction. [246] Génin is 'certain' that the date given on the frontispiece of Palsgrave's work is a year earlier than that on which it actually appeared. He draws this conclusion from the date of the king's privilege, twenty-second year of Henry VIII., who came to the throne in 1509; 9 + 22 = 31. This leaves Palsgrave a longer period to gather what he could from Tory's work, says Génin. But the twenty-second year of the reign of Henry VIII. began in April 1530, and the printing of Palsgrave's work was completed on the 18th of July. [247] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ i. Nos. 513 and 3094. [248] _Ibid._ vi. No. 1199. Duwes also received numerous grants of money and licences to import Gascon wine. [249] Printed in _Theatrum Chemicum_, Ursel, 1602, vol. ii. pp. 95-123, and reprinted in J. J. Manget's _Bibliotheca Chemica_, Geneva, 1702, vol. ii. Two copies of an English translation are in the Bodleian (Ashmole MSS.). See _Dict. Nat. Biog._ [250] He is called "schoolmaster to my Lady Princess of Castile," in the Book of Payments, March 1513, _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ ii. No. 1460. [251] _Ibid._ ii. 295. [252] _Ibid._ i. 5582. [253] Bale, _Britanniae Scriptorum_, 1548, fol. 219. [254] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ ii. pt. 2, 1107. [255] J. G. Nichols, _Memoir of the Duke of Richmond_, 1855, Camden Society, _Miscellany_, iii. pp. xxiii-xxiv; also _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ iv. 5806, and v. 1596, 1793, 2069, 2081. [256] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ iv. 5806. [257] _Ibid._ iv. 4560: Letter dated July 27, 1528. [258] _Ibid._ iv. 5806, 5807. [259] "Instructions for Syr Wm. Stevynson, what he shall do for one John Palsgrave with the Frenche Queenes Grace and the Duke of Suffolk her espouse": _ibid._ v. 5808. [260] Wood, _Athen. Oxon._ ed. Bliss, i. 121. [261] _Letters and Papers_, v. 621-622: Letter dated Oct. 18, 1532. [262] Palsgrave received ecclesiastical preferment from time to time. Amongst others, he was collated to the prebend of Portpoole in St. Paul's Cathedral by Bishop Fitzjames in 1514, and to the Rectory of St. Dunstan-in-the-East by Cranmer in 1533, and to that of Wadenhoe, Northamptonshire, in 1545, by the same Archbishop. (Thompson Cooper in the _Dict. Nat. Biog._) [263] Written by a Dutch contemporary, Fullonius, in 1529. [264] J. G. Nichols, _Literary Remains of Edward VI._, Roxburghe Club, 1857, p. 210. [265] _Ibid._ p. lxxviii. [266] These have been printed by J. G. Nichols in his _Literary Remains_, p. 144 _et seq._ The MS. of the first is at Trin. Col. Cantab. R 7, 31, of the second in the Brit. Mus. Addit. MS. 9000, and of the third at Biblio. Pub. Cantab. Dd 12, 59, and Brit. Mus. Addit. 5464. Nichols uses the text of the first of these. [267] "Apres avoir noté en ma Bible en Anglois plusieurs sentences qui contredisent a toute ydolatrie, a celle fin de m'apprendre et exercer en l'ecriture Françoise, je me suis amusé a les translater en ladite langue Françoise, puis les ay fait rescrire en ce petit livret, lequel de tres bon coeur je vous offre" (_Literary Remains ..._, p. 144). [268] "Lettre inédite de Bellemain": _Bulletin de la Soc. de l'Hist. du Protestantisme Français_, vol. xv., 1866, pp. 203-5. [269] It was, however, translated into English and published in 1681 (two copies in the Brit. Mus.), and reprinted by Rev. J. Duncan in 1811 (no copy known), and by the Religious Tract Soc., _Vol. of Writings of Ed. VI._, etc. [270] Calvin wrote to Edward VI. in French: "C'est grand chose d'estre roy, mesme d'un tel pays. Toutesfois je ne doubte pas que vous n'estimez sans comparaison mieux d'estre chrestien. C'est doncq un privilege inestimable que Dieu vous a faict, Sire, que vous soiez roy chrestien, voire que luy servez de lieutenant pour ordonner et maintenir le royaulme de J. Christ en Angleterre" (_Bulletin_, _ut supra_). [271] There is a copy of this in Brit. Mus. Royal MSS. 20, A xiv. [272] Ellis, _Orig. Letters_, ser. 1, vol. i. p. 132, and translated in Halliwell's _Letters of the Kings of England_, ii. 33. [273] J. C. Nichols, _Literary Remains_, p. 32. [274] _Ibid._ p. li. [275] Huguenot Soc. Publications, vol. viii. ad nom. [276] Brit. Mus. Royal MSS. 16, E 1. The whole consists of only eighteen small leaves, of which five are occupied by the dedication. No date is attached. The dedication continues: ". . . S'ainsy estoit (Tresnoble et Tresillustre Dame) que i'attendisse le temps auquel ie peusse trouver et inventer chose digne de presenter a vostre excellence, certes, madame, i'estime que ce ne seroit de long temps: car quelle chose est ce qu'on pourroit monstrer de nouveau a celle a qui rien n'est caché, soit en langue grecque ou latine ou en la plus part des autres langues vulgaires de l'Europe: soit en la congnoissance des histoires ecrites en icelles ou en philosophie et autres liberales sciences. Puis donc qu'ainsy est que peu de livres antiques se peuent trouver que n'ayez leuz ou au moins desquels n'ayez ouy aucunement parler, ioint aussy qu'estes maintenant comme en lieu solitaire, ie vous vueil seulement ramentevoir une epistre de Basile le grand que i'estime qu'avez autres fois leue: en laquelle il recommande fort la vie solitaire ou au moins exempte des cures et solicitudes de ce monde: et ce a intention de pouoir induire celuy a qui il l'envoioit a la contemplation de Dieu et de la vie future: qui sont les choses ausquelles devons le plus penser durant que sommes en ce monde comme estans les causes qui plus nous donnent occasion de bien vivre. . . ." [277] Sylvius (1530) had proposed a new system of orthography based on etymology and pronunciation. Meigret, however, was the chief exponent of the reformers, who sought to make orthography tally with pronunciation (in his _Traité touchant le comun usage de l'escriture françoise_, 1542 and 1545, and other works). Meigret was supported by Peletier du Mans (_Dialogue de l'ortografe et prononciation françoese_, 1549) and others, and bitterly attacked by the opposing party. The question, once opened, continued to be discussed until the decision of the Academy (founded 1649) settled the matter. Brunot, _op. cit._ ii. pp. 93 _sqq._ [278] "Ie vous ay escrit ce petit avertissement de paour que paraventure, en lisant tant de diversitéz d'impressions comme pourriez faire en ceste langue, ne sceussiez laquelle devriez suivre en ecrivant; mais il sera bon de suivre la plus part des modernes qui s'accordent quant a cela." [279] Stevenson, _Cal. of State Papers_, foreign series, 1558-9, p. xxv, takes it for granted that Bellemain was Elizabeth's tutor in French. [280] Strickland, _Lives of the Queens of England_, 1884: Life of Elizabeth, iii. pp. 9, 13. [281] First printed at Alençon, 1531. [282] This is at present in the Bodleian Library. It has an embroidered cover, probably by the princess herself. See Cyril Davenport, _English Embroidered Bookbindings_, London, 1899, p. 32. It was reprinted in 1897. [283] There are two copies of this rare little volume in the Brit. Mus. Another edition, varying considerably from the first, occurs in Bentley's _Monuments of the Nations_, iv., London, 1582 (Stevenson, _ut supra_, p. xxvi). It was republished in 1897. [284] See Davenport, _ut supra_, p. 33. The original is in the Brit. Mus. [285] This little work appears to have been lost. [286] Such as Hentzer the German, in 1598; Justus Zinzerling, 1610; Peter Eisenburg the Dane, 1614. See Rye, _England as Seen by Foreigners_, pp. 133, 171, 268, 282. [287] D. C. A. Agnew, _Protestant Exiles from France ..._, 3rd ed., 1886, vol. i. p. 45. [288] Haag, _La France Protestante_, and Cooper, _Athen. Cant._ i. 306. Agnew, _op. cit._, does not mention that Chevallier was tutor to Elizabeth. CHAPTER III THE INFLUENCE OF RELIGIOUS REFUGEES ON THE TEACHING OF FRENCH IN ENGLAND--OPENINGS FOR THEM AS TEACHERS--DEMAND FOR TEXT-BOOKS--FRENCH SCHOOLS IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND Religion, the question of all questions in the sixteenth century, was destined, incidentally, to exercise a great influence on the teaching of French in England. The conflicts resulting from the fierce hatreds aroused by the Reformation compelled many Protestants to seek asylum from the triumphant Catholic reaction abroad, and England was the land to which many of them fled.[289] Among these refugees were many who took upon themselves the task of teaching their native tongue to the English. The second half of the sixteenth century was the time when this influence was most strongly felt, although it is not altogether negligible in the years immediately preceding. In France the Reformation had at first been favourably received at Court, but in the third decade of the century persecution began to drive some Protestants from their native land. They made their way to England with some trepidation at this early date,[290] for Henry VIII., in spite of his breach with Rome, had but little sympathy with the Protestants, although he refused on several occasions to surrender fugitive heretics to the French king.[291] [Header: FOREIGNERS IN ENGLAND] On the accession of Edward VI. in 1547, however, England became a more hospitable abode for the Protestants, driven from France in increasing numbers by the persecutions sanctioned by Henry II., whose reign coincided with that of Edward. When Mary came to the throne all protection extended to these fugitives was withdrawn, and we find many of their protectors fleeing in their turn "to the Church and Christian congregation, then dispersed in foreine realmes, as to the safest bay."[292] The return of the English Government to Protestantism in the reign of Elizabeth coincided with the period of increased persecution on the Continent. Refugees arrived in great numbers, not only Huguenots from France, but also subjects of Philip II., Dutch, Flemings, and Walloons, fleeing from the cruelties of Alva.[293] These inhabitants of the Low Countries came to England in greater numbers than the Huguenots.[294] Many of them, such as the Walloons and Burgundians, spoke French; and, while the chief teachers of the time were drawn from the Huguenots, a large group of these French-speaking Netherlanders also joined the profession. To these two classes of French teachers must be added a third, the Roman Catholics, who formed the largest proportion of the foreigners in England.[295] The number of foreigners, augmented by the arrival of the refugee Dutch and French, created a situation which required serious consideration. These foreigners now formed a large fraction of the general population--probably about one in twenty of the inhabitants of London.[296] It became indispensable to keep some record of them, especially as there was a danger that spies and Roman Catholic emissaries might enter the country under the guise of refugees, and the overcrowding resulting from the arrival of so many aliens was becoming a serious matter. In earlier reigns the names of strangers in London had been registered; but in the time of Elizabeth a census, both numerical and religious, was taken more systematically, and at more and more frequent intervals. In these returns of aliens dwelling in London,[297] the names of many French teachers are preserved. Frequently their profession is stated, and we are told what church they attended and whether or not they were denizens, as well as the part of London in which they dwelt, and, in the lay subsidies, the amount they had to pay towards the heavy taxes levied on strangers. Other names are preserved in the lists of the grants of letters of denization.[298] This grant made the precarious position of foreigners in England more secure. Denization became almost indispensable to any one wishing to exercise a craft or trade. These letters gave the recipient much the same privileges as a native, except that he was still subject to special taxation.[299] Only those intending to settle in England would trouble to take out letters of denization; and that many of these foreigners' stay in England was only temporary is shown by the fact that, when the number of strangers was greatest, as after the St. Bartholomew massacre, there is no marked increase in the number of denizations granted. Means for registering the Protestant section of the community of foreigners were provided through the Dutch and French churches in London.[300] In 1550, Edward VI. had granted the dissolved monastery of the Austin Friars to the foreigners as a place of worship; some months later, owing to their increase in numbers, they were allowed the use of another building--St. Antony's Hospital in Threadneedle Street. The congregation was divided, the Dutch part remaining in the original church, while the French and the Walloons and other French-speaking refugees moved to Threadneedle Street. Both churches, each with two pastors,[301] were under the control of a Superintendent. But when, in the time of Elizabeth, the churches rose to new life, after their suppression in the reign of Mary, the Superintendent was replaced by the Archbishop of Canterbury. [Header: RECEPTION OF REFUGEES IN ENGLAND] This change, however, did not prevent the refugee congregations from enjoying many of their former liberties, for in the time of Elizabeth the Archbishops, who had themselves experienced the hardships of exile in the reign of Mary, took a particular interest in the cause of the refugees. The English, indeed, complained, not entirely without reason, that the foreigners were allowed greater religious freedom than they themselves. As French and Dutch refugees settled in different parts of the country, similar churches arose in these settlements. By the end of the reign of Elizabeth there were French-Walloon churches in existence at Canterbury, Glastonbury, Sandwich, Southampton, Rye, and Norwich. In 1552 all strangers were ordered to repair either to their own church or to the English parish church. These injunctions were renewed in the time of Elizabeth and became a useful means of checking the number of refugees in London. From time to time, during this reign, the Archbishop requested the ministers of the foreign churches to send him a list of their communicants. Foreigners who did not attend any church were not allowed to apply for the privilege of letters of denization. Thus the aliens who arrived in England in such large numbers in the second part of the sixteenth century had many restrictions placed upon them, especially if they were engaged in any craft or trade which might arouse the commercial jealousy of the English. In the teaching profession such rivalry would not be felt to the same extent, though it did actually exist. In any circumstance, however, all the exiles had to endure the hatred and insults of the common people, from which, nearly two centuries later, Voltaire only escaped without injury thanks to his ready wit. Riots such as those of Evil May Day (1517) were directed mainly against foreign traders, but all foreigners, especially Frenchmen, were a continual butt for the insults of the mob. Nicander Nucius remarks that the common people in England do not entertain one kindly sentiment towards the French. "Ennemis du françois" is one of the epithets applied to the English by De la Porte in his collection of epithets (Paris, 1571) on the different nations. The French priest, Étienne Perlin, who was in England during the last two years of the reign of Edward VI., and thoroughly hated the country, calling it "la peste d'un pays et ruine," speaks bitterly of the contrast between the courteous reception the English receive in France, and the greeting of the French in England with the cry, "French dogue": "it pleaseth me not that these churls being in their own country spit in our faces, and they being in France are treated with honour, as if they were little gods."[302] All foreign visitors to England are at one in their complaints of the lack of courtesy among the people. The great scholar Casaubon says he was more insulted in London than he ever was in Paris; stones were thrown at his window day and night, and once he was wounded in the street on his way to pay his respects at Court.[303] All these visitors, nevertheless, recognize that the English nobility and gentry and those in authority are "replete with benevolence and good order," and as courteous and affable as the people are uncivil.[304] And thus we find foreigners, especially refugees, welcomed to chairs at the English universities, and foreign students having their fees refunded on showing they had suffered "for religion," and receiving ecclesiastical preferment.[305] Most of the chief families in the realm, we are told, received refugees into their midst. Laurence Humphrey[306] exhorts these noble families to fulfil the sacred duty of hospitality towards strangers, especially religious exiles, whose sufferings many of them had themselves experienced in the reign of Mary, and to provide them with necessary livings, admit them to fellowships, and allow them yearly stipends. "Which well I wot, the noblest Prince Edward of happy memory most liberally did both in London and either university, whom some Dukes, Nobles, and Bishops imitated, chiefly the reverend Father and late Primate of England ... Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.... Amongst the Nobles not the least praise earned Henry Gray, Marquis of Dorset, and Duke of Suffolk now a noble citizen of Heaven, who liberally relieved many learned exiles. The like may be said of many others." Cranmer had entertained at Lambeth Pierre Alexandre and "diverse other pious Frenchmen," including Antony Rudolph Chevallier, who was tutor to Elizabeth for a short time. [Header: TUTORS IN PRIVATE FAMILIES] Matthew Parker, his successor to the see in the time of Elizabeth, followed his example and declared it to be a Christian duty to befriend "these gentle and profitable strangers." Cecil, Walsingham, and other dignitaries of the time also became their protectors, and, recognizing the advantages, both intellectual and commercial, which accrued to the country, sought by all means to ward off the hostile measures demanded from time to time by the English _bourgeoisie_. One French teacher of the time, G. de la Mothe, says that so great was the affection of the English nobility and gentry for the French that few of them were without a Frenchman in their houses. Thus Pierre Baro, a native of Étampes and student of civil law who came to England at the time of the St. Bartholomew massacre, was "kindly entertained in the family of Lord Burghley, who admitted him to eat at his own table." Subsequently he went to Trinity College, Cambridge, and became Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at that university on the recommendation of his patron, besides being admitted to the degrees of Bachelor and Licentiate of Civil Law, and Doctor of Divinity (1576).[307] Lord Buckhurst had for a time in his house Claude de Sainliens or Holyband, the most popular French teacher of the time, and several other strangers; while Sir Nicholas Throckmorton gave shelter to two Burgundians, one Dutchman, and four Frenchmen, "whose names cannot be learned."[308] In many instances we know that these refugees taught French when thus received into noble families, and it is extremely probable that such was almost always the case, for French was one of the chief studies of the higher classes of society and held an important place in the courtly education of the time. This partiality for the language was called one of the rare vocations which distinguished the English nobility. An idea of the intellectual accomplishments necessary to a young gentleman of the time may be gathered from the programme drawn up for Gregory, the son of Mr. Secretary Cromwell;[309] this comprises "French, Latin, writing, playing at weapons, casting of accounts, pastimes of instruments." Wilson, the author of the earliest treatise on rhetoric in English,[310] varies this scheme slightly; he commends the gentleman "for his skill in French, or Italian, or cosmography, Laws, Histories of all countries, gifts of inditing, playing on instruments, painting, and drawing." Lord Ossory, Duke of Ormond, for example, rode very well, was a good tennis-player, fencer, and dancer, understood music and played well on the guitar and on the lute; French he spoke elegantly, while he read Italian with ease--a careful and significant distinction between the two languages--and, in addition, he was a good historian and well versed in romances.[311] Thus a place had to be assigned to French in the education of gentlemen. Thomas Cranmer,[312] for instance, wrote to Cromwell in 1539, making suggestions for the establishment of a College in the Cathedral Church at Canterbury, to provide for the instruction of forty students "in the tongues, in sciences, and in French"--a proposal which came to nothing, but is none the less important, as being the first attempt to reinstate French in an educational institution. In the sixteenth century the long-standing custom among gentlemen of sending their sons to the houses of noblemen for education was still practised to some extent, and French was taught in these little communities.[313] The usual subjects of study were reading, probably writing, and languages, chiefly Latin and French. Sir Thomas More and Roger Ascham were both educated in this way. More, at the age of three, was sent to the house of John Morton, the chancellor, where he learnt French, Latin, Greek, and music. Ascham spent his early years in the house of Sir Humphrey Wingfield, who "ever loved and used to have many children in his house."[314] Sir Henry Wotton was "pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful youths which he picked out of Eton School, and took into his own domestic care."[315] It was also customary for young peers to become royal wards. In 1561 Sir Nicholas Bacon devised a plan for their "bringing up in virtue and learning" which he submitted to Cecil. [Header: FRENCH IN EDUCATION OF GENTRY] According to these articles,[316] the wards were to attend divine service at six in the morning, then to study Latin till eleven; nothing is said of breakfast, but an hour is allowed for dinner; from noon till two o'clock they were to be with the music master, from two to three with the French master, and from three to five with the Latin and Greek masters. The rest of the evening was devoted to prayers, honest pastimes, and music under the direction of a master. No doubt Cecil put this advice into practice. Some years later, Sir Humphrey Gilbert drew up an admirable scheme for the "erection of an Academy in London for the education of her majesty's wards, and others, the youth of Nobility and Gentlemen," which was laid before the queen, probably in 1570. Although this scheme was never carried out, it is of great interest as showing what were the subjects most likely to be taught. Gilbert's plan is very extensive. French, of course, is included in the curriculum--"also there shall be one Teacher of the French tongue which shall be yearly allowed for the same £26. Also he shall be allowed one usher, of the yearly wage of £10." Gilbert urges also the teaching of other modern languages--Italian, to which he assigns about as large a place as to French, and Spanish and High Dutch, to which less importance is attached.[317] French, then, was a recognized part of the education of the nobility and gentry. Italian, it will be noticed, was also considered desirable, but chiefly for reading purposes.[318] In the Elizabethan era Italian literature had perhaps more influence on English writers than that of France, although it not infrequently reached England through a French medium. But when the first enthusiasm of the early days of the Renaissance had burnt itself out, Italian was not cultivated generally, except by those specially interested in literature or by those who had special reasons for learning it. Nor was Spanish much studied, except for practical purposes and the government services; Richard Perceval, for instance, put his excellent knowledge of the language at the disposal of Lord Burghley for the purpose of deciphering the packets containing the first intelligence of the Armada.[319] Neither language could be a dangerous rival to French, which alone was studied generally, and by ever-increasing numbers. It was in private tuition that those Frenchmen desirous of teaching their language, or driven to do so by stress of circumstances, would find the readiest opening and the largest demand for their services. Turning to the various registers of aliens, the earliest notices we find of French tutors are in the grant of letters of denization for the year 1544.[320] In that year one, John Verone, a French and Latin tutor to the children of William Morris, a gentleman usher to the king, received the grant, as did also a certain Honorie Ballier, a Frenchman who had been ten years in England, and was engaged in teaching his language to the children of the Lord Admiral, Lord Lisle, Duke of Northumberland. Yet another teacher received the same privilege in this year--John Veron, one of the "eminentest preachers" of the time, and the author of various religious controversial works. He gained considerable preferment in the Anglican Church, and once preached before the queen at the Cross in St. Paul's Churchyard,--"a bold as well as an eloquent man," and a perfect master of the English tongue.[321] In the earlier part of his life in England, where he arrived about 1536, Veron had been engaged in teaching gentlemen's children; a task in which, say his letters of denization (1544), he "doth yet continue with intent ever so to persevere." Veron manifested his interest in the teaching of Latin and French by publishing a Latin, French, and English dictionary in 1552, the first dictionary, published in England, in which a place is given to French. It is based on the Latin-French Dictionary of Robert Éstienne,[322] with the addition of a column in English, and entitled _Dictionariolum puerorum tribus linguis Latina, Anglica, et Gallica conscriptum cui anglicam interpretionem adjecit Joannes Veron_.[323] The impetus imparted to the teaching of French by the arrival of these large numbers of refugees naturally led to an increased production of books for teaching the language. [Header: TEXT-BOOKS FOR TEACHING FRENCH] Nearly all the grammars written in the second half of the sixteenth century are the work of Frenchmen,[324] the English, after their first initiative, soon giving place to the French writers on the language, although not without some protest. Some of these teachers no doubt made use of one or other of the grammars which had appeared in French; many of them taught without any such help, and a few were able to use one or other of the grammars which had already been published in England, while yet others set to work to compile text-books of their own. As many of them were, or had been, employed in noblemen's houses, and had composed their grammars from material used in teaching in these noble families, it was easy for most of them to find patrons for their works,[325] and thus secure a greater measure of success by offering them to the public under the protection of some well-known and powerful name, which would "shadow these tender plants" from the "over violent rays of reproachful censurings." To dedicate a grammar to some famous pupil, with praise of his rare knowledge of French acquired by means of its contents and the excellent method employed by his tutor, the author, was a very good form of self-advertisement, freely used by the French teachers of the time. Among patrons of French grammars were Edward VI. and particularly Elizabeth, who is, says one of these writers, "le vray port de retraite et asyle asseuré de ceux qui, faisans profession de l'Evangile, souffrent ores persecution soubs la Tyrannie de l'Antichrist"; another adds that she has "des estrangers les coeurs a volonté." Lord Burghley, Sir Henry Wallop, Sir Philip Wharton, and other influential men of the time also figure among the patrons of French teachers. These French grammars which appeared in the second half of the sixteenth century are of a decidedly more popular kind than those of Palsgrave and Duwes, and appeal to a larger public. The earlier grammars were written for the special use of royalty and the highest ranks of the nobility. Barclay, however, differs from his rivals in having a wider aim; his grammar is intended for the "pleasure of all englysshe men as well gentylmen marchauntes, as other common people that are not expert in the sayd langage." Palsgrave also, by way of epilogue, expresses the hope that the "nobility of the realm and all other persons, of whatever state and condition whatsoever, may in their tender age, by means of it the sooner acquire a knowledge of French by their great pains and study"; but it is clear that the size and price of his book, not to mention the restrictions he placed on its sale, would prevent it from fulfilling any such aim. In this new series of French text-books there appeared nothing which could compare in importance with the great work of Palsgrave; they were all the hasty product of teachers, and intended to meet a pressing practical demand. The authors had not the time, even if they had had the ability, to produce any comprehensive study of the language, and, consequently, their works are of more value as showing how French was taught in England, and its popularity here, than as a store of philological material for the historical grammarian. Rules of grammar are usually reduced to as small a compass as possible; and the largest part of the volumes is occupied by dialogues in French and English, which give lively and often dramatic pictures of contemporary family life, and of the busy London streets of the time. A place is also given to familiar phrases, collections of proverbs, and golden sayings. The public to which such text-books appealed was wider, including merchants and commoners, as well as the gentry. Nor was the demand for tutors in the language confined to the higher classes. At this time the great middle classes were rising to wealth and prominence, and demanding a share in the intellectual distinctions of their social betters. "As for gentlemen, they be made good cheap in England," writes Sir Thomas Smith,[326] in reference to the democratic movement. In this new class of Englishman, the teachers of French recruited a large number of their pupils. And so the French teacher who visited a clientèle of pupils became a familiar figure in the London of the later sixteenth century. The numerous French-speaking inhabitants of London, occupied in various trades and crafts in the city, were, so to speak, his unconscious collaborators, for the proportion of such foreigners in London was large enough to have some influence on the spread of the knowledge of French. [Header: SHAKESPEARE'S KNOWLEDGE OF FRENCH] We have an instance of this indirect influence in the case of Shakespeare. From 1598 he lodged for about six years, and possibly longer, in the house of a Huguenot, one Christopher Montjoy, who lived in Silver Street, Cripplegate[327]--a well-to-do neighbourhood, and the resort of many foreigners. Montjoy was one of the French head-dressers who were in such demand at that time. His wife, daughter, and also his apprentice, Stephen Bellot, formed the rest of the household, with whom Shakespeare seems to have lived on fairly intimate terms; he acted as a mediator in arranging a marriage between Montjoy's daughter and Bellot, and, some years later, was drawn into a family quarrel concerning a dowry which Bellot claimed and Montjoy refused to pay; in 1612 Bellot took the matter into the Court of Requests, and Shakespeare was one of the witnesses summoned. Finally the matter was referred to the consistory of the French Church, which decided in Bellot's favour.[328] It was no doubt during his sojourn in the house of this Huguenot family that he improved his knowledge of French, of which he gives evidence in his works.[329] The two plays in which he uses the language most freely--_Henry V._ and _The Merry Wives of Windsor_--were produced during the early time of his residence with Montjoy, whose name is given to a French Herald in _Henry V._ In _The Merry Wives_ the French physician, Doctor Caius, speaks a mixture of broken English and French,[330] and in _Henry V._ French is introduced freely into a number of the scenes,[331] while one, in which Katharine of France receives a lesson in English from her French maid, is entirely in French, and is here quoted for convenience' sake:[332] (Enter _Katharine_ and _Alice_.) _Kath._ Alice, tu as esté en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. _Alice._ Un peu, madame. _Kath._ Je te prie, m'enseignez; il fault que j'apprenne à parler. Comment appellez-vous la main en Anglois? _Alice._ La main? elle est appellée de hand. _Kath._ De hand. Et les doigts? _Alice._ Les doigts? ma foy, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me soubviendra. Les doigts? je pense y qu'ils sont appellez de fingres; ouy, de fingres. _Kath._ La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon escholier. J'ay gagné deux mots d'Anglois vistement. Comment appellez-vous les ongles? _Alice._ Les ongles? nous les appellons, de nails. _Kath._ De nails. Escoutez: dites-moy, si ie parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. _Alice._ C'est bien dict, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. _Kath._ Dites-moi l'anglois pour le bras. _Alice._ De arm, madame. _Kath._ Et le coude. _Alice._ D'elbow. _Kath._ D'elbow. Je m'en fais la répétition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris dès à present. _Alice._ Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. _Kath._ Excusez-moy, Alice; escoutez: de hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. _Alice._ De elbow, madame. _Kath._ O Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? _Alice._ De nick, madame. _Kath._ De nick: et le menton? _Alice._ De chin. _Kath._ De sin. Le col, de nick: le menton, de sin. _Alice._ Ouy. Saulve vostre honneur, en vérité vous prononcez les mots aussi droict que les natifs d'Angleterre. _Kath._ Je ne doubte poinct d'apprendre, par la grace Dieu, et en peu de temps. _Alice._ N'avez vous pas desjà oublié ce que je vous ay enseigné? _Kath._ Non, je réciteray a vous promptement. De hand, de fingre, de mails-- _Alice._ De nails, madame. _Kath._ De nails, de arme, de ilbow. _Alice._ Saulve vostre honneur, de elbow. _Kath._ Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin: comment appelez-vous le pied and la robbe? _Alice._ De foot, madame; et de coun. _Kath._ De foot, et de coun? O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son maulvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user. Je ne vouldrois prononcer cez mots devant les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il fault de foot, et de coun, neant-moins. Je reciteray une aultre fois ma leçon ensemble: de hand, de fingre, de nails, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. _Alice._ Excellent, madame! _Kath._ C'est assez pour une fois; allons-nous à disner. It is not surprising, remembering Shakespeare's friendship with the Huguenots, to find him quoting from the Genevan Bible in the same play.[333] [Header: FRENCH NEGLECTED IN GRAMMAR SCHOOLS] When he composed it, he must have had a strong inclination to write French, as he sometimes uses the language rather inconsistently, making the Dauphin, for instance, speak French one moment and English the next. On the whole, Shakespeare's French seems to have been fairly correct grammatically, if not quite idiomatic.[334] It contains just enough mistakes and anglicisms to make it extremely unlikely that he received help from any Frenchman; for example, we find the Princess Katharine of France saying, "Je suis semblable _a les_ anges." On other occasions, when Englishmen are speaking, Shakespeare purposely makes their French incorrect and clumsy. That he could read French is shown by the fact that some of the originals on which he based his plays were not translated into English.[335] Moreover, he probably read Montaigne in the original, unless, like Cornwallis, Florio allowed him to see his translation in manuscript--a rather remote possibility, as the French would be easier of access. No doubt many others besides Shakespeare owed a good deal of their knowledge of French to direct intercourse with Frenchmen, a means of improvement strongly advocated by the professional teachers of the time. "Get you acquainted with some Frenchman" is their cry. In addition to the refugees, students or men belonging to no particular craft or profession who took up the teaching of their language on their arrival in England, there were also professional schoolmasters--French, Flemish, and Walloon. Many of the latter, we may surmise, were no doubt driven from their country by the edict issued by Margaret, Duchess of Parma, in 1567. One clause was particularly directed against schoolmasters who might teach any error or false doctrine. None of these teachers, however, would find any opening in the grammar schools, which were then "little nurseries of the Latin tongue." The memorizing of Latin grammar, with the study of rhetoric in the Latin writers, both in verse and prose, formed almost the whole of the curriculum.[336] In the books on education of the time the study of French was equally ignored. These works, however, are mainly from the pen of pedants, and have but little bearing on practical education.[337] For them French was not a 'learned' tongue, in spite of the efforts of Palsgrave to secure its recognition as such. But it is not difficult to reconcile the general prevalence of the study of French with its absence from the grammar schools. At this time, and throughout the seventeenth century, there was a great division between scholastic education and social requirements.[338] The school and educational writers, in refusing to recognize French, held aloof from the social needs of the day: "non vitae sed scholae discimus"; and in retaining the cosmopolitan atmosphere of the Middle Ages they ignored the new spirit of nationalism which called modern languages into prominence. The school had little, if any, effect in retarding the progress of French, which came to be looked upon in the light of an 'extra,' to be studied privately and with the help of tutors. Many scholars of the public or grammar schools had a private tutor who would teach them French when occasion served. Such, for instance, was the case with Sir Philip Sidney. Fulke Grenville and Sidney both entered Shrewsbury School at the age of ten, in the year 1564. Two years later a letter of Sir Henry Sidney informs us that he had received two letters from his son, one in Latin and the other in French, "whiche I take in good parte, and will you to exercise that Practice and Learning often: For that will stand you in most steade, in that profession of lyf that you are born to live in."[339] Apparently, then, Sidney had received lessons in French either at home or out of school hours. He had also, in all probability, had a French tutor before he went to Shrewsbury. French, however, was not entirely neglected in all schools. As the grammar schools were "Latin" schools, there arose in the second half of the sixteenth century a considerable number of private "French" schools, where this language received special attention. [Header: PRIVATE FRENCH SCHOOLS] The earliest of these owed their origin to the refugees, both professional schoolmasters and others. St. Paul's Churchyard, the busy centre of city life, was the quarter round which many of these schools were grouped. There they were most likely to get a good clientèle, partly, it may be, among those boys attending St. Paul's School who desired, like Sir Philip Sidney, to extend their studies. In St. Paul's Churchyard, also, lived the chief booksellers, who generally seem to have cultivated friendly relations with French teachers, especially those whose books they were commissioned to sell. Frequently they acted as agents for the teachers, who in their grammars advise prospective pupils to "inquire" at the bookseller's. And, at this time, when indications of address were given by reference to the nearest place of importance, printers' signs are frequently used to locate the situation of French schools. At least one of these schools seems to have been very well known, for in 1590 the printer W. Wright, senior, gave as his address, "neare to the French School."[340] All of them, however, did not owe their origin to the French refugees. We hear, for instance, of a certain John Love, an Englishman, son of the steward of the Jesuit college founded by the English Catholics at Douay, who had a French school near St. Paul's, at the end of the century. But he was suspect, as it was feared he might be an "intelligenceer."[341] Among the earliest, however, if not the first of these French schools, was that of Peter Du Ploich, a Frenchman, and no doubt a refugee; at any rate the text-book for teaching French which he published shows his strong sympathy with the Protestants. This was entitled _A Treatise in English and Frenche right necessary and profitable for al young children_, and was first issued in about 1553 from the press of Richard Grafton, who had "privilege de l'imprimer seul."[342] Of this schoolmaster's life little is known.[343] From his little French text-book, "right necessary to come to the knowledge of the same," we learn that he kept his school at the sign of the Rose in Trinity Street; that he was married, and probably received some of his pupils into his house; and that he taught French, Latin, and writing. Probably religious instruction also formed part of the curriculum, as it did in the other schools of the time; both Henry VIII. and Edward VI. issued orders that the Paternoster, the Ten Commandments, and the Apostles' Creed should be taught to children.[344] Not only Du Ploich but other French teachers of the time provided religious formularies in their books for teaching the language, and in 1559-1560 the printer William Griffith received a licence to print a Catechism in Latin, French, and English.[345] The Catechism, Litany, Suffrages, and prayers occupy a large part of Du Ploich's _Treatise_, which is of quarto size, and consists of about fifty leaves.[346] All these formularies are given in both French and English, arranged in two columns on each page.[347] Then come three familiar dialogues which constitute the third, fourth, and fifth chapters of the book. The first of these gives us a lively picture of family life at the time. From the street, where we meet friends and are taught how to greet and address them, we pass into the house, where we are spectators of the family repast and of the arrival of the guests, and hear conversation on many subjects in which Du Ploich finds an opportunity for self-advertisement by mentioning his school and address. A child reads a passage from the New Testament, and the meal is preceded and followed by lengthy thanksgivings, which, however, do not interfere with the joviality and conviviality of the host. Sir, you make no good chere. Mons., vous ne faictes pas bonne chere. You say nothing. Vous ne dictes rien. What sholde I say? Que diroys-ie? I cannot speake frenche. Je ne sais pas parler françois. I understande you not. Je ne vous entens pas. O God, what say you? O Dieu, que dictes-vous? You speake as well as I doo Vous parlez aussy bien que je fais and better. et mieus aussy. Pardon me. Pardonnez moy. It pleaseth you to say so. Il vous plaist de dire ainsy . . . etc. [Header: PETER DU PLOICH] The next two dialogues deal with subjects characteristic of these books for teaching French--asking the way, the arrival and entertainment at an inn, and finally, buying, selling, and bargaining--all topics useful for merchants and merchants' apprentices, from whose ranks Du Ploich probably recruited a number of his pupils. "L'aprentif" is the word he uses in speaking of his pupils, though there is no proof to show that he employed it in any special sense. Then comes a fifth chapter containing the following headings: "Pour demander le chemin," "Aultre communication en chevauchant," "Pour aller coucher," "Pour soy descoucher," and beginning thus: Sir, we be oute of Monsieur, nous somes hors de our way. nostre chemin. We be not. Non sommes. But we be. Si sommes. We go well. Nous allons bien. We doo not. Non faisons. But we doo, abyde. Si faisons, attendez. Beholde there cometh a woman. Voyla une femme qui vient. We will aske her Nous voulons lui demander whiche is the way. ou est le droict chemin. Good wife, shew me M'amie, monstre moy the ryghte way le droict chemin d'icy here hence to the nexte towne. au prochain village. Streyghte before you. Tousiours devant vous. Upon whiche hande? A quelle main? On the lefte hande. A la main gauche, etc. In the sixth chapter the merchants leave the inn in the early morning to transact their business: Wil we go see if we Voulons nous aller veoir sy nous can bye some thyng? pourrons acheter quelque chose? That shold be wel done, Ce seroit bien faict, but it is yet too tymely. mais il est encore trop tempre. By your licence it is tyme. Pardonnez moy il est temps. Have you any Eglyshe cloth? Avez vous dez draps d'Engleterre? Ye, what colour. Ouy, quelle couleur . . . etc. At the end come the names of the figures, necessary for such transactions, and finally information and advice in verse form, without any English rendering, "pour gens de finance": Toy qui est receveur du Roy Je te prie entens et me croy. Reçoy avant que tu escripves, Escriptz avant que tu delivres, De recevoir faitz diligence Et fais tardifve delivrance. En tes clers pas tant ne te fie Que veoir te fais souvent oublie. Regarde souvent en ton papier Quant, quoy, combien il fault payer. Prens lettres quy soyent vaillables, Aye parrolles amiables, Et soys diligent de compter. Ainsy pourras plus hault monter. Du Ploich seems to have brought with him to England a Genevan "A B C," or book of elementary instruction and prayers for children, such as was common in France as well as in England. The next section of his treatise treats of the French A B C in words identical with those of an _A B C françois_ printed at Geneva in 1551. This is followed by a few very slight rules in English, which tell us not to pronounce the last letter of a French word, except _s_, _t_, and _p_, when the next word begins with a consonant; to neglect a vowel at the end of a word when the following word begins with another vowel; also that the accusative precedes the verb; that after _au_, _ou_, _i_, and _eu_, _l_ is not sounded; that the consonants _sp_, _st_, and _ct_ should not be separated in pronunciation; and that the negative is formed by placing _ne_ before the verb and _pas_ or _point_ after it. To this scanty grammatical information, which bears considerable resemblance to that contained in some previous works,[348] the eighth and last chapter adds the conjugation of the two auxiliaries in Latin, English, and French. The treatise closes with a Latin poem addressed to "preceptor noster Du Ploich" by John Alexander, one of his pupils, and with a table of contents. No doubt French was the basis of the whole of the instruction given by Du Ploich in his school. His pupils learnt to write from this French text-book, and memorized the Latin verbs with the French verbs. The fact that Du Ploich places his few grammar rules at the end of the work, and after the practical reading-exercises, shows what slight importance he attached to them. He would, we may assume, refer his pupils to them as occasion arose, but practical exercises and conversation formed the chief part of his lessons. He made free use of English in explaining the meaning of the French, and throughout his book he sacrifices the English phrase in order to render more closely the meaning of the French, for which he duly apologizes: "that none blame or reprove this sayd translacion thus made in Englishe because that it is a litle corrupt. [Header: DU PLOICH'S METHOD OF TEACHING] For the author hath done it for the better declaryng of the diversitie of one tounge to the other, and it is turned almost worde for worde and lyne for lyne, that it may be to his young scholars more easy and lyght." Du Ploich was thoughtful for his young pupils. "A little at a time, and that done well" was his motto. On this method, he says, the child will learn more in a week than he would do in two months by attempting a great deal at the beginning. The master should repeat the lesson two or three times before allowing the child to say it, and be ready to explain difficulties, and not wait for the child to guess. If not, the pupil will lose patience and the little courage he possesses. Du Ploich would have the verbs learnt on the plan already advocated on a larger scale by Duwes, that is, he advises the student to practise them negatively and interrogatively as well as in the usual affirmative form. Some time later, probably after Du Ploich's death, or when he had left England, there appeared another edition of his grammar. This was printed by John Kingston, and finished on the fourteenth day of April 1578.[349] An important change in the arrangement of the chapters distinguishes it from the edition of 1553; in the later edition the chapter on the alphabet and grammar is placed at the beginning, although in both issues the chapter on the two auxiliaries closes the work. Kingston--for he was probably responsible for the change--thus yielded to the tendency, which became stronger and stronger as time advanced, of placing theoretical before practical instruction. In addition to slight variations, other differences between the two works are the omission of the verses for "gens de finance," and of the Latin poem addressed to Du Ploich by one of his pupils. _The Little Treatise in English and French_ was not the only work produced by Du Ploich during his residence in England. On its completion he turned his attention to the composition of a work on the estate of princes, which he called a _Petit Recueil tresutile et tresnecessaire de l'Etat dez Princes, dez Seigneurs temporelz et du commun peuple, faict par Pierre Du Ploych_.[350] This _Recueil_ is written in French. Its subject matter is not of much interest, but the Latin verses with which it closes inform us that Du Ploich had a law degree (Licentiatus Legum). He dedicated the manuscript, which is not dated, to the "Roy tres puissant Eduard sixieme de ce nom," who graciously received it and rewarded Du Ploich's industry by a generous gift.[351] This favourable reception encouraged the French teacher to present another work to his "Soverain lord and master" in the course of the following year. This second manuscript is shorter than the earlier _Recueil_;[352] it bears the title of _Petit Recueil des homaiges, honneurs et recognoissances deubz par les hommes a Dieu le createur, avec certaines prieres en la recognoissance de soy mesme_. At the end occurs a passage of some interest in which Du Ploich expresses his intention of providing the work, unworthy as it is, with an English translation, as soon as he finds time and opportunity for such an undertaking, for he has not English "de nature."[353] This rendering, he says, will be "mot pour mot et ligne pour ligne, affin d'augmenter les couraiges des professeurs." We may infer from this that he thought of having the work printed in French and English for the use of students. A French school very similar to that of Du Ploich, but of which we have more details, was kept by Claude de Sainliens, De Sancto Vinculo, or, as he anglicized it, Holyband. A native of Moulins and a Huguenot, Holyband probably sought refuge in England from the persecutions. In 1571 he is said to have been in England seven years;[354] hence he must have begun his long career in London as a teacher of French in the year 1564. In 1566 he took out letters of denization.[355] Holyband was not exactly a scholar, but rather a man of broad interests, sustained by extraordinary vitality, and before he had been in England three years he had published two books for teaching French, which became very popular, and continued to be reprinted for nearly a century. There is no extant copy of the earliest edition of the first of these, but it appeared most probably in 1565. [Header: CLAUDE HOLYBAND] The earliest copy known is dated 1573, and bears the title, _The French Schoolemaister, wherin is most plainlie shewed the true and most perfect way of pronouncinge of the French Tongue_. The contents of this little book are of the kind which became characteristic of works for teaching French. It opens with rules for pronunciation and grammar in English, of little value or originality, and purposely made as concise as possible. These are followed by dialogues, collections of proverbs, golden sayings, prayers, and graces before meat, and a large vocabulary. The dialogues are by far the most interesting portion of the work. Like those of Du Ploich, they show a close connexion between the teaching of French and the daily concerns of life. They give us a picture of the busy London of the time, and especially of St. Paul's Churchyard, as well as lively family scenes, together with the usual wayside and tavern conversation. We see the boy setting off to school in the morning, threading his way through the busy streets, and again see him return to the hearty and hospitable family dinner, during which he finds occasion to speak of his French studies. These dialogues are given in French and English arranged on opposite pages. Their dramatic interest may be gathered from the opening passage, where we listen to the servant hurrying the boy off to school: Hau François, levez vous et allez Ho Francis, arise and go to a l'eschole: vous serez battu, schoole: you shall be beaten, car il est sept heures passées: for it is past seven: abillez vous vistement. make you ready quickly. Dites voz prieres, puis vous Say your prayers, then you aurez vostre desiuner: shall have your breakfast: sus, remuez vous. go to, stirre. Marguerite, baillez moy mes chausses. Margaret, give me my hosen. Despeschez vous ie vous prie: où est Dispatch I pray you: where is mon pourpoint? apportez me iartieres my doublet? bring my garters et mes souliers: and my shoes: donnez moy ce chausse-pied. give me that shooing-horne. Que faites vous là? What do you there? que ne vous hastez vous? why make you no haste? Prenez premierement une chemise blanche, Take first a cleane shirt, car la vostre est trop sale: for yours is too foule: n'est elle pas? is it not? Hastez vous donc, Make haste then, car ie demeure trop. for I do tarry too long. Elle est encore moite, attendez un peu It is moist yet, tarry a litle que ie la seiche au feu: that I may drie it by the fire: i'auray tost fait. I will have soone done. Je ne sauroye tarder si longuement. I cannot tarry so long. Allez vous en, ie n'en veux point. Go your way, I will none of it. Vostre mere me tancera Your mother will chide me si vous allez a l'eschole if you go to school sans vostre chemise blanche. without your clean shirt. And after quarrelling with Margaret, and using rather bad language, Francis receives his parents' blessing, and starts off to school. Unfortunately we are not spectators of his doings there. Whether Holyband had opened his French school or not when he composed the _French Schoolemaister_ is uncertain; but the school was evidently in full swing at the time his second work appeared, about a year later, in 1566. The contents of the new work, _The French Littleton, a most easie, perfect, and absolute way to learn the French tongue_, are much the same as those of the _French Schoolemaister_. There is, however, one important difference between the two works. In the _Schoolemaister_ the rules precede the practical exercises, but this order is reversed in the _Littleton_. In the first work Holyband does not appear to have fully evolved his method of teaching French. By the time he wrote the _French Littleton_ he was able to lay down principles, based, no doubt, on experience, and consequently he attached a higher value to the second of his works, and used it himself in teaching. The _French Schoolemaister_ was intended more for the use of private pupils. It was described as a "perfect way" of learning French without any "helpe of Maister or teacher,[356] set foorthe for the furtherance of all those whiche doo studie privately in their own study or houses." Holyband himself does not seem to have given it much attention after its first appearance. Nevertheless it enjoyed as great a popularity and went through as many editions, or nearly so, as its author's more favoured work. Other French teachers made up for Holyband's neglect by editing it themselves in the early seventeenth century. So great indeed was its success that in 1600 a tax of 20 per cent was levied on each edition for the benefit of the poor.[357] We may perhaps conclude from this that those who studied French privately were numerous. The value of the _French Littleton_ is more educational; it expounds all the favourite theories of its author. The name is taken from the popular work on English law, the text-book for all law-students, Littleton's _Tenures_. While the _French Schoolemaister_ was a small octavo, the _Littleton_ was printed to the size of a tiny pocket-book, in 16mo. [Header: HOLYBAND'S FRENCH GRAMMARS] First come practical exercises in the form of dialogues in French and English,[358] but of less lively interest than those of the _Schoolemaister_. They deal, however, with the same subjects,[359] only, as we read them we do not forget, as we were inclined to do in the earlier book, that we are reading exercises intended for school use. Then follow proverbs, golden sayings, prayers, the creed, the fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, a treatise on the iniquity of dancing (_Traité des Danses_), and finally a vocabulary less comprehensive and of less value than that of the _French Schoolemaister_. The _French Littleton_ derives additional interest from the fact that in it Holyband sets forth a new system for rendering the pronunciation of French easier to the English. He realized the difficulties placed in their way by the many unsounded letters present in certain French words. He had no desire, however, to join the extremists, who advocated the omission of all such consonants in orthography as well as in pronunciation. Holyband considered such letters an essential part of the word, and often a useful indication of the pronunciation of vowels and of the derivation. He therefore proposed a compromise which he thought would please both parties: he retains the unsounded letters, but distinguishes them from those which were pronounced by placing a small cross below them,[360] a device adopted in later editions of the _French Schoolemaister_ also. A short quotation from the conversation for travellers and merchants will show how Holyband applied his method: Monsieur ou pikez vous si bellement? Sir whither ride you so softly? x A Londres To London à la foire de la Berthelemy. to Barthelomews faire. x Je vay au Landi à Paris, je vay I go to Landi to Paris, à Rouen. to Rouen. Et moy aussi: allons ensemble: And I also: let us go together: x je suy bien aise I am very glad d'avoir trouvé compagnie. to have found company. Allons de par Dieu: Let us go in God's name: x picquons un peu, let us pricke a littell, j'ay pour que nous ne venions pas là I fear we shall not come thither x x x de jour, car le soleil by daylight: the sunne x s'en va coucher. goeth downe. Mais où logerons nous? où est But where shall we lodge? where is x x x le meilleur logis? la meilleure the best lodging? the best x hostelerie? inne? Ne vous souciez pas de cela: Care you not for that: it is x x c'est au grand marché a l'enseigne at the great market, at the sign x x de la fleur de lis, vis à vis of the flower Deluce, right over de la croix. against the crosse. Je suy joyeux d'estre arrivé, car I am glad that I am arrived, for x x certes g'ay bon appetit: truly I have a good stomacke: J'espère de faire à ce soir I hope to make to-night x souper de marchant. a marchauntes supper. Nous disons en nostre pais We say in our country, x x que desiuner that hunters de chasseurs, disner d'advocats, breakefast, lawyers dinner, x x x souper de supper of marchants et collacion de moynes marchauntes, and monkes drinking x x est is xx la meilleure chere qu'on sauroit the best cheere that one can x x faire, make, et pour vivre en epicurien. and to live like an epicure. x Et on dit en nostre paroisse And they say in our parish x x que jeunes that young x medecins font les cymetieres phisitions make the churchardes x bossus crooked et vieux procureurs, procès tortus: and old attornies sutes to go awry, x x mais au but on the contraire que jeunes procureurs et contrary that young lawyers, x vieux medecins, jeune chair, olde phisitions, young flesh, x et vieil poisson sont les meilleurs. and old fishe be the best. x x x x x Or bien, irons nous acheter Well shall we go and buy ce qu'il that whiche nous faut? Nous demourons trop. we doe lack? We tarie to long. x x Roland que ne te leves-tu? ouvre Roland, why doest thou not rise? x ouvre open la boutique: est tu encore au lit? the shop: are you yet a bed? x x Tu aimes bien la plume: si mon Thou loveth the fethers well: if my x maistre descend, et qu'il ne treuve maister commeth downe and find not x x x la boutique ouverte, the shop opened, x il se courroucera. he will be angry. Messieurs, monsieur, madame, Sirs, sir, my lady, mesdames, mademoiselle, maistres, gentlewoman, que demandez vous? que cerchez vous? what lack you? what seek you? x x Qu'acheteriez vous volontiers? What would you buy willingly?... x x The most interesting of the dialogues in the _French Littleton_, however, is that in which we have a picture of Holyband's school, which was first opened in St. Paul's Churchyard at the sign of Lucrece--the shop of the printer Thomas Purfoote. Here we see children arriving for their lessons early in the morning, each with his own books and other materials. The schoolroom seems to have been a lively place; the scholars are represented as fighting, pulling each other's hair, tearing their books, and indulging in other pranks of the kind. Holyband sought to keep order by means of a birch, and one of the many offences which called it into action was the speaking of English. [Header: HOLYBAND'S FRENCH SCHOOL] In this little school of his, Holyband appears to have laboured at the task he set himself of leading the English nation "comme par la main au cabinet de (nostre) langue françoyse," under excellent conditions. The whole atmosphere seems to have been French. The curriculum, however, was not confined to this one language. Holyband had to safeguard his interests by instructing his pupils in the subjects taught in the ordinary English schools, and so we find him teaching Latin, writing, and counting, as well as French, and probably by means of French. With some of his pupils Holyband studied Terence, Vergil, Horace, the _Offices_ of Cicero, and with others, Cato, the _Pueriles Confabulatiunculae_, and Latin grammar, according to their capacity. Yet others learnt reading, writing, and French only. Morning school, which closed with prayer at eleven, was devoted chiefly to the study of Latin. The afternoon was given over entirely to French; and it does not seem unreasonable to suppose that other scholars came then specially for instruction in French. The pupils returned for afternoon work at mid-day, and began by translating French into English and then retranslated the English back into French, using, we may be sure, Holyband's _French Littleton_. Next came a little practice in vocabulary, in which "maister Claude" asked them the French for various English words. Grammar was not neglected, but questions concerning it do not appear to have been invited until some difficulty in the text rendered it necessary. The pupils were also required to decline various nouns and verbs which occurred in the text. The auxiliaries they were expected to learn by heart. Not until five o'clock did the long French lesson draw to a close, and then the scholars lit their torches or lanterns and set off home after being dismissed with evening prayers. Before their departure, they received instructions to read the lesson for the following day six or seven times after supper. By doing this, their master assured them, it would appear easy on the morrow, and be learnt without effort. Holyband informs us that his charges were one shilling a week or fifty shillings a year. He allows that this was more than the fees asked for in most schools, but justifies the higher charge by the superior instruction imparted. At any rate his school was very prosperous. In 1568, when it had been in existence for at least two, and perhaps three years, we find him assisted by an usher, one John Henrycke, said to be a Frenchman.[361] He was, no doubt, the Jehan Henry "Maistre d'Eschole," who wrote a dizain in praise of Holyband's _French Schoolemaister_ (1573), where, in rather questionable French, he summoned the students of France to devote all their attention to "ce poli et belle oeuvre," and not to read Des ravaudeurs le reste, Qui souloyent quelques regles escrire, Mais, au vray indignes de les lire. Holyband, as we have noticed, was a very active and somewhat restless person, never staying long in one place, and it is difficult to follow him in his frequent changes of residence. For a time he removed his school to Lewisham, then outside London. Here, sometime before 1573, he had an interview with Queen Elizabeth, who perhaps visited his school as she passed through the village, for the head boy, Harry Edmondes, pronounced a discourse before Her Majesty. In 1576 Holyband had given up his French school, and entered the ranks of French private tutors, living in the house of a patron. He was one of the aliens dwelling in Salisbury Court, the residence of Lord Buckhurst, and, no doubt, was engaged in teaching French to the younger children of his protector. He had previously come into contact with this noble family, and had probably received some assistance from this quarter on his arrival in England, and may have taught French to the eldest son, Robert Sackville, now at Oxford,[362] to whom he dedicated both his early works. When we first hear of Holyband he was already married and had children. His wife died probably before he went to Salisbury Court. Two years later he married an Englishwoman, Anne Smith,[363] and had resumed his French school in St. Paul's Churchyard, but his address was now at the sign of the Golden Bell, for the printer Thomas Purfoote had moved his sign to Newgate Market. [Header: HOLYBAND'S TEACHING CAREER] Here he remained for some time, until 1581 at the earliest, and probably somewhat later. He also attended the French Church. At this period of his life he again turned his attention to writing on the French language, and collecting together notes which he had no doubt compiled in past years. In 1580 three new works on French appeared from his pen. One was a _Treatise for Declining Verbs_--a subject which he calls "the second chiefest worke of the Frenche tongue"--written at the request of several gentlemen and merchants. The book itself is of little value, and did not by any means share the popularity of his earliest books. Still, two other editions appeared, one in 1599 and the other much later, in 1641. The second of these works, dealing with French pronunciation on much the same lines as the _French Littleton_, was even less popular. It was intended for the "learned," and consequently written in Latin--_De Pronuntiatione linguae gallicae_.[364] Holyband was also becoming more ambitious in his dedications; probably through Lord Buckhurst, the queen's cousin on his mother's side, he was able to dedicate his treatise "ad illustrissimam simulque doctissimam Elizabetham Anglorum Reginam." At the end Holyband added a dialogue in three different kinds of spelling--the new, the old, and his own--as well as a Latin sermon on the Resurrection. A French-English Dictionary was the third of these works, published in 1580, with the title: _The Treasurie of the French Tong, Teaching the way to varie all sorts of Verbs, Enriched so plentifully with Wordes and Phrases (for the benefit of the studious in that language), as the like hath not before bin published._ Many years later, in 1593, Holyband again gave proof of his deep interest in French lexicography by the publication of his _Dictionarie French and English, published for the benefit of the studious in that language_, based on his earlier work, but on a much larger scale.[365] Meanwhile he had had an opportunity to extend his knowledge and to refresh his mind by a long journey on the Continent. Once more he had yielded to his love of change and movement, and entered the service of another powerful patron, Lord Zouche, to whom he dedicated his dictionary of 1593. In the dedication we are told how he had undertaken a "long, lointain, penible et dangereux voyage" with his noble protector, who was to him "plutot pere ou baston de vieillesse que non pas maistre, Seigneur ou commandeur." Thus we may conclude that, when Lord Zouche crossed to Hamburg by sea in March 1587, intending to qualify himself for public service on the Continent, as well as to "live cheaply," Holyband accompanied him, and, no doubt, found many opportunities for serious study. They proceeded to Heidelberg, where their names were inscribed on the matriculation register of the university in May.[366] Zouche then travelled to Frankfort, Basle (1588), Altdorf (1590), and thence to Vienna (1591), and on to Verona, returning to England in 1593.[367] After the publication of this last of his works in 1593, we lose sight of Holyband in his rôle of teacher of French. He was, however, still in England in 1597, when he dedicated a new edition of his _French Littleton_ to a new patron, Lord Herbert of Swansea. Thereafter he is not mentioned, and subsequent editions of his most popular works--the _Schoolemaister_ and _French Littleton_--were issued without his supervision. Probably he had returned to his native country, for in the last of his published works he assumes the title of "gentilhomme bourbonnais," which suggests that he had come into the possession of some property in his native province, where his name was still known in the seventeenth century.[368] Certain it is that he did not remain in England. There is no further trace of his children, of whom he had at least four.[369] Thus silently, as if forgetful of his former habits, he slipped out of sight after he had spent nearly forty years teaching his language in England. He won the praise of the scholar Richard Mulcaster, soon to be appointed Head of St. Paul's School, near which Holyband had so long had his own modest establishment; and the poet George Gascoigne wrote a sonnet in his honour: [Header: HOLYBAND'S METHOD OF TEACHING FRENCH] The pearl of price which Englishmen have sought So farre abroade, and cost them there so dere, Is now founde out within our country here, And better cheape amongst us may be bought. I mean the French that pearle of pleasant speech, Which some sought for, and bought it with their lives, With sicknesse some, yea some with bolts and gives, But all with payne this peerlesse pearle did seeke. Now Holyband, a friendly French indeede, Hath tane such paynes, for everie English ease, That here at home we may this language learne, And for the price he craveth no more meede But thankfull harts to whome his pearles may please. Oh, thank him then, that so much thanke dothe earne. Holyband, like his predecessor Du Ploich, was an advocate of the practical teaching of languages. A perfect knowledge of French, in his eyes, consisted in being able to read and pronounce the language accurately. Thus the first thing to be done by those desiring to study the language is to begin to read at once. The learner must not "entangle himself at the first brunte" with rules; but, "after he hath read them over, let him take in hand the dialogues, and as occasion requireth he shall examine the rules, applying their use unto his purpose."[370] He must first "frame his tongue by reading them aloud, noting carefully which letters are not pronounced, looking for the reasons why they are lefte in the rules of pronunciation," so that "when he shall happen uppon other bookes printed without these caracters he may remember which letters ought to be uttered and which ought not." In these rules[371] Holyband endeavours to explain French sounds by comparison with English sounds. His treatment of the letter _a_ may be given as an example of his method. "Sound our _a_," he says,[372] "as you sound the first sillable in Laurence, or Augustine in English. When _a_ is joined with _in_ it loseth his sound, or at the least it is very little heard: as _pain_, _hautain_.... Pronounce then as if they were written thus: _pin_, _hautin_.... But if _e_ followeth _n_, then _i_ goeth more towards _n_, thus: _balaine_, _semaine_ ...," and then he proceeds to describe in like fashion the sounds of the diphthong _ai_. His treatment of the sound _gn_ is quaint and interesting. "When you find any word written with _gn_, remember how you pronounce these English words, _onion_, _minion_, _companion_, and such like: so melting _g_, and touching smoothly the roofe of the mouth with the flat of the tongue, say: _mignon_, _oignon_, _compagnon_; say then, _cam-pa-gne_, _campa-gnie_, and not _cam-pag-ne_, _campag-nie_, separating _g_ from _n_; but rather sound them as if they were written thus in your English tongue, _campaine_, _campanie_." Such rules alone, however, were of little value in Holyband's opinion, and we cheerfully agree with him. The reader must be very circumspect in his use of them, and his teacher a very skilful Frenchman, "or else all will go to wracke." He seems to have thought that much more depended on the tutor than on rules. No doubt he fully shared the opinion stated earlier by Duwes, that rules are of more use to the teacher than the learner. "Oh how busie is this tongue," he says of French, "and into what maze doth the learner enter which doth take it in hand: therefore let his tutor be sevenfold skilfull." We are prepared, then, to find Holyband agreeing with Henry VIII.'s tutor on another point--the teaching of French and writing of French grammars by the English. To him it appeared obvious that "it is not the part of a stranger, except he be learned and of a long continuance in France, to give precepts concerning the pronunciation of the (French) tongue: yea neither of the best Frenchmen, be he never so learned or eloquent in the same, except he hath practised the premises by teaching or otherwise by a long and diligent observation." There can be no question of committing rules to memory; they merely serve to throw light on the reading matter. Yet the practice of memorizing is not neglected. There were two purposes for which it was called into use, the verbs, chiefly the two auxiliaries, and vocabulary, to which Holyband attached much importance. According to Holyband himself, his method had excellent results. He was especially proud of the pronunciation of his pupils. In teaching this he followed a plan which strikes the modern reader as curious, but which had already been employed in an early sixteenth-century grammar, that of the poet Alexander Barclay. According to this plan he taught his scholars the main characteristics of the different dialects of France, as well as the pure French in which they were encouraged to speak. His reason for doing so was to put them on their guard against the variety of dialects, chiefly Picard and Walloon, spoken by the numerous refugees scattered all over London. [Header: FRENCH CHURCH SCHOOLS] When new scholars came to his school from "other French schools," he assures us that on hearing them speak and pronounce any letter incorrectly, his own pupils "spie the faultes as soone as I, yea they cannot abide it: and which is more they will discerne whether the maister which taught them first was a Burgonian, a Norman, or a Houyet." The reading, which Holyband made the basis of his language teaching, was always explained by means of English renderings. In his dialogues he makes no attempt to retain the purity of the English phrase. English for him was merely a vehicle for interpreting to his young scholars the meaning of the French, "for I do not pretend to teach them any other thing then the French tongue," and so he begs his readers not to "muse" at the English of his book, but to take the French with such goodwill as it is offered. It will be noticed that on this point, as on many others--placing the rules after the practical exercises, for instance--Holyband resembles Du Ploich, and no doubt he was acquainted with the _Treatise_ of his less well known fellow-teacher. The points of resemblance between the dialogues of the two works are sufficient proof of this, although Du Ploich's cannot compare with Holyband's in interest. Another work which had some influence on his dialogues was the _Linguae Latinae Exercitatio_ of the great Spanish scholar and educationist Vives--a book containing Latin dialogues, dealing with the life of the schoolboy at home and at school, at work and at play. This was a very popular school-book in the sixteenth century, and was most likely used by Holyband in the Latin lessons at his own school. He also incorporated the Latin dialogues of Vives in a work which he called the _Campo di Fior, or flowery field of four languages, Italian, Latin, French and English_, giving the dialogues in these four languages. This work appeared in 1583, when he was probably still teaching in St. Paul's Churchyard.[373] Besides these French schools kept by private individuals, there were others in connexion with the French churches. After the foundation of the French Church in Threadneedle Street, other churches had arisen in different parts of the country. The education of the children attending these institutions had to be seen to, and very soon schools were established under the supervision of the churches themselves.[374] Although these schools were primarily intended for the instruction of the children of the refugees, they also undertook to teach those "who would wish to learn the French language." Just as some English attended the services of the French Church, so also some sent their children to the school associated with it. And it must be remembered that to some Englishmen the French Church presented greater attractions than the English Church did at that time; for there naturally grew up a bond of sympathy between the Protestant refugees and the English Nonconformists, many of whom sought in the French Church, with its Genevan discipline, a form of worship not sanctioned by the English Church. Others attended these churches for the same reason as the "Italianate gentleman," censured by Roger Ascham,[375] went to the Italian Church: "to heare the (French) tongue naturally spoken, not to heare God's doctrine trewly preached." This was a practice strongly advocated by many of the French teachers of the time. The number of Englishmen of both kinds must have been considerable. In 1573 Elizabeth issued an Order forbidding the French Church to give communion to those English who, by curiosity or dislike for their own ceremonies, wished to receive it in the French Church. The church in Threadneedle Street took steps to limit the number of its English adherents. These were required to produce evidence of a sober life, and of loyalty to their own church, before they were allowed to communicate.[376] English names are not uncommon in the Threadneedle Street Registers. Even members of the nobility stood as sponsors to the children of the French strangers, for instance, the Marquis of Hamilton, the Earl of Pembroke, and the Countess of Bedford, in the year 1624.[377] The French Church at Southampton also had numerous English members and communicants,[378] while at Canterbury a rule was made that all the English connected with the church should know French; on one occasion, a person was refused as a sponsor on account of his ignorance of that tongue.[379] [Header: FRENCH SCHOOL AT CANTERBURY] Considering the esteem in which the French churches were held by many Englishmen, we may assume that some of the latter were glad to take advantage of the willingness of the French Church to receive their children into its schools. The refugees, on their part, did not always send their children to their own schools. The sons of the wealthier strangers would go to the English grammar schools, and thence, in many cases, to the University.[380] The subjects taught in these French church schools were, no doubt, much the same as those of the private French schools, including religious instruction, writing, reading, arithmetic, and possibly music. The curriculum appears to have been of quite an elementary nature. As to the teachers, they were required to be of sober life, and members of the French Church. They had to be appointed by the minister and presented to the bishop. They also were required to give the minister an account of the books they read to the children, and of the methods followed, and be willing to adopt the advice of their superiors "sans rien entreprendre à leur fantaisie." Further, it was their duty to conduct the children to church on Sunday for the catechism.[381] Such were the regulations laid down in the second Discipline, drawn up on the restoration of the French Church after the accession of Elizabeth. When this was revised some years later, in 1588, a few changes were made. The presentation to the bishop was dispensed with, and the teachers were no longer obliged to conduct the children to the catechism: they had only to prepare them to answer it. And the ministers, on their side, were required to visit the schools, accompanied by the elders and deacons, at least four times a year; their attention was specially called to "those who teach languages."[382] The French teachers attached to the Church at Canterbury are those of whom we have most detailed information. In one of the articles of a petition, which the group of refugees there addressed to the city authorities, in the reign of Elizabeth, they crave that permission may be given to the schoolmaster whom they have brought with them to teach both their own youth and also other children who desire to learn the French tongue.[383] Their request appears to have been well received, as a French church and school were established not long after. Among the names of the petitioners was that of Vincent Primont, teacher of youth, who seems to have been the first schoolmaster of this little community. He was a refugee from Normandy, and arrived at Rye in 1572.[384] To the office of schoolmaster, which he held for many years, was added that of Reader to the congregation--a post he resigned in 1584, owing to some action of the consistory which did not meet with his approval. The last mention we have of him, as schoolmaster, occurs in December 1583, when a member of the congregation was reproved for allowing his workmen to set a bad example to Master Vincent's scholars. He probably filled his position for some time after this date. In August 1581, however, another teacher, Nicholas du Buisson, obtained permission "to go from house to house to teach children," and in 1583 received a small quarterly allowance for taking charge of the children at the services in the Temple.[385] The demand for teachers apparently increased considerably at this time; in 1582 we hear of a third schoolmaster, Paul Le Pipre, who had already been teaching for some time previous to this date. Le Pipre several times took steps to defend his monopoly and prevent the admission of other schoolmasters. In 1582 he opposed the application of Jan Roboem or Jean Robone, who sought permission to hold school. Roboem, who had been Reader in the French Protestant Church at Dieppe, fled thence to Rye in 1572, in company with his wife and two children.[386] He was in very poor estate on arriving at Canterbury, and the consistory of the French Church at last prevailed on Le Pipre to agree to his admission, promising him that if any disadvantage accrued to him thereby it should be remedied. Roboem was therefore told he might put his notice on the door of the Temple--the usual form of advertisement--whenever he pleased.[387] He did not, however, keep it there long, moving to London in the same year. He is no doubt to be identified with the John Robonin, "schoolmaster of the French tongue," who was living in the "Warde of Chepe," and attending the French Church, at the end of 1582.[388] [Header: PAUL LE PIPRE] Paul Le Pipre was again approached in 1583 with regard to the appointment of another schoolmaster, probably a successor to Robonin. He was told that another teacher was necessary, and that one had come forward, a destitute refugee, who wished for permission to teach in order to earn his living. Le Pipre replied "that he held to his agreement with the Church, namely that he could not leave without giving three months' notice." Ultimately it was decided "that the aforesaid should not be permitted to keep school, both on account of the agreement and because he was not as yet sufficiently known to be of the religion." This teacher, whose name is not given, was, however, allowed to instruct "certain married people, and others grown up and over fourteen years of age who did not go to Paul's school, in consideration of his poverty."[389] Paul Le Pipre retained the position he was so unwilling to share with a colleague, for many years after this. The last we hear of him is in September 1597, when he was censured by the consistory for holding school on Sunday. French schools likewise arose in other provincial towns, where French Churches had been established. There were also, it appears, similar private schools, with the primary object of teaching French to the English, and unconnected with the churches. At any rate, French and Walloon schoolmasters arrived in some of these towns. At Rye in 1572, for instance, we come across Nicholas Curlew and Martin Martin, fugitives from Dieppe,[390] though probably, like Vincent Primont and John Robone, they did not settle in the town. At Norwich, in 1568, was a Pierre de Rieu of Lille who had arrived ten months before, and in 1622 Francis Boy and John Cokele.[391] At Dover, in the same year, Francis Rowland and Nicholas Rowsignoll, both French schoolmasters, had "come out of France by reason of the late troubles yet continuing."[392] And lastly, at Southampton, we hear in 1576 of Nicholas Chemin, who, in 1578, was refused communion at the church on account of his causing some disturbance in the congregation; of a M. Du Plantin, dit Antoine Ylot, in 1576, and of a Pierre de la Motte, 'mestre d'escolle,' in 1577.[393] No doubt most of these schoolmasters taught under the auspices of the French Churches. M. Du Plantin was one of a large number of ministers who took refuge in England, and his school was probably a French Church school, for seven of his young scholars are mentioned as communicants. Many French pastors like him, no doubt, took to the teaching profession during their stay in England, their numbers being far in excess of the ministers needed in the churches. The famous reformer, John Utenhove of Ghent, was in 1549 tutor to the son of a London gentleman.[394] Valerand Poullain, a converted priest, who, after being pastor at Strasburg, came to England, for a time held a similar post in the household of the Earl of Derby;[395] he afterwards became minister of the French Church at Glastonbury on the recommendation of Utenhove. Another minister, Jean Louveau, Sieur de la Porte, spent the time of exile from his Church of Roche Bernard, after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, in teaching languages in London, and there were many others in like case.[396] At Southampton there was a French school of special interest. Its teacher, like Du Plantin, was a pastor, though the school does not seem to have had any close connexion with the French Church. This schoolmaster and divine was the once famous Dr. Adrian Saravia, a learned refugee from Flanders. He became later Professor of Divinity at Leyden and an intimate friend of Casaubon; and when he took refuge in England for a second time in 1587, he enjoyed some ecclesiastical preferment, and was one of the translators of the Authorised Version of the Bible.[397] During his first sojourn in England, however, he was engaged on a more humble task. He first arrived at Southampton in about 1567,[398] after having been for some years headmaster of a grammar school in Guernsey. Saravia's school at Southampton was limited to sixteen or twenty youths of good family. It was a rule that all the scholars should speak French. Any one who used English, "though only a word," was obliged to wear a fool's cap at meals, and continue to wear it until he caught another in the same fault.[399] [Header: FRENCH SCHOOL AT SOUTHAMPTON] Two Englishmen, who later became well known as translators, acquired their knowledge of French in this school. One was Joshua Sylvester, famous for his translation of Du Bartas, and the other Robert Ashley, who turned Louis le Roy's _De la Vicissitude ou Variété des choses de l'univers_ (1579) into English (1594). Sylvester informs us that he learnt his French at Saravia's school "in three poor years, at three times three years old"; "I have never been in France," he writes to his uncle, William Plumb, "whereby I might become so perfect." Elsewhere he expresses his affection for his master and his debt of gratitude to him: My Saravia, to whose revered name Mine owes the honour of Du Bartas' fame. Sylvester did not put his knowledge of French into practice only by translations into English. He also wrote some original verses in French; the sonnet with which he offered to James I. his translation of the works of Du Bartas, a poet for whom the king had a great admiration, will show his skill in a difficult art: Voy, sire, ton Saluste habillé en Anglois (Anglois, encore plus de coeur que de langage:) Qui, connaissant loyall ton Royale héritage, En ces beaux Liz Dorez au sceptre des Gaulois (Comme au vray souverain des vrays subjects françois), Cy à tes pieds sacrez te fait ton sainct Hommage (De ton Heur et Grandeur éternal temoinage). Miroir de touts Heros, miracle de tous Roys, Voy (sire) ton Saluste, ou (pour le moins) son ombre, Ou l'ombre (pour le moins) de ses Traicts plus divins Qui, ores trop noyrcis par mon pinceau trop sombre, S'esclairciront aux Raiz de tes yeux plus benins. Doncques d'oeil benin et d'un accueil auguste, Reçoy ton cher Bartas, et Voy, sire, Saluste.[400] Another of Sylvester's contemporaries at Saravia's school was Sir Thomas Lake,[401] who became Secretary of State in the reign of James I., and is said to have read Latin and French to Queen Elizabeth towards the end of her reign. His French accent, unlike that of his schoolfellows, seems to have left much to be desired. In 1612 he incurred much ridicule by reading the French contract of marriage at the wedding of the Princess Elizabeth to the Elector with a very bad accent. Saravia, it seems, encouraged his pupils to attend the French Church. Two of their names occur in the registers of the Church for the year 1576, viz. Nicholas Essard and Nicholas Carye, both probably Englishmen. Saravia himself and his wife were also regular attenders; in 1571 and again in 1576 he stood godfather at baptisms. The latest mention of him occurs in 1577. Usually the descriptive title "minister" is added after his name.[402] He is mentioned in the town records under the year 1576 as Master of the Grammar School, and in the following year the town paid 36s. "for four yardes of broade cloth for a gowne for Mr. Adrian Saravia the schoolmaster at 9s. the yarde."[403] Apparently he had abandoned his private school, although it is very likely that he continued to take private pupils into his house, and that the grammar school scholars had ample opportunity to learn French; but it is hardly probable that he introduced the language into the grammar school curriculum, where, no doubt, Latin retained its usual supremacy.[404] Thus we see that in the England of the sixteenth century French had no footing in the ordinary schools, but was taught in a growing number of small private schools kept by Frenchmen, French-speaking refugees from the Netherlands, and sometimes by Englishmen. In Scotland, on the other hand, French received more recognition in the grammar schools, although it did not form part of the ordinary curriculum, which was based on Latin, as in England. Yet in several schools its use was distinctly encouraged on lines which, we may conclude, were followed at Southampton grammar school in Saravia's time. For instance, the boys of Aberdeen grammar school, in the middle of the sixteenth century, were enjoined to address each other in French, while the use of the vernacular was forbidden. In the famous grammar school of Perth, when John Rowe, the reformer, was master there, and many of the scholars boarded with him, we are informed that "as they spake nothing in the schoole and fields but Latine so nothing was spoken in his house but French." It is of interest to note that in this school French is put side by side with the ancient tongues, as Palsgrave had wished. [Header: FRENCH IN THE SCHOOLS OF SCOTLAND] After meals a selection from the Bible was read; if from the Old Testament, in Hebrew, if from the New Testament, in Latin, Greek, or French.[405] Turning to the more elementary education, we find French holding a still larger place in some of the parish schools of Scotland, where it was taught as part of the regular course by the side of Latin. An interesting account of one of these schools has been left by James Melville, in his diary.[406] He records that in 1566, at the age of seven, he, together with his elder brother, was sent to a school kept by a kinsman, minister at Logie, a few miles from Montrose. This "guid, lerned, kind man" attended to the children's education, while his sister was "a verie loving mother" to them, and to a "guid number of gentle and honest mens berns of the country about," who also were at the school. "Ther we lerned," he continues, "to reid the catechisme, prayers and scripture, to rehers the catechisme and prayers par coeur.... We lerned ther the Rudiments of the Latin grammar, with the vocables in Latin and French, also divers speitches in Frenche, with the reading and right pronunciation of that toung." Melville also assures us that his master had "a verie guid and profitable form of resolving the authors," and that he treated them "grammaticallie, bothe according to etymologie and syntaxe"; but, unfortunately, he gives us no further details on the teaching of French. After spending five years at this school, where, he admits, he learnt but little, "for his understanding was yet dark," he went to the grammar school at Montrose. There, although he had a French Protestant refugee, Pierre de Marsilliers, to teach him Greek, he does not appear to have had occasion to continue his study of the French tongue. In Scotland, as in England, there were also special schools for teaching French. For instance, the French schoolmaster Nicholas Langlois, or Inglishe, who came to England in 1569, and in 1571 was installed in Blackfriars, London, with his wife and two children,[407] moved to Scotland in about 1574. He opened a French school in Edinburgh, which was subsidized by the Town Council, and where he taught French, arithmetic and accounts until the time of his death in 1611. The Town Council of Aberdeen also showed itself favourable to French schools; in 1635 it granted to a certain Alexander Rolland a licence "to teach a French school," and allowed him "for that effect to put up one brod or signe befoir his schoole door." Yet in spite of the fact that French received greater recognition in the schools of Scotland than it did in those of England, there is nothing to show that the same general interest was taken in the study of the language. While in England large numbers of grammars and other text-books were published, there is only one notice of the production of a similar work in Scotland during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This solitary work, which a certain William Nudrye received a licence to print in 1559,[408] was entitled _Ane A B C for Scottes men to read the frenche toung, with an exhortation to the nobles of Scotland to favour their old friends_. The plea that French was learnt by the help of French grammars imported from France, or on conversational methods, or yet again in France by direct intercourse with Frenchmen, may be applied with as much force to England as to Scotland, though it is not improbable that in Scotland such methods were relied on to a greater extent; the friendly relations which existed between Scotland and France from the thirteenth century onwards encouraged large numbers of Scots to seek instruction in France, just as it led some Frenchmen to the Scottish centres of learning.[409] French tutors were said to be as common in Scotland as in England; a Spanish ambassador reported to Ferdinand and Isabella as early as 1498 that "there is a good deal of French education in Scotland, and many speak the French language." Yet the fact remains that while one small French A B C appears to have been the only work on the language issued in Scotland, there was a whole series of such works published in England. FOOTNOTES: [289] Sources for the History of the Persecutions: L. Batiffol, _The Century of the Renaissance_, London, 1916; D. C. A. Agnew, _Protestant Exiles from France_, 3rd ed., 1886, vol. i.; J. S. Burn, _The History of the French, Walloon, Dutch, and other Foreign Protestant Refugees settled in England_, London, 1846; S. Smiles, _The Huguenots, their Settlements, Churches, and Industries in England and Ireland_, London, 1867. [290] Early refugees also came in small numbers from Italy where the Inquisition was established in 1542; and a few others from Spain, where it was set up in 1588. Their arrival in England imparted some slight impetus to the study of their respective languages; cp. F. Watson, _The Beginnings of the Teaching of Modern Subjects in England_, London, 1909, chapters xii. and xiii. [291] _Huguenot Society Publications_, xv., 1898; F. W. Cross, _History of the Walloon and Huguenot Church at Canterbury_ (Introduction). [292] L. Humphrey, _The Nobles or of Nobilitye_, London, 1563, 2nd book. [293] See A. Rahlenbeck, "Les Réfugiés belges au 16me siècle en Angleterre," in the _Revue Trimestrielle_, Oct. 1865. [294] The following numbers show the proportion of the Netherlanders to the French: in 1567, 3838 Flemish to 512 French; in 1586, 5225 to 1119. [295] _Huguenot Soc. Pub._ i., 1887-88; O. J. W. Moens, _The Walloons and their Church at Norwich_, ch. ix. [296] W. Besant, _London in the Time of the Tudors_, London, 1904, pp. 80, 200, 203. The population of London is taken as about 120,000. [297] _Hug. Soc. Pub._ x., 1900-1908, 4 parts. [298] _Hug. Soc. Pub._ viii., 1893: _Letters of Denization and Acts of Naturalisation for Aliens in England_, 1509-1603, ed. W. Page. [299] Naturalization by Act of Parliament, which gave additional rights, such as that of succession to and bequeathment of real property, was in general of more advantage to Englishmen born abroad than to foreigners. [300] On the French churches in England, see F. de Schickler, _Les Églises du refuge en Angleterre_, 3 tom., Paris, 1892. [301] The first ministers appointed to the French church were François Pérussel, dit la Rivière, and Richard Vauville. Perlin visited the French church: "La prechoit un nommé maistre Françoys homme blond, et un autre nommé maistre Richard, homme ayant barbe noire" (_Description des royaulmes d'Angleterre et d'Escosse_, Paris, 1558, p. 11). Perlin was one of the few Frenchmen who came to England at this time. [302] _Op. cit._ p. 11. Perlin also says that the English tried several times to set fire to the French church. [303] See accounts in Rye, _England as seen by Foreigners_. [304] This was naturally not without exceptions. For instance, Sir Nicholas Bacon, father of Francis, was noted for his support of the attempt to drive all the French from the country after the St. Bartholomew massacre (_Archaeologia_, xxxvi. p. 339). [305] F. Foster Watson, "Religious Refugees and English Education," _Proceedings of the Huguenot Society_, London, 1911. [306] _The Nobles or of Nobilitye_, _ut supra_. [307] _Athenae Cantab._ ii. 274. A certain L. T. attacked Baro about a sermon of his on the text in the third chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, twenty-eighth verse (Brit. Mus. Catalogue). [308] _Hug. Soc. Pub._ x. pt. iii. p. 360. [309] Ellis, _Original Letters_, 1st series, i. pp. 341-3. [310] _Arte of Rhetorique_ (1553), ed. G. H. Mair, 1909, p. 13. [311] _Lord Herbert of Cherbury's Autobiography_, ed. Sir S. Lee (2nd ed. 1906), p. 37, n. [312] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, xiv. pt. ii. No. 601; and _Works_, Parker Society, i. p. 396. [313] E. J. Furnivall, _Manners and Meals in Olden Time_, pp. ix et seq. [314] Ascham, _Toxophilus_, quoted by Nichols: _Literary Remains ..._, p. xl. [315] _Reliquiae Wottoniae_, London, 1657 ("Life of Sir Henry Wotton"), n.p. [316] J. Payne Collier, in _Archaeologia_, vol. xxxvi. pp. 339 _et seq._ [317] _Queene Elizabeth's Academy_, ed. Furnivall, Early English Text Society, 1869. [318] This purpose is expressly stated in the earliest grammar for teaching Italian to the English, dated 1550: _The Principal Rules of Italian Grammar, with a Dictionary for the better Understandynge of Boccace, Petrarcha, and Dante_ (also in 1562 and 1567). Cp. F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, chapter xii. [319] Cp. F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, chapter xiii.; and J. G. Underhill, _Spanish Literature in England of the Tudors_, New York, 1899. [320] _Hug. Soc. Pub._ viii.: List of Denizations. [321] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [322] _Thesaurus Linguae Latinae_, 1532, the first of Latin-French dictionaries. [323] Printed by T. Wolfe. [324] The first French grammar for teaching French to the Germans, mentioned in Stengel's _Chronologisches Verzeichniss französischer Grammatiken_ (Oppeln, 1890), was the work of a Frenchman Du Vivier, schoolmaster at Cologne, and was published in 1566. [325] Cp. Ph. Sheavyn, _The Literary Profession in the Elizabethan Age_, Manchester, 1909, chap. i. [326] _De Republica Anglorum_, ed. L. Alston, Camb., 1906, p. 139. [327] C. W. Wallace, "New Shakespeare Discoveries," _Harper's Magazine_, 1910, and _University Studies_, Nebraska, U.S.A.; Sir S. Lee, _Life of Shakespeare ..._, new ed., London, 1915, pp. 17, 276. [328] Unfortunately the registers of the Threadneedle Street Church, previous to 1600, have been lost. It would have been interesting to have found Shakespeare brought into contact with this church by his Huguenot friends. [329] A list of French words and phrases used by Shakespeare is given in A. Schmidt's _Shakespeare Lexicon_, 2 vols., Berlin, 1902, p. 1429. [330] Act I. Sc. 4; Act II. Sc. 3; and other Scenes in which the Doctor appears. [331] Act III. Sc. 6; Act IV. Sc. 2, Sc. 4, Sc. 5; Act V. Sc. 2. [332] Act III. Sc. 4. [333] Act III. Sc. 6. The quotation from 2 Peter ii. 22 bears closest resemblance to the edition of the Bible issued at Geneva, 1550; H. R. D. Anders, _Shakespeare's Books_, Berlin, 1904, p. 203. [334] Often what appear to be mistakes to-day are due to change in pronunciation; as when Pistol takes the French soldier's "bras" ('arm') for English 'brass,' a possibility at this period when the final _s_ was still sounded (Thurot, _Prononciation française_, ii. pp. 35-36; Anders, _op. cit._ pp. 50-51.) [335] Anders, _op. cit._ p. 51 _et seq._ [336] Cp. A. F. Leach, _English Grammar Schools of the Reformation_, 1896: F. Watson, _The English Grammar Schools up to 1660_, Cambridge, 1908, and _The Curriculum and Text-Books of English Schools in the First Half of the Seventeenth Century_, Bibliog. Soc., 1906. [337] The author of the _Institution of a Gentleman_, 1555 and 1560, mentions the "knowledge of tongues as necessary to gentlemen," but he does not seem to have meant modern languages. William Kemp, in his _Education of Children in Learning_, 1588, names the ancient tongues, especially Latin, and other writers do the same. For a list of similar works, cp. Watt, _Bibliotheca Britannica_, under "Education." [338] Cp. J. W. Adamson, _Pioneers in Modern Education_, Cambridge, 1905, pp. 178 _sqq._ [339] _Sidney Papers_, ed. A. Collins; _Letters and Memorials of State_, vol. i. p. 8. [340] E. Arber, _Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers, 1554-1640_, v. p. 162. [341] _Calendar of State Papers, Domestic: Addenda, 1580-1625_, p. 413. [342] _Handlists of Books printed by London Printers, 1501-56_, Bibliog. Soc., 1913: Grafton, p. 13. [343] There is no trace of Du Ploich's name in any of the registers of aliens published by the Hug. Soc. The only trace of a name resembling his is that of Peter de Ploysse, butcher, in Breadstreet Ward (Lay Subsidies, 1549). [344] F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, pp. 69 _et seq._ [345] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, i. p. 126. [346] Sig. A-N in fours. [347] French in Roman type, English in black letter. [348] Especially the Lambeth fragment, and the _Introductorie_ of Duwes. [349] Sig. A-I in fours. Like the first edition, this is preserved in a unique volume in the Brit. Mus. The copy of Kingston's edition is not complete, wanting all before signature A3. [350] Brit. Mus. Royal MSS. 16, E xxxvii., 63 quarto leaves. [351] Edward had the MS. placed in his Library. Nichols, _Literary Remains_, p. cccxxxiv. [352] Royal MSS. 16, E xxiii., 29 quarto leaves. [353] "Et je ne suis pas si presumptueux de vouloir dire que celuy livre je soye suffissant a translater du tout en englois, a cause que je ne l'ay de nature. Mais a mon simple entendement, ayant l'opportunité et le loisir, l'ensuivray au plus pres que ie pourray." [354] _Returns of Aliens in London_, Hug. Soc. Pub. x. [355] _Lists of Denizations_, Hug. Soc. Pub., ad nom. (a Sancto Vinculo). Other details of his life are given in Miss L. E. Farrer's _La vie et les oeuvres de Claude de Sainliens_, Paris, 1907. [356] Yet in this work Holyband refers several times to the necessity of having a good tutor. [357] Farrer, _op. cit._ p. 21. [358] As in the _French Schoolemaister_, French and English are arranged on opposite pages, the French in Roman characters, and the English in black letter. [359] Des escholiers et l'eschole--Pour voyageurs--Du Logis, Du Poidz, Vendre et acheter, Pour marchans. [360] Sylvius (1530) had placed a small vertical line over final unsounded consonants. [361] Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt. iii. p. 400. The name John Henricke occurs frequently in the registers of aliens. There was a John Henryke, a "Dutchman," who, in 1567, was living in Broadstreet Ward, and had been three weeks in England; and, in 1571, in St. Mary Alchurch Parish, when he is said to have been five years in England, and to be a native of Barowe in Brabant and nineteen years old. In 1582 one of the same name was living in Blackfriars and had two servants (Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt i. p. 322; pt. ii. pp. 91, 253). In 1579 a John Hendricke from the dominion of the Bishop of Liége received letters of denization (Hug. Soc. Pub. viii. ad nom.). It does not seem likely that Holyband employed one of the Walloons, whose accent he taught his pupils to avoid. [362] Foster, _Alumni Oxonienses_, ad nom. [363] Farrer, _op. cit._ p. 1. [364] C. Livet, _La Grammaire française et les grammairiens du 16e siècle_, Paris, 1859, pp. 500 _et seq._ [365] For his sources, etc., see Farrer, _op. cit._ pp. 73 _et seq._ [366] Schickler, _Églises du Refuge_, i. p. 358. [367] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [368] Farrer, _op. cit._ p. 16. Miss Farrer suggests that Holyband was connected with the family of Thuillier de Saint Lyens of Moulins (_op. cit._ pp. 8, 9). [369] Latin poem in the _Campo di Fior_, 1583. [370] In the _Schoolemaister_, on the contrary, the exercises follow the rules, "to the end that I may teache by experience and practice that which I have shewed by arte." [371] The philological side of Holyband's work has been fully treated by Farrer, _op. cit._ [372] In the _Schoolemaister_. The rules of the _French Littleton_ are much the same, only less quaintly worded. [373] Holyband was the author of a work for teaching Italian: _The Italian Schoolmaster_, 1583, and again in 1591, 1597, and 1608. [374] Schickler, _Églises du Refuge_, iii. pp. 167-171. The members of the Church attended to the interests of the schools, and donations were made from time to time. Cp. for instance, Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 123. [375] _The Scholemaster_, ed. Arber, 1869, p. 82. [376] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 211. [377] _Registers of Threadneedle Street, London_, Hug. Soc. Pub. ix. [378] _Registre de l'Église wallonne de Southampton_, Hug. Soc. Pub. iv., 1890. In 1584 three baptisms were performed by Mr. Hopkins, an English minister. [379] _Registre de l'Église de Cantorbéry_, Hug. Soc. Pub. v. pt. i., 1890. [380] W. J. C. Moens (_The Walloons and their Church at Norwich_, Hug. Soc. Pub. i., 1887-8, p. 58) enumerates eighteen sons of strangers at Norwich who went to the Grammar School and thence to Cambridge. [381] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 106. [382] _Ibid._ p. 346. [383] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 281; F. W. Cross, _History of the Walloon and Huguenot Church at Cantuar_, Hug. Soc. Pub. xv., 1898, p. 15. [384] W. J. Hardy, _Foreign Refugees at Rye_, Proceedings Hug. Soc. ii., 1887-8, p. 574. [385] Cross, _op. cit._ p. 53. [386] Hardy, _op. cit._ p. 570 (cp. Durrant Cooper, _Refugees in Sussex_, Sussex Archaeological Collections, xiii., 1861). The name is here written John Robone. [387] F. W. Cross, _ut supra_. [388] Cross, _ut supra_; Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 283. [389] Hug. Soc. Pub. x. [390] Hardy, _op. cit._ p. 572. [391] Moens, _The Walloons and their Church at Norwich_; W. Durrant Cooper, _Lists of Foreign Protestants and Aliens resident in England, 1618-1688_, Camden Soc., 1862. [392] G. H. Overend, _Strangers at Dover_, p. 166; and D. Cooper, _Lists of Foreign Protestants_. [393] _Registre de l'Église wallonne de Southampton_, Hug. Soc. Pub. iv. [394] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. 25. [395] _Ibid._ i. 59. [396] For example, John Veron, J. R. Chevallier, mentioned above. [397] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [398] In 1568 letters of denization were granted him (Hug. Soc. Pub. viii., ad nom.). [399] MS. Memoir of Robert Ashley (Sloane, 2105); cp. Sylvester's _Works_, ed. Grosart, 1880, i. p. x. [400] _Works_, ed. Grosart, i. p. 4. See also i. p. lvii, and ii. pp. 52, 301, 322. [401] 1567?-1630. _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [402] _Registre de l'Église wallonne de Southampton_, Hug. Soc. Pub. iv., 1890. [403] J. S. Davids, _History of Southampton_, Southampton, 1883, p. 311. [404] Another Fleming, Thomas Hylocomius, a native of Brabant, was master of St. Alban's Grammar School, 1570-1596 (Watson, _Protestant Refugees_, pp. 137-139). But there is nothing to show that he encouraged the study of French. [405] Authorities for the use of French in Scotch schools are: J. Strong, _Secondary Education in Scotland_, Oxford, 1909, pp. 44 _et seq._, 76, 142; T. P. Young, _Histoire de l'enseignement primaire et secondaire en Écosse_, Paris, 1907, pp. 12 _et seq._, pp. 64 _et seq._; J. Grant, _Burgh Schools of Scotland_, London and Glasgow, 1876, pp. 64, 404; F. Michel, _Les Écossais en France et les Français en Écosse_, 1862, ii. p. 78. [406] _Autobiography and Diary of Mr. James Melville, minister of Kilrenny and Professor of Theology in the University of St. Andrews_, ed. R. Pitcairn (Wodrow Soc., Edinburgh, 1842), pp. 16 _et seq._ [407] His daughter Esther, who married a Scotch minister Kello, became famous for her calligraphy. Some of her work, preserved in the Bodleian, was admired by Hearne (_Collections and Recollections_, Oxf. Hist. Soc., 1885, i. p. 38). [408] D. Murray, _Some Early Grammars, etc., in use in Scotland_, in the Proceedings of the Royal Philos. Soc. of Glasgow, xxxvii. pp. 267-8. In the _List of Books printed in Scotland before 1700_, by H. G. Aldis (Edinburgh Bibliog. Soc., 1904), there is not one book on the French language amongst the 3919 titles recorded. [409] Pasquier, _Letters_, Amsterdam, 1723, lib. i. p. 5. CHAPTER IV HUGUENOT TEACHERS OF FRENCH--OTHER CLASSES OF FRENCH TEACHERS--RIVALRIES IN THE PROFESSION--THE "DUTCH" AND ENGLISH TEACHERS We have seen that some of the refugees who came to England as a result of the persecutions in France and the Netherlands were professional schoolmasters; others joined the profession on their arrival, through force of circumstances, or as a means of repaying hospitality. The lot of such teachers varied considerably. Some lived and taught in gentlemen's families; others thrived by waiting on a private aristocratic clientèle; others gained a more precarious livelihood under less powerful patronage; and yet others opened private schools, often with decided success. Many of these teachers[410] were denizens, and had long teaching careers, chiefly in London; a certain Abraham Bushell, for instance, a native of "Rotchell," had been a "schoolmaster of the French tongue" in London for twenty-two years in 1618, during which time he had attended the French Church. Many other French teachers were members of the French Church, which naturally, seeing that it fostered a French school itself, took a particular interest in the French schoolmasters generally. Thus in 1560 all French schoolmasters having schools in London were summoned before the consistory, which was seeking to ascertain how many belonged to the Church, and also what book they used in teaching the children. Eight were ready to conform to the Church and its discipline;[411] a ninth, one Gilles Berail, refused to conform, on the plea that he attended the English parish church and understood English as well as French. With the exception of Holyband, the chief Huguenot teachers who gathered round St. Paul's Churchyard would seem to have been Normans. One of these was Robert Fontaine, a friend of Holyband. He had a long and varied career in England as a teacher of French. Arriving in 1550, he remained in England during the reign of Mary, modifying his religious convictions to suit the exigencies of the time. He returned to his former faith early in the reign of Elizabeth, and expressed contrition for his "falling off to idolatry."[412] He attended the French Church faithfully in the early time of its revival, but he appears to have gone more frequently to the Anglican Church in later years, and possibly his sympathies were more in that direction. The favourite neighbourhood, St. Paul's Churchyard, was the scene of his activities, and there he lived for many years with one of his countrymen, Mr. Bowry, a purse-maker. In 1571 he had been living seventeen years in the vicinity of the Cathedral, and in 1582, the latest mention of him in the returns of aliens, he was still in the same district, and appears to have been very prosperous. Some of this group of Normans added to their activities that of writing books for teaching French--an occupation for which Fontaine, presumably, had not time or inclination. One such author was Jacques Bellot, a "gentleman of the city of Caen in Normandie," who came to England in 1578, or the end of 1577, probably driven from his native land by the persecutions. He was received into the household of Sir Philip Wharton, third baron of that name, and in a surprisingly short time produced a French Grammar, which he dedicated to his patron, with an expression of his gratitude. Bellot, it appears, had already a considerable connexion. His work is preceded by numerous commendatory poems, after the fashion of the time. The poet Thomas Newton of Chester wrote two of these, one in Latin and the other in English, laying stress on the debt due by his countrymen to these French grammarians: [Header: JACQUES BELLOT] Thankes therefore great and threefold thankes are due By right to those, whose travaile, toyle and penne Dothe breake the yce for others to ensue, By rules and practice for us Englishmen, An easye way, a methode most in use Amonge the Learn'de t' enduce to knowledge sure. Other verses are written in French by John and William Wroth, no doubt two of the numerous sons of the politician Sir Thomas Wroth. This new work, entitled _The French Grammar, or An Introduction orderly and Methodically by ready rules, playne preceptes and evident examples, teachinge the French Tongue_, differs from the popular books of Holyband, and also from most other French manuals, in that it deals with grammar alone. It opens with the usual observations on pronunciation. Each letter is taken in turn, and the position of the organs necessary to produce it is given. The author makes no attempt to compare the French sounds with the English equivalents. He had probably not yet had time to master the intricacies of English pronunciation, although the whole book is written in English; and he also, no doubt, made free use of grammars written in France. He tells us, for instance, that "_c_ ought to be pronounced with the tongue against the roof of the mouth, and the mouth somewhat open"; that "_f_ is pronounced holding the nether lip against the upward teeth"; and that "_h_ is but aspiration, which loseth his sound after _e_ feminine, and also after every consonant." Then, after a few general observations and lists of numbers, months, and other familiar words, we reach the second part of the Grammar, which deals with the eight parts of speech. Each is defined and commented on in turn. The wording is often quaint; for instance, verbs are defined as "words which be declined with Modes and tenses, and are betokenynge doing." This second book treats of the accidence. In the third we pass to the consideration of syntax with the following warning: Dire, _sy ay_ (quoy qu'usage on en face) N'est point parlé en courtois et bien nay: Bien seant n'est aussy, dire, _non ay_: _Sauf votre honneur_, ou bien _sauf votre grace_ Seroient trouvéz de trop meilleure grace. _Je ne l'ay fait_, est trop desordonné: _Pardonnez moy_, seroit mieux ordonné, Car grand fureur douce parolle efface. _Nous estions_, _Nous y pensons_, faut dire, Non, _J'estions_, on ne s'en fait que rire, Ne _J'y pensons_, tout cela est repris. Les bons François ne parlent point ainsy. Acunement pris ne doit estre aussy _Petit_, pour _peu_, ny _peu_ pour _petit_ pris. This part of the work is not extensive, and consists of a miscellaneous collection of observations; we are, for instance, told that the antecedent governs its relative, that the adjective agrees with its noun, and we are supplied also with rules for the gender and number, the negative, and so on. To this Bellot adds a fourth book, which is perhaps the most curious part of the work. It deals with French versification. We are first favoured with a description of the structure of various forms of poems, such as the "chant royal," the "ballade," the sonnet, rondeau, "dixain," and so on, each accompanied by an example, by way of illustration. The various forms of rime are next described and exemplified; and some of the complicated forms dear to the "rhétoriqueurs" find a place here. This is followed by a description of the various kinds of metres, again with examples; and finally rhythm, colour or "lizière," the caesura, elision, the "coupe féminine," and the use of the apostrophe are treated. Such is this little treatise on the "French poeme," which shows incidentally that Bellot had not yet learned the lesson enforced by the _Pléiade_ more than twenty years before he wrote. What strikes one most, perhaps, in Bellot's Grammar is that he makes no attempt to deal with the difficulties which the French language presents to the English in particular. No comparison of the two languages is instituted; no emphasis is laid on points in which they differ. Were it not written in English, it might be taken for a study of the language on the model of those produced in France. Considering that the work was published in the year of his arrival in England, it seems almost certain that he had begun his study before his arrival, and translated it himself, or had it translated into English. This would account for its unusual character. Bellot opens and closes his Grammar with apologies. He repudiates all claim to completeness, and writes, he says, merely to provoke the "learned" to do better. "Yet the worke is not so leane and voide of fruite, but there is in it some taste. The bee gathereth honey from the smallest flowers, and so may the wise man from this small work." Some time after the publication of his Grammar, he joined the group of French teachers dwelling in the neighbourhood of St. Paul's Churchyard. He was there in 1582, and made the acquaintance of Holyband, who had then resumed his French school in that locality. In the following year he wrote a quatrain and a sonnet in praise of Holyband's latest work, the _Campo di Fior_ (1583): Goustez Anglois, Gent bien heureuse, Les fleurs qu'en vostre Isle argenteuse Vous donne Holybande pour un gage. It is not certain how Bellot employed his time there. He may have had a school, or have taught privately. In any case he was a member of the French Church, and in the returns of aliens he calls himself a "schoolmaster" and a "teacher of children."[413] But the title on which he is most insistent is that of "gentleman." He is a "gentilhomme cadomois," or a gentleman of Caen, and usually attaches the abbreviation G.C. to his name. His attitude to the usual type of French teacher is distinctly supercilious. He prided himself on belonging to the "noblesse instruite et de Savoir," and had the reputation of teaching elegant French. In 1580 he dedicated to no less a person than François de Valois,[414] brother to Henry III., a work for teaching English to foreigners. Like Holyband, he gave his book the title of "Schoolmaster": _Maistre d'Escole Anglois pour les naturelz françois, et autre estrangers qui ont la langue françoyse, pour parvenir a la vraye prononciation de la langue Angloise_.[415] The work contains rules of pronunciation and grammar, given in opposite columns in French and English; it was evidently written in French in the first place, and then somewhat carelessly translated into English, for in the English column the illustrative examples are given in French. This produces a curious effect, and involves such statements as: "_quand_ should be pronounced as _Houen_" (when), etc. In the dedication he refers to his "misfortune," by which, presumably, he means his exile.[416] Bellot was busily occupied in the production of other text-books also during his residence in Paul's Churchyard. The _Maistre d'Escole Anglois_ appeared in January 1580, and in 1581 was followed by a third work, in the form of a collection of moral dicta, entitled _Le Jardin de vertu et bonnes moeurs plain de plusieurs belles fleurs et riches sentences, avec le sens d'icelles, recueillies de plusieurs autheurs_,[417] and intended to be used as a "reader." It was published by the French refugee printer Thomas Vautrollier, who, at the same time, issued a new edition of Holyband's _French Littleton_. The works of the two friends were of the same size, and are bound together in the copy preserved in the British Museum. Holyband, with his long-standing reputation, may have been able to further Bellot's interests. In 1580 he had dedicated his Latin work on French pronunciation to the queen, and in the following year Bellot obtained the same favour for his little work. He accordingly opened his book with six French sonnets in honour of Her Majesty, celebrating her generous reception of strangers, not omitting to beg her protection for the "garden": Reçoy donc ce jardin: te plaise a l'appuyer De ta faveur Royalle: et pren le jardinier En ta protection contre la gent hargneuse: Alors il tachera (sans appouvrir la France) L'Angleterre enrichir d'oeuvres d'autre importance, Pour façonner l'Anglois au Françoys, en son estre, Alors il chantera tes vertus en tout lieu. . . . The whole of the _Jardin_ is printed in French and English; each maxim or saying is accompanied by explanations of the most difficult words, by means of synonyms, paraphrases, and definitions, as in the following example: La memoire du prodigue est nulle. Of the prodigall ther is no memory. Prodigue est:-- Prodigal is:-- un degasteur, un rioteux et a wastefull, a riotious and un excessif depenseur, an outrageous spender, un consomme-tout, qui degaste a spendall that will lavishe et depense où il n'en est and spende where nul besoin et a l'endroit de it needeth not and upon whom qui n'en a besoin. it needeth not. Memoire est:-- Memory is:-- une souvenance, une resconte pensée, a remembrance, and having in minde, une chose non mise en oubly. a not forgetting. Le Moral:-- The meaning:-- La renommée et fame du The prodigall mans fame and renown prodigue ne dure ny continue long endureth nor continueth temps: si tost qu'il est mort not long; as sone as he is gone et passé il est oublié and dead he is forgotten et hors de toute souvenance. and out of all remembrance. Cicero en Paradox dit:-- Cicero in Paradox saith:-- Les prodigues employent et Prodigall men employ and degastent leurs biens en wast their goods upon choses dont ils ne peuvent thinges whereof they can not laisser qu'une courte memoire leave but a short memory de eux, ou point du tout. of them, or none at all. [Header: NORMANS IN ENGLAND] It will be noticed that Bellot had not fully mastered the English idiom, although he had written an English grammar. The rest of the "beautiful flowers of vertue" which he planted in his "garden" are similar in character and treatment. He characteristically closes his little book with a prayer, which he quaintly compares to a fence to keep the "goats" from harming the "flowers." In 1583 Bellot was still living near St. Paul's Churchyard. But after this date we lose all trace of him until 1588, when the printer Robert Robinson received a licence to print "a booke intytuled a grammar in Frenche and Englishe, the auttour is James Bellot."[418] This second French Grammar was known as _The French Methode_.[419] To the numerous band of Normans in England also belonged, perhaps, G. De la Mothe, who wrote the letter "N" after his name. De la Mothe was another refugee for the sake of religion, and he speaks with gratitude of the generous welcome he received in England.[420] He tells us that the cruel civil wars in France had "burnt the wings of his studies" and ruined his fortune.[421] On his arrival in England, he began his career as a teacher of French in the same way as many others; he became a tutor in a noble family, and shortly after produced a book for teaching French. He was first appointed French tutor to the son of Sir Henry Wallop, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland and a prominent patron of the refugees, on the return of his lordship to England in 1589. De la Mothe was also received, at some date before 1592, into the midst of another important English family, the Wenmans, of Thame Park, Oxfordshire. He taught French to the girls, and early in 1592, if not before, was at Oxford with the eldest son, Richard Wenman,[422] afterwards Sir Richard, and his brothers. De la Mothe had in the meantime written a French text-book which he called _The French Alphabet, Teaching in a very short time by a most easie way, to pronounce French naturally, to read it perfectly, to unite it truly, and to speak it accordingly, Together with a Treasure of the French Tongue_.[423] He divided it into two parts, which he dedicated to each of his patrons--the first to Sir Henry Wallop and the second to Sir Richard Wenman's mother, at whose request he had undertaken the work. De la Mothe acknowledges his debt of gratitude to both, and also to the country which had received him so hospitably, in terms which contain something more than the usual trite expressions. The _French Alphabet_ was licensed to the printer Richard Field in 1592,[424] but no copy of this earliest edition has been preserved. Field succeeded to Vautrollier's successful business, and in this same year showed his friendship for his fellow-townsman[425] Shakespeare, by printing the first work he published, _Venus and Adonis_. It is of course pure conjecture to suggest that Shakespeare saw and even read the little book printed by his friend. Whether this be so or not, it was perhaps through Field and his Huguenot connexions--he had married Vautrollier's widow--that Shakespeare became acquainted with the family of Christopher Montjoy. [Header: G. DE LA MOTHE, N.] A new edition of the _Alphabet_ appeared in 1595, from the press of Edward Alde. At this date De la Mothe had joined the group of teachers in St. Paul's Churchyard. He taught at the "Signe of the Helmet," and "there you shall finde him ever willing to show you any favour or curtesie he may; and most ready to endeavour himselfe to satisfie you in all that can be possible for hime to doe." The Sign of the Helmet was the address of the bookseller Thomas Chard.[426] Any one desirous of becoming acquainted with the author for his better furtherance in the French tongue could also make enquiries at the Sign of St. John the Evangelist in Fleet Street, beneath the Conduit, where lived the printer and bookseller Hugh Jackson, commissioned to sell the book--further instances of the friendly relations between the French teachers and the printers and booksellers of the time, through whom these teachers would, no doubt, get a large proportion of their clientèle. The Huguenot sympathies of many of the printers, such as Vautrollier and Field, account in part for this cordial feeling. After the 1595 edition of his work we hear nothing further of De la Mothe. Although the name occurs frequently in the returns of aliens, none can be identified with him. He probably seized an early opportunity of returning to his native land. His manual, however, did not disappear with him. Second in popularity only to the works of Holyband in the sixteenth century, it enjoyed numerous editions in the seventeenth.[427] Excepting the omission of De la Mothe's advertisement, all the later editions are identical. They were issued from the press of Field's successor, George Miller.[428] It is difficult to understand how the 1595 edition came to be printed by Edward Alde, though his work was evidently countenanced by De la Mothe. The _French Alphabet_ is a very practical little work. It contains rules for pronunciation and familiar dialogues in the usual style. The whole is given in French and English arranged on opposite pages. His treatment of pronunciation is much the same as Holyband's, and he sometimes transcribes freely from his active contemporary's work.[429] He explains the sounds chiefly by comparison with English, giving the nearest equivalent to each letter. After the letters he deals with the syllables and then the words. The rules are arranged in the form of dialogues between master and pupil: Sir, will it please you do me Monsieur, vous plaist il me faire so much favour (or would tant de faveur (ou voudriez you take the pain) to vous prendre la peine) de teach me to speak French? m'apprendre a parler François? With all my heart, if Tres volontiers, si vous you have a desire to it. en avez envie. I desire nothing more. Je ne desire rien plus. If you desire it you Si vous le desirez vous shall learn it quickly, l'apprendez bien, if you please to take s'il vous plaist de prendre some pain. un peu de peine. There is nothing though never so hard Il n'y a rien si difficile but by labour it may be made easie. qui par labeur ne soit facile. You say true, Vous dites vray, I believe you. je vous en croy. . . . How do you pronounce Comment prononcez vous the letter a? la lettre a? A is pronounced plaine and long as A se prononce ouvert et long comme this English word awe, to be in awe, ce mot Anglois awe, to be in awe, as ma, ta, sa, la, comme ma, ta, sa, la, bat, part, blanc, etc. bat, part, blanc, etc. And the next lesson takes the following form: [Header: HIS FRENCH ALPHABET] Sir, can you say your lesson? Monsieur, sçaves vous vostre leçon? Have you learnt to pronounce your Avés vous apprins a prononcer vos letters? lettres? Yea, as well as I can. Ouy, le mieux qu'il m'est possible. I have done nothing but study it Je n'ay fait autre chose qu'estudier. since you did heare me yesterday depuis que vous me feistes dire hier. It is very well done, C'est tresbien fait, I am glad then. i'en suis bien aise. Go to, let me heare you how you do Or aus, que je voye comment vous pronounce. prononcez. I will, I am content. Je le veux, i'en suis content. Say then, begin, speak Dites, doncq, commencez, parlez aloud. haut. Pronounce distinctly. Softly, Prononcez distinctement. Tout beau, make no haste, open your ne vous hastez point, ouvrez la mouth. bouche. That is very well, that is well Voyla qui est bien, cela est bien said. dit. Repeat it once again. Repetez encore une fois derechef. Do I pronounce it well? Yea, Prononce-je bien? Ouy, you pronounce well. vous prononcez bien. Help me, I pray you. Aydez moy, je vous prie. How do you pronounce that letter? Comment se prononce ceste lettre? Before we go any further Devant que passer oultre you must il faut que vous pronounce perfectly your letters. prononciez vos lettres parfaitement. Now that you can tell your letters Maintenant que vous sçavez vos well, lettres, learne your syllables, apprenez vos syllables, say after me. dictes après moy. After dealing with the sounds of the French language, De la Mothe passes to more general considerations. He touches on the much-discussed question of the reform of the orthography, and expresses his strong disapproval of all attempts to make it tally with the pronunciation. Then he deals with the pronunciation of the Law French of the English,[430] which he puts down to such fanciful experiments. Lawyers write their French as they pronounce it, and pronounce it as they write it, so that it is now quite corrupt. He next proceeds to give his pupils a short history of the chief Romance tongues, French, Italian, and Spanish, and finally of the English language. The remainder of the first part of the _Alphabet_ is occupied by short familiar dialogues on the usual subjects--greetings, the weather, the divisions of time, buying and selling, and the occurrences of daily life--as follows: _For to aske the way._ _Pour demander le chemin._ How many miles to London? Combien y a il d'icy à Londres? Ten leagues, twenty miles. Dix lieues, vingt mil. What way must we keep? Quel chemin faut il tenir? Which is the shortest Où est le plus court way to goe to Rye? chemin d'icy à Rye? Keepe alwayes the great way. Suyvez tousjours le grand chemin. Do not stray neither to the right Ne vous fourvoyez ny à dextre nor to the left hand. ny à sinestre. What doe I owe you now? Combien vous doy-je maintenant? Two shillings. Here it is. Deux sols. Les voylà. Bring me my horse. Amenez moy mon cheval. Will you take horse? Vous plaist il monter à cheval? Yea, I hope I shall not alight Ouy, j'espere que je ne descendrez till I be come to London. que je ne soys arrivé à Londres. God be with you. Farewell. Adieu. Bonne vie et longue. At the end of these dialogues comes the second part of De la Mothe's book, entitled the _Treasure of the French Tongue_. It consists of a collection of French and English proverbs and golden sayings, "diligently gathered and faithfully set in order after the Alphabeticall manner, for those that are desirous of the French tongue." These early teachers of French were fond of such collections. They usually included proverbs in their grammar books, and Palsgrave, as we have seen, hoped to publish a separate work on them. His intention seems to have been first fully realised by De la Mothe, although Holyband had included a smaller list in both his popular text-books. From De la Mothe's _French Alphabet_, more than from any other of these early works, we can form a fairly adequate idea of the method of teaching French prevalent at the time. Much importance was attached to pronunciation and to reading, which were made the first subject of study. Rules were felt to be desirable for learning the sounds, but more stress was laid on the services of a good teacher; "for do not think," says De la Mothe, "that my book is by itself to make thee a good Frenchman." His own method was to make his pupils repeat the sounds after him. He believed that the acquirement of a good pronunciation depended on a mastery of each separate sound in the language. According to him, any one who can pronounce each letter correctly must, perforce, enunciate words correctly, and on the same plan, sentences also; a rather questionable theory this, but we must remember that De la Mothe took for granted the daily attendance of a French tutor. The understanding of the language De la Mothe regards as the second stage in the pupil's progress. This he considers a natural consequence of a perfect command of the pronunciation and reading of the language. Lastly comes the speaking of the language, which, according to him, results from understanding it. De la Mothe does not only expound his theories; he also gives fairly detailed information as to how they may be put into practice. After engaging a good teacher, the student should learn to pronounce his letters and syllables perfectly. Then he may begin to read, very slowly at first, at the rate of from three to four lines a day, "or more or less according as your capacity can reach or your patience permit." [Header: HIS METHOD FOR LEARNING FRENCH] Each word should be spelt four or five times, and in the spelling and reading the pupil should "not let passe any letter or syllable without bringing them to the trial of his rules." When you can "read truly and pronounce perfectly, then go about to English it." First translate the French passages into English, with the help of the word for word translation provided, then copy out the French into a book provided for the purpose, close the _Alphabet_ and attempt to translate your copy into English at sight, correcting the version by referring again to the _Alphabet_. Next proceed to retranslate the English back into French on a similar method. "Continue this order for a month, every day repeating three or four times, both your letters and your syllables, and reading and Englishing as many times your old from the beginning till your latter lesson." ... "Being once able to reade and pronounce perfectly with your rules, two or three leaves of your book, at most, I can assure you that there is not any French book though never so hard, but you shall be able to reade it and pronounce it as truly as can be wished. For in less than one leaf of your book, all your rules are to be observed, three or four times at least. For there is not a word but in it is one or two rules to be noted." When the learner has thus fully mastered the rules of pronunciation, he may go forward speedily, translating from English into French, and from French into English, and revising constantly. "This is the only ready way to learn to read and pronounce, to write and speak French." Not a single day should be allowed to pass without exercises of this kind, and "you shall find in less than five or six weeks your labour and dilegence afford you much profit, and advancement, that you will wonder at it, and much greater than I dare promise you." Those who have made some progress in the language, De la Mothe advises to make the acquaintance of some Frenchman, if possible, "to the end that you may practice with him by daily conference together, in speech and talk, what you have learned. And if you be in place where the Frenchmen have a Church for themselves, as they do in London, get you a French Bible or a New Testament, and every day go both to their lectures and Sermons. The one will confirm and strengthen your pronunciation, and the other cause you to understand when one doth speak." And, finally, if you wish to understand the hardest and most "eloquent" French, and to speak it naturally, you must not neglect reading, but provide yourself with a French Dictionary, and the hardest book you can find, and set about translating it, on the method already described. If the student will not take the pains to translate the book, he should at least read it carefully, and write out a list of the hardest words and of appropriate phrases "to serve his turn, either to speak or write when he has need of them." Although De la Mothe makes no mention of grammar, when he describes his method of teaching, he did not consider it unnecessary. Indeed he declares it is not possible to speak French perfectly without such rules, which he no doubt used for purposes of reference, as he did the rules of pronunciation. He even promises to produce shortly a _French Tutor_, "that will teach you in so short and easie a way as may be, both by the perfect knowledge of the parts of your speeches, and syntaxe, not only to speak perfectly, but also to know if one doth not speak well, to reprove him when he doth speak ill, and to teach him to amend his bad speech: a thing which yet before has never been taught. The promise is great, but the performance shall not be less if this be acceptable to you." Unfortunately this promise does not seem to have been kept. That his _Alphabet_ did not prove "acceptable" cannot be the reason. Most probably De la Mothe left England before he had time to show his gratitude to the English nobility by the production of this second book. We have seen that these teachers of French did not always look upon each other as rivals. Bellot wrote verses in honour of Holyband, who was a friend of Fontaine, another of the group of French teachers in St. Paul's Churchyard. But such friendly relations were not general. The teachers just mentioned belonged to what formed, no doubt, the highest rank of the profession. Bellot calls himself a "gentilhomme," and so does Holyband; and both refer to criticism and attacks upon them by other French teachers.[431] Holyband calls attention to the unscrupulousness of many of them, who take money in advance and do nothing to earn it; and expresses his contempt for his critics--Frenchmen ignorant of English, Burgundians, or Englishmen who do not know French thoroughly. [Header: FRIENDSHIPS AND RIVALRIES] The many French-speaking schoolmasters from the Netherlands--chiefly Walloons and Burgundians--and the English teachers of French formed separate groups apart from the Huguenots. Yet another group was recruited from the ranks of the Roman Catholics. The Burgundians, who did not come from Burgundy, but from that portion of the Netherlands which had been under the rule of the House of Burgundy, formed a very considerable proportion of the foreign population of London. In 1567 there were only forty-four of them in London, but by 1571 their number had risen to four hundred and twenty-four--almost as many as the total number of French in the city.[432] The Walloons were still more numerous, and no doubt outnumbered the French. Such instructors were an obstacle in the way of those desirous of raising the standard of the French taught in England. Against the peculiarities of the French spoken in the Netherlands, Holyband is constantly warning his pupils. "You shall know them," he says, "at the pronunciation of _c_, as the proper mark of their language," for they sound it as the English _sh_ or the French _ch_, saying _shela_ for _cela_.[433] Warnings were also given against the barbarisms of the Picard dialect. Of the many "Dutch" teachers in London--an epithet which usually includes the Flemings and Walloons--it is impossible to say which actually taught French.[434] Apparently those who attended the French Church taught that language; a certain Gouvert Hawmells, for example, a native of Antwerp, who came to England in 1568--"for religion"--is specially mentioned as a teacher of the French language; in 1571 he was living with his family in the house of one Thomas Grimes in St. Margaret's parish. He attended the French Church and was not a denizen.[435] Apparently his case was not an exceptional one. What is more, there were in London French schoolmistresses from the Low Countries. Marry Lemaire, "by trade a French schoolmistress," was a native of Antwerp and came to England in 1578; for over forty years she kept school in Southwick. Another French schoolmistress, Anness Deger, born in Tournay, came to England some ten years earlier, and in 1618 was still practising her "trade" in Tenter Abbey. Her qualifications were not of the first order; in the Register of Aliens she was unable to sign her name, for which she substituted a cross. There was also a "goodwife Frances schoolmistress, in Popinjay Alley," mentioned in 1598 and 1599, but whether she taught French or not is not specified. Although the chief French teachers who were responsible for the manuals of the second half of the sixteenth century were Huguenots, it is extremely probable that Roman Catholic teachers were in the majority. When a census of the foreigners dwelling in London was taken in 1563, only 712 out of a total of 4534 had come to England on religious grounds.[436] Naturally the proportion of Protestants greatly increased as the persecutions grew more severe, until the passing of the Edict of Nantes in their favour in 1598. Then it probably again decreased; in the time of Charles I. there were at least five French papists to one French Protestant.[437] These Roman Catholic teachers were as a matter of course regarded as suspect by those in authority, and Jesuit priests teaching in noble English families, or those conversant with them, were carefully watched.[438] The suspicions aroused by the John Love who had a French school in St. Paul's Churchyard have already been noticed. This feeling became particularly strong after the Gunpowder Plot (1605). In the "Constitutions, Laws, Statutes, Decrees and Ordinances" of the Bury St. Edmunds Town Council of 1607 an article was inserted "to prevent the infectinge of youth in Poperie by Schoolmasters."[439] [Header: CLASSES OF FRENCH TEACHERS] The constables of every ward in the borough had to certify the Aldermen, Recorder, and Justices of the Peace, of the names of all persons "that do keep any school for the teaching of youth to write, read, or understand the English, Latin, French, Italian and Spanish Tongues, upon pain to forfeit for every default 6s. 8d." This notification had to be made quarterly. Others than the master or usher of the free grammar school, wishing to teach any of these languages, had to obtain special licence; and any one sending his children to a school kept by a teacher who had no licence was liable to forfeit for every week the sum of 6s. 8d. Fear of proselytism was not the only incentive which aroused the animosity of certain sections of the English public. Many young Englishmen received much of their education from French tutors, frequently refugees, who taught them the usual subjects as well as French. One objection raised against them was that they corrupted their pupils' English if they spoke and wrote English themselves, as they did almost without exception. Thus they "pul downe with one hand more than they can build with the other," wrote Th. Morrice in 1619.[440] Such complaints, however, cannot have been very general or have had much effect on the lot of French teachers. A further attack was to come from another quarter. In the early years of the sixteenth century, as in the Middle Ages, Englishmen had held an important place in the French teaching profession. They had been called to important positions as tutors, and had written grammars of the language. After the appearance of Palsgrave's Grammar, however, we hear no more of these English teachers of French, driven into the background, no doubt, by the great invasion of French teachers. Probably Duwes's earlier attack had helped either to turn public favour from the native teachers or to discourage them. Holyband, too, had endorsed the opinion of Duwes somewhat later, and expressed the little importance he attached to their criticisms. To acquire the true French pronunciation and idiom, he declares, it is necessary to learn from a Frenchman. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, however, an English teacher of French came forward, and energetically took up the defence of his fellow-teachers of English birth. This was John Eliote, a man of boisterous spirits and a lover of good wine--a taste which he had acquired in France, where he had lived many years. There, if the dialogue he wrote for the help of students of French may be taken as autobiographical, he had spent three years in the College of Montagu at Paris, taught for a year in the Collège des Africains at Orleans, lived for ten months at Lyons, and spent a year amongst the Benedictine monks. On the murder of Henri III. in 1589, Eliote returned to England, strongly imbued with a love for the country in which he had lived so long. "Surely for my part," he writes, "France I love well, Frenchmen I hate not, and unto you I sweare by S. Scobe cap de Gascongne, that I love a cup of new Gascon or old Orleans wine, as well as the best French of you all. Which love, you must know, was engendered in the sweet soile of Fraunce, where I paissed like a bon companion, with a steele at my girdle, till the Friars (a canker of the cursed Convent) fell to drawing of naked knives, and kild indeed the good King Henrie of France, the more the pitye. Since which time I retired myself among the merrie muses, and by the worke of my pen and inke, have dezinkhornifistibulated a fantasticall Rapsody of dialoguisme, to the end that I would not be found an idle drone among so many famous teachers and professors of noble languages, who are very busy daily in devising and setting forth new bookes & instructing our English gentry in this honourable citie of London." This "fantasticall rapsody" was published in 1593, and entitled the _Ortho-Epia Gallica. Eliot's Fruits for the French enriched with a double new invention, which teacheth to speake truly, speedily, voluably the French tongue. Pend for the practice, pleasure and profit of all English gentlemen, who will endevour by their owne paine, study, and diligence, to attain the naturall accent, the true pronunciation and swift and glib Grace of this noble, famous and courtly Language._[441] It was dedicated to the young Sir Robert Dudley,[442] son of the famous Earl of Leicester, whom Eliote possibly instructed in the French tongue. Eliote had taken up the teaching of French, "that most ticklish of all tongues," on his return to England, and in his book he speaks of his long practice in learning and teaching the language. He proceeds, in the first place, to make fun of the "learned Professors of the French Tongue in the city of London." [Header: ENGLISH TEACHERS OF FRENCH] He burlesques the dedicatory epistles of his predecessors, especially that of Bellot,[443] and declares he is fully aware that, to be in the fashion, he ought to "dilate in some good speeches of the dignitie of the French tongue, and then show what ease this book of mine shall bring to the learning of the French, more than other bookes have done heretofore." But he must first ask pardon for his presumption in writing on this subject. "Do no blame me," he says, addressing the "gentle doctors of Gaule," as he called them, "if because I would not be found a loyterer in mine own countrie, amongst so many virtuously occupied, I have put my pen to paper: if I have bene busie, labourd, sweat, dropt, studied, devised, fought, bought, borrowed, turned, translated, mined, fined, refined, interlined, glossed, composed, and taken intollerable toil to shew an easie entrance and introduction to my deare countrimen, in your curious and courtesan French tongue, to the end to advance them as much as may bee, in the knowledge of all virtuous and noble qualities, to the which they are all naturally adicted." He is quite ready to have his book criticised as the work of an Englishman, and challenges these "gentle doctors" "to be ready quickly to cavill at his booke." "I beseech you," he continues, "heartily calumniate my doings with speede, I request you humbly controll my method as soone as you may, I earnestly entreat you hisse at my inventions, I desire you to peruse my periodicall punctuations, find fault with my pricks, nicks, and tricks, prove them not worth a pin, not a point, not a pish: argue me a fond, foolish, frivolous, and phantasicall author, and persuade every one that you meet, that my booke is a false, fained, slight, confused, absurd, barbarous, lame, imperfect, single, uncertaine, childish, piece of work, and not able to teach and why so? Forsooth because it is not your owne but an Englishman's doing. Faile you not to do so, if you love me, and would have me do the like for you another time." While admitting that there may be a few good French teachers amongst the refugees, he outlines a picture of the ordinary type which is far from flattering; and we gather that he had himself studied French with several refugees. He implies that the French teachers receive money in advance, and then do nothing else but "take their eases and, as the renowned poet saith, Saulter, dancer, faire les tours, Boire vin blanc et vermeil, Et ne rien faire tous les jours Que conter escuz au soleil. Mercurie the god of Cunning, and Dis the Father of French crowns are their deities." They care nothing for the progress of their scholars; all they do is to give them a short lesson of half an hour, in which they read and construe about half a page of French. They are equally indifferent to the troubled state of their country, provided they themselves are comfortable and well provided with French wines. "Messires, what newes from France, can you tell?" he asks them, "still warres, warres. A heavy hearing truly, yet if you be in good health, have many scholars, get good store of crowns, and drink good wine, I doubt not but you shall do well, and I desire the good God of Heaven to continue it so still. Have they had a fruitful vintage in France this year, or no? me thinks our Bordeaux wines are very deare, and in good faith I am very sorry for it. But they will be at a more reasonable reckoning, if these same loftie Leaguers would once crouch and come to some good composition ... that we may safely fetch their deifying liquer, which dieth quickly our flegmaticke faces into a pure sanguine complexion." The style of the introduction is maintained throughout the rest of the book. Eliote says he wrote the whole "in a merrie phantasicall vaine to confirme and stir up the wit and memorie of the learner," and "diversified it with a varietie of stories no lesse authenticall than the devices of Lucian's dialogues." He admits that he had turned over some French authors, and where he "espied any pretie example that might quicken the capacitie of the learner," he "presumed to make a peece of it flie this way, to set together the frame of (his) fantasticall comedie ... and out of every one (he) had some share for the better ornament of (his) worke." Eliote was well acquainted with French literature. He considered Marot the best poet, and gave Ronsard the second place only. He also read Du Bartas, Belleau, Desportes, and other sixteenth-century writers. But most of his admiration was reserved for Rabelais, "that merrie grig," and it is clear that he modelled his style on that of the great French humorist. Like Rabelais, he occasionally affects a sort of gibberish, coins words, and, like him also, he strings words together and is fond of exaggeration. Numerous passages in the _Ortho-Epia Gallica_ are reminiscent of famous incidents in _Gargantua_ and _Pantagruel_. Like Panurge, he defends debts and debtors: "Quoy! Debtes! O chose rare et antiquaire. Il n'est bon chrestien qui ne doibt rien," and, in the style of Rabelais, he assures us that his book contains "profound and deep mysteries, ... and very worthie the reading, and such as I thinke you have not had performed in any other book that is yet extant.... Doest thou see what a sea, what a gulfe there is? Thou hadst need of Theseus' thread to guide thee out of that Labyrinth." The _Ortho-Epia Gallica_ forms a striking contrast to Palsgrave's rather austere _Esclarcissement_, the last work on the French language composed by an Englishman before that of Eliote. [Header: JOHN ELIOTE] The dialogues occupy nearly the whole volume. The first few pages, however, contain a table of French sounds with their pseudo-English equivalents. The pronunciation was, in Eliote's opinion, one of the chief difficulties of this difficult language, "deemed a jewel, so dearly bought, and so much desired by all"; and he considered that, with the help of Ramus and Peletier for the pronunciation, he had succeeded in reducing "the gulf of difficulties into a small stream" by "sounding the French by our English alphabet." He arranges his dialogues, which he calls _Le parlement de Babillards, id est, The Parlaiment of Prattlers_, into three groups. The first of these consists of three long dialogues on the method of learning foreign languages, on the excellence of writers in both ancient and modern tongues, and on travel through the chief towns of Europe. The first dialogue ends with the quotation from Du Bartas in praise of Queen Elizabeth and her accomplishments, accompanied by a translation in English verse by Eliote himself. The second part, styled "_M. Eliote's first booke_," is of a much more elementary character than the one just described. Eliote had referred elsewhere to a work entitled _The Scholler_, in which he propounded a "general method of learning and teaching all languages contrived by nature and art, conformable to the precepts of Aristotle." This, or part of it, evidently formed the first part of the _Ortho-Epia Gallica_, where it is separately paged.[444] In his first and second books, which thus form the second and third parts of the work, he expounds "his double new invention, which teacheth Englishmen to speake truly, speedily and volubly the French tong." The first part of this "invention" consists in placing by the side of the French and English a third column, giving the French in pseudo-English equivalents--"the true pronunciation of each word wholly and certain little stripes (called approches) between the sillables that are to be spoken roundly and glib in one breath." The twelve dialogues of Eliote's first book are fairly simple in character, and some of them were probably suggested by Vives's _Exercitatio_. Their subject matter does not differ much from earlier dialogues, but their treatment is decidedly original. The following quotation is taken from the first dialogue: Hau Garcon Ho Garssoon What boy dors tu dortu slepeth thou vilain? debout, veelein? deboo, villain? up, debout, ie te deboo, ie te up, I shall reveilleray tantost reue-lheré tant-tot shall wake thee soon avec un bon baton. tavec-keun boon batoon. with a good cudgell. Je me leve, monsieur. Ie me léveh moonseewr. I rise sir. Quelle heure est-il? Qel-heur et-til? What o'clock is it? Il est six heures. Il-é see-zewres. It is six o'clock. Donnez moy mes Donné moe' mes Give me my chausses de velours shosséh de veloor my green velvet verd. vert. breeches. Lesquelles? Le-keles? Which? C'est tout un; mes Set-toot-tewn; mes It is all one; my chausses rondes de shosseh roondeh de round red satin rouge. . . . sateen roz-eh. . . . satin ones, etc. There are twelve dialogues in all, but only each alternate one is accompanied by this curious guide to pronunciation.[445] In the second book and third part the dialogues are longer and more numerous, dealing with the different trades and occupations--"les devis familiers des mesters fort delectables a lyre." They do not, however, confine themselves to the characters usually introduced into similar dialogues; besides the mercer, the draper, the shoemaker, the innkeeper, and so on, we have the armourer, the robber, the debtor, the apothecary, and other characters which offer ample scope for treatment in the Rabelaisian vein, of which Eliote was so fond. Some suggest that Eliote was acquainted with Holyband's works. This book contains the second part of his "double new invention." The French and English are printed on opposite pages, and in the margin the sounds of the most difficult French letters are indicated, thus: _ai_ sound _e_ _ay_ sound _e_ _am_ sound _ein_ _aine_ sound _eineh_, and so on. This table he describes "as Mercurie's finger to direct thee in thy progress of learning," and he repeats it on the margin of every pair of opposite pages. [Header: THE "ORTHO-EPIA GALLICA"] After these twenty dialogues comes the "Conclusion of the parlaiment of prattlers," which depicts a group of friends walking by the Thames and St. Paul's, "prattling, chatting, and babbling." The arrangement is the same as in the previous dialogues, and the work closes with a quotation from Du Bartas's praise of France: O mille et mille fois terre heureuse et féconde, O perle de l'Europe! O Paradis du monde! France je te salue, O mère des guerriers. In his dialogue called _The Scholar_, incorporated in the first part of the _Ortho-Epia_, Eliote explains his 'new' method of learning languages, by nature and art. By "nature" he means the acquirement of a vocabulary of all created things, by use and common practice; and by "art" the rules and precepts for combining these into sentences, and also the authority of learned men. Such rules chiefly concern nouns, verbs, and pronunciation, "in which the greatest mystery of all languages consists." Thus, although he gives no grammatical information in his _Ortho-Epia Gallica_, he recognized its importance. Before introducing his pupils to the method of "Nature and Art," Eliote would have them well grounded in nouns and verbs, and able to translate dialogues, comedies in verse, and prose writings. He attached much importance to translation from English into French, just as Palsgrave did. He directs the student to make out the meaning of the French first by comparing it with the English column, and then to cover over the French version, and attempt to translate the English into French. "This I have learned by long experience to be the readiest way to attaine the knowledge of any language, that we of Englishmen make French, and not of French learn English." As to the theory of "Nature and Art," it seems to have been little more than the method, common at the time, of making practice the basis of the study of French, and confirming this by rules as need for them arose. In addition to the _Ortho-Epia Gallica_,[446] Eliote also wrote a _Survey or topographical description of France_, collected from sundry approved authors. This was published in 1592, and dedicated to Sir John Pickering, Keeper of the Privy Seal. He also translated from French into English[447] a number of unimportant works, mostly of topical interest, one of them being dedicated to Robert, Earl of Essex. Little else is known of him, except that he was born in Warwickshire in 1562, and entered Brasenose College, Oxford, on the 12th of December 1580, at the age of eighteen years.[448] He tells us that he held the degree of Doctor of Divinity, but there is no record of his having taken any such degree there. Robert Greene was among his friends, and he wrote a sonnet in questionable French on Greene's _Perimedes or the Black Smith_, with which it was published in 1588. These are all the details we possess concerning this amusing and striking figure among the French teachers of the sixteenth century. FOOTNOTES: [410] The names of many have been lost, owing to the incompleteness of the records, or to the fact that no profession is indicated. A few are known from other sources to have been schoolmasters or private tutors; cp. Huguenot Society Publications, vol. x., _Returns of Aliens dwelling in London_; vols. viii., xviii., _Letters of Denization_. [411] Evrard Erail, Onias Ganeur, Charles Bod, Robert Fontaine, Charles Darvil d'Arras, Jean Vaquerie, Baudouin Mason, and Adrian Tresol (Schickler, _Églises du Refuge_, i. p. 124). Of these names only that of Robert Fontaine is found in the _Returns of Aliens_. Charles Darvil and Adrian Tresol are again mentioned in connexion with the Church in 1564. Baudouin Mason received letters of denization in 1565, and Adrian Tresol, a Netherlander, in 1562. In 1571 there were three other schoolmasters connected with the Church: Adrian Tressel, John Preste of Rouen, and Nicolas Langlois or Inglish. All these, however, are mentioned in the _Returns of Aliens_. [412] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 182. [413] _Returns of Aliens_, Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt. ii. pp. 228, 335. [414] Duc d'Alençon, who died in 1584. [415] Printed by Henry Dizlie for Thomas Purfoote. Reprinted by T. Spiro in the _Neudrucke frühneuenglischer Grammatiken, herausgegeben von R. Brotanek_, Bd. 7, Halle, 1912. It contains 75 pages, 8vo. [416] Bellot's name does not occur in the Registers (vol. i., Lymington, 1908). [417] 16º, pp. 80. [418] _Stationers' Register_, 19th February 1588. [419] Hazlitt, _Handbook_, 1867, p. 36. [420] Perhaps he was a member of the La Motte Fouqué family whose name became so closely connected with the Protestant cause in France. In 1551 René La Motte left Saintonge and went to Normandy, where he died, leaving two sons and three daughters. Cp. Crottet, _History of the Reformed Church in Saintonge_, quoted by T. F. Sanxay, _The Sanxay Family_, 1907. [421] "Estant donc refugié a l'ombre favorable du Sceptre de sa serenissime majesté, qui est le vray port de retraicte et asyle asseuré de ceux qui faisans profession de l'Evangile souffrent ores persecution soubs la Tyrannie de l'Antichrist, j'ay tasché de tout mon pouvoir de faire en sorte par mes labeurs que ceste noble Nation qui maintenant nous sert de mere et de nourrice peust tirer quelque proffit d'iceux, afin que par ce moyen je peusse eviter le vice enorme de l'ingratitude. . . . Or entre toutes les belles et rares vertus dont la Noblesse angloise se rend tant renommée par tout le monde, admirée des estrangiers, et honorée en son pays, est l'Estude des bonnes lettres, et cognoissance des langues, qui leur sont si familieres et communes qu'il s'en trouve peu parmi eux, non seulement entre les Seigneurs et Gentilhommes, qui n'en parlent trois ou quatre pour le moins, mais aussi entre les Dames et Damoiselles, exercise veritablement louable, par lequel toute vertu s'honore et se rend immortelle et sans lequel nulle autre n'est parfait ni digne d'estre aucunement estimé. Or c'est ce qui, outre la singuliere affection que naturellement ils portent aux estrangers et la grande courtoisie dont ils ont a coustume de les traicter, leur faict faire tant d'estat des François, si bien qu'il y en a fort peu qui n'en ait un avec soy." [422] Who first went to Oxford in 1587. Foster, _Alumni Oxonienses_, ad nom. [423] _Containing the rarest Sentences, Proverbs, Parables, Similies, Apothegmes and Golden sayings of the most excellent French Authors as well Poets as Orators._ [424] Arber, _Register of the Company of Stationers_, ii. 614. Miss Farrer in her book on Holyband takes this entry, _l'Alphabet François avec le Tresor de la langue françoise_, to refer to another edition of Holyband's _Treasurie_, which, she assumes, was prevented and superseded by the publication of his dictionary in 1592. [425] Field was born at Stratford in the same year as Shakespeare; cp. S. Lee, _Life of Shakespeare_, pp. 42 _et seq._ [426] _A Dictionary of Printers and Booksellers, 1557-1640_, Bibliog. Soc., 1910: Index of London Addresses. [427] 1625, 1631, 1633, 1639, 1647. [428] In 1626 the work was made over to Miller by Field's widow. Arber, _Transcript_, iv. 157. [429] How closely, may be judged by comparing the following selection with the description of Holyband's rules on p. 142, _supra_. How do you pronounce g before n? Comment prononcez vous g devant n? Gn is hardly pronounced by Gn se prononce difficilement par Englishmen. les Anglois. Notwithstanding if they will take Toutesfois s'ils veulent prendre heed garde how they do pronounce _minion_ ... comment ils prononcent minion, onion, companion, it will be more easy for them to il leur sera plus aisé de pronounce it: for though we le prononcer: car encore que nous do write the selfesame words escrivions ces mesmes mots with gn, par gn, neverthelesse there is small neantmoins il y a peu de difference between difference de their pronunciation and ours: leur prononciation a la nostre: let them take heed only seulement qu'ils prennent garde à to sound g mettre g in the same syllable that n is, en la mesme syllable que n, and then they et ils shall not finde any hardnesse ne trouveront aucune difficulté in his pronunciation, en sa prononciation, as mignon ... mi-gnon. comme mi-gnon. . . . [430] "Et pourroit a bon droict estre comparé a quelques vieilles masures d'un bastiment où il a tant creu de ronces et espines, qu'à grand peine il apert que jamais il y ait eu de maisons. Car devant qu'on eust trouvé l'imprimerie, on l'a tant de fois coppié, et chaque écrivain l'escrivant à la fantaisie et ne retenant l'orthographe françoise, que maintenant il semble qu'il n'y ait presque langage plus esloigné du vray François que ce François de vos loix." [431] Bellot frequently refers to the _gent hargneuse_ and the "aiguillons envenimez des langues qui se plaisent à detracter les oeuvres d'autruy et qui deprisent tout ce qui n'est tiré de leurs boutiques, iaçoit que souvente fois leur estofe ne soit que biffes et hapelourdes." [432] _Returns of Aliens_, Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt. i. pp. xii, xiv. [433] And again: "Or vous noterés qu'en tous les noms terminés en _ent_, _t_ n'est pas exprimé en la fin: quant aux verbes, il est prononcé, mais bien doucement: donnés vous donc garde d'ensuivre en ceci les Bourgignons qui expriment leur _t_ si fort que de deux syllabes ilz en font trois: comme quand nous disons _ils mangent_ . . . le Walon dira; _ilz mangete_." And yet again: "Sounde _ch_ as _sh_ in English: you shall not follow in this the Picard or Bourgignions, for they doo pronounce _ch_ like _k_, say _kien_ for _chien_." [434] French was widely used in the Spanish Netherlands, and there was hardly any opening for the teaching of any of the Germanic languages in England at this early time, when they were only learnt in exceptional cases. There were no doubt a few such teachers, here and there. We are told that in London "there be also teachers and professors of the Holy or Hebrew language, of the Caldean, Syriack or Arabicke or Tartary Languages, of the Italian, Spanish, French, Dutch and Polish Tongues. And here be they which can speake the Persian and the Morisco, and the Turkish and the Muscovian Language, and also the Sclavonian tongue, which passeth through seventeen nations. And in divers other languages fit for Ambassadors and Orators, and Agents for Merchants, and for Travaylors and necessarie for all commerce or Negociation whatsoever." Buck, _The Third Universitie of England_, 1619, ch. xxxvii. "Of Languages." The earliest work for teaching Dutch to Englishmen was probably the _Dutch Tutor_ of 1660; cp. F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, ch. xv. John Minsheu taught a number of languages in London, and wrote a _Ductor in Linguas_ (1617), in eleven languages. [435] Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt. ii. p. 81. [436] _Returns of Aliens_, Hug. Soc. Pub. x. pt. i. p. xi. [437] Moens, _The Walloons and their Church at Norwich_, Hug. Soc. Pub. i. p. 90. [438] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., Addenda, 1580-1625_, p. 294. [439] _Victoria County Histories: Suffolk_, ii. p. 317. [440] _Apologie for Schoolmasters._ [441] Sm. 4to, pp. 1-60, and 17-173. Printed by J. Wolfe. Licence dated 18 Dec. 1592. Preface dated 18 April 1593. [442] Born 1574; at Oxford in 1588. [443] Bellot, in his quality of "gentleman," compares his labours to those of Diogenes rolling his tub up and down a hill, in order not to be idle while the Corinthians were busy preparing to defend their city against Philip of Macedon. Eliote takes up the theme and turns it to ridicule. [444] The first part is paged from 1 to 60, and has signatures A-L in fours. In _Eliote's first booke_ the pagination begins afresh at p. 17 and continues to p. 175 at the end of the work: it has signatures _c-y_ in fours. [445] Palsgrave had accompanied his French quotations with similar indications: "Au diziesme an de mon doulant exil Avdiziemavndemoundoulauntezil." [446] He announces his intention of producing a book called _De Natura et Arte Linguae Gallicae_. [447] _Advice given by a Catholike gentleman to the Nobilitie & Commons of France_, Lond., 1589; _Newes sent unto the Lady Princesse of Orange_, 1589; _Discourses of Warre and single combat ..._ from the French of B. de Loque, 1591. [448] Foster, _Alumni Oxon._, ad nom. CHAPTER V METHODS OF TEACHING FRENCH--LATIN AND FRENCH--FRENCH AND ENGLISH DICTIONARIES--STUDY OF FRENCH LITERATURE Eliote gives some information concerning the fees charged by French teachers in the later part of the sixteenth century. He asserts that the usual charge was a shilling a week,[449] but we are left in doubt as to how many lessons this entitled the student to. He affirms, probably not seriously, that he would charge a gentleman £10 a year, and a lord from £20 to £30. We are indebted to him also for an account, very prejudiced, no doubt, of the usual method employed by French teachers generally. This consisted, according to him, in reading a page of French and then translating it. Fortunately we are enabled, by means of the French text-books that have come down to us, to draw a fuller picture of the French lessons of the time. It has been seen that as a rule these books contained four parts--rules of pronunciation, rules of grammar, reading exercises, and a vocabulary. They are generally written throughout in French and English (in parallel columns[450]), the reason of this being the importance attached to reading and to double translation, from French into English and English into French. In the English version the idiomatic phrase is sacrificed in order to give a more literal rendering of the French, and also, possibly, because these Frenchmen were incapable of writing any other. As is to be expected, translation from French into English was the more usual exercise. Translation from English into French, however, was by no means neglected, and appears to have been recommended principally by English teachers of French, and more especially by Palsgrave and Eliote. Edward VI.'s French exercises, it will be remembered, are translations from English into French, or free composition in French. In addition to reading and translating, much importance was attached to pronunciation. It was generally considered best to learn the sounds of the language by repetition after a teacher with a good accent; but rules were thought necessary to confirm the knowledge thus acquired. As to rules of grammar, there was no question of learning the language by means of them. A grammar was treated as a book of reference, just as a dictionary. Thus the student usually learnt the pronunciation by reading the French aloud with his tutor, referring to the rules of pronunciation whenever necessary, and then translating and retranslating the dialogues, grammar being supplied as the need for it was felt. Although these early teachers strictly limited the place of grammar, they almost all agree in emphasizing its importance within the limits indicated. Grammar rules were reduced to a minimum. Attention was called to what were considered important general rules, but those with numerous exceptions, it is argued, were better learnt by "use" and persistent reading, "so as not to weary with long discourses which would be necessary to explain things learnt better by practice than by rule." The dialogue form in which almost all the reading material is given, and the proverbs and familiar phrases, show the importance attached to a practical and colloquial knowledge of the language. The teaching of French was of a decidedly business-like nature, and closely in touch with the concerns of life. One of the chief reasons for this, no doubt, was that it was learnt for social or other immediate requirements. The fact that French was not taught in the grammar schools undoubtedly assisted it to maintain its close connexion with practical life. It is only about a century and a half later, when French began to gain a foothold in these schools, that it was taught more and more on grammatical lines, and less and less as a living language. Latin, although most of the school statutes of the time encourage the scholars to speak it, was taught chiefly on grammatical lines.[451] The memorizing of Latin grammar was a foremost subject even in the Middle Ages.[452] [Header: LATIN AND FRENCH] In the sixteenth century the Latin grammar usually known as Lily's was the prescribed national grammar, with rules of accidence in English and of syntax in Latin.[453] Familiar dialogues in the style of those for French were also used, the chief difference between the Latin and French dialogues being that the Latin are separate and complete works in themselves, and are not, as a rule, provided with an English translation. They were memorized as the grammar was. From the dialogues, or colloquies as they were called, dealing with typical occurrences of life, the Latin scholar passed on to the reading of school authors--Cato, Cicero, Ovid, Virgil, Terence, etc.[454] Nor was vocabulary neglected, for in the schools of the Renaissance the practice of learning so many words a day, prevalent in the Middle Ages, was still in vogue. It thus appears that the books generally used in teaching Latin were not without some influence in determining the types of manuals employed for teaching French. The practice of including religious formulae, which we find in some books, was sanctioned by their place in the national Latin grammar, while it is clear that the Latin colloquia of the time had considerable influence on the French dialogues. In the early sixteenth century the dialogues of the scholar Vives,[455] who received honours at both Oxford and Cambridge during his short stay in England, were much in vogue. Like the French dialogues of the time, they kept closely in touch with the interests of the pupils and dealt with such topics as rising in the morning, going to school, returning home, and children's play and meals, and students' chatter. Similar works were the _Sententiae pueriles_,[456] a book for beginners, first published at Leipzig in 1544, and containing a collection of familiar phrases rather than dialogues, and the _Pueriles Confabulatiunculae_ by Evaldus Gallus. In the second half of the sixteenth century two other manuals of conversation were added to those already in use in England: the _Colloquia_ of Mathurin Cordier, first published in Latin in 1564, and Castellion's _Sacred Dialogues_ based on the Scriptures, printed in Latin at Basle, in 1555.[457] With the text-books, however, all close resemblance between the teaching of Latin in grammar schools and the teaching of French ends. As we have seen, reading, pronunciation, and conversation were the main concerns of the French student; translation held a large place and grammar rules a subsidiary one. The grammar-school boy, on the contrary, would first gain an elementary knowledge from rules written in English, and memorize the vocabulary and phrases; learn his Latin grammar, and then parse and construe[458] the usual school authors.[459] The sons of the aristocracy and well-to-do classes probably learnt by a more practical method, as they were able to have private tutors, who devoted all their time to providing the necessary atmosphere. As late as 1607, when Latin was less used colloquially, the writer Cleland, a great advocate of the teaching of French, condemns the practice of those parents who have their children brought up to speak Latin only; they neglect their mother tongue and the language of elegance, French, and soon forget their Latin when once removed from their tutor's care.[460] That such cases were the exception rather than the rule, even in the early sixteenth century, may be gathered from the two great educational writers of the time, Sir Thomas Elyot and Roger Ascham. Both the _Governour_ (1531) and the _Scholemaster_ are protests against the common school usage of placing grammar in the first place, and a summons to base the study of the language on the reading of authors. They believed with Quintilian that "Longum et difficile iter est per praecepta, breve et efficax per exempla." Colet in his _Aeditio_ had laid down the same principle, to the effect that the "reading of good books, dyligent information of taught masters, studious advertence and taking heed of learners, hearing eloquent men speak, and finally busy imitation with the tongue and pen, more availeth shortly to get the true eloquent speech than all the tradition of rule and precepts of masters"; [Header: GRAMMAR AND TRANSLATION] and he adds, "men spoke not Latin because such rules were made, but contrariwise because men spoke such Latin, upon that followed the rules and so were made."[461] Yet it seems that the force of tradition prevailed, and that these precepts were only put into practice in exceptional cases. It is striking to notice how close was the resemblance between the actual methods used by French teachers and those advocated by would-be reformers of the teaching of Latin. Colet's words express almost exactly the sentiments and practice of Holyband, De la Mothe, and other French teachers; and the same is true of Elyot and Ascham. "Nothing can be more convenient," writes Elyot in referring to students of Latin, "than by little and little to train and exercise them in the speaking of Latin, informing them to know first the names in Latin of all the things that come in sight, and to name all the parts of their bodies, and giving them somewhat that they covert or desire in most gentle manner to teach them to ask it again in Latin." He even goes so far as to say that the pupil may "as sone speake good latin" on this method "as he may do pure frenche,"[462] thereby showing that he probably derived suggestions from the prevalent methods of teaching French. Elyot, however, realized that the use of Latin as a familiar tongue was not as practicable in schools as in many noble families, where it might well happen that the pupil would have "none other persons to serve him or keep hym company but suche as can speake Latine elegantly." How successful the sole use of Latin could be in such circumstances is exemplified in the well-known case of Montaigne. Ascham, like Elyot, recognized the exceptional conditions required for such a method. He believed the "dailie use of speaking" would be the best way of learning the language if the child could only hear it spoken perfectly, but failing this he considered the practice dangerous.[463] It is probable, however, that in the best French schools, and certainly in that of Holyband, this ideal was realized in the case of French. As regards the respective importance of reading and grammar, the French teachers of the time appear to have put into practice the ideas of the reformers. All agree that grammar rules should be as few as possible, and be taught in connexion with reading. The general method of French teachers was to refer to the rule as the need for it arose in reading. Ascham also pleads for the study of grammar, "so hardlie learned by the scholar in all common scholes," along with authors; and the educational reformer Mulcaster, in his _Elementarie_ of 1582, writes that grammar is best learnt by being applied to the matter, and that the child's mind should not be clogged with rules. Elyot differs slightly from them in detail but not in principle. He allows grammar to precede the study of authors, provided it is reduced to the smallest possible amount. "Grammar," he says, "being but an introduction to the study of authors," care should be taken "not to detain the child too longe in that tedious labour, for a gentyll wytte is there with some fatigate," and "hit in a maner mortifieth his corage" before he "cometh to the most swete and pleasant readinge of olde authors."[464] Both these views as regards grammar--that of Ascham and Mulcaster, and that of Elyot--were prevalent among French teachers of the time. There are only small differences in detail; the general principles are identical. In the matter of translation, "most common and most commendable of all other exercises of youth,"[465] there is a striking resemblance between the method of double translation common among French teachers, and the same method set out by Ascham, who marks the transition from oral to written methods of teaching Latin.[466] In the case of De la Mothe, the resemblance is so clear and close that we are led to believe he was acquainted with the work of Elizabeth's tutor,[467] published in 1570, over twenty years before the _French Alphabet_. Ascham's system consisted of the double translation of a model book, and it is interesting to compare it with the method of De la Mothe. The pupil has first to parse and translate the Latin into English; "after this the child must take a paper booke, and sitting in some place where no man shall prompe him, by him self, let him translate into Englisshe his former lesson. [Header: BOOKS IN FRENCH AND ENGLISH] Then showing it to his master, let the master take from him his Latin booke, and pausing an houre, at the least, than let the childe translate his owne Englishe into latin againe, in an other paper booke." And when this is done, the master should compare it with the original Latin, "and laie them both togither."[468] There was thus much in common between the teaching of Latin and the teaching of French. The dialogues, which form so important a feature in the French text-books of the time, were certainly indebted to the Latin Colloquia, although they also continue the tradition of the mediaeval French conversation-books. The Latin Dialogues of Vives had much influence on the French, and Holyband based one of his books, the _Campo di Fior_, on the _Exercitatio_ translated in French, Italian, and English. Eliote also acknowledged his debt to the Spanish scholar. In other cases the debt was almost inevitable and probably unconscious; for the French teachers, who often taught Latin as well, would use such books daily, and had moreover probably acquired their own knowledge of Latin from them. Holyband, we have seen, read the _Sententiae pueriles_ with his pupils. The importance attached to reading and double translation by teachers of French led to the appearance of a great number of books in French and English, on the lines of Bellot's _Jardin de Vertu_. For instance, part of the _Semaines_ of Du Bartas, the most popular French poet in England in the sixteenth century, was published in this form in 1596, and again in 1625, on the occasion of the marriage of Charles I. This translation is due to William L'Isle of Wilbraham,[469] the pioneer in the study of Anglo-Saxon, who dedicated it in the first place to Lord Howard of Effingham, Earl of Nottingham, Lord Admiral, and subsequently to Charles I. It is entitled _Part of Du Bartas, English and French, and in his own kinde of verse, so near the French Englished, as may teach Englishmen French, or a Frenchman English. Sequitur Victoria Junctos_,[470] and consists of the first two days of the _Second Week_, with the French and English arranged on opposite pages, followed by an English translation of the commentary of Simon Goulart de Senlis. Guy du Faur, Sieur de Pibrac, was another French writer widely read in England, and his _Quatrains_ were frequently commended by French teachers to their scholars. They were translated into English verse by Sylvester, the translator of Du Bartas, and published with the French original in 1605. Sylvester dedicated the quatrains to Prince Henry, and the copy in the British Museum contains an epigram in English in the handwriting of his brother, afterwards Charles I., and a manuscript dedication to the younger prince in that of the translator.[471] The quatrains appeared again with the subsequent editions of Sylvester's works. About this time Prince Henry made Sylvester a Groom of his Chamber, and gave him a small pension of £20 a year.[472] The story goes that the prince valued him so highly that he made him his first "poet pensioner," and it seems that Sylvester took advantage of his position to encourage his royal patron's French studies. Many other works of the kind appeared in French and in English.[473] The educational writer Charles Hoole tells us that masters frequently taught languages by using interlinearies, "not to speak of their construing the French and Spanish Bible by the help of an English one."[474] Lord Herbert of Cherbury, philosopher and gallant, ambassador in France in the time of James I., learnt French, Italian, and Spanish, on this translation method, whilst living in the University or at home. He mastered them, he assures us, without the help of a tutor, solely by means of Latin or English books translated into those languages, and of dictionaries.[475] [Header: FRENCH AND ENGLISH DICTIONARIES] De la Mothe advised his advanced pupils to read difficult French books with the help of a dictionary, and there was some supply of works of this kind at the disposal of Lord Herbert and other students of the language. It is true that the widespread use of books in both languages diminished the demand for such manuals, which may not have been easy to acquire. Yet there was a considerable choice of such works. Holyband had produced two French-English dictionaries, in 1580 and 1593 respectively, in which he referred to "those which broke the ice before him." There had appeared in 1571 an anonymous _Dictionarie Frenche and English_,[476] printed by Henry Bynneman for Lucas Harrison. This work, which does not confine itself to words only, but includes phrases as well, was no doubt known to Holyband. Its author had probably drawn largely on an earlier dictionary, already mentioned, in which a place was given to French--the Latin, English, and French Dictionary of John Veron (1552). The inclusion of French in such a work is a striking testimony to the importance of French at that time. But when a second edition of Veron's dictionary was prepared by Ralph Waddington, in 1575, he "of purpose thought good to leave out the French, both because (he) saw it was not necessary for English students of Latin, as for that Maister Barret hath five years since set forth an alvearie sufficient to instruct those which are desirous to travel in th'understanding of the French Tongue." This "alvearie" appeared in 1573, two years after the French-English dictionary printed for Harrison. It was entitled "_An alvearie or Triple Dictionarie in English, Latin and French, very profitable for all such as be desirous of any of those three languages ..._" and was dedicated to Wm. Cecil, Lord Burghley, then Chancellor of Cambridge University. Baret had been teaching at Cambridge for eighteen years "pupils studious of the Latin tongue," and part of their daily task was to translate some piece of English into Latin "for the more speed and easie attayning of the same." At last, "perceiving what great trouble it was to come runnying to (him) for every word they missed,"[477] he made them collect each day a number of Latin words and phrases, together with their English equivalents. Within a year or two they had gathered together a great volume of work, to which, "for the apt similitude between the good scholers and diligent bees in gathering them wax and honey into their hive," Baret gave the title of _Alvearie_. At first he had no intention of publishing the work, but when he went to London he was finally persuaded to do so, and received help from many of his old pupils who were then at the Inns of Court, and from several of the best scholars in various English schools. How Baret first thought of adding French to his dictionary is not known. He owns that he did not trust his own skill in this matter, although he had formerly "travelled in divers countries beyond the seas both for languages and for learning"; but that he "used the help of M. Chaloner and M. Claudius." By 'M. Claudius,' Baret possibly meant Holyband, who was often called "Maistre Claude." M. Chaloner may have been the author of the French-English dictionary published by Harrison in 1571. According to the custom of the time, Baret's dictionary was preceded by a number of commendatory addresses, one of which was by the head-master of Merchant Taylors' School, Richard Mulcaster. In the dictionary itself, every English word is first explained, and then its equivalent in Latin and French given. At the end are tables of the Latin and French words "placed after the order of the alphabet, whatsoever are to be found in any other dictionarie. And so as to turn them backwards againe into Englishe when they reade any Latin or French authors and doubt of any harde worde therein." Baret had "gone to God in Heavenlie seates" before the close of 1580, when there appeared a posthumous second edition of the _Alvearie_. In this final form Greek has a place by the side of the other languages, and the title runs, _An Alvearie or quadruple Dictionarie containing four sundrie tongues, namely, English, Latine, Greeke, and Frenche, newlie enriched with varietie of wordes, phrases, proverbs, and divers lightsome observations of grammar_. But there is no table of the Greek words, as for the Latin and French. Such was the third dictionary of French words which appeared before Holyband's.[478] [Header: FRENCH IN LATIN DICTIONARIES] The place given to French in these early Latin dictionaries is worthy of notice. No doubt French first entered the schools in this indirect way. Both Veron's and Baret's works were used in schools; and Baret's dictionary is included in the list of books mentioned by Charles Hoole as being specially useful to schoolboys.[479] There are at least two other school vocabularies in which French was introduced, both due to the poet and compiler John Higgins, who is said to have been "well read in classick authors, and withall very well skilled in French."[480] The first of his lexicographical works was a new and revised edition of _Huloet's Dictionarie_,[481] which occupied him two years. It appeared in 1572,[482] a year before Baret's work. Higgins calls himself "late student in Oxforde," and dedicates the volume to Sir John Peckham. This edition by Higgins is so much altered that it is almost a new work. One of the chief changes was the addition of a French version to the Latin and English, "by whiche you may finde the Latin or French of anye Englishe woorde you will." For the French, Higgins seems to have drawn chiefly on the Latin-French dictionary of Robert Estienne, which had already been published in French, English, and Latin by Jean Veron, in 1552. Higgins also acknowledges his debt to Thierry, whose French-Latin dictionary appeared twelve years later in 1564. There was a close relationship between French-Latin and French-English dictionaries. French is first found side by side with English, in one of these French-Latin dictionaries--that of Veron; and in subsequent years the French-English dictionaries are mostly based on one or other of the French-Latin lexicons. Those due to Robert Éstienne and to Thierry were probably the sources from which the author of the French-English dictionary of 1571 drew his material; while Holyband based his _Treasurie_ (1580), and his Dictionary (1593), respectively, on the augmented editions of Thierry's work due to Nicot, which appeared in 1573 and 1584.[483] The second lexicographical work of Higgins, published in 1585, was a translation, entitled _Nomenclator or Remembrancer of Adrianus Junius, Physician, divided into two tomes_. It professed to supply the appropriate names and apt terms for all things under their convenient titles, in Latin, Greek, French, and English.[484] The English column was added by Higgins. Thus by the end of the sixteenth century there had appeared in England three French-English dictionaries, and several others in which French found a place by the side of the classical languages. And we may add to these the French-Latin dictionaries on which they were usually based, for it seems extremely likely that those students of French who knew Latin--and practically all of them would know this chief and first of school subjects--used the French-Latin lexicons as well, in their study of French, when other means were not available. Early in the seventeenth century, in 1611, Holyband's French dictionary of 1593 was succeeded by the celebrated French-English dictionary of Randle Cotgrave,[485] which occupies in the seventeenth century the place that Palsgrave's _Esclarcissement_ does in the sixteenth among the works on the French language produced in England. Although Cotgrave's work is on a much larger scale than Holyband's, and much superior to it,[486] there is a close connexion between the two. In the _Stationers' Register_ Cotgrave's is entered as a dictionary in French and English first collected by Holyband, and since augmented and altered by Cotgrave.[487] But the work which no doubt was of most help to Cotgrave was another French-Latin dictionary, Aimar de Ranconnet's _Tresor de la Langue Françoise_, revised by Nicot (1606).[488] He had, moreover, read all sorts of books, old and new, in all dialects, where he found words not heard of for hundreds of years, which he included in his book, to be used or left as the reader thought fit. J. L'Oiseau de Tourval,[489] a Parisian, and friend of Cotgrave, who wrote in French an epistle prefixed to the dictionary, thought it advisable to assure the reader that none of these words were of Cotgrave's invention, observing at the same time that it would be well to revive some of these obsolete and provincial terms. [Header: COTGRAVE'S DICTIONARY] He also adds that Cotgrave had sent to France in his eager search for words. M. Beaulieu, secretary to the British ambassador at Paris, was no doubt Cotgrave's collaborator in this quest, as Cotgrave tells us elsewhere[490] that he had received valuable help from M. Beaulieu, as well as from a certain Mr. Limery. Cotgrave dedicated his dictionary to Wm. Cecil, Lord Burghley, "his very good Lord and Maister," whose secretary he was. He declares that he would have produced a more substantial work to offer to his patron had not his eyes failed him and forced him "to spend much of their vigour on this bundle of words." He also offered a copy to the eldest son of James I., Prince Henry, and received from him a gift of £10.[491] The price of the dictionary seems to have been 11s. Cotgrave sent two copies to M. Beaulieu at Paris, and wrote requesting payment of 22s., which they cost him; for, he says, "I have not been provident enough to reserve any of them and therefore am forced to be beholden for them to a base and mechanicall generation, that suffers no respect to weigh down a private gain."[492] Cotgrave's dictionary was much superior to anything of the sort which had yet appeared. In addition to giving the meaning of each French word in English, with an indication of its gender in the case of nouns, and, in the case of adjectives, of the formation of the feminine form, Cotgrave supplied a collection of illustrative phrases, idioms, and proverbs. At the end are found "briefe directions for such as desire to learne the French tongue," giving a succinct treatment of the pronunciation of the letters, followed by a description of the various parts of speech. This really remarkable work, which is still of considerable utility to the modern student, reigned supreme throughout the greater part of the seventeenth century. A second edition was issued in 1632, when Cotgrave was still alive. The only change in this issue is the addition of a "most copious Dictionarie of the English set before the French by R. S. L." This R. S. L. was Robert Sherwood, Londoner, who taught French and English in London, and also had a French school for a time. He gave his dictionary the title of _Dictionarie Anglois et François pour l'utilité de tous ceux qui sont desireux de deux langues_,[493] and addressed it to the "favorables lecteurs françois, alemans et autres." The English reader he advises to look for fuller information as to "the gender of all French nouns, and the conjugation of all French verbs" in Cotgrave's dictionary; the small space to which he was limited did not allow him to provide such information. Like Cotgrave, Sherwood closes with rules of grammar, in the form of observations on English pronunciation and on the English verbs. Sherwood's work is the earliest of the English-French dictionaries. Both Baret and Higgins had placed English before French, and no doubt Sherwood made use of their works, as well as of English-Latin dictionaries. Baret, however, gives an indication of the greater demand there was for French-English vocabularies, by supplying a table of French words at the end of his work. Moreover, the object of Sherwood's lexicon was less to facilitate translation from English to French than to teach English to foreigners. In 1650 Cotgrave's dictionary was issued in a revised and augmented edition by James Howell, the famous letter-writer.[494] This edition is preceded by a lengthy essay on the French language, tracing its growth from the earliest times, and taken, without acknowledgement, from Pasquier's _Recherches_. Howell had already put much of the same matter in a series of letters addressed to the Earl of Clare in his _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_,[495] and repeated it in his glossary of English, French, Italian, and Spanish, the _Lexicon Tetraglotten_ (1660). He quotes several examples of old French in both prose and verse, and adds on his own account a praise of Richelieu and the Academy recently founded by the cardinal. [Header: JAMES HOWELL] He also discusses the question as to where the best French was spoken--at the Court, among scholars at the University, or lawyers at the Courts of Parliament--and is inclined to share the general opinion of the day, which made the Court the supreme arbiter in matters of language. Cotgrave, it has been seen, included all sorts of words in his dictionary. Howell thought it necessary to distinguish obsolete and provincial words, and, accordingly, with the help of "a noble and knowing French gentleman," he marked such terms with a small cross. He also initiated another change by placing the grammar before the dictionary instead of after it, as Cotgrave did: "for a dictionary which contains the whole bulk of a language to go before the grammar is to make the building precede the basis. Therefore it was held more consentaneous to reason, and congruous to order that the grammar should be put here in the first place, for Art observes the method of Nature to make us creep before we go." He likewise made a few additions to Cotgrave's rules, and appended a dialogue in French and English, "consisting of some of the extraordinary and difficult criticall phrases which are meer Gallicismes, and pure idiomes of the French tongue"; and also a passage of French prose, in the old spelling and also according to the reformed orthography introduced by the Academy. In 1660 appeared another edition of Cotgrave, still further enlarged by Howell.[496] Some years previously copies of the edition of 1650, "with blank pages sown between the leaves," had been sent by the printer "to knowing persons, true lovers of the French," who were invited to enter on the blank pages any word they came across in their reading which was not in the dictionary; by means of this plan several hundred additional words were gathered together, many being "new invented terms, which the admired Mons. Scudéry, and other late Romancers have so happily publisht in their printed volumes." After Howell's death there appeared yet another issue of his edition of Cotgrave, in 1673.[497] The printer employed the same means to increase the number of words as had been so successfully adopted in 1660. The appearance of French dictionaries naturally facilitated the reading of French literature, which in its turn had much influence on the spread of the knowledge of the language. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, it has been seen, gained his first knowledge of French by reading it with the help of a dictionary. And, in spite of the fact that French literature was widely read in translations,[498] there were many who preferred to read it in the original. The number of French books in private libraries is enough to show this. One translator of the time felt it necessary to apologize for offering an English version (1627) "of the French Knight Lisander and his lady Calista," contrary to the fashion of the time, "which is all French."[499] Further testimony is found in the many French books which were printed in England,[500] in addition to the books in both French and English. And many English writers of the time introduced French freely into their own English compositions.[501] Almost all Englishmen of education could read French, and many, no doubt, learnt it as Herbert did. [Header: STUDY OF FRENCH LITERATURE] Milton, who differed from most of his countrymen in his decided preference for Italian, taught both languages to his two pupils and nephews, Edward and John Philips, on this method of reading. For Italian they read Giovanni Villani's _History_, and for French "a great part of Pierre Davity, the famous geographer of France in his time."[502] In fashionable circles the case was the same, and French romances and collections of _nouvelles_ were much in vogue. Lady Brilliana Harley, for instance, who later distinguished herself by defending her castle in Herefordshire against the Royalists, spent much of her time reading French literature. She wrote asking her son, then at Magdalen College, Oxford (1638-9), to send her books in French, as she "had rather reade any thinge in that tounge than in Inglisch."[503] She would even while away days of sickness by translating passages of Calvin, whom the English Protestants, yielding to the general prejudice in favour of all things French, followed in preference to Luther. Not infrequently, moreover, works in other languages were read in French versions, just as such versions were frequently the medium of translation; Drummond of Hawthornden read _Orlando Furioso_ and the _Azolani_ of Bembo in French, as well as the works of the Swiss theologian and follower of Zwingli, Thomas Erastus.[504] Among the most eager advocates of the reading of French literature were naturally the French teachers of the time. One of the chief objections raised against Holyband's system of distinguishing the unpronounced letters was that the student would be at a loss when he came to read French books. Holyband, however, protested that such was not the case, and that "the cavillation of these ignorantes who measure other men's wit according to their owne" was in contradiction to his experience, which daily showed him the contrary. As to his reading, Holyband would first have the learner "reade halfe a score chapters of the New Testament, because it was both easie and profitable:[505] then let him take in hand any of the works of Monsieur de Launay, otherwise called Pierre Boaystuau, as the best and the most elegant writer of our tongue. His workes be _le Theatre du monde_, the tragicall histories, the prodigious histories. Sleidan's commentaries in frenche be excellently translated. Philippe de Commins, when he is corrected is very profitable and wise." The _Nouveau Testament_ of de Bèze, Boiasteau's _Théâtre du monde_, and Sleidan's _Commentaries_[506] were all books well known in England, and Holyband himself prepared an edition of Boiasteau.[507] An additional reason, according to him, for retaining the unsounded consonants was to facilitate the reading of the older monuments of the French language. He also advised the perusal of Marot's works, of the _Amadis_ of Herberay des Essarts, of François de Belleforest's _Histoire Universelle du monde_, of the _Vies et Morales de Plutarque_, in Amyot's version, and of the collection of stories, on the plan of the _Decameron_, which its author, Jacques Yver, had entitled _Le Printemps_ (1572),[508] by way of contrast with his own name. Evidently Holyband's choice of French literature was influenced to some extent by his religious sympathies. It is curious that he makes no mention of Ronsard, who was much read in England, and one of the favourite authors of the Queen. Bellot in his Grammar had similar if not identical ambitions. He sought to enable his pupils to read the _Amadis_ of Des Essarts, Marot, de Bèze, du Bellay's lyrics, Froissart, Ronsard, Collet[509] and Jodelle "racontans l'un l'amour et l'autre la guerre cruelle." Pibrac and Du Bartas have already been mentioned as favourite authors. It was to encourage his pupils to take delight in the "profound learning and flowing sweetness of the French poets, especially the divine works of that matchlesse du Bartas," that a French teacher of the seventeenth century, Pierre Erondell, printed at the end of his book for teaching the language, the New Testament story of the Centurion, rendered by himself into French verse. "This poor work," he quaintly writes, will encourage learners to read better ones, "because everything is better known by his contrarye and the sweet sweeter, after that the mouth hath tasted of the sharpe sower." Naturally writings of a religious character were much in favour with these teachers. [Header: AUTHORS USUALLY READ] Holyband advised the reading of de Bèze's New Testament, and several times we hear of "the French Bible" being printed in England.[510] The Liturgy in French[511] was also printed, and would be useful to English students of French attending the French Church. French teachers were not the only zealous advocates of the reading of French literature. Most of the writers on polite education of the time give similar advice, although for different reasons. "For statesmen, French authors are the best," wrote Francis Osborne in his _Advice to a son_,[512] "and most fruitful in negociations, and memoirs left by public ministers, and by their secretaries published after their deaths." Cleland names the works of the many learned historiographers of France he would have the future diplomat and aspirant to the services of the State read: "Engerrand of Munstrellet, Philip of Commines, the Lord of Haillant, who is both learned and profitable and pleasant in my conceit. The Commentaries of Bellay and the Inventorie of John Serres, newlie printed and worthie to be read, both for the good and compendious compiling of the storie and also for the French eloquence wherin he floweth. For militarie affairs, yee maie read the Lord of Noue, who is somwhat difficil for some men, and also the Commentaries of the L. Monluc, which are good both for a young souldier, and an old captaine."[513] Bodin was another of the authors specially recommended. Sir Philip Sidney counsels his brother Robert to read him with particular attention, and James Howell[514] includes him in a list of "good French writers," which varies slightly from that of Cleland: "For the general history of France, Serres is one of the best, and for the modern times, d'Aubigni, Pierre Mathieu, and du Pleix: for the politicall and martiall government du Haillan, De la Noue, Bodin, and the Cabinet: Touching Commines, who was contemporary with Machiavel, 'twas a witty speech of the last Queen mother of France that he made more Heretiques in policy than Luther ever did in religion. Therefore he requires a reader of riper years." FOOTNOTES: [449] This was the fee charged by Holyband in his French school. [450] The interlinear arrangement used in the Middle Ages had been abandoned in all but a few exceptional cases. These teachers no doubt agreed with the pedagogue John Brinsley, the chief exponent of the method of translation, that interlinears were confusing because the eye catches the two languages simultaneously. [451] F. Watson, _English Grammar Schools_, Cambridge, 1908, pp. 305 _sqq._ J. E. Sandys, "Education in Shakespeare's England," in _Shakespeare's England_, i. pp. 231 _sqq._ [452] Cp. Rashdall, _Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages_, ii. p. 603. [453] Article on Lily in _Dict. Nat. Biog._, and Watson, _Grammar Schools_, pp. 243 _sqq._ [454] Cp. W. Lilly's _History of His Life_, "Autobiographies," I., London, 1828, pp. 12, 13; _The Autobiography of Adam Martindale_, Chetham Soc., 1845, pp. 14, 15, and similar diaries and memoirs. [455] Published at Brabant, 1538; cp. F. Watson, _Tudor Schoolboy Life_, 1908. [456] By Leonard Culman. [457] Less widely used were the _Dialogues_ of John Posselius, a German philosopher. They treat of the school and the study of the classical tongues. They were printed in London in Latin and English in 1625, as _Dialogues conteyning all the most familiar and usefull words of the Latin Tongue_. [458] Which took the form of translating: "For all your constructions in Grammar Scholes be nothing els but translations," Ascham, _The Scholemaster_ (1570), ed. Arber, 1869, p. 92. [459] C. Hoole, _An advertisement touching ... school books_, 1659. [460] _Institution of a young nobleman_, 1607, p. 78. [461] Quoted by F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, p. 246. [462] _The Boke named the Governour_, ed. Crofts, 1883, i. p. 33. [463] _The Scholemaster_ (1570), ed. Arber, London, 1869, p. 28. [464] Elyot, _op. cit._ i. p. 54. [465] Ascham, _op. cit._ p. 92. [466] F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, p. 264. "Much writing breedeth ready speaking," was one of his precepts. [467] Ascham himself got his ideas mainly from Cicero (_De Oratore_). [468] _The Scholemaster, ed. cit._ p. 26. Ascham also suggests the use of a third paper book, in which a collection of the different forms of speech and phrases should be made from the material read. [469] 1574?-1637, the second of the five sons of Edmund Lisle of Tanbridge in Surrey, _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [470] This is the title of the 1625 edition, printed by John Hoviland. That of 1596 was printed by L. Bollifant for R. Wilkins, and entitled _Babilon a part of Du Bartas his second Weeke_ (Pyne, _List of Books_, 1874-8, i. p. 132); cp. _Stationers' Register_, iii. 98 (_A Booke called the Colonyes of Bartas with the commentarye of S. G. S. englished and enlarged by Wm. L'Isle_, 1597). [471] This is a copy bound separately from the rest of the 1605 edition of Sylvester's _Divine Weekes_, with which it was issued. [472] S. Lee, in _Dict. Nat. Biog._ [473] A long list may be compiled from the _Registers of the Stationers' Company_. J. Wolfe and R. Field, both printers of French grammars, received many licences to print books in French and English. See also Upham, _French Influence in English Literature_, New York, 1908 (Appendix I., pp. 471-505). Many of these works are on religious topics; others belong to no particular category, in the style of Bellot's _Jardin de Vertu_; many on topical subjects, such as news-letters and pamphlets on the French wars, were printed in French more to appeal to a larger public than to give instruction in the language. [474] _An advertisement touching ... school books_, 1659. [475] _Autobiography_, ed. S. Lee, 2nd ed., 1906, p. 23. [476] Hazlitt, _Bibliog. Collections_, iv. 111. In 1584 Newbury and Denham received licence to print "the Dictionary in French and English, in 4to, and all other dictionaries French and English in quarto," _Stationers' Register_, ii. 438. [477] "Knowing then of no other dictionary to help us, but Sir Thomas Eliot's _Librarie_, which was come out a little before." [478] On Holyband's debts to these works see Miss E. Farrer's _La Vie et les oeuvres de Claude de Sainliens_, pp. 70 _sqq._ [479] F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, p. 458. [480] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [481] _Abcedarium Anglico-Latinum_, London, 1552. [482] Folio, printed by Thomas Marshe. [483] Farrer, _op. cit._ p. 72. [484] First appeared at Leyden in 1567. Higgins' edition was printed for Ralph Newberie and Henrie Denham, 8vo. [485] _A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues._ London, printed by A. Islip, 1611, folio. [486] Cp. _Revue des Deux Mondes_, 1901, v. p. 243. [487] _Stationers' Register_, iii. 432. [488] Farrer, _op. cit._ p. 86. [489] Himself a good linguist, who translated some of James I.'s compositions into French, and was for many years in the service of the English Foreign Office; cp. S. Lee, _Beginnings of French Translations from the English_. Transactions of the Bibliog. Soc. vii., 1908. [490] In an autograph letter; cp. _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [491] _Rolls of expenses of Prince Henry_, "Revels at Court," ed. P. Cunningham, New Shakespeare Soc., 1842 (Preface). [492] Harl. MSS. 7002, quoted _Dict. Nat. Biog._ At the end of one of the Brit. Mus. copies is the MS. inscription: "Mr. James Winwood, his book and sent him out of England by John More the 18th May [1611]." Evidently Cotgrave's work made its way rapidly into France. [493] Printed by Adam Islip, 4to. [494] _A French English Dictionary, compil'd by Mr. Randle Cotgrave, with another in English and French. Whereunto are newly added the Animadversions and Supplements etc. of James Howell, Esquire._ London, printed by W. H. for Rd. Whitaker ... 4to. Sherwood's dictionary was printed by Susan Islip. [495] Ninth ed., 1726, pp. 470 _sqq._ [496] _A French and English Dictionary composed by Mr. Randle Cotgrave, with another in English and French. Whereunto are added sundry animadversions with supplements of many hundreds of words never before printed; with accurate castigations throughout the whole work, and distinctions of the obsolete words from those that are now in use. Together with a dialogue consisting of all gallicisms, with additions of the most useful and significant proverbs, with other refinements according to cardinall Richelieu's late Academy. For the furtherance of the young learners, and the advantage of all others that endeavour to arrive to the most exact knowledge of the French this work is exposed to publick...._ Printed by Wm. Hunt in Pye Corner. [497] Title same as in 1660. "Printed for Anthony Dolle, and are to be sold by Th. Williams at the Golden Ball in Hosier Lane." [498] Many important literary productions in different languages came into England through the medium of a French version--for instance, Plutarch, _Amadis_, the _Politics_ of Aristotle. Cp. Upham, _French Influence in English Literature_, p. 13. The influence of Senecan tragedy reached England through the intermediary of the "French Seneca," Robert Garnier (Schelling, _Elizabethan Drama_, ii. pp. 5 _sqq._ and p. 512). In 1612 licence was granted N. Bulter to print an English translation from French of so popular a work as Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ (_Stationers' Register_, iii. 489). [499] The _Histoire tragi-comique de nostre temps sous les noms de Lysandre et de Caliste_ (1615) was the work of d'Audigier. [500] Thus the _Préau des Fleurs meslées, contenant plusieurs et differentz discours_ of François Voilleret, sieur de Florizel, was printed in London in 1600 (?), and dedicated to the Prince of Wales. In 1620 it was licensed to be printed in French and English, provided the English translation be approved. In 1619 a French translation of Bacon's _Essays_ was published at London, and in 1623 Field received a licence to print a French translation of Camden's _Annals_ (originally in Latin) by J. Bellequent, avocat au Parlement de Paris (_Stationers' Register_, iv. 106). [501] As did Shakespeare (cp. Schmidt, _Shakespeare Lexicon_, Berlin, 1902, vol. ii.) and several of the lesser poets. French refrains were also sometimes used, as in Greene's _Never too Late_ (Infida's song): "Wilt thou let thy Venus di, N'oseres vous mon bel amy? Adon were unkinde say I, Je vous en prie, pitie me: N'oseres vous mon bel, mon bel, N'oseres vous, mon bel amy?" See S. Lee, _French Renaissance in England_, Oxford, 1910, p. 243. Sylvester even ventured to write poems in French. [502] _Lives of Ed. and John Philips, nephews of Milton_ (1694), reprinted by William Godwin, 1815, pp. 362-3. [503] _Letters_, Camden Soc., 1854, p. 13, and _passim_. [504] Upham, _op. cit._ p. 8. [505] In 1551 the New Testament and a Book of Prayers in French were printed by Thomas Gaultier. _Handlist of Books_, Bibliographical Society, 1913. [506] The German historian's commentary, _De Statu religionis et reipublicae Carolo Quinto Caesare_, appeared in Latin in 1555, and in French in 1557. [507] _Le théâtre du monde . . . revue et corrigé par C. de Sainliens_, 1595. Printed by George Bishop and dedicated to "the Scotch Ambassador, Jacques de Betoun, Archevesque de Glasco." [508] Which was very popular. It reached twelve editions before the end of the century. [509] No doubt the poet Claude Collet. [510] Cp. _Stationers' Register_, iii. 468. Another work of a religious nature was the _Catechisme ou instruction familiere sur les principaus points de la Religion Chrestienne_ (par M. Dielincourt), _Stationers' Register_, iii. 410. [511] _Stationers' Register_, ii. 451, 452. [512] 1656, pp. 12-13. [513] _Institution of a young nobleman_, p. 152. [514] _Directions for forreine travel_ (1642), ed. Arber, 1869, p. 21. CHAPTER VI FRENCH AT THE UNIVERSITIES The universities set the grammar schools the example by neglecting the study of French and other subjects necessary to a polite education. Even the limited encouragement given to the modern language at the universities during the Middle Ages no longer existed in the sixteenth century. At this date Latin reigned supreme at Oxford and Cambridge, and its use was rigorously enforced. The students were required "to speak in Latin at public places" or otherwise "incur the penalty contained in the statute regarding this point."[515] It is true that these regulations were not always obeyed; Fynes Moryson says that scholars in the universities shun occasions of speaking Latin. But it was none the less the chief language cultivated at the universities,[516] where no modern languages received official recognition. The mediaeval custom of using French on various academic occasions had not, however, disappeared without leaving a few traces. Some of the French forms of procedure favoured in the Middle Ages, probably owing to the influence of the University of Paris, were still in use at Cambridge in the seventeenth century. The books of two Cambridge beadels, Beadel Stokys (_c._ 1570) and Beadel Buck (1665),[517] show that on several occasions these officials were instructed to use French during public ceremonies. Thus, at the solemn exercise of determination, one of the beadels gave thanks for the money he and his fellows received, in the following terms: [Header: FRENCH AND ITALIAN READ] "Noter Determiners je vous remercie de le Argent que vous avez donner a moy et a meis companiouns, pourquoy je prie a Dieu que il vous veuille donner tres bonne vie et en la Fin la Joye de Paradise." In similar "Stratford-atte-Bowe" French they summoned the lecturers in the 'schools' to be present on commencement day: "Nostre Seigneur Doctor, une parolle sil vous Plaist, nostres Peres de nostres Seigneurs Commencens vous prient que vous estes demayn a son commencement en l'église de nostre Dame." And throughout the ceremonies[518] in Arts and Theology similar French formulae, often interspersed with Latin, were frequently used, though they had probably passed out of use by the beginning of the eighteenth century. But even at that time the summons to dinner at New College still retained a trace of the old custom; two choristers walked from the chapel door to the garden gate crying, "Tempus est vocando, mangez tous seigneurs." Yet modern languages were not entirely neglected by all university students. Gabriel Harvey, in an interesting letter to a certain Mr. Wood, says that the students of Cambridge have "deserted Thomas Aquinas and the whole rabblement of schoolmen for modern French and Italian works such as Commines and Machiavell, Paradines in Frenche, Plutarche in Frenche, and I know not how many outlandish braveryes of the same stamp." "You can not stepp into a schollars studye," he adds, "but (ten to on) you shall litely finde open either Bodin _de Republica_ or Le Royes exposition uppon Aristotles Politiques, or some other like Frenche or Italian Politique Discourses."[519] Thus we may safely conclude that French and to a less extent Italian books were widely read at the universities. No doubt, those who learnt Italian did so with the help of a dictionary or an English translation, like Lord Herbert of Cherbury. But there were additional opportunities for learning the more popular language. French tutors and French grammars were not unknown at both Oxford and Cambridge. But it was at Oxford that they were by far the more numerous. The tutors taught French privately to those of the students who were willing to learn. And Holyband in dedicating his _French Schoolemaister_ (1573) to the young Robert Sackville, then a student at Oxford, throws light on the attitude taken towards that language: "not that you shuld leave off your weightier and worthier studies in the Universitie, but when your mind is amazed and dazled with long readinge, you may refresh and disport you in learninge this [French] tongue." Protestant refugees formed an important section of the little band of private French tutors at Oxford. Many Huguenots, frequently scholars of distinction, settled at the English centres of learning. Some were promoted to positions in the University,[520] on which they had a very beneficial influence, just as others received preferment in the English Church. The French tutors were among the humbler and more numerous exiles who "taught privately," as the seventeenth-century historian of the University, Anthony à Wood, tells us. Apart from those who actually taught French, the presence of considerable numbers of Frenchmen[521] cannot have been without some indirect influence on the study of French at Cambridge, as well as at Oxford. In addition, several French tutors accompanied their pupils to the University, and spent some time with them there. Such, no doubt, was the case of Peter Du Ploich who, for some unknown reason, was residing in Barnard College (now St. John's), Oxford, early in the second half of the sixteenth century. Another well-known French tutor, G. De la Mothe, accompanied his pupil Richard Wenman to Oxford, some time between 1587 and 1592. About ten years before, we come across a famous Protestant, Jean Hotman, sieur de Villiers St. Paul, resident at Oxford with his pupils, the sons of Lord Poulet, English ambassador at Paris; while attending to the education of his charges he completed his own, and received the degree of Doctor. Subsequently he became secretary to Leicester, and was thus brought into contact with the English Court.[522] The younger Pierre Du Moulin likewise remained with his pupil Richard Boyle when at Oxford.[523] [Header: FRENCH GRAMMARS PRINTED AT OXFORD] Among tutors who spent a short time at Oxford, and then joined the larger and more successful group of language teachers in London, was John Florio,[524] well known as a writer of books for teaching Italian, and himself of Italian parentage, though born in London. In about 1576 he became tutor for French and Italian to Emmanuel, son of Richard Barnes, Bishop of Durham, and to several other Oxford students. He was, we are told, a "very useful man in his profession." Shortly after, he removed to London, where he enjoyed favour at Court. Of more importance, however, is the group of private tutors who settled at Oxford, found a clientèle among the University students, and frequently wrote and published French grammars for the use of their pupils. There was evidently some demand for instruction in French at Oxford early in the sixteenth century. The bookseller John Donne enters a book called _Frans and Englis_ twice in the register of books he sold in 1520;[525] this may have been either Caxton's Book in French and English, or the similar collection of dialogues printed by Pynson and Wynkyn de Worde in turn. The first book for teaching French printed at Oxford was due to a Frenchman called Pierre Morlet, a native of Auteuil, who taught French at Oxford in the last decade of the sixteenth century. His _Janitrix sive institutio ad perfectam linguae gallicae cognitionem acquirendum_ was issued from the press of Joseph Barnes in 1596.[526] The dedication, dated from Broadgates Hall the 5th of March of the same year, is addressed to Morlet's former pupil, Sir Robert Beal. This rare little treatise contains a few observations on the pronunciation of the letters, followed by a concise treatment of each part of speech in turn. It is preceded by a number of commendatory verses in Latin and Greek, tributes from Morlet's pupils, students of the various colleges. Morlet had previously prepared a revised edition of Jean Garnier's French grammar, which was published at Jena in 1593,[527] no doubt before his coming to England. As might be expected, most of the early Oxford French grammars, written for the use of Oxonians, differ from those published at London in that they are composed in Latin. They differ further in containing no practical exercises and restricting their contents to rules of grammar. All the French grammars published at Oxford were not due to Frenchmen. In 1584 a Spanish refugee, Antonio de Corro, resident at Christ Church, after acting as minister of the Spanish Church in London, had anticipated Morlet by adding a few rules on French pronunciation and accidence to his Spanish Grammar,[528] written in his own language. This was subsequently translated into English in 1590 by J. Thorius, also of Christ Church, and printed in London as _The Spanish Grammer with certaine Rules teaching both the Spanish and French tongues_. Several grammars were likewise produced by Englishmen resident at Oxford, and teaching the French language. Among others was John Sanford, or Sandford, chaplain of Magdalen College, and the author of the French grammar which succeeded Morlet's. Sanford wrote in Latin, and entitled his work _Le Guichet François, sive Janicula et Brevis Introductio ad Linguam Gallicam_. It was published by Joseph Barnes in 1604,[529] and dedicated to Dr. Bond, president of Magdalen. Sanford compiled his observations on the pronunciation and parts of speech from the various French grammars published in both France and England; he drew largely on Morlet, as well as Bellot and Holyband; and made equally free with de Bèze, Pillot, and Ramus. He varied his duties as chaplain by giving lessons in French. In 1605 he was teaching French to that "hopefull young gentleman Mr. William Grey, son to the Rt. Honourable Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton," and found "good contentement" in his "happy progresse therein." Called away temporarily by other duties, Sanford made an English translation of the Latin work, which he addressed to his young charge "as a pledge of my duteous love towards your good deserts, and as my substitute to supplie my absence, being willing also for your sake to make a publicke use therof." The _Janicula_ appeared in its new form, much abridged as well as translated, in 1605, under the title of _A Briefe Extract of the former Latin Grammar_.[530] It is significant that although this English translation was printed by Barnes at Oxford, it was mainly intended for a London public, and was "to be sold in Paules Church Yard at the signe of the Crowne by Simon Waterson." [Header: SALTONSTALL AND LEIGHTON] Sanford retained his position at Magdalen for some years after the appearance of his grammars. In about 1610 he was travelling abroad as chaplain to Sir John Digby, whose acquaintance he had made when Sir John was a student at Balliol.[531] Other well-known English teachers of French at Oxford were Wye Saltonstall and Henry Leighton. Wye Saltonstall came of a noble family in Essex. He was educated at Queen's College, Oxford, where "his descent and birth being improved by learning, flatter'd him with a kinder fortune than afterwards he enjoyed his life being all _Tristia_." He is said to have then gone to Gray's Inn, Holborn, without taking a degree at Oxford, and afterwards to have become a perfect master of French, which he had acquired during his travels. In 1625 he returned to Oxford for purposes of study and converse with learned men. There he taught Latin and French, and was still living in good repute in 1640 and after.[532] Henry Leighton, on the other hand, had not so good a reputation at the University. He is said to have been a man of debauched character, and to have obtained the degree of M.A. in anything but a straightforward manner; when Charles I. created more than seventy persons M.A. on the 1st of November 1642, Leighton, who then bore a commission in the king's army, contrived to have the degree conferred on himself by presenting himself at dusk, when the light was very low, though his name was not on the list. When the king's cause declined, Leighton, who had received the greater part of his education in France, and was an accomplished French scholar, settled at Oxford as a teacher of French, and had a room in St. John's College. Apparently he continued to teach French until 1669, the year of his death.[533] He was the author of a French grammar written in Latin, called _Linguae Gallicae addiscendae regulae_, printed in 1659,[534] and again in 1662. Beginning with rules for the pronunciation of each letter, the author passes to observations on the articles, nouns, pronouns, and verbs; he then returns to the pronunciation, gives fuller rules for the more difficult sounds, and closes with a list of irregular verbs.[535] Leighton says he published his work at the request of his friends. He dedicated it (in French) to Henry O'Brien, baron of Ibrecken, only son of the Earl of Thomond, expressing, in words very like those used by Holyband on a similar occasion, the hope that this "divertissement," as he calls the grammar, may help to while away time not occupied by more serious and important studies. Thus we see that the general attitude towards the study of French was still, in the middle of the seventeenth century, very much what it had been in the preceding century. In the meantime other grammars had appeared from the pens of French sojourners at Oxford. One, Robert Farrear, a teacher of French, wrote a grammar in English for the use of his pupils, _The Brief Direction to the French Tongue_, printed at Oxford in 1618. Nothing further is known of its author. Anthony à Wood[536] informs us that in the title of the book Farrear inscribed himself M.A., but "whether he took that degree or was incorporated therein in Oxford" he could not discover. The works on French which appeared at Oxford were not all formal grammars of the type described. Pierre Bense, a native of Paris, who taught Italian and Spanish as well as French, was the author of the _Analogo-Diaphora seu Concordantia Discrepans et Discrepantia Concordans trium linguarum Gallicae, Italicae et Hispanicae_, commended by Edward Leigh in his _Foelix Consortium or a fit Conjuncture of Religion and Learning_ (1663). This comparison of the resemblances and differences in the grammar of the three languages is dedicated to the University of Oxford, and was printed at the author's own expense in 1637.[537] As to Bense himself we are told that he was partly bred "in good letters" at Paris, and then, coming to England, "he went by letters commendatory to Oxon where being kindly received and entertained, became a sojourner there, was entred into the public library, and taught for several years the French, Italian and Spanish tongues." For the rest we must be content to add with Wood: "What other things he hath written I know not, nor any thing else of the author."[538] [Header: GABRIEL DU GRÈS] As yet no French grammars had appeared at Cambridge, and French teachers do not seem to have made their presence felt there.[539] In 1631, however, one of the best known of this group of university French tutors arrived at Cambridge--Gabriel Du Grès, a native of Saumur, and a member of a good family from Angers. He arrived in England as a refugee on account of his Protestant faith, received a warm welcome at Cambridge, and taught French to several of the students in various colleges.[540] In the fifth year of his residence, the liberality of his pupils enabled him to publish his _Breve et Accuratum Grammaticae Gallicae compendium in quo superflua rescinduntur et necessaria non omittuntur_ (1636), a work on the same lines and of about the same dimensions as that of Morlet.[541] It is preceded by Latin verses addressed to the author by members of different colleges, and is dedicated to the students of the University, especially those engaged in the study of French. This grammar of Du Grès appears to be the only work of its kind printed at Cambridge before the eighteenth century.[542] Shortly after its publication Du Grès joined the group of French tutors at Oxford,[543] and this removal points to the more ready openings offered there to those of his profession. When he published his _Dialogi Gallico-Anglico-Latini_[544] at Oxford in 1639, he was teaching French in that "most illustrious and famous university." These dialogues are dedicated to Charles, Prince of Wales. Twenty-one in number, they deal with the usual familiar topics, greetings and the ordinary civilities, visiting and table talk, the house and its contents, man and the parts of his body, wayfaring, a journey to France, and so forth, many being of much interest on account of the light they throw on the customs of the time. Considerable space is devoted to instructions for writing letters. A second edition appeared in 1652, enlarged with "necessary rules for the pronunciation of the French tongue, very profitable unto them that are desirous of it," giving a pseudo-English equivalent of the sound of each French letter, and followed by a few general rules for reading French and a table of the auxiliary and regular verbs. This little book, which has more in common with the productions of the London teachers than with the Oxford manuals, enjoyed a greater popularity than those of Du Grès's rivals. In 1660 a third edition appeared, without the additions found in the second. He was also the author of an interesting little work in English on the Duke of Richelieu,[545] printed in London in 1643. Probably Du Grès had removed to London at that date; in the second edition of his grammar, printed, like the first, by Leonard Lichfield at Oxford, he describes himself as "late teacher of the same in Oxford." In his dialogues Du Grès gives some account of his ideas on the teaching of French:[546] Commençons à l'abécé. Escusez moy. Entendez moy, oyez moy, prononcer les lettres. Remarquez bien comment je prononce les voyelles, et principalement _u_, car il est bien malaisé a prononcer à vous autres mm. les Anglois, comme aussi _e_ entre les consonnes. Prononcez apres moy. Voilà qui va bien. Prononce-je bien? Fort bien. Essayez encore une fois. Ce mechant _u_ me donne bien de la peine. Il ne sauroit tant vous en donner que votre _th_ ou _ch_ nous en donne. Il est malaisé d'avoir la proprieté de votre langue. L'exercice et la lecture des bons autheurs vous apprendront avec le temps, etc. He agreed with most of the French teachers of the day in attaching much importance to conversational practice and reading. He also recommended a certain amount of memorising and the study of grammar; general rules and rules of syntax he considered indispensable; but for pronunciation he thought practice of more avail than rules. It is possible, he admits, to learn French by rote, without any grammar rules. But it is not the best way in his opinion. Without grammar rules the student cannot distinguish good French from bad, nor can he translate, write letters, or read; and reading, thought Du Grès, was an essential condition if the cultivation of French in England was to be maintained. [Header: FRENCH AT CAMBRIDGE] Those who learn by ear are at a loss as soon as they no longer hear French spoken daily. As for those who promise to teach French in a short time, they are nothing but mountebanks. Du Grès held that a man of moderate intellect could, with hard work, learn to understand an ordinary French author in three or four months. He had had, he declares, some pupils at Cambridge who learnt to read and speak fairly well in four months and others who learnt practically nothing in a whole year. At the end of the seventeenth century the status of French at the universities had undergone no marked change. At the time of the Restoration, a certain Philemon Fabri petitioned Williamson for an appointment as Professor of French eloquence at Oxford, "he having held a similar situation at Strasburg"; he supported his request by an address to the king in French verses, entitled _Le Pater Noster des Anglais au Roi_. Apparently Fabri did not receive the desired position.[547] At Cambridge we find still less encouragement given to the study of French than at Oxford. During the Commonwealth, Guy Le Moyne, formerly French tutor to Charles I., lived at Cambridge, and no doubt continued to teach French there, as he had done in London and at Court.[548] At the Restoration he petitioned Charles II. to let him have the Fellowship at Pembroke Hall reserved for Frenchmen.[549] Le Moyne was then seventy-two years old, and wished, he said, to end his days at Cambridge.[550] At Cambridge, as at Oxford, there were also French tutors in charge of particular pupils. Many of these were French Protestants. Thus the famous Pierre Du Moulin, arriving in England as a destitute refugee in 1588, was received into the service of the Countess of Rutland, who sent him to Cambridge as tutor to her son. There he remained until 1592, continuing his own studies as well as attending to those of his young charge. He thoroughly disliked his position, and seized the first opportunity of leaving it.[551] We also hear of Herbert Palmer, President of Queen's College (1644-47), who had learnt French almost as soon as he could speak, and could preach in French as well as in English.[552] He won considerable distinction as a college tutor, but whether he placed his knowledge of French at the service of students, as Sanford and Leighton did at Oxford, is not specified. Yet, even at Oxford, the efforts of this band of French teachers were not on a large enough scale to have any very noticeable effect. Some gentlemen who, like Sanford's pupil, William Grey, had gone to the University to make themselves "fit for honourable imployments hereafter," took advantage of such opportunities as there were of studying French. Thus Henry Smith, while acting as tutor to Mr. Clifford, learnt French himself, and wrote to Williamson in that language.[553] And no doubt the French tutors found enough pupils among those who were drawn more towards the fashionable than the scholastic world. But the inability of the young Oxford student to speak French when in polite London circles was a subject of comment in the seventeenth century as the language became more and more widely cultivated. To speak French was even considered incompatible with a university education, to judge from this passage in one of Farquhar's comedies:[554] _Sir H. Wildair._ Canst thou danse, child? _Bantu._ Oui, monsieur. _Lady Lurewell._ Heyday! French too! Why, sure, sir, you could never be bred at Oxford! To the same intent Pepys relates[555] how an Oxford scholar, "in a Doctor of Lawe's gowne," whom he met at dinner at the Spanish ambassador's, sat like a fool for want of French, "though a gentle sort of scholar"; nor could he speak the ambassador's language, but only Latin, which he spoke like an Englishman. Pepys, on the other hand, was very pleased at the display he was able to make of his own French on this occasion. The famous diarist was a competent judge, and spoke and wrote the language with ease. Unfortunately we know nothing of how he acquired this knowledge, beyond the fact that he had not been to France.[556] [Header: ONE-SIDEDNESS OF UNIVERSITY EDUCATION] He often criticizes the French of those he meets, and a certain Dr. Pepys, according to him, "spoke the worst French he had ever heard from one who had been beyond sea." Pepys's brother spoke French, "very plain and good," and Mrs. Pepys, the daughter of a refugee Huguenot, was as familiar with that language as with English.[557] Thus the universities, like the schools, failed to keep in touch with practical life by their neglect of the broader education necessary to persons of quality and fashion. At the Inns of Court, where gentlemen usually spent some time on leaving the university,[558] or where they sometimes went instead of to the university,[559] the state of things was somewhat better. Some knowledge of French was indispensable to those studying the law, and the position of the Inns, almost all of them within the boundaries of the ward of Farringdon Without, the favourite abode of the French teachers, was such as to offer exceptional facilities for the study of the language. When Robert Ashley was at the Inner Temple he studied Spanish, Italian, and Dutch, as well as French. We are told[560] that in earlier times "knights, barons, and the greatest nobility of the kingdom often placed their children in those Inns of Court, not so much to make the laws their study, much less to live by the profession ... but to form their manners and to preserve them from contagion of vice." There, could be found "a sort of gymnasium or academy fit for persons of their station, where they learn singing and all kinds of music, dancing, and other such accomplishments and Diversions ... as are suitable to their quality and such as are usually practiced at Court." French was, without doubt, one of these accomplishments. Towards the end of the seventeenth century the Inns of Court were still much in favour, and gentlemen's sons could enjoy there good company and the innocent recreations of the town, as well as improve themselves in the "exercises." Clarendon calls the Inns of Court the suburbs of the Court itself. None the less, the gentleman with a university education, even when it was followed by residence at one of the Inns of Court, was felt to be inadequately equipped. Almost invariably he sought on the Continent the polite accomplishments and knowledge of languages, which were necessary qualifications for high employment at Court, in the army, and elsewhere. Travel came to be regarded as "an especial part"[561] of the education of a gentleman, and as such occupies an important place in the educational treatises of the time. The usual course advised for the sons of gentlemen was an early study of Greek and Latin, followed by residence at one of the Universities and at the Inns of Court, and, finally, "travel beyond seas for language and experience" and the study of such arts as could not be easily acquired in England. In some cases gentlemen were educated quite independently of the English schools and universities[562]--at home with private tutors, and in France. Lady Brilliana Harley, for instance, feared that her son would not find much good company at Oxford. "I believe," she wrote, "that theare are but feawe nobellmens sonne in Oxford, for now, for the most part, they send theaire sonnes into France when they are very yonge, theaire to be breed."[563] FOOTNOTES: [515] J. Heywood, _Cambridge Statutes_ (sixteenth century), London, 1840, p. 267. [516] Cooper, _Annals of Cambridge_, 1852, iii. p. 429; Mullinger, _History of the University of Cambridge_, iii. p. 368. [517] Printed in Peacock's _Observations on the Statutes of the University of Cambridge_, 1841 (Appendix). [518] Cp. C. Wordsworth, _Scholae Academicae_, 1877, pp. 209 _sqq._ [519] _Letter Book of Gabriel Harvey_ (1573-1580), Camden Soc., 1884, pp. 78-9. The tutor of John Hall, author of the _Horae Vacivae_ (1646), testified to his pupil's attainments in French, Spanish, and Italian literature. Mullinger, _History of the University of Cambridge_, ii. p. 351. [520] One, Jean Verneuil, became underlibrarian of the Bodleian in 1625. Cp. Schickler, _Les Églises du Refuge_, i. p. 424; Foster Watson, _Religious Refugees and English Education_, Hug. Soc. Proceedings, 1911; Agnew, _Protestant Exiles_, i. ch. v. and pp. 137, 147, 148, 156, 163; ii. pp. 260, 274, 388; Smiles, _The Huguenots_, ch. xiv. [521] There were also numerous French Protestant students at the University of Edinburgh; cp. Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 366. [522] Schickler, _op. cit._ i. p. 244. [523] Wood, _Fasti Oxonienses_ (Bliss), ii. 195. [524] Wood, _Athenae Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 380. [525] Oxford Historical Society: _Collectanea_, i., 1885, pp. 73 _sqq._ [526] 8vo, pp. 92. [527] E. Stengel, _Chronologisches Verzeichnis französischer Grammatiken_, Oppeln, 1890. [528] F. Madan, _Oxford Books, 1468-1640_, 1895-1912, i. p. 22; ii. p. 24. Another Spanish Grammar, by d'Oyly, had appeared at Oxford in 1590. [529] 4to, 21 leaves. [530] Printed by Joseph Barnes, 4to, 8 leaves. [531] He visited Spain, and wrote _An Entrance to the Spanish Tongue_ (1611). While at Oxford he had composed _An Introduction to the Italian Tongue_ (1605). Cp. Wood, _Athenae Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 471; C. Plummer, _Elizabethan Oxford_, Ox. Hist. Soc., 1887, p. xxviii; _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [532] Wood, _Athen. Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 676; Foster, _Alumni Oxon._, ad nom. [533] Wood, _Fasti Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 29, 30; _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [534] 12º, pp. 31. [535] In the copy in the Cambridge Univ. Library these are accompanied by a MS. translation into Latin. Some additional rules in Latin are written on the last blank leaf. [536] _Athenae Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 277. [537] Printed by William Turner, 8º, pp. 72. [538] _Athenae Oxon._ (Bliss), ii. 624. [539] Valence, French tutor to the Earl of Lincoln, had studied at Cambridge early in the sixteenth century. [540] "Eandem linguam in celeberrima Cantabrigiensi Academia docens." [541] Sm. 8vo, pp. 96. [542] Cp. R. Bowes, _Catalogue of Books printed at Cambridge, 1521-1893_. [543] The statement of Wood (_Athenae Oxon._ iii. 184), that Du Grès had studied at Oxford before going to Cambridge, is probably incorrect. [544] 8vo, pp. 195, printed by Leonard Lichfield. [545] _Jean Arman Du Plessis, Duke of Richelieu and Peere of France his Life_, etc., followed by a translation, "out of the French copie," of _The Will and Legacies of the Cardinall Richelieu ... together with certaine Instructions which he left the French King. Also some remarkable passages that hath happened in France since the death of the said Cardinall._ [546] He charged 10s. a month for an hour's lesson daily. [547] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1661-62_, p. 439. [548] Le Moyne also translated _The Articles of Agreement between the King of France, the Parlaiment and Parisians. Faithfully translated out of the French original copy._ London, 1649. [549] In the Middle Ages, Pembroke College gave preference to Frenchmen in the election of Fellows; cp. _supra_, p. 6. [550] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1660-61_, p. 162. [551] "Autobiographie de Pierre du Moulin," _Bulletin de la Société de l'histoire du Protestantisme Français_, vii. pp. 343 _sqq._ [552] Mullinger, _History of the University of Cambridge_, 1911, iii. p. 300. [553] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1670_, p. 275. Evelyn (_Diary_, ed. Wheatly, 1906, ii. p. 306) describes verses written in Latin, English, and French by Oxford students and added to _Newes from the dead_, an account of the restoration to life of one Anne Green, executed at Oxford, 1650. [554] _Sir Harry Wildair_, Act III. Sc. 2; cp. Mockmode in the same dramatist's _Love and a Bottle_. [555] _Diary_, 5th May 1669. [556] He long looked forward to a journey there--a hope which was not fulfilled until his failing eyesight had compelled him to stop writing his diary. [557] She spent some time in France, until her father ordered her back to England on account of her leaning towards Roman Catholicism. Many times she expressed a wish to go and live in France. [558] Cp. Shakespeare, _2 Henry IV._ Act III. Sc. 2: "He's at Oxford still, is he not? A' must then to the Inns a' Court shortly." [559] Higford (_Institution of a Gentleman_, 1660, p. 58) blames those of his countrymen who neglect the Inns of Court. [560] J. Fortescue, _De Laudibus Legum Angliae ... Translated into English ... with notes by Selden_, new ed., 1771, p. 172. [561] Higford, _The Institution of a Gentleman_, 1660, p. 88. [562] Perlin says of the English in the middle of the sixteenth century, referring no doubt to the nobility: "Ceux du pays ne courent gaire ou bien peu aux deux universités, et ne se donnent point beaucoup aux lettres, sinon qu'à toute marchandise et à toute vanité" (_Description des royaulmes d'Angleterre et d'Escosse_, p. 11). [563] _Letters_ (1638), Camden Soc., 1854, p. 8. Nearly half a century later, Chancellor Clarendon wrote: "I doubt our Universities are defective in providing for those exercises and recreations, which are necessary even to nourish and cherish their studies, at least towards that accomplished education which persons of quality are designed to; and it may be want of those Ornaments that may prevail with many to send their sons abroad, who since they cannot attain the lighter with the more serious Breeding, chuse the former which makes a present shew, leaving the latter to be wrought out at leisure" (_Miscellaneous Works_, 1751, p. 326). CHAPTER VII THE STUDY OF FRENCH BY ENGLISH TRAVELLERS ABROAD One of the favourite methods of learning French was a sojourn in France. To speak the language well a visit there was considered imperative, and to speak it "as one who had never been out of England"[564] was synonymous with speaking it badly. Consequently a journey to France was common among the young gentry and nobility of the time. Moreover, those who pursued their travels further, and undertook the Grand Tour as many gentlemen did on leaving the university, invariably visited France first, and spent the greater part of their time there. Eighteen months in France, nine or ten in Italy, five in Germany and the Low Countries, was considered a suitable division of a three years' tour. Most young Englishmen of family and fortune spent some time on the Continent. Sir Francis Walsingham, said by one of his contemporaries to have been the most accomplished linguist of his day,[565] had acquired his proficiency abroad, as had also Lord Burghley, who wrote to Walsingham from France in 1583 to report on his progress in the language.[566] Both ministers in their turn were patrons to numerous young travellers in France. A certain Charles Danvers wrote to Walsingham from Paris, in French, to show his progress and thank him for his favours.[567] And Burghley gave one Andrew Bussy a monthly allowance of £5 to enable him to study French at Orleans, where, according to his own account, he took great pains to make good progress so as to serve his patron the better on his return.[568] It was generally held that travel was "useful to useful men,"[569] and that "peregrination" well used was "a very profitable school, a running Academy."[570] Many young English gentlemen went to the French Court in the train of an ambassador,[571] or with a private tutor;[572] Henry VIII. sent his natural son, the Duke of Richmond, Palsgrave's pupil, to the French Court, in the care of Lord Surrey the poet. Richard Carew, the friend of Camden, was sent to France with Sir Henry Nevill, ambassador to Henri IV., and Bacon visited Paris in his early youth in the suite of the diplomat Lord Poulet. The last-mentioned ambassador had several young Englishmen in his charge. Of few, however, could he make so favourable a report as he did of the son of Sir George Speake: "I am not unacquainted with your son's doings in Parris," he wrote to Sir George, "and cannot comend him inoughe unto you aswell for his dilligence in study as for his honest and quiett behaviour." One of these young travellers, a Mr. Throckmorton, he was particularly glad to be rid of; the young man "got the French tongue in good perfection," we are informed, but he was of flippant humour, and before he left for England, Poulet told him his mind freely, and forbade him to travel to Italy, as he intended to do later, without the company of "an honest and wyse man." The ambassador had kept him and his man in food during the whole of his stay in Paris, and, besides, provided him with a horse, which he had also "kept att his chardges."[573] Children too were often sent abroad for education. Thomas Morrice, in his _Apology for Schoolmasters_ (1619), commends "the ancient and laudable custom of sending children abroad when they can understand Latin perfectly"; for then they learn the romance languages all the more easily, "because the Italian, French and Spanish borrow very many words of the said Latin, albeit they do chip, chop and change divers letters and syllables therein." [Header: ENGLISH GENTRY AT THE FRENCH COURT] And Thomas Peacham[574] tells us in the early seventeenth century that as soon as a child shows any wildness or unruliness, he is sent either to the Court to act as a page or to France, and sometimes to Italy. The number of English children in France was, we may assume, considerable; and when the news of the terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew reached England, one of its most noticeable effects was to fill with concern and apprehension all parents who had children in France. "How fearfull and carefull the mothers and parents that be here be of such yong gentlemen as be there, you may easely ges," wrote Elizabeth's secretary of state to Sir Francis Walsingham, the English ambassador at Paris.[575] Among these "yong gentlemen" was Sir Philip Sidney, then newly arrived at the French Court, whom Walsingham himself sheltered in the ambassador's quarters during that awful night. James Basset, the son of Lord Lisle, deputy at Calais for Henry VIII., was sent to Paris in the autumn of 1536 to complete his education, after having been for some time in the charge of a tutor in England. There he went to school with a French priest, whom he soon left for the College of Navarre. He appears to have attended the college daily, and boarded with one Guillaume le Gras, who, in June 1537, wrote to Lady Lisle that her son would soon be able to speak French better than English. "I think when he goes to see you," writes the Frenchman to her ladyship who did not understand French, "he will need an interpreter to speak to you." James himself wrote to tell his mother how he was progressing "at the large and beautiful college of Navarre, with Pierre du Val his Master and Preceptor."[576] The following letter[577] giving details on the course pursued by a young English gentleman studying French in Paris may no doubt be taken as fairly typical. "In the forenoone ... two hours he spends in French, one in reading, the other in rendryng to his teacher some part of a Latin author by word of mouth.... In the afternoon ... he retires himself into his chamber, and there employs two other hours in reading over some Latin author; which done, he translates some little part of it into French, leaving his faults to be corrected the morrow following by his teacher. After supper we take a brief survey of all.... M. Ballendine [apparently the teacher] hath commended unto us Paulus Aemilius in French, who writeth the history of the country. His counsell we mean to follow." Girls also were occasionally sent to France for purposes of education. Two of James Basset's young sisters, Anne and Mary, spent some time in that country. To prevent their hindering each other's progress, Anne was committed to the care of a M. and Mme. de Ryon, at Pont de Remy, while Mary was sent to Abbeville to a M. and Mme. de Bours. Both girls wrote letters in French to their mother, Lady Lisle, and it appears that they had almost forgotten their mother tongue. When Anne returned to England, where she became maid of honour to Jane Seymour, she had to apologize to her mother for not being able to write in English, "for surely where your Ladyship doth think that I can write English, in very deed I cannot, but that little that I can write is French,"[578] and Mary wrote to her sister Philippa in French expressing her wish to spend an hour with her every day in order to teach her to speak French. In France the two sisters acquired, besides French, the usual accomplishments befitting their sex--needlework, and playing on the lute and virginals.[579] The traveller Fynes Moryson did not unreservedly approve of the custom of sending children "of unripe yeeres" to France; "howsoever they are more to be excused who send them with discreet Tutors to guide them with whose eyes and judgments they may see and observe.... Children like Parrots soone learne forraigne languages and sooner forget the same, yea, and their mother tongue also." He relates how a familiar friend of his "lately sent his sonne to Paris, who, after two yeeres returning home, refused to aske his father's blessing after the manner of England, saying _ce n'est pas la mode de France_."[580] Milton in the same vein deplores the fact that his compatriots have "need of the monsieurs of Paris to take their hopeful youth into their slight and prodigal custodies and send them over back again transformed into mimics, apes and kickshows."[581] [Header: ENGLISH CHILDREN IN FRANCE] "My countrymen in England," wrote Sir Amias Poulet from Paris in 1577, "would doe God and theire countreye good service if either they woulde provide scolemasters for theire children at home, or else they woulde take better order of their educacion here, where they are infected with all sortes [of] pollucions bothe ghostly and bodylie and find manie willinge scolemasters to teache theme to be badd subiects."[582] Nor were such sentiments confined to individual cases. Queen Elizabeth was constantly making inquiries concerning her subjects beyond the seas generally, often for political reasons or on account of her Protestant fears of popery. She found "noe small inconvenience to growe into the realm" by the number of children living abroad "under colour of learning the languages." In 1595 she ordered a list of such "children" to be sent to her with the names of their parents or guardians and tutors,[583] and there were frequent examinations of subjects suspected of desiring to go abroad; in 1595 the Mayor of Chester writes to Burghley to know what he is to do with two boys, aged fifteen and seventeen, who have been brought before him on suspicion of intending to travel into France to learn the language, and thence into Spain. The objections raised against the journey to France were few, however, in comparison with those alleged as regards Italy. Italy held a place second only to France in the Grand Tour on the Continent, and in the early sixteenth century the first enthusiasm awakened by the Renaissance attracted many Englishmen there. Scholars, such as Linacre and Colet, set the example. Then others, including most literary men of the time, made their way as pilgrims to the centre of the revived learning, passing through France on their way.[584] Soon the journey became largely a matter of fashion. This rapid development of the custom of continental travel was looked upon as a danger in matters political and religious; popish plots were suspected and foreign intrigues of all kinds feared. In Elizabeth's time leave "to resort beyond seas for his better increase in learning, and his knowledge of foreign languages"[585] was not freely granted to any who might apply. Lord Burghley would often summon before him applicants for licences to travel, and look carefully into their knowledge of their own country,[586] and if this proved insufficient, would advise them to improve it before attempting to study other countries.[587] Voluble were the protests against foreign travel which were made in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. France and above all Italy were made responsible for all the vices of the English. It was urged that trade and state negotiations were the only adequate reasons for travel abroad. "We are moted in an Island, because Providence intended us to be shut off from other regions," Bishop Joseph Hall affirms, in his _Quo Vadis: a juste censure of travel as it is commonly undertaken by gentlemen of our own nation_ (1617). So strong were the prejudices of some of these critics that the grandfather of the royalist Sir Arthur Capell wrote--in 1622--a pamphlet containing _Reasons against the travellinge of my grandchylde Arthur Capell into the parts beyond the sea_, in which he draws an alarming picture of the dangers of infection from popery, and seeks to prove that the time could be much better spent at home.[588] The chronicler Harrison went so far as to assert that the custom would prove the ruin of England.[589] And even the courtly Lyly could write: "Let not your mindes be carried away with vaine delights, as travailing into farre and straunge countries, wher you shall see more wickednesse then learn virtue and wit."[590] But it was Italy much more than France that excited the fears of these alarmists. There was a common saying at the time that an Englishman Italianate was a devil incarnate. "I was once in Italy myself," wrote Roger Ascham,[591] "but I thank God my abode there was but nine dayes"--in which he saw more wickedness than he had beheld during nine years in London. "Suffer not thy sons to pass the Alpes, for they shall learn nothing there but Pride, Blasphemy and Atheism; [Header: PROTESTS AGAINST FOREIGN TRAVEL] and if by travelling they get a few broken Languages, that will profit them no more than to have the same meat served in divers dishes," was the advice of Lord Burghley.[592] Many were the precautions taken to prevent English subjects from travelling to Rome of all places. Travellers who were suspected of such intentions or who had travelled abroad without permission were rigorously examined. One such traveller confessed that he went to Brittany and France to see the countries and learn the language, but swore he had never been to Rome or spoken to the papist Cardinal Allen.[593] Many passports issued for the Grand Tour stipulated specifically that the traveller should not repair to Rome.[594] George Carleton gave expression to the general feeling when he wrote to his brother Dudley, afterwards Lord Dorchester: "I like your going to France much better than if you had gone to Italy."[595] "France is above all most needful for us to mark," was the advice Sir Philip Sidney sent to his brother Robert on his travels.[596] Sir John Eliot gave similar injunctions to his sons.[597] France was, he said, a country full of noble instincts and versatile energy; and what his own experience had been, he recommended his sons to profit by. Some friend had warned them of possible dangers in France. Heed them not, says Eliot; any hazard or adventure in France they will find repaid by such advantages of knowledge and experience as observation of the existing troubles there is sure to convey. But he will not allow them even to enter Spain; and the Italian territories of the Church they must avoid as dangerous: "stagnant and deadly are the waters in the region of Rome, not clear and flowing for the health-seeking energies of man." He thought, however, that some parts of Italy might be visited with profit. To attempt to learn the Italian language before some knowledge of French had been acquired, was not discreet. "Besides it being less pleasant and more difficult to talk Italian first," he writes, "it was leaving the more necessary acquirement to be gained when there was, perchance, less leisure for it. Whereas by attaining some perfection in French, and then moving onward, what might be lost in Italy of the first acquirement, would be regained in France as their steps turned homeward." Not only were fears of Roman Catholicism and corrupt manners directed more specifically toward Italy than France, but the French language was considered a much more necessary acquirement than Italian. It was generally agreed that the country most requisite for the English to know was France, "in regard of neighbourhood, of conformity in Government in divers things and necessary intelligence of State."[598]. "French is the most useful of languages--the richest lading of the traveller next to experience--Italian and Spanish not being so fruitful in learning," remarks Francis Osborne in his _Advice to a Son_.[599] Thus the main object of study of the traveller in France was usually the language itself, and next to that the polite accomplishments. Those who continued their travels into Italy were attracted chiefly by the country and its antiquities. When Addison was in France, after a short stay in Paris in 1699[600] he settled for nearly a year at Blois to learn the language, living in great seclusion, studying, and seeing no one but his teachers, who would sup with him regularly. In 1700 he returned to Paris, qualified to converse with Boileau and Malebranche. But he spent his time in Italy very differently, living in fancy with the old Latin poets, taking Horace as his guide from Naples to Rome, and Virgil on the return journey: there was no question of settling down in a quiet town to study Italian. The experience of Lord Herbert of Cherbury at the end of the sixteenth century and of Evelyn in the middle of the seventeenth was of a similar nature. Though travellers continued to include Italy in their tour, the feeling in favour of France became stronger and stronger. It reached its climax in the latter half of the seventeenth century, when Clarendon wrote: "What parts soever we propose to visit, to which our curiosity usually invites us, we can hardly avoid the setting our feet first in France." And he invites travellers, on returning there after visiting Italy, to stay in Paris a year to "unlearn the dark and affected reservation of Italy." [Header: THE TRAVELLING TUTOR] As for Germany, he thinks they have need to remain two years in France that they may entirely forget that they were ever in Germany![601] The sons of gentlemen setting out on the Grand Tour were usually accompanied by a governor or tutor,[602] and the need for such a guide was generally recognized by writers on travel; all urge the necessity of his being acquainted with the languages and customs of the countries to be visited. "That young men should Travaile under some Tutor or grave Servant, I allow well: so that he be such a one that hath the language and hath been in the Countrey before," wrote Bacon. And if any one was not able or did not wish to "be at the charges of keeping a Governor abroad" with his son, he was advised[603] to "join with one or two more to help to bear the charges: or else to send with him one well qualified to carry him over and settle him in one place or other of France, or of other Countries, to be there with him 2 or 3 months, leave him there after he hath set him in a good way, and then come home." We also gather from Gailhard's _The Compleat Gentleman_ that it was "a custom with many in England to order Travelling to their sons, as Emetick Wine is by the Physician prescribed to the Patient, that is when they know not what else to do, and when schools, Universities, Inns of Court, and every other way hath been tried to no purpose: then that nature which could not be tamed in none of these places, is given to be minded by a Gouvernor, with many a woe to him."[604] The suitable age for the Grand Tour, as distinct from the shorter journey in France, was the subject of much discussion. It was usually undertaken between the ages of sixteen and twenty, and occupied from three to five years. Some, and among them Locke,[605] agreed with Gailhard in thinking that travel should not come at the end. They argued that languages were more easily learnt at an earlier age, and that children were then less difficult to manage. Others, regarding travel as a necessary evil,[606] held that, at a later age, travellers are less receptive of evil influences and the snares of popery. This was the current opinion. In many cases, especially in later times, the travelling tutor was a Frenchman. Many Englishmen, however, found in this capacity an opportunity for travel which they might not otherwise have had. For example, Ben Jonson visited Paris in 1613 as tutor to the son of Sir Walter Raleigh, and became better known there as a reveller than as a poet.[607] In the same way Ben Jonson's friend, the poet Aurilian Townsend, accompanied Lord Herbert of Cherbury on his foreign tour in 1608, and was of much help to him on account of his fluent knowledge of French, Italian, and Spanish.[608] The time-serving politician Sir John Reresby travelled with a Mr. Leech, a divine and Fellow of Cambridge.[609] And the philosopher Thomas Hobbes spent as travelling tutor in the Cavendish family many years which he calls the happiest time of his life. He visited France, Germany, and Italy. For a time he left the Cavendishes to act as tutor to the son of Sir Gervase Clifton, with whom he remained eighteen months in Paris. It was while travelling with his pupils that Hobbes became known in the philosophic circles of Paris.[610] Addison was offered a salary of £100 to be tutor to the Duke of Somerset, who desired him "to be more of a companion than a Governor," but did not accept the offer.[611] In some cases the travelling tutor had several pupils. Thus Mr. Cordell, the friend of Sir Ralph Verney, was tutor to a party of Englishmen.[612] On the other hand, Sir Philip Sidney travelled without a governor. [Header: BOOKS ON TRAVEL] At Frankfort, in the house of the Protestant printer Andreas Wechel, he began his life-long friendship with the Huguenot scholar Hubert Languet, who, to some degree, supplied his needs. Languet, however, expresses his regret that Sidney had no governor, and when the young Englishman continued his journey into Italy they kept up a correspondence, in the course of which Languet sent Sidney much good advice. At his instigation Sidney practised his French and Latin by translating some of Cicero's letters into French, then from French into English, and finally back into Latin again, "by a sort of perpetual motion."[613] John Evelyn the diarist also travelled without a governor, while the eldest son of Lord Halifax first made the Grand Tour in the usual fashion, and afterwards returned to his uncle, Henry Savile, English ambassador at Paris, without the "encumbrance" of a governor. Savile superintended his nephew's reading, providing him with books on such subjects as political treaties and negotiations, and warning him against "nouvelles" and other "vain _entretiens_."[614] The practice of travelling abroad called forth many books on the subject, often written by travellers desiring to place their experience at the service of others. Such books usually include indications of the routes to be followed and the places to be visited, and sometimes advice as to the best way of studying abroad. Some, such as those of Coryat, Fynes Moryson, and Purchas,[615] are descriptions of long journeys. Others deal more especially with the method of travel.[616] A few were written for the particular use of some traveller of high rank; for instance, when the Earl of Rutland set out on his travels in 1596, his cousin Essex sent him letters of advice, which circulated at Court, and were published as _Profitable Instructions for Travellers_ in 1633.[617] Further information was supplied in the treatises on polite education.[618] The subject of travel was thus continually under consideration, and the different books of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries which deal with this topic are of great interest. Robert Dallington, the author of an early guide to France,[619] thought it necessary, seeing the few teachers there were in France, to "set downe a course of learninge." "I will presume to advise him," he says of the traveller to France, "that the most compendious way of attaining the tongue is by booke. I mean for the knowledge, for as for the speaking he shall never attaine it but by continuall practize and conversation: he shall therefore first learne his nownes and verbs by heart, and specially the articles, and their uses, with the two words _sum_ and _habeo_: for in these consist the greatest observation of that part of speech." He also urges the future traveller to engage a Frenchman to assist him, chiefly, no doubt, with reading and pronunciation. This "reader," as Dallington calls him, "shall not reade any booke of Poetrie at first, but some other kinde of stile, and I thinke meetest some moderne comedie. Let his lecture consist more in questions and answers, either of the one or the other, then in the reader's continued speech, for this is for the most part idle and fruitlesse: by the other many errors and mistakings either in pronunciation or sense are reformed. After three months he shall quit his lectures, and use his Maister only to walk with and discourse, first the one and then the other: for thus shal he observe the right use of the phrase in his Reader, heare his owne faults reproved and grow readie and prompt in his owne deliverie, which, with the right straine of the accent, are the two hardest things in language." He should also read much in private, and "to this reading he must adde a continuall talking and exercising of his speech with all sorts of people, with boldnesse and much assurance in himselfe, for I have often observed in others that nothing hath more prejudiced their profiting then their owne diffidence and distrust. [Header: A "METHOD OF TRAVEL"] To this I would have him adde an often writing, either of matter of translation or of his owne invention, where againe is requisite the Reader's eye, to censure and correct: for who so cannot write the language he speaks, I count he hath but halfe the language. There, then, are the two onely meanes of obtaining a language, speaking and writing, but the first is the chiefest, and therefore I must advertise the traveller of one thing which in other countries is a great hinderer thereof, namely, the often haunting and frequenting of our own Countrimen, whereof he must have a speciall care,[620] neither to distaste them by a too much retirednesse[621] nor to hinder himselfe by too much familiaritie." A few years later Fynes Moryson[622] offered equally sound advice to the traveller "for language." "Goe directly to the best citie for the puritie of language," he tells him, and first "labour to know the grammar rules, that thy selfe mayst know whether thou speaketh right or no. I meane not the curious search of those rules, but at least so much as may make thee able to distinguish Numbers, Cases, and Moodes." Moryson thought that by learning by ear alone students probably pronounced better, but, on the other hand, with the help of rules, "they both speake and write pure language, and never so forget it, as they may not with small labour and practice recover it again." The student, he adds, should make a collection of choice phrases, that "hee may speake and write more eloquently, and let him use himselfe not to the translated formes of speech, but to the proper phrases of the tongue." For this purpose he should read many good books, "in which kind, as also for the Instruction of his soule, I would commend unto him the Holy Scriptures, but that among the Papists they are not to be had in the vulgar tongue, neither is the reading of them permitted to laymen. Therefore to this purpose he shall seeke out the best familiar epistles for his writing, and I thinke no booke better for his Discourse then Amadis of Gaule.... In the third place I advise him to professe Pythagoricall silence, and to the end he may learne true pronunciation, not to be attained but by long observation and practice, that he for a time listen to others, before he adventure to speake." He should also avoid his fellow-countrymen, and, having observed these rules, "then let him hier some skilfull man to teach him and to reprove his errors, not passing by any his least omission. And let him not take it ill that any man should laugh at him, for that will more stirre him up to endevour to learne the tongue more perfectly, to which end he must converse with Weomen, children and the most talkative people; and he must cast off all clownish bashfulnesse, for no man is borne a Master in any art. I say not that he himselfe should rashly speake, for in the beginning he shall easily take ill formes of speaking, and hardly forget them once taken." The learning of French in England before going abroad did not, as a rule, enter into the plan of writers on the subject of travelling. Moryson, however, realized that "at the first step the ignorance of language doth much oppresse (the traveller) and hinder the fruite he should reape by his iourney." And Bacon went a step further when he wrote that "he that travaileth into a Country, before he hath some entrance into the language, goeth to schoole, and not to travaile.... If you will have a Young Man to put his Travaile into a little Roome, and in a short time to gather much, this you must doe. First, as was said, he must have some Entrance into the Language before he goeth. Then he must have such a Servant, or Tutor, as knoweth the country."[623] Later writers usually agree that it would be of benefit to have "something of the French"[624] before leaving England, "though it were only to understand something of it and be able to ask for necessary things," or to have "some grammatical instruction in the language, as a preparation to speaking it."[625] And indeed many travellers had some previous knowledge of French. Sir Philip Sidney, for instance, could manage a letter in French when he was at school at Shrewsbury; Lord Herbert of Cherbury had studied the language with the help of a dictionary; Sir John Reresby, at a later date, had learnt French at a private school, though, like many students nowadays, he could not speak the language on his arrival in France. [Header: STUDIES PREVIOUS TO TRAVEL] Several went abroad to "improve" themselves in French, and no doubt the phrase "to learn the French tongue"[626] often meant to learn to speak it. In the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, however, many of those who studied French seriously in England did not go to France. Among these were the ladies, to whose skill Mulcaster[627] draws the attention of travellers, as a proof that languages can be learnt as well at home as abroad; and not a few of the younger sons of noblemen,[628] as well as the prosperous middle class--the frequenters of the French schools in St. Paul's Churchyard, and the pupils of Du Ploich and Holyband, neither of whom makes any reference to the tour in France. The "common practice" in the sixteenth century among young travellers was to proceed to France knowing no French. They fully expected to learn the language there, with no further exertion than living in the country. They are constantly warned of the futility of such expectations. Dallington, Fynes Moryson, and others lay much emphasis on the necessity of some serious preliminary study of grammar and reading of good literature. French teachers in England compared the poor results obtained in France by these leisurely methods with those achieved by their own efforts in England. No doubt they found the practice of learning French by residence in France a serious rival to their own methods. De la Mothe,[629] for instance, declares he knows English ladies and gentlemen who have never left England and yet speak French incomparably better than others who have been in France three or four years trying to pick up the language by ear, as most travellers do. Another French teacher[630] writes: "I have knowne three Gentlemen's sonnes, although I say it that should not say it, who can testify yet, that in their return from France (after they had remained foure yeares at Paris, spending a great deal of money) perused my rules but six moneths and did confesse they reaped more good language in that short space I taught them then in all the time they spent in France. And sundry others I have helped who never saw France, and yet could talke, read and write better language in one yeare than those who have bene at Paris two yeares, learning but the common phrase of the countrie, shacking off a litle paines to learne the rules." While holding that French could be better learnt in England with rules than in France without any such assistance, the French teachers of London admitted that the language could perhaps be best learnt in France, but only with the help of a good teacher and serious study, as in England. However, there were hardly any language teachers in France, according to them, while in England it was easy to find many good ones. Dallington more specifically bewails the fact that the traveller finds a "great scarcitie" of such tutors, and directs him to a certain M. Denison, a Canon of St. Croix in Orleans, after whom he may inquire, "except his good acquaintance or good fortune bring him to better." There was indeed little provision for the serious study of French in France before the end of the sixteenth century. Most travellers, we are told, "observed only for their owne use." Few Frenchmen took up the teaching of their own language to foreigners as a profession, and those who taught from time to time or merely upon occasion rarely proved successful. Yet the earliest grammars produced in France were intended largely for the use of foreigners. Special attention is paid to points which usually offered difficulty to foreigners, such as the pronunciation and its divergencies from the orthography.[631] Sylvius or Du Bois, writing in Latin,[632] remarks that his principles may serve the English, the Italians and Spaniards, in short, all foreigners; no doubt those he had chiefly in mind were the numbers of English and other foreign students at the University of Paris. [Header: LANGUAGE TEACHERS IN FRANCE] When the earliest grammar written in French appeared, its author, Louis Meigret,[633] sought to justify his use of the vernacular by suggesting that foreign students should first learn to understand French by speaking and reading good French literature, instead of depending on Latin for the first stages. He had noticed the peculiarities of the English pronunciation of French, especially the habit of misplacing the accent; "they raise the voice on the syllable _an_ in _Angleterre_, while we raise it on the syllable _ter_: so that French as spoken by the English is not easily understood in France." From other grammarians foreigners always received some attention. Pillot[634] and Garnier[635] both wrote in Latin with a special view to foreigners; and Peletier,[636] who used French, retains all the etymological consonants, that strangers may find Latin helpful in understanding French. Not before the end of the sixteenth century, however, do we hear of the first important language teacher in France--Charles Maupas of Blois, a surgeon by profession, who spent most of his life, more than thirty years, teaching French to "many lords and gentlemen of divers nations" who visited his native town. He was "well known to be a famous teacher of the French tongue to many of the English and Dutch nobility and gentry." For his English pupils Maupas showed particular affection.[637] And from them he received in turn numerous proofs of friendship. Among the Englishmen who learnt French under his care was George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, who, at about the age of eighteen, travelled into France, where "he improved himself[638] well in the language for one that had so little grammatical foundation, but more in the exercises of that Nobility for the space of three years and yet came home in his naturall plight, without affected formes (the ordinary disease of Travellers)."[639] Maupas bears stronger testimony to his pupil's attainments in the French language, and some years later he gratefully dedicated to the Duke his French grammar, first issued publicly in 1618. Maupas's _Grammaire françoise contenant reigles tres certaines et adresse tres asseurée a la naïve connoissance et pur usage de nostre langue. En faveur des estrangers qui en seront desireux_, was first privately printed in 1607.[640] He had not originally intended it for publication. The work grew out of the notes and observations he compiled in order to overcome his pupils' difficulties. As these rules increased in number and importance, many students began to make extracts from them; others made copies of the whole, a "great and wearisome labour." Finally, Maupas, touched by this keenness, resolved to have a large number of copies printed. He distributed these among his pupils and their friends, till, contrary to his expectation, he found he had none left. It was then that the first public edition was issued at Lyons in 1618, and was followed by six others, which were not always authorized. A Latin edition also appeared in 1623. Maupas insists on the necessity of employing a tutor. "Let them come to me," he says, addressing foreigners desirous of learning French, "if it is convenient."[641] To learn the language by ear and use alone is impossible. The small outlay required to engage a teacher saves much time and labour. As to the grammar, it should be read again and again, and in time all difficulties will disappear; it will be of great use even to those already advanced in French. He undertook to teach and interpret the grammar in French itself, without having recourse to the international language Latin, the usual medium of teaching French to travellers; he tells us that many of his pupils were ignorant of Latin, and that the practice of interpreting the grammar in French had been adopted by many of his fellow-teachers in other towns. The great advantage of this method was, he thought, that reading and pronunciation are learnt conjointly with grammar, the phrases and style of the language together with its rules and precepts. Besides, the student must read some book; and a grammar was, in his opinion, preferable to the little comedies and dialogues usually resorted to for this purpose. He did not, however, forget that some light reading was a greater incentive to the learner, and in practice used both. Maupas died in 1625, when a new edition of his grammar was in preparation. His son, who assisted him in teaching, saw the work through the press, and invited students to transfer to him the favours they had bestowed on his father. Apparently the younger Charles Maupas continued to teach his father's clientèle for some time. [Header: CHARLES MAUPAS OF BLOIS] In 1626 he gave further proof of his zeal for the cause in editing and publishing a comedy which both he and his father had frequently read with pupils not advanced enough for more serious matter. We are told vaguely that this comedy, entitled _Les Desguisez: Comedie Françoise avec l'explication des proverbes et mots difficiles par Charles Maupas a Bloys_, was the work of one of the _beaux esprits_ of the period.[642] Maupas, however, only had one copy, and knew not where to procure more. He was induced to have it printed on seeing the great labour and time expended by many of his pupils in making copies of it for their own use. For the benefit of students who had no tutor, he added an explanatory vocabulary of proverbs and difficult words. Maupas's _Grammaire et syntaxe françoise_ is still looked on with respect.[643] The reputation it enjoyed in the seventeenth century is the more remarkable in that it was the work of a provincial who had no relations with the Court, then the supreme arbiter in matters of language. But the grammar passed into oblivion in the course of time, as more modern manuals took its place. Maupas's hope that it would be used by foreign students of French as long as the language was held in esteem was not to be fulfilled. His Grammar was superseded by that of Antoine Oudin--_Grammaire Françoise rapportée au langage du temps_, Paris, 1632. Oudin's original intention had been merely to enlarge the grammar of his predecessor. But as his work advanced he found "force antiquailles" and many mistakes, besides much confusion, repetition, and pedantry. He felt no compunction in telling the reader that he had enormously improved all he had borrowed from Maupas--although he is careful to note that he has no intention of damaging his rival's reputation, and is proud to share his opinion on several points. He had a great advantage over Maupas in having spent all his life in close connexion with the Court; his father, César, had been interpreter to the French king, and Antoine succeeded him in that office. He also appears to have had continual relations with foreigners, and he tells us on one occasion that he received from them "very considerable benefits." His grammar was certainly much used by foreign students, although it does not seem to have enjoyed as great a popularity in England as that of Maupas. Oudin's _Curiositez Françoises_ (1640) was also addressed "aux estrangers," and his aim was to show his gratitude by attempting to call attention to the mistakes which had made their way into grammars drawn up for their instruction.[644] _L'Eschole Françoise pour apprendre a bien parler et escrire selon l'usage de ce temps et pratique des bons autheurs, divisée en deux livres dont l'un contient les premiers elements, l'autre les parties de l'oraison_ (Paris, 1604), by Jean Baptiste du Val, avocat en Parlement at Paris and French tutor to Marie de Medicis, was also intended partly for the use of foreigners. He seeks to console foreign students coping with the difficulties of French pronunciation and orthography, by assuring them that though the French themselves may be able to speak correctly, they cannot prescribe rules on this score. As for his grammar, the student will learn more from it in two hours than from any other in two weeks. He also takes up a supercilious attitude, natural in one who exercised his profession in the precincts of the Court, towards anything that resembled a provincial accent; better no teacher at all than one with a provincial accent. Among other grammars of similar purport is that of Masset in French and Latin, _Exact et tres facile acheminement a la langue Françoyse, mis en Latin par le meme autheur pour le soulagement des estrangers_ (1606);[645] and to the same category belongs also the _Praecepta gallici sermonis ad pleniorem perfectioremque eius linguae cognitionem necessaria tum suevissima tum facillima_ (1607), by Philippe Garnier, who, after teaching French for many years in Germany, settled down at Orleans, his native town, as a language tutor.[646] Another work widely used by travellers, and well known in England, was the _Nouvelle et Parfaite Grammaire Françoise_ (1659) of Laurent Chiflet, the zealous Jesuit and missionary, which continued to be reprinted until the eighteenth century, and enjoyed for many years the highest reputation among foreign students of French. [Header: FRENCH GRAMMARS FOR TRAVELLERS] The Swiss Muralt relates how he and a friend were inquiring for some books at one of the booksellers of the Palais, the centre of the trade; and how the bookseller answered them civilly and tried to find what they desired, until his wife interfered, crying, "Ne voiez vous pas que ce sont des etrangers qui ne savent ce qu'ils demandent? Donnez leur la grammaire de Chiflet, c'est là ce qu'il leur faut."[647] Chiflet is very explicit in his advice to foreign students. In the first place the pronunciation should be learnt by reading a short passage every day with a French master, and the verbs most commonly in use committed to memory. Then the other parts of speech and the rules of syntax should be studied briefly; but care should be taken not to neglect reading, and to practise writing French, in order to become familiar with the orthography. One of his chief recommendations is to avoid learning isolated words; words should always be presented in sentence form, which is a means of learning their construction and of acquiring a good vocabulary at the same time. The rest of the method consists in translating from Latin or some other language into French, and in conversing with a tutor who should correct bad grammar or pronunciation. When once a fair knowledge of French is acquired, it should be strengthened by reading and reflecting upon some good book every day. Such reading is the shortest way of learning the language perfectly. Excellence and fluency in speaking may be attained by repeating or reciting aloud the substance of what has been read.[648] The acquisition of the French language was not the only ambition of the English gentleman abroad. His aim was also to acquire those polite accomplishments in which the French excelled--dancing, fencing, riding, and so on. For this purpose he either frequented one of the "courtly" academies or engaged private tutors; and "every master of exercise," it was felt, served as a kind of language master.[649] We are indebted to Dallington[650] for an account of the cost of such a course abroad. "Money," he says, "is the soule of travell. If he travel without a servant £80 sterling is a competent proportion, except he learn to ride: if he maintain both these charges, he can be allowed no less than £150: and to allow above £200 were superfluous and to his hurt. The ordinary rate of his expense is 10 gold crowns a month his fencing, as much his dancing, no less his reading, and 10 crowns monthly his riding except in the heat of the year. The remainder of his £150, I allow him for apparell, books, travelling charges, tennis play, and other extraordinary expenses." Some of the more studious travellers resorted to one or other of the French universities. John Palsgrave and John Eliote, the two best known English teachers of French in the sixteenth century, had both followed this course. Palsgrave was a graduate of Paris, and John Eliote, after spending three years at the College of Montague in Paris, taught for a year in the Collège des Africains at Orleans. The religious question had much influence in determining the plan of study in France. The university towns of Rheims and Douay were the special resorts of English Catholics.[651] On the suppression of the religious houses in England and the persecution of the English Roman Catholics, English seminaries arose at Paris, Louvain, Cambrai, St. Omer, Arras, and other centres in France. English Roman Catholics flocked to the French universities and colleges, and there is in existence a long list of English students who matriculated at the University of Douay. On the other hand, the schools,[652] colleges,[653] and academies[654] founded by the Huguenots offered many attractions to Protestant England. The colleges had much in common with the modern French lycée, and the chief subjects taught were the classical languages. They did not take boarders, with the exception of that at Metz, and the students lived _en pension_ with families in the town. The same is true of the academies, institutions of university standing. They were eight in number, and situated at Nîmes, Montpellier, Saumur, Montauban, Die, Sedan, Orthez (in the principality of Béarn[655]), and Geneva. Some Englishmen and many Scotchmen[656] held positions in the Protestant colleges and academies. [Header: BRITISH STUDENTS AT FRENCH UNIVERSITIES] Many English Protestants, during their enforced sojourn on the Continent during the reign of Mary, took advantage of their exile to study at one or other of the Protestant academies, as well as to perfect their knowledge of French. A great number flocked to Geneva, including the Protestant author Michael Cope, who frequently preached in French.[657] Of the colleges, that of Nîmes attracted a large number of foreigners. Montpellier likewise was very popular during the short period at the beginning of the seventeenth century when the town was Protestant. Among the academies in France, Saumur, Montauban,[658] and Sedan were much frequented by English travellers. Saumur in particular quickly attained to celebrity; its rapid growth may be partly accounted for by the fact that Duplessis Mornay, Governor of the town in 1588, naturally became a zealous patron of the Academy. Three years after its foundation the number of foreign students was considerable, and throughout the seventeenth century students from England, Scotland, Holland, and Switzerland thronged to the town. The Academy at Geneva likewise was very popular.[659] Though not French, it was largely attended by French students, who had some influence in raising the standard of the French spoken in the town, which was rather unsatisfactory in the sixteenth century. It greatly improved in the following century, and when the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685), which dealt the death-blow to the French Protestant foundations, drove many students to Geneva, their influence in all directions was still more strongly felt. Some years before, in 1654, the regents were enjoined to see to it that their pupils "ne parlent savoyard et ne jurent ou diabloyent," but in 1691 Poulain de la Barre, a doctor of the Sorbonne, could say that "à Geneve on prononce incomparablement mieux que l'on ne fait en plusieurs provinces de France."[660] The Protestant academies usually consisted of faculties of Arts and Theology. At Geneva[661] there were lectures in Law, Theology, Philosophy, Philology, and Literature; the teaching was chiefly in Latin, but sometimes in French. At the end of the sixteenth century a riding school, known as the _Manège de la Courature_, on the same lines as the polite academies of France, was started. The instruction given at Geneva was on broader lines than that of the less popular academies. Nîmes and Montpellier, for instance, were mainly theological.[662] Of the many Englishmen who went to Geneva, as to other Protestant centres, not all attended lectures at the Academies. Some went merely to learn French, "the exercises and assurance of behaviour," as the general belief in England was that they did so with less danger in the towns tempered by a Calvinistic atmosphere. Among the Englishmen who visited Geneva in the sixteenth and early seventeenth century we find the names of Henry Withers, Roger Manners, fifth Earl of Rutland, Robert Devereux, third Earl of Essex, the son of Elizabeth's unfortunate favourite, and others. Thomas Bodley, the celebrated founder of the Oxford Library, followed all the courses at the University in 1559. It was considered a great honour to lodge in the house of one or other of the professors; Anthony Bacon, the elder brother of the great Bacon, had the good fortune to be received into the house of de Bèze. Casaubon likewise received into his house certain young gentlemen who came to the town with a special recommendation to him. These included the young Henry Wotton, then on the long tour on the Continent, during which he acquired the remarkable knowledge of languages which qualified him for the position of ambassador which he subsequently occupied. In 1593 Wotton wrote to Lord Zouch: "Here I am placed to my great contentment in the house of Mr. Isaac Casaubon, a person of sober condition among the French." The learned professor soon became very fond of Wotton, so far as to allow him to get into debt for his board and lodging, and the young man left Geneva without paying his debts, leaving Casaubon to face his numerous creditors in the town. Casaubon was in despair; but fortunately the episode ended satisfactorily, for Wotton lived up to his character, and paid his debts in full as soon as he was able.[663] [Header: THE AFFECTED TRAVELLER] When later Casaubon was at Paris (1600-1610) and his fame was widespread, most travellers and scholars passing through the city seized any opportunity of visiting him. Coryat relates his visit to the great humanist as the experience he enjoyed above all others. Lord Herbert of Cherbury was also among the English travellers received by Casaubon into his house at this period. "And now coming to court," writes Lord Herbert, "I obtained licence to go beyond sea, taking with me for my companion Mr. Aurilian Townsend ... and a man to wait in my chamber, who spoke French, two lacqueys and three horses.... Coming now to Paris through the recommendation of the Lord Ambassador I was received to the house of that incomparable scholar Isaac Casaubon, by whose learned conversation I much benefited myself. Sometimes also I went to the Court of the French King Henry IV., who, upon information of me in the Garden of the Tuileries, received me with much courtesy, embracing me in his arms, and holding me some while there."[664] By the side of the serious traveller we are introduced to the frivolous type, travelling merely as a matter of fashion. These "idle travellers," as they were called, were the cause of most of the objections raised against the journey to France and the longer tour on the Continent--apart from questions of religion and politics. Few such travellers "scaped bewitching passing over seas."[665] When Lord Herbert of Cherbury arrived in Paris he remarked on the great number of Englishmen thronging about the ambassador's mansion. They had, most of them, studied the language and fashions in some quiet provincial town, such as Orleans or Blois, and returned to Paris full of affectations. Herbert draws a picture[666] of one such "true accomplish'd cavalere": Now what he speaks are complimental speeches That never go off, but below the breeches Of him he doth salute, while he doth wring And with some strange French words which he doth string, Windeth about the arms, the legs and sides, Most serpent like, of any man that bides His indirect approach. Many travellers did not follow Moryson's advice "to lay aside the spoone and forke of Italy, the affected gestures of France, and all strange apparrell" on their return to England. Their affectation of foreign languages and customs proved disagreeable to many of their countrymen. The Frenchified traveller and his untravelled imitators were known as _beaux_ or _mounsiers_. Nash speaks of the "dapper mounsieur pages of the Court," and Shakespeare of the young gallants who charm the ladies with a French song and a fiddle, and fill the Court with quarrels, talks, and tailors.[667] When the English nobles and gentlemen who had held official appointments at Tournai returned to England, after lingering some time at the French Court, the chronicler Hall[668] declares they were "all French in eating, drinking, yea in French vices and brages, so that all estates of England were by them laughed at." The English _beau_ thought it his duty to despise English ways, fashions, and speech, and to ape and dote upon all things French:[669] He struts about In cloak of fashion French. His girdle, purse, And sword are French; his hat is French; His nether limbs are cased in French costume. His shoes are French. In short from top to toe He stands the Frenchman. Above all, he loves to display his "sorry French" and chide his French valet in public, and if he speak Though but three little words in French, he swells And plumes himself on his proficiency. And when his French fails him, as it soon does, he coins words for himself which he utters with "widely gaping mouth, and sound acute, thinking to make the accent French": With accent French he speaks the Latin Tongue, With accent French the tongue of Lombardy, To Spanish words he gives an accent French, German he speaks with the same accent French, All but the French itself. The French he speaks With accent British. Thus the _beau_ cannot be ranked among the genuine students of French. Would you believe when you this monsieur see That his whole body should speak French, not he? asks Ben Jonson.[670] [Header: "FRENCH-ITALIANATE" GENTLEMEN] We have a picture, in Glapthorne's _The Ladies' Privilege_, of a travelled gallant who undertakes to teach French to a young gentleman desiring thereby to be "for ever engallanted." They confer on rudiments; "your French," says the gallant, "is a thing easily gotten, and when you have it, as hard to shake off, runnes in your blood, as 'twere your mother language." Until you have enough of the language to sprinkle your English with it, answer with a shrug, or a nod, or any foreign grimace.[671] The author of the _Treatyse of a galaunt_ bemoans the fact that "Englysshe men sholde be so blynde" as to adopt the "marde gere" of the French.[672] Many were the outbursts of patriotic indignation roused by the affectation of the newly returned travellers, who "brought home a few smattering terms, flattering garbes, apish cringes, foppish fancies, foolish guises and disguises and vanities of neighbour nations."[673] In the sixteenth century France was not exclusively responsible for the fopperies of the English _beau_, who might often be described as "French Italianate."[674] He spoke his own language with shame and lisping.[675] Nothing "will down but French, Italian and Spanish."[676] "Farewell, Monsieur Traveller," says Rosalind to Jacques, "look you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are."[677] The affected _beau_ will "wring his face round about as a man would stirre up a mustard pot and talke English through the teeth."[678] He sprinkles his talk with overseas scraps. "He that cometh lately out of France will talke French-English, and never blush at the matter, and another chops in with English Italianated."[679] And what profit has he from the journey on which he has gathered such evil fruit? Nothing but words, and in this he exceeds his mother's parrot at home, in that he can speak more and understands what he says.[680] And this is often no more than to be able to call the king his lord "with two or three French, Italian, Spanish or such like terms."[681] His attire, like his tongue, speaks French and Italian.[682] He censures England's language and fashions "by countenances and shrugs," and will choke rather than confess beer a good drink. In time the _beau_ forgot what little he had learnt of Italian, and in the seventeenth century was generally known as the _English monsieur_, or the _gentleman à la mode_. There were two very different attitudes towards the journey to France, as there were two types of traveller, the serious and the flippant. The prejudiced and insular-minded asked with Nash:[683] "What is there in France to be learned more than in England, but falsehood in fellowship, perfect slovenry, to love no man but for my pleasure, to swear _Ah par la mort Dieu_ when a man's hands are scabbed. But for the idle traveller (I mean not for the soldier), I have known some that have continued there by the space of half a dozen years, and when they come home, they have hid a little weerish lean face under a broad hat, kept a terrible coil in the dust in the street in their long cloaks of gray paper, and spoke English strangely. Nought else have they profited by their travel, save learned to distinguish the true Bordeaux grape and know a cup of neat Gascoigne wine from wine of Orleans." The opposite view is expressed in the message George Herbert sent to his brother at Paris:[684] "You live in a brave nation, where except you wink, you cannot but see many brave examples. Bee covetous then of all good which you see in Frenchmen whether it be in knowledge or in fashion, or in words; play the good marchant in transporting French commodities to your own country." FOOTNOTES: [564] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ vol. xvi. No. 238. [565] Sir Rt. Naunton, _Fragmenta Regalia_, 1824, p. 69. [566] _Cal. State Papers, Dom.: Add., 1580-1625_, p. 99. [567] _Ibid._ p. 119. A certain Charles Doyley wrote in similar terms from Rouen. [568] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1595-97_, p. 293. [569] _Purchas Pilgrimes_, 1625. [570] Howell, _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_. [571] As did Sir James Melville (_Memoirs_, Bannatyne Club, 1827, p. 12), "to learn to play upon the lut, and to writ Frenche," at the age of fourteen. Similarly, Barnaby Fitzpatrick, Edward VI.'s youthful favourite and proxy for correction, was sent to Paris to study fashions and manners (Nichols, _Literary Remains_, p. lxx). [572] The practice was also very common in Scotland, especially when the reformers assumed the power of approving private tutors as well as schoolmasters. Gentlemen were driven to evade this restriction by sending their sons to France in the care of what they considered suitable tutors. The Assembly then tried to assert its power by granting passports only to those whose tutors they approved. See Young, _Histoire de l'Enseignement en Écosse_, p. 52. [573] _Copy Book of Sir Amias Poulet's Letters_, Roxburghe Club, 1866, pp. 16, 231. [574] _The Compleat Gentleman_ (1622), 1906, p. 33. [575] Ellis, _Original Letters_, 3rd series, iii. 377. [576] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ vol. viii. 517; vol. ix. 1086; vol. xii. pt. i. 972, etc. [577] Dated 1610. Ellis, _Original Letters_, 2nd series, iii. 230. [578] Green, _Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain_, London, 1846, ii. pp. 294 _et seq._ [579] _Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._ vol. xiii. pt. i. 512. [580] _Itinerary_, 1617, pt. iii. bk. i. p. 5. [581] _Of Education._ To Master Samuel Hartlib. [582] _Copy Book_, p. 90. [583] _State Papers, Dom., 1598-1601_, p. 162; and _1601-1603_, p. 29. In 1580 a list of some English subjects residing abroad was sent to the queen (_ibid., Addenda, 1580-1625_, p. 4.) [584] Greene left an account of his impressions of France and Italy in his _Never too Late_ (Works, ed. Grosart, viii. pp. 20 _sqq._). [585] Frequently the wording in passports (_Cal. State Papers_). [586] There were many complaints throughout the two centuries of the travellers' neglect of everything concerning their own country. "What is it to be conversant abroad and a stranger at home?" asks Higford. See also Penton, _New Instructions to the Guardian_, 1694; and F. B. B. D., _Education with Respect to Grammar Schools and Universities_, 1701. [587] Ellis, _Original Letters_ (3rd series, iv. p. 46), publishes one of the licences which had to be obtained. [588] Reprinted by Lady T. Lewis, _Lives from the Pictures in the Clarendon Galleries_, 1852, i. p. 250. [589] _Description of Britaine_, 1577, Lib. 3. ch. iv. [590] _Euphues_, ed. Arber, 1868, p. 152. [591] _Scholemaster_, ed. Arber, 1870, p. 82. Mulcaster was also eloquent on the evil result of travel (_Positions_, 1581). [592] _Instructions for Youth ..._, by Sir W. Raleigh, etc., London, 1722, p. 50. [593] Who founded the English seminary at Douay. [594] See entries in _Cal. of State Papers_. [595] March 25, 1601 (_Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1601-1603_, p. 18). [596] _Correspondence with Hubert Languet_, 1912, p. 216. [597] Letter dated September 1, 1631 (J. Forster, _Sir John Eliot, a Biography_, London, 1864, i. pp. 16, 17). [598] J. Howell, _Instructions for Forreine Travel_, 1642 (ed. Arber, 1869), p. 19. [599] 1656, p. 102. [600] Spence's _Anecdotes_, 1820, p. 184; _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [601] _A Dialogue concerning Education_, in _Miscellaneous Works_, London, 1751, pp. 313 _et seq._ [602] Cp. Entries of Passports, in the _Cal. State Papers_. The necessity of such a course was considered specially urgent if the traveller was himself ignorant of languages (_The Gentleman's Companion, by a Person of Quality_, 1672, p. 55). [603] Gailhard, _The Compleat Gentleman_, 1678, p. 16. [604] Gailhard, _op. cit._ pp. 19, 20. A gentleman, he thinks, should be sent abroad betimes to prevent his being hardened in any evil course. [605] _Some Thoughts on Education_, 1693. [606] Walker, _Of Education, especially of Young Gentlemen_, 1699, 6th ed. [607] _Notes on Ben Jonson's Conversations with William Drummond of Hawthornden_ (1619), Shakespeare Soc., 1842, pp. 21, 47. [608] _Autobiography_, ed. Sir Sidney Lee (2nd ed., 1906), p. 56. [609] _Memoirs of Sir John Reresby_, ed. J. J. Cartwright, 1875, p. 26. [610] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [611] Addison was well acquainted with French literature and criticism. He frequently quotes Boileau, Racine, Corneille, and also Bouhours and Lebossu. His _Tragedy of Cato_ is closely modelled on the French pattern. See A. Beljame, _Le Public et les hommes de lettres en Angleterre au 18e siècle_, 1897, p. 316. [612] _Memoirs of the Verney Family_, 1892, iii. p. 36. [613] _The Correspondence of Philip Sidney and Hubert Languet_, ed. W. A. Bradly (Boston, 1912), p. 26. [614] _Savile Correspondence_, Camden Soc., 1858, pp. 133, 138. O. Walker, in his _Of Education_, differs from other writers in proposing that young gentlemen should travel without a governor. [615] In the same category may be placed the _Traveiles of Jerome Turler_, a native of Saxony, whose work was translated into English in the year of its appearance (1575). It was specially intended for the use of students. [616] T. Palmer, _Essay on the Means of making our Travels into Forran Countries more Profitable and Honourable_, 1606; T. Overbury, _Observations in his Travels_, 1609 (France and the Low Countries). William Bourne's _Treasure for Travellers_ (London, 1578) has no bearing on travel from the language point of view. Of special interest are Dallington's _Method for Travell, shewed by taking the View of France as it stoode in the Yeare of our Lorde 1598_, London (1606?), and his _View of France_, London, 1604. Other works are _A Direction for English Travellers_, licensed for printing in 1635 (Arber, _Stationers' Register_, iv. 343); Neal's _Direction to Travel_, 1643; Bacon's _Essay on Travel_, 1625; Howell's _Instructions for Forreine Travel_, 1624. [617] The versatile master of the ceremonies to Charles I., Sir Balthazar Gerbier, wrote his _Subsidium Peregrinantibus or an Assistance to a Traveller in his convers with--1. Hollanders. 2. Germans. 3. Venetians. 4. Italians. 5. Spaniards. 6. French_ (1665), in the first place as a _vade mecum_ for a princely traveller, the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth. It claimed to give directions for travel, "after the latest mode." Cp. also _A direction for travailers taken by Sir J. S._ (Sir John Stradling) _out of_ (the _Epistola de Peregrinatione Italica of_) _J. Lipsius, etc._, London. 1592. [618] List in Watt's _Bibliographia Britannia_, 1824 (heading _Education_); and in _Cambridge History of English Literature_, ix. ch. xv. (Bibliography). [619] _Method for Travell_, 1598, and _View of France_, 1604. [620] The constant warnings against mixing with Englishmen abroad show how numerous the latter must have been. "He that beyond seas frequents his own countrymen forgets the principal part of his errand--language," wrote Francis Osborne in his _Advice to a Son_ (1656). [621] As did Lord Lincoln, who "sees no English, rails at England, and admires France." [622] _Itinerary_, 1617. [623] Bacon, _Essay on Travel_, 1625. [624] Gailhard, _op. cit._ p. 48. [625] S. Penton. _New Instructions to the Guardian_, 1694, p. 104. [626] Cp. Entries of passports to France in the _Calendar of State Papers_. [627] _Positions_, 1581. [628] It appears from a deleted note in the MS. of Defoe's _Compleat English Gentleman_ that travel was not always considered necessary for younger sons (ed. K. Bülbring, London, 1890). [629] _French Alphabet_, 1592: "Car la plus part de ceux qui vont en France apprennent par routine, sans reigles, et sans art, de sorte qu'il leur est impossible d'apprendre, sinon avec une grande longueur de temps. Au contraire ceux qui apprennent en Angleterre, s'ils apprennent d'un qui ait bonne methode, il ne se peut faire qu'ils n'apprennent en bref. D'avantage ce qu'ils apprennent est beaucoup meilleur que le françois qu'on apprend en France par routine. Car nous ne pouvons parler ce que nous n'avons apris et que nous ignorons. Ceux qui apprennent du vulgaire ne peuvent parler que vulgairement . . . d'un françois corrompu. Au contraire ceux qui apprennent par livres, parlent selon ce qu'ils apprennent: or est il que les termes et phrases des livres sont le plus pur et naif françois (bien qu'il y ayt distinction de livres); il ne se peut donc qu'ils ne parlent plus purement et naivement (comme j'ay dict) que les autres." [630] Wodroeph, _Spared houres of a souldier_, 1623. [631] Livet, _La Grammaire française et les grammairiens au 16e siècle_, 1859, p. 2. [632] _In linguam gallicam Isagoge_, 1531. [633] _Le Traité touchant le commun usage de l'escriture françoise_, 1542, 1545; cp. Livet, _op. cit._ pp. 49 _sqq._ [634] _Gallicae linguae institutio Latino sermone conscripta_ (1550, 1551, 1555, 1558, etc.). [635] _Institutio gallicae linguae in usum iuventutis germanicae_ (1558, 1580, 1591, 1593). [636] _Dialogue de l'ortografe et prononciacion françoese, departi en deus livres_, 1555. [637] "J'ay tousiours eu plus ordinaire hantise, plus de biens et d'honneur et de civile conversation de la nation Angloise que de nul aultre." [638] Villiers had no doubt some previous knowledge of French. From the age of thirteen he had been taught at home by private tutors. [639] _Reliquiae Wottonianae_, London, 1657, p. 76. [640] 12º, pp. 386. [641] "Etranger desireux de nostre langue apprendre, Employe en ce livret et ton temps et ton soin, Que si d'enseignement plus ample il t'est besoin, Viens t'en la vive voix de l'autheur mesme entendre." [642] It differs from _Les Desguisez_, a comedy written by Godard in 1594. [643] E. Winkler, "La Doctrine grammaticale d'après Maupas et Oudin," in _Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie_, Heft 38, 1912. [644] Towards the end of his career, Oudin was appointed to teach Louis XIV. Spanish and Italian; he was the author of several manuals for teaching these languages, and it is worthy of note that sometimes the German language is included. [645] Printed with Nicot's edition of Aimar de Ranconnet's _Thresor de la langue françoyse_, Paris, 1606. [646] Garnier was also the author of familiar dialogues, published in French, Spanish, Italian, and German in 1656. [647] _Lettres sur les Anglais et sur les Français_ (end of seventeenth century), 1725, p. 305. [648] Another grammar specially intended for the use of strangers was _Le vray orthographe françois contenant les reigles et preceptes infallibles pour se rendre certain, correct et parfait a bien parler françois, tres utile et necessaire tant aux françois qu'estrangers. Par le sieur de Palliot secretaire ordinaire de la chambre du roy._ 1608. [649] Gailhard, _op. cit._ p. 33. [650] _Method for Travell_, 1598. [651] _Records of the English Catholics_, i. pp. 275 _et sqq._; F. C. Petre, _English Colleges and Convents established on the Continent ..._, Norwich, 1849; G. Cardon, _La Fondation de l'Université de Douai_, Paris, 1802. [652] Cp. p. 343 _infra_. [653] Cp. account by M. Nicolas, in _Bulletin de la société de l'Histoire du Protestantisme Français_, iv. pp. 503 _sqq._ and pp. 582 _sqq._ Twenty-five such colleges are named. [654] _Bulletin_, i. p. 301; ii. pp. 43, 303, 354 _sqq._; also articles in vols. iii., iv., v., vi., ix., and Bourchenin's _Études sur les Académies Protestantes_. [655] Suppressed as early as 1620. [656] Driven from Scotland, in many cases, by James I.'s attempt to introduce the English Liturgy into the Scottish churches. Robert Monteith, author of the _Histoire des Troubles de la Grande Bretagne_, was professor of philosophy at Saumur for four years (_Dict. Nat. Biog._). [657] He composed in French _A faithful and familiar exposition of Ecclesiastes_, Geneva, 1557; cp. _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [658] Cp. Nicolas, _Histoire de l'ancienne Académie de Montauban_, Montauban, 1885. [659] There was an early Academy at Lausanne which emigrated to Geneva and assured the latter's success (1559); cp. H. Vuilleumier, _L'Académie de Lausanne_, Lausanne, 1891. [660] _Essai de remarques particulières sur la langue françoise pour la ville de Genève_, 1691. Quoted by Borgeaud, _Histoire de l'Université de Genève_, 1900, p. 445. [661] C. Borgeaud, _op. cit._ [662] They were united at Nîmes in 1617, and finally suppressed in 1644. [663] Pattison, _Isaac Casaubon_, Oxford, 1892, pp. 40-42, 155. On the English at Geneva, cp. _ibid._ p. 20. [664] _Autobiography_, ed. Sir S. Lee (2nd ed., 1906), p. 56. [665] T. Scot, _Philomythie_, London, 1622. [666] _Satyra_ (addressed to Ben Jonson), 1608. _Poems of Lord Herbert of Cherbury_, ed. J. Churton Collins, London, 1881. [667] _Henry VIII._, Act I. Sc. 3. [668] A. T. Thomson, _Memoirs of the Court of Henry VIII._, London, 1826, i. p. 259. [669] Epigram by Sir Th. More: translated from Latin by J. H. Marsden, _Philomorus_, 2nd ed., 1878, p. 222. [670] _English Monsieur: Works_, London, 1875, viii. p. 190. Cp. other satires and epigrams of the time: Hall, _Satires_, lib. iii. satire 7; _Skialetheia_, 1598, No. 27; H. Parrot, _Laquei_, 1613, No. 207; _Scourge of Villanie_, ed. Grosart, 1879, p. 158. [671] H. Glapthorne, "The Ladies' Privilege," _Plays and Poems_, 1874, ii. pp. 81 _sqq._ It was sometimes the good fortune of the gallant to "live like a king," "teaching tongues" (T. Scot, _Philomythie_, 1622). [672] 1510? Colophon: "Here endeth this treatise made of a galaunt. Emprinted at London in the Flete St. at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de Worde." Alex. Barclay, Andrew Borde, Skelton and others, all satirize the mania for French fashions. Every opportunity of getting the latest French fashion was eagerly seized. Thus Lady Lisle, wife of Henry VIII.'s deputy at Calais, constantly sent her friends in England articles of dress "such as the French ladies wear" (_Letters and Papers of the Reign of Henry VIII._, i. 3892). Moryson says the English are "more light than the lightest French." [673] Purchas, _Pilgrimes_, 1625. [674] Sylvester, _Lacrymae Lacrymarum: Works_ (ed. Grosart), ii. p. 278. [675] Sir T. Overbury, _Characters_, 1614: "The Affected Traveller." [676] George Pettie, _Civile Conversation_, 1586 (preface to translation of Guazzo's work). [677] _As You Like It_, Act IV. Sc. 1. [678] Nash, _Pierce Pennilesse_, quoted by J. J. Jusserand, _The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare_, 1899, p. 322. [679] Wilson, _Arte of Rhetorique_ (1553), ed. G. H. Mair, 1909, p. 162. [680] Hall, _Quo Vadis_, 1617. [681] Humphrey, _The Nobles or of Nobilitye_, London, 1563. [682] Overbury, _Characters_, 1614. [683] _The Unfortunate Traveller_ (1587), Works, ed. McKerrow, ii. p. 300. [684] _Letters_ (1618), ed. Warner, _Epistolary Curiosities_, 1818, p. 3. CHAPTER VIII THE STUDY OF FRENCH AMONG MERCHANTS AND SOLDIERS Merchants, always a very important and influential class in England, claim a place by the side of the higher classes as learners of French. They were continually in need of foreign languages, and French was certainly the most useful, and, for those trading with France and the Netherlands, quite indispensable. As to their own language, we are told that when English merchants were out of England "it liketh them not, and they do not use it."[685] Those sons of gentlemen and others who wished to engage in trade were usually apprenticed to merchants. For instance, Sir William Petty (b. 1623) first went to school where he got a smattering of Latin and Greek, and, at the age of twelve, was bound apprentice to a sea captain. At fifteen he went to Caen in Normandy aboard a merchant vessel, and began to trade there with such success that he managed to maintain and educate himself. He learnt French and perfected himself in Latin, and had enough Greek to serve his turn. Thence he travelled to Paris and studied anatomy.[686] Sylvester, no doubt, had many opportunities of putting to the test the French he first learnt in Saravia's school when later in life he became a merchant adventurer. It appears that many merchants belonged to the class of travellers who picked up the language abroad by mixing with those who spoke it. Fynes Moryson accuses merchants, women, and children of neglecting any serious study of languages and "rushing into rash practice." "They doe many times," he admits, "pronounce the tongue and speake common speeches more gracefully than others, but they seldome write the tongue well, and alwaies forget it in short time, wanting the practice." The many practical little manuals of conversation which had appeared in the Middle Ages, and the "litle pages set in print without rules or precepts" which succeeded them, would certainly encourage this "rushing into rash practice"; such, indeed, was their aim. The majority of merchants acquired their French, we may be sure, either by the help of such little handbooks, intended to be learnt by heart, or simply by "ear." Dialogues for merchants are provided in almost all French text-books of the time, giving phrases for buying and selling and enquiring the way. Barclay describes his grammar (1521) as particularly useful to merchants. There was, moreover, a very popular little book specially intended for that class--_A plaine pathway to the French Tongue, very profitable for Marchants and also all other which desire the same, aptly devided into nineteen chapters_, which appeared first in 1575, and in at least one,[687] and probably several other editions.[688] The aim of the book would explain how it has come about that only one copy has survived the wear and tear of the demands made upon it. Again James Howell dedicated his edition of Cotgrave's dictionary (1650) to the nobility and gentry, and to the "merchant adventurers as well English as the worthy company of Dutch here resident and others to whom the language is necessary for commerce and foren correspondence." Books such as those of Holyband and Du Ploich were written for the use of the middle class, and, no doubt, for merchants also; and a later writer, John Wodroeph, describes his collection of common phrases as "more profitable for the merchants than for the loathsome curtier who cannot digest such coarse meats." Dutch merchants are mentioned by Howell in the dedication of Cotgrave's dictionary, and the close relations, existing between England and the Netherlands in the time of Elizabeth, possibly account for the fact that the Netherlanders took some part in instructing the English, chiefly merchants, in the French tongue. It has already been seen how unfavourably the Huguenot teachers in England criticized their fellow-teachers of French from the Low Countries, and we are not surprised to find that the latter contented themselves with teaching the language orally, and avoided the risk of committing their views to paper. [Header: FRENCH TEXT-BOOKS FOR MERCHANTS] In the Netherlands, however, no such compunction was felt, and some manuals composed there made their way to England. At an early date one was reprinted in London. Holyband, the chief of the group of Huguenot teachers, was quickly up in arms against it. "Je ne diray rien," he writes in 1573, "d'un nouveau livre venu d'Anvers, et dernierement imprimé à Londres, à cause que, ne gardant ryme ne raison, soit en son parler, phrase, orthographe, maniere de converser et communiquer entre gens d'estat; et cependant qu'il pindarise en son iargon il monstre de quel cru il est sorti, que si nos chartiers d'Orleans, Bourges ou de Bloys avoyent oui gazouiller l'autheur d'icelluy, ilz le renvoyeroient bailler entre ses geais, apres luy avoir donné cinquante coups de leur fouet sur ses échines." Let this writer teach his jargon to the Flemings, the Burgundians, and the people of Hainault; it is a true saying that a good Burgundian was never a good Frenchman. "Lesquelles choses considerées," concludes the irate Holyband, "i'espere que l'autheur de ce beau livre ne nous contraindra point de manger ses glands, ayans trouvé le pur froment." What was this book newly come from Antwerp? Probably an edition of a very popular collection of phrases and conversations, written originally in French and Flemish in the early years of the sixteenth century, by a schoolmaster of Antwerp, Noel de Barlement or Barlaiment.[689] By the middle of the century the work had appeared in four languages. In 1556 it was printed at Louvain in Flemish, French, Latin, and Spanish, and in 1565 it appeared at Antwerp in Flemish, French, Italian, and Spanish. In 1557 a London printer, Edward Sutton, received licence to print "a boke intituled Italian, Frynshe, Englesshe and Laten,"[690] and in 1568 a "boke intituled Frynsche, Englysshe and Duche" was licensed to John Alde.[691] Both of these volumes, we may safely conclude, were adaptations of the Flemish handbook, and either may have been the "book from Anvers" reviled by Holyband. Another English edition of the work was issued in 1578, a few years after Holyband's attack, by George Bishop, who received licence to print a _Dictionarie colloques ou dialogues en quattre langues, Fflamen, Ffrançoys, Espaignol et Italien_, "with the Englishe to be added thereto."[692] This vocabulary of Barlement probably enjoyed considerable popularity in England in its foreign editions also. It was widely used by English merchants and travellers after it had been adapted to their use by the addition of English to its columns; and they would, no doubt, bring copies back with them from the Netherlands. The earliest edition in which English has a place was probably that of 1576, entitled _Colloques or Dialogues avec un Dictionaire en six langues, Flamen, Anglois, Alleman, François, Espagnol et Italien. Tres util a tous Marchands ou autres de quelque estat qu'ils soyent, le tout avec grande diligence et labeur corrigé et mis ensemble. A Anvers 1576_. By the end of the century a seventh and finally an eighth language were added. There are copies of two further editions of the work issued in England in the first half of the seventeenth century. The first included four languages and appeared in 1637, under the title of _The {English French}{Latine Dutch} Scholemaster or an introduction to teach young Gentlemen and Merchants to travell or trade. Being the only helpe to attaine to those languages_. It was printed for Michael Sparke, who issued another edition in eight languages in 1639 as _New Dialogues or colloquies or a little Dictionary of eight languages. A Booke very necessary for all those that study these tongues either at home or abroad, now perfected and made fit for travellers, young merchants and seamen, especially those that desire to attain to the use of the Tongues._ Michael Sparke recommends the convenience of this portable little volume: "And if parents use to send their children beyond the sea to learne the language and to gaine the learning of forraine nations, judge what may be said of the benefit of this booke (I had almost said of the necessity of it) which being read doth by daily experience furnish the Reader with a full and perfect knowledge of divers tongues." He also tells you "in your eare" that "since the worke has been published in England and the Netherlands," not so perfect an edition has appeared. Turning to the contents of the little handbook, we are at once struck by the close resemblance between its dialogues and those of the French text-books produced in England--still further evidence of the use of the book in our country. [Header: THE DIALOGUES OF BARLEMENT] Its contents, which in all the varied forms in which it appeared are fundamentally the same, are divided into two parts. The first consists of four chapters, and opens with table talk very similar to that of the English-French dialogues, especially those of Du Ploich. There is a passage, for example, in which the schoolboy speaks of his school, found in varying form in several of the early manuals produced in England: Peter is that your son? Pierre est cela vostre filz? Ye it is my sonne. Ouy c'est mon filz. It is a goodly child. C'est un bel enfant. God let him alwayes Dieu le laisse tousiours prosper in vertue. prosperer en bien. I thanke you cousen. Je vous remercie cousin. Doth he not goe to schoole? Ne va-il point a l'escole? Yes, he learneth to speake French. Ouy, il apprend a parler François. Doth he? Fait-il? It is very well done. C'est tres bien fait. John can you Jean sçavez vous bien speake good French? parler françois? Not very well, cousen, Ne point fort bien, mon cousin, but I learne. mais ie l'apprends. Where go you to schoole? Ou allez vous a l'escole? In the Lombarde Street. En la rue de Lombarts. Have you gone Avez vous longuement long to schoole? allé à l'escole? About halfe a yeare. Environ un demy an. Learn you also to write? Apprenez vous aussi a escrire? Yea, cousen. Ouy, mon cousin. That is well done, C'est bien fait, learne alwayes well. apprenez tousiours. Well cousen, if it please God. Bien mon cousin, s'il plait a Dieu. The second chapter deals with buying and selling; the third with counting, demanding payment of debts, and so on; and the fourth gives specimens of commercial letters and documents. The second part contains an alphabetical vocabulary of common words, followed by directions for reading and speaking French, in the guise of a slight grammar. A few rules for pronunciation and the different parts of speech are accompanied by advice to seek fuller information in other French grammars. Then come a few rules for the other languages--Italian, Spanish, and Flemish. So popular was this handbook in England that it was reprinted without much alteration, and no modernization, at the beginning of the nineteenth century: _The Dialogues in six languages Latin, French, German, Spanish, Italian, and English_, appeared at Shrewsbury in 1808. We are informed that "this book contains common forms of speach, one being a literal translation of the other, and as near as the idiom of the language will bear, so that they correspond almost word for word, and will be found extremely useful for beginners." The second part of the work, although mentioned in the table of contents, is omitted. A similar polyglot manual, which was probably less well known in England, was the _Vocabulaire de six langues, Latin, François, Espagniol, Italien, Anglois et Aleman_, printed at Venice, probably in 1540--an enlarged edition of a vocabulary in five languages (Antwerp, 1534, and Venice, 1537) in which English had no place. This handbook passed through several other editions,[693] and no doubt became fairly well known in England through the intermediary of the numerous Italian merchants who came to London, and the English traders and travellers visiting Italy; editions which appeared at Rouen in 1611 and 1625 would also be easily obtainable. The dictionary is described as a very useful vocabulary for those who wish to learn without going to school--artisans, women, and especially merchants. The first part consists of a vocabulary, arranged under fifty-five headings, dealing with the usual subjects, beginning with the heavens; the second contains a list of verbs, nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and pronouns, together with a collection of phrases and idioms. The interesting dialogue of the Flemish vocabulary is lacking. In the second half of the sixteenth century there lived at Antwerp a language master, Gabriel Meurier, who counted many English among his pupils. Meurier was a native of Avesnes in Hainault, where he was born in about 1530. But for many years he taught languages--French, Spanish, Flemish, and Italian--at Antwerp, which had by this time supplanted Bruges as the chief trading centre of the Low Countries. His pupils were largely merchants, and his first work on the language, the _Grammaire françoise contenante plusieurs belles reigles propres et necessaires pour ceulx qui desirent apprendre la dicte Langue_, 1557,[694] was dedicated to "Messeigneurs et Maistres, les gouverneurs et marchans Anglois." [Header: GABRIEL MEURIER] In 1563 was issued at Antwerp another work specially for the use of the English--_Familiare communications no leasse proppre then verrie proffytable to the Inglishe nation desirous and nedinge the ffrench language_, dedicated to his most honoured lord, John Marsh, governor of the English nation, and intended for the use of "Marchands, Facteurs, Apprentifs, and others of the English nation." These dialogues on subjects specially useful to merchants are divided into seventeen chapters, giving familiar talk for the members of the different trades with lists of their merchandise, directions for travellers, the names of different artisans and tradesmen, instructions for collecting debts, receiving money and writing receipts. Meurier teaches his pupils the words used daily by merchants at the Exchange, and then the degrees of kinship, numbers, coins, the days and feast days, the parts of the body and clothing, food and table talk, and, finally, commercial notes and letters.[695] Another edition of the book was published at Rouen in 1641, being intended, in this case, to teach both French and English. The title given to it was _A treatise for to learne to speake Frenshe and Englishe together with a form of making letters, indentures, and obligations, quittances, letters of exchange, verie necessarie for all Marchants that do occupy trade or marchandise_. Meurier also composed numerous other books which have no direct bearing on the teaching of French to Englishmen. They were almost all written for the use of merchants, whom they sought to instruct in French and Flemish, and sometimes in Spanish and Italian as well. That the English were always in the author's mind is shown by the fact that he sometimes explains pronunciation by comparison with English sounds. He also did important lexicographical work. He prepared French-Flemish vocabularies in 1562 and 1566, and in 1584 his French-Flemish Dictionary was published at Anvers. This dictionary is said to have been one of the sources which helped Cotgrave to compile his famous work, and Meurier seems to have outdone the later writer in collecting rare and obsolete words.[696] There were thus many faculties for learning French in the Netherlands. Francis Osborne wrote regarding the study of French abroad:[697] "for the place I say France, if you have a purse, else some town in the Netherlands or Flanders, that is wholesome and safe: where the French may be attained with little more difficulty then at Paris, neither are the humours of the people so very remote from your owne." Thus the Netherlanders taught French to the English both in their own country[698] and in England. The connexion was a long-standing one. Caxton had taken his French and English Dialogues from a Flemish text-book, and in later times, as has been seen, Flemish works were published in England, and had some influence on the dialogues of the English manuals of French. The debt, however, was not all on one side. Holyband's _French Schoolemaister_, for instance, was adapted to the use of Flemings and printed at Rotterdam in 1606,[699] and in 1647 was published at the end of the _Grammaire flamende et françoise_ (Rouen) of Jan Louis d'Arsy. Moreover, the grammar of the seventeenth-century French teacher whose popularity equalled that of Holyband in the sixteenth century--Claude Mauger--was published in the Low Countries at the same time as in England. Another link between the teaching of French in the Netherlands and in England is found in the book by John Wodroeph--an interesting figure among teachers of French. He spent many years in the Netherlands, and in his French text-book he adapted what he called his "court and country dialogues" from some French-Flemish ones written for the instruction of the Court of Nassau in the former language. Writing of the importance of a knowledge of French, he emphasises its usefulness to the nobility. But, he adds, it is still more profitable to merchants, for, excepting Latin, it is the most widely used language in Christendom, and, "si j'osoye dire," much more useful. Wodroeph was a soldier, and soldiers, like merchants, gave much impetus to the study of French. [Header: FRENCH IN MILITARY CIRCLES] In Barlement's book of dialogues, soldiers are ranked with merchants, travellers, and courtiers as those to whom the knowledge of languages is most necessary: "soit que quelcun face merchandise ou qu'il hante la court, ou qu'il suive la guerre, ou qu'il aille par villes et champs." The wars raging almost incessantly in France and the Low Countries attracted numbers of Englishmen. The army was an opening for younger sons, and so "Some to the wars to try their fortunes there." Judging from the epigrams and satires of the time, the swaggering gallant home from the wars was a familiar figure in London. This sworded and martial _beau_ is He that salutes each gallant he doth meete With "farewell sweet captaine fond heart _adieu_"; one who hath served long in France, And is returned filthy full of French, and who, at night when leaving the inn, "thinking still he had been sentinell of warlike Brill, crys out _que va la? Zounds que?_ and stabs the drawer with his Syringe straw."[700] Those who were moved by the spirit of adventure and liked the picturesque crowded to the camp of Henry IV. of France who counted many admirers in this country. One of these, Dudley Carleton, afterwards Lord Dorchester, writes from the king's camp in 1596 that he is busy studying French, though "Mars leaves little room for Mercury." Later he perfected his knowledge by studying at Paris, and wrote thence to John Chamberlain, the letter writer, to tell him how one Sir John Brooke, with Coppinger, a Kentish gentleman, "lately come to learn the language," are the "logs in our French school."[701] Unfortunately we have no more details of this little group of Englishmen studying French at Paris. One of the Englishmen who served in Normandy in 1591 with the troops sent by Queen Elizabeth to help Henry IV. against the League kept a daily journal from the 13th of August till the 24th of December following.[702] This soldier, Sir Thomas Coningsby, a friend of Sir Philip Sidney, acted as muster master to the English detachment, and was in frequent intercourse with Henry before Rouen. An interesting example of how the army and service abroad offered opportunities for the study of French is found in the memoirs of the Verney family. The three younger sons of Sir Edmund Verney (1590-1642) all became soldiers. Tom took service in the army of France, while Edmund (1616-1649), after studying at Oxford, joined the army of the States in Flanders (1640). When in winter quarters at Utrecht, he "made up for his former idleness," and studied for seven or eight hours a day for many months to improve his knowledge of French and Latin. His Frenchman, he writes to tell his father, is the same that was Sir Humphry Sidenham's; he "warrants I shall speak it perfectly before we draw into the field, and truly, I am confident I shall."[703] He was reading Plutarch's _Lives_ in French. Edmund was soon after killed in the Civil War. His younger brother, Harry, was intended from his youth for a soldier, and early sent to Paris to study French. There he seems to have spoilt his English without making any very rapid progress in French, for French grammar had a powerful rival in horses and dogs--his chief interest in life. "Pleade for me in my behalfe to my father," he implores his eldest brother, "if I have not write in french so well as he expects, but howsoever, I presume a line to testifie some little knowledge in the same, and hope in time to expresse myselfe more radier, as the old proverbe is ... _il fault du temps pour apprendre_." Harry Verney later took part in the Thirty Years' War, and was present at the recapture of Breda by the Prince of Orange in 1637.[704] It was during the Thirty Years' War also that John Wodroeph served in the Netherlands. He tells us in 1623 that he had been "following the uncertaine warres" for "these seven years past." During this period of service, "by the spared dayes and houres of (his) watch and guarde," he composed a book for teaching French, to which he gave the title of _The Spared Houres of a Souldier in his travells or The true Marrowe of the French tongue_. It was printed at Dort, near Rotterdam, in 1623, and dedicated to the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles I. Wodroeph was a "gentleman," and we gather from the interest he shows in Scotland that he hailed from that country. [Header: JOHN WODROEPH] At both the beginning and the end of his book are several poems of all sorts dedicated to courtiers who had followed James from Scotland to England--the Duke of Lennox, Earl Ramsey, James, Lord of Hay, and others. He also addresses the Elector Palatine and his queen, Elizabeth, James I.'s daughter. Many other poems, some in French and some in English, are written in honour of the Lords of the States-General and of sundry Flemish gentlemen. All these give this work, written in the midst of the British army abroad, a strong local colour. In addition, Wodroeph wrote poems to celebrate the virtues and learning of numerous Scottish and English officers--Colonel William Brog, Colonel Robert Henderson, Captain Roger Orme, Captain Edwards, Captain Drummond, and John Monteith, his very kind captain. To many of these and other "sons of gentlemen" Wodroeph had taught French, when his military duties permitted, and he mentions Captain Drummond as being among his most enthusiastic pupils. He also addresses lines to his very good friend John Cameron, the Scotch theologian and the minister of the French Church at Bordeaux, one of the many Scotchmen who held important scholastic positions in France. These verses must have been written between 1608 and 1617, the period when Cameron was at Bordeaux. Later Cameron became professor of divinity at Saumur and Montauban. He spoke French with unusual purity, and also wrote some of his theological treatises in French.[705] Apart from its martial atmosphere, this curious volume has also a strong Calvinistic flavour, another indication of Wodroeph's Scottish sympathies. He wrote many "godly songs" in French, to be sung to various psalm tunes, and even introduced the spirit into his grammar itself. His verbs are "truly formed and constructed after the order of Geneva, which retaineth alwaies entirely the true marrow, method and rules of verbs, or any other part of speech, both in their Bibles, Psalms, and other godly books: forsaking all new corruptions, of poets, and other vaine toyes, threatening to deface the old authority of the Orthographie." Moreover, a godly gentleman, "maister John Douglas, minister of the Word of God to the English and Scotch troopers within Utrecht," persuaded him to undertake the translation into French of Sir William Alexander's _Doomesday_, which at this date embraced four books or "houres," subsequently extended to twelve. _Doomesday_, thought Wodroeph, would be greatly "liked of in France, yea, even as well as a second Du Bartas." He was, however, unable to complete his task, "finding the style so excellent and so high, and also somewhat harsh, to agree with French verse, because that our English tongue (and chiefly by this extraordinary poet) can affoorde more sense and matter with ten of its syllables than ever I have been able to construe with twelve or thirteen of the French. Therefore I was constrained to leave it off, partly for want of tyme and commoditie, and partly that it was so constrained." The one 'Houre' he completed was included in his book, with an apology and the expression of the hope that "any kind French poet would end out the rest, and also help these few rude lines which are translated in haste out of his week and shallow braine." Wodroeph wrote French, both verse and prose, with remarkable ease. In addition to the poems already mentioned, there are many others scattered through his works. One of these, "Chanson Spirituelle de la vie des vertueux hommes," is written to the tune of Desportes' song, "O nuit, jalouse nuit, contre moy conjurée." He tells us that whenever possible he used French in correspondence in preference to English. He spoke the language with equal fluency, and assures us that he did so with greater facility than English. He had not acquired this mastery of the language without much study, but by "many cold winter nights sitting at it," and by much practice. He appears to have been fairly widely read in French literature, and shared the admiration felt by many of his countrymen for Du Bartas and the _Quatrains_ of Pibrac. Thus Wodroeph was perfectly conscious of the many difficulties offered by the French language, and censured in strong terms those who pretend to teach it in a short space of time. "I have shamefully heard say a teacher (in my tyme) that he could give rules, that any might read and write and understand the French language in six weeks. O what a weake ground should hee build therein! Yea not in sixteene months, hee and his gentle teaching! Unlesse he dazell his eyes much, and straine his memory out of her limits." [Header: METHOD OF STUDY] At an earlier date, Holyband had deplored the existence of the many "thornie and inepte bookes" claiming to give a knowledge of the language, and Wodroeph, in his turn, shows the small esteem in which he held the many "small wares" by which it is impossible to prove a good speaker. He had seen very many treatises on verbs, "confused (for want of space), confusing those who read them," and so many pamphlets and books making believe "by wordes rather than by effects that the French tongue can be truly learned by the same." No doubt most of these little pamphlets are among the many school-books of which all trace has been lost. There is, however, mention of one, _A shorte method for the Declyning of Ffrench Verbes_, by J. S., licensed in 1623 to the printer, Richard Field.[706] Wodroeph, therefore, earnestly begs the student of French not to fancy he can "spare the marrow of his famous braines" and pick French up by ear alone, as many seek to do. He must, on the contrary, be prepared "to storm the citadel of grammar, and do as the valiant captaine, that is to say, besiege the strongest houldes which commande over the lesser and weaker sort." "Loving Reader," he writes, "if I could persuade thee to believe what profit the diligent and serious Man doth reape learning the true methode of French Tongue and what advantage he gaineth above him who thinketh to obtaine the said Tongue by the eare only: truly thou wouldest use thine earnest diligence and celeritie perusing these rules." Otherwise learners will speak "scurvily, harshly and painfully, that they make the Frenches take their sport at them, even as the English do at the Welshes ... taking sometyme the male for the female, and the hand for the foote; applying to the woman that which should apply to the man: and to the leg which ought apply to the arme: as _la garçon_, _le femme_, _ma sieur_, and _mon dame_: ... O what language this is in the eares of the Frenches! I think truely it should make Père Coton him selfe to laugh at it, who said in a sermon (the King and Queen present), that hee had neither sinned nor laughed in fiftene yeares tyme, yea and any man else." Verbs are a special difficulty, and there "be many that can never speake true French for lack of knowing their methode. For where it ought to be spoken thus: _Il y eut_ or _il y avait un homme là_, some will say _il fut_, _il estoit un homme là_. Fine French! And so will the ignorant speake through all the moodes and tenses, whereat the Frenches take often their sport." Thus those who have learnt no grammar "go wallowing in the painefull and muddy mire of confused and backward broyles, doubting and fearing (without any assurance) what words to speak first in framing their phrases." But Wodroeph, in spite of the great emphasis he laid on the study of rules, fully recognizes the importance and value of practice. "I do not meene (for all this)," he writes, "to condemne common practice of the tongue by the eare, but do praise both wayes; esteeming (nevertheless) the method of the rules for the better and surer way, as I have certainlie found (and many others), by myne owne experience practicing them bothe." "Certes il vous faut parler tousiours," he says, "soit-il ou en bien ou en mal." To make progress "il vous faut frequenter, hanter, accoynter, accoster, discourir, babiller, caquetter, baiser, lecher, parler hardiment et discretement, aymer, rire, gausser, jouer, vous rejouir, et jouir de leurs bonnes faveurs et graces: et principalement ès compagnies honestes: asçavoir, parmi les seigneurs et Dames, Damoiselles honestes, pudiques matrones, femmes et filles de vertu et d'honneur; captaines et dignes chefs de guerre, là où il y a tousiours quelque chose a esplucher, si c'est de leurs prouesses, entreprises, ou de leurs faicts heroiques et memorables . . . sans vous esbahir pour le bruit non plus que fait le bon cheval de trompette." Wodroeph doubtless based his advice on his own experience. Moreover, a bold and enterprising spirit has much to do with the successful study of French: "si vous n'estes hardi prompt, diligent, et vigilent, vous n'apprendrez pas la langue françoise par songe . . . mais cela vient par grande peine, diligence et priere a Dieu. Certes, . . . si un homme estoit marié a une femme françoise . . . il me semble qu'il apprendroit plustost en disant, Mme, ou m'amie, permettez moy que ie vous recerche en tout honeur et mariage . . . a celle fin de vous faire ma chere moitié, et fidele espouse: que par ce moyen, ie puisse et avoir vostre alliance et apprendre vostre language, autrement, madame, il me cousteroit beaucoup plus de temps, de peine et de mes moyens." Wodroeph's book for teaching French is one of the most comprehensive. He assures the student that it lacks "nothing to make him a perfect Frenchman but the birth and delygence though he never read any other." It fills more than five hundred folio pages. [Header: "THE SPARED HOURES OF A SOULDIER"] Putting his theories into practice, he begins with rules of pronunciation and grammar, "set downe by God's helpe as I have practiced in my time and by the tracke of best Authours, which have professed this tongue heretofore." His debt to Holyband makes it evident that he ranked the popular sixteenth-century teacher among these. He would have the student pay special attention to three things: first the pronunciation, which, as was usual, he bases on comparison with English sounds; then the genders, learning every noun with its article "to lead to the same in right gender"; and, finally, and most important of all, the verbs, which should be committed to memory. In his grammar he follows the usual order, treating each part of speech in turn. He endeavours to avoid all superfluous rules, fearing the "loathsomeness of the unlearned." The rules occupy about a hundred pages. Then follows a most comprehensive collection of practical exercises, intended for all sorts and conditions--courtiers, merchants, and the middle classes, "the learned and the unlearned." The dialogues are accompanied by a verbatim English translation. In the introductory ones the reader is referred to the margin for the pronunciation of the most difficult words, where it is given in English spelling. The "true English phrase" is added in the footnote where necessary. Wodroeph was strongly in favour of sacrificing if need be the purity of the English for the sake of rendering the meaning of the French clearer. He did not pretend, he says, to teach his countrymen their "own ornate English." "Verbatim, therefore, sometimes must be had, because it is requisite that it should not always be closed up in a phrase, but showed bare, as it fals very often: then (nil thou wilt thou) thou must have a coat to cover it, that is to say his true signification, or else thou must leave it, and run to the Dictionarie, and dazle thy eyes there awhile, and be even so wise as thou wast before; for sometymes they are not to be found at all in it, and sometymes it will fall in some tense of some mood which no Dictionarie can yield: yea even thousands." The first section of the dialogues, that accompanied by the guides to pronunciation, deals with familiar subjects, more useful than elegant and more profitable for the middle classes and merchants than for the "loathsome courtier." "Thou hast in this Booke all household stuffe and other pretty necessary words meete for thy dailie use in this tongue. Also an Introduction to frame all common and ordinarie phrases pertaining to a house: as of victuals, dressing, voyaging through the land. Also the partes and cloathing of a Man, his body, all in remarkable phrases; whereof I will shew thee vively, yea every Member, from the crowne of the Head unto the Foot." Though Wodroeph's dialogues are on a much larger scale than usual in French manuals, they treat of much the same topics. He advises the student to read this first set of dialogues several times, as much to get a good foundation of common talk, as to learn the pronunciation by means of the guides provided. They are followed by lists of common phrases to be learnt by heart, "every day one or two, for ordinarie use," and to facilitate an early use of French in conversation, and also by French idioms "very necessary for Translations of this tongue into any other." After about sixty pages of this introductory matter we pass to what Wodroeph calls "The first booke of familie Dialogues, wherein is treated of all kinds of common necessary phrases as well for the use of the fields, labourage and contries, as for all sortes of home affaires for a house"--all accompanied by a verbatim English translation. These dialogues comprise conversations between members of most ranks of society, from a king and queen, ladies and gentlemen, to family scenes, and discussions between various tradesmen and peasants, not forgetting the schoolmaster and his pupil and the military officer and his subordinates; for, whenever occasion arises, Wodroeph introduces military talk. This section of the work closes with a list of the proper terms in which to address the higher and lower classes. Next come the dialogues taken from _Le verger des Colloques recréatifs_, offered by a Walloon to Prince Henry of Nassau, for his furtherance in the same tongue in his younger years. Wodroeph claims to have purified this book, written in "scurvie Wallons language." It had already been adapted to the instruction of the English in the Italian language, by John Florio in his _Second Frutes_. These dialogues are naturally more of the courtly type, and are concerned with the daily occurrences of the life of a gentleman. They are followed by _The Springwell of Honour and Vertue_, a collection of moral sayings and counsels, "composed both by ancient and moderne philosophers not only for the benefit of the corrupted youth, but also for all folkes, of all qualities, and chiefly for the yong gentilitie." [Header: END OF WODROEPH'S CAREER] Wodroeph explains how this collection came to have a place in his book: "being once invited to supper of a worthy and virtuous gentleman (one who had showed me much favour for clearing his eldest sone of some doubts of the French tongue), I saw that hee (his owne selfe) did copie some Theames out of this same Worke ... for to instruct one of his children being (for that present) at the French schoole; I entreated him to lend it me for a Tyme, who did it willingly until I had viewed it, and corrected the French and read it all out." The _Springwell_ is divided into three bookes: the first deals with the "means of acquiring Honour and Vertue"; the second with the old subject of the six or, as Shakespeare has it, seven ages of man; and the third with the worship of God and our duty to our neighbours. After sundry poems, addressed to English, Scottish, and Flemish gentlemen, and the translation of Sir William Alexander's _First Hour_, given in both French and English, come directions for writing letters, with thirty-six epistles in French and English, and themes gathered out of French authors for the use of some of his pupils, "before I made them frame any letters: very profitable to begin with and out of the best and purest French." Finally we have the usual proverbs, so much in favour at this period, "picked" from those of the learned Mathurin Cordier, and "sundry other Authours and writers." The work closes with "a Thankesgiving (of the Authour) unto God for his helpe in the finishing of this worke," and the quotation of Wodroeph's device--"Vers Dieu c'est le meilleur." In 1625 a second edition of this curious volume appeared in London, under the title of _The Marrow of the French Tongue_. This edition is said to be "revised and purged of much gross English" which had made its way into the former edition, printed abroad. It is considerably abridged, and lacks the living interest of the Dort edition. The actual instructions for the French tongue remain intact, but all the little chatty autobiographical scraps, and observations to the "Loving Reader," as well as the addresses to officers, which gave such a characteristic personal touch to the earlier edition, are here omitted, and the work is about one hundred and seventy pages shorter. The dedication to Charles Stuart, now newly crowned Charles I., still stands. Wodroeph had no doubt returned to England, where he was known to several of the prominent men of the time. In 1623 he had mentioned favours received from James, Lord of Hay, at Hampton Court, sixteen years before. We may presume that he continued to teach French among the higher classes of society after his return, though there does not appear to be any further trace of him. FOOTNOTES: [685] Florio, _First Frutes_, 1578. [686] J. Aubrey, _Brief Lives_ (ed. A. Clark, Oxford, 1898), ii. p. 140. [687] A fragment of one leaf, the title page, leaving no date; British Museum, Harl. MSS. 5936. [688] Arber, _Transcript of the Stationers' Register_, iii. 413; iv. 152 and 459. [689] _Vocabulaire de nouveau ordonné et derechief recorigé pour aprendre legierement a bien lire, escripre, et parler françoys et flameng_, Anvers, 1511 (E. Stengel, _Chronologisches Verzeichnis_, p. 22 n.; and Michelant, _Livre des Mestiers_, Introduction). [690] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, i. 343. [691] _Ibid._ i. 389. [692] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, ii. 338. [693] Cp. Ch. Beaulieux, "Liste de Dictionnaires, Lexicographes et vocabulaires français antérieurs au Thrésor de Nicot" (1606), in _Mélanges de Philologie offerts à Ferdinand Brunot_, Paris, 1904. [694] Cp. E. Stengel, "Über einige seltene französische Grammatiken," in _Mélanges de Philologie romane dédiés à Carl Wahlund_. Macon, 1896, pp. 181 _sqq._ [695] Of similar import, no doubt, were the _Boke of Copyes Englesshe, Ffrynshe and Italion_, licensed to Vautrollier in 1569-70 (_Stationers' Register_, i. 417); and the _Bills of Lading English, French, Italian, Dutch_, licensed to Master Bourne in 1636 (_ibid._ iv. 364). [696] H. Vaganey, _Le Vocabulaire français du seizième siècle_, Paris, 1906, pp. 2 _sqq._ [697] _Advice to a Son_, 1656, p. 83. [698] Cp. _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1666-67_, pp. 57, 104. At a later date A. de la Barre, a schoolmaster of Leyden, published a _Methode ou Instruction nouvelle pour les etrangers qui desirent apprendre la manière de composer ou écrire a la mode du temps et scavoir la vraye prononciation de la langue françoise_, Leyden, 1642. In 1644 he issued, also at Leyden, a book probably intended as reading material for his pupils, and called _Les Leçons publiques du sieur de la Barre, prises sur les questions curieuses et problematiques des plus beaux esprits de ce temps_. [699] Farrer, _La Vie et les oeuvres de Claude de Sainliens_, Bibliography. [700] G. S. Rowlands, _The Letting of Humour's blood in the Head-Vaine_ (1600). Edinburgh, 1814. [701] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1595-97_, p. 173; _1601-1603_, pp. 18, 111. [702] Printed in the _Camden Miscellany_, vol. i., 1847, pp. 65 _sqq._ [703] _Memoirs of the Verney Family_, i. 171. [704] During the Commonwealth there were many English troops in the service of France, and the Duke of York, afterwards James II., spent much of his first exile in serving under Turenne. [705] Cp. _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. An Englishman, Gilbert Primrose, was for a time minister at Bordeaux (till 1623), and afterwards of the Threadneedle Street Church, London (_Dict. Nat. Biog._). [706] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, iv. 100. PART III STUART TIMES CHAPTER I FRENCH AT THE COURTS OF JAMES I. AND CHARLES I.--FRENCH STUDIED BY THE LADIES--FRENCH PLAYERS IN LONDON--ENGLISH GENERALLY IGNORED BY FOREIGNERS The coming of the Stuarts strengthened considerably the connexion between France and England. French was widely used at the Court of James I. The King himself does not appear to have been well acquainted with other foreign languages than French and Latin, both of which he employed freely in conversation[707] and correspondence.[708] In one or other of these tongues he conversed with the learned foreigners he loved to gather at his Court, such as Isaac Casaubon[709] and the famous Protestant preacher, Pierre Du Moulin, minister of Charenton. The latter has left an account[710] of the warm welcome he received from the English monarch; he tells us that at meal times he usually stood behind His Majesty's chair and conversed with him. James requested Du Moulin to write an answer to Cardinal Du Perron's pamphlet concerning the power of the Pope over monarchs, in which he had been attacked. Du Moulin complied, and his work was printed at London in 1615 as the _Declaration du Sérénissme Roy Jacques I_. He also preached in French before James at the Chapel Royal at Greenwich, and received marks of distinction from the University of Cambridge, which conferred the degree of D.D. upon him.[711] An idea of the extent to which French was used in intercourse with ambassadors and other foreigners may be gathered from the _Finetti Philoxenus_, a series of observations by Sir John Finett, knight and master of the ceremonies to the two first Stuart kings of England, touching the reception and precedence, treatment and audience of foreign ambassadors. The French language was making important progress at this time, and Latin was rapidly losing ground. James was the last king of England to employ Latin in familiar conversation, and this is partly accounted for by his pedantic turn of mind. The spread of the use of French in England was hastened too by its growing popularity all over Europe. The Flemish Mellema, in his Flemish-French Dictionary of 1591, says French is used everywhere in Europe and the East.[712] To be unacquainted with French was accounted a great deficiency in a gentleman. It was said of the language that _qui langue a jusqu'à Rome va_,[713] and in England the general conviction was that "No nobleman, gentleman, soldier, or man of action in business between Nation and Nation can well be without it."[714] James seems to have acquired his knowledge of French chiefly by means of intercourse with the many Frenchmen at the Scottish Court, one of whom, Jérôme Grelot, was among the young noblemen who shared his studies.[715] He also read much French literature, however, and later took a great interest in the language studies of his children. They were constantly required to send him letters in French and Latin to allow him to judge of their progress. "Sir," wrote the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards Queen of Bohemia, "L'esperance que j'ay de vous voir bien tost et d'avoir l'honneur de recepvoir voz commandemens m'empeschera de vous faire ma lettre plus longue que pour baiser tres humblement les mains de vostre Majesté."[716] The king's eldest son, Henry, made acquaintance with French at a very early age. In 1600, when only seven years old, he addressed a letter in French to the States-General of Holland. He calls this epistle "les primices de nostre main,"[717] and probably received some help in its composition. He also wrote in French to Henry IV., who had recommended to him his riding master, M. St. Antoine,[718] and to the Dauphin, offering him two _bidets_.[719] [Header: FRENCH STUDIES OF THE STUART FAMILY] At this time many of the riding-masters in England were Italians, but almost all the dancing-masters were Frenchmen.[720] The young prince, however, had a French master for both these exercises.[721] One of his language masters was John Florio, best known by his translation of Montaigne's _Essais_, published in 1600, who taught both French and Italian and was the author of several books for teaching the latter. Florio had spent many of his earlier years at Oxford, and at the beginning of the seventeenth century was in London, teaching languages, and well acquainted with many of the chief men of the day. It is uncertain at what date he became tutor to Prince Henry,[722] but in 1603 he was appointed Reader in Italian to Queen Anne, and in the following year "Gentleman extraordinary and Groom of the Privy Chamber." His royal pupil was a great lover of Pibrac's _Quatrains_, popular among teachers of French. The prince wrote to his mother in 1604, sending her a copy of one of the quatrains, and telling her that if she likes he will undertake to learn the whole by heart before the end of the year; and, in reminding his father of a promise to give ecclesiastical preferment to his tutor, Mr. Adam Newton, he quotes one of them as appropriate:[723] Tu ne saurois d'assez ample salaire Recompenser celui qui t'a soigné En ton enfance et qui t'a enseigné A bien parler et sur tout a bien faire. Prince Charles, afterwards Charles I., seems to have been the most accomplished of James's family in so far as French is concerned. He was able to carry on a conversation in it with his father and the Duke John Ernest of Saxe-Weimar when he was thirteen years old.[724] Evidence of his fluency is provided by the well-known episode of his visit to Spain to see the Infanta. The Queen of Spain, daughter of Henry IV. and sister of Henrietta Maria, was delighted when the English prince, on his arrival at the Spanish Court, addressed her in her native idiom. She warned him not to speak to her again without permission, as it was customary to poison all gentlemen suspected of gallantry towards the Queen of Spain. She managed to obtain leave to speak with Charles, however, and had a long conversation with him in her box at the theatre, in the course of which, it is said, she confided to him her desire for his marriage with her sister.[725] When Charles married Henrietta she was quite ignorant of English, and his knowledge of French was again put to the test. He was also called upon to employ French with his mother-in-law, Marie de Medecis, during her stay in England. His letters to her show how accomplished a writer of French he was. He possessed a more elegant style than his French wife, thanks largely to Guy Le Moyne,[726] who was also French tutor to the Duke of Buckingham[727] and other members of the nobility. Among the French masters employed in the family of Charles I. was Peter Massonnet, a native of Geneva, who attended the princes, Charles (II.) and James (II.), in the capacity of sub-tutor, writing-master, and French teacher. We have no details as to how he taught them, nor do we know if Charles learnt from one or other of the French manuals which had been dedicated to him. Massonnet received a salary and pension from Charles I., in whose service he remained for thirty-two years, first as French tutor to his children and then, in the time of his adversity, as clerk to the Patents, and Foreign Secretary. During the Commonwealth he spent some time at Oxford, and was created D.Med. on the 9th of April 1648, being described as second or under tutor to James, Duke of York.[728] At the time of the Restoration Massonnet was in a very destitute condition. His pension had not been paid during the troubled period of the Civil Wars and the Commonwealth, and to crown all he was outlawed for debt. He had to petition Charles II., his former pupil, several times for the payment of his salary and arrears before his appeal had any real effect. From time to time he received instalments, but in 1668 he was still "the saddest object of pity of all the king's servants, and ready to perish."[729] [Header: FRENCH TUTORS AT COURT] In 1633 Sir Robert le Grys, Groom of the Chamber to James I. and Charles I.,[730] offered his services as tutor to Prince Charles (II.), then three years old. He undertook to make Latin the prince's mother tongue by the age of seven, using an easy method, not "dogging his memory with pedantic rules, after the usual fashion." French was to be the language first studied, and Italian and Spanish also entered the programme.[731] What sort of reception these proposals met with is not known, but in May of the same year Sir Robert was granted the office of captain of the Castle of St. Mewes for life.[732] Another tutor, named Lovell, taught French and Latin to two of Charles I.'s children during the Civil War. He was employed at Penhurst by the Countess of Leicester, to whose care the children had been committed.[733] Ladies were among the most eager lovers of the French language at the Court of the early Stuarts, and were noted for their proficiency in that tongue. We hear that wealthy ladies go to Court, "and there learn to be at charge to teach the paraquetoes French."[734] Not only was he that could not _parlee_ not considered a gentleman, but the ladies had to talk French if they wished to play a part at Court. French had entirely supplanted Euphuism, the high-flown, bombastic speech which had held sway in polite circles after the appearance of Lyly's _Euphues_ in 1579. "Now a lady at Court who speaks no French," wrote Th. Blount in 1623,[735] "is as little regarded as she who did not parley euphuisme" in the earlier days. Girls, to be considered well brought up, had to "speak French naturally at fifteen, and be turned to Spanish and Italian half a year later."[736] It is improbable that Spanish was learnt in any but a few exceptional cases. Italian, however, was fairly widely learnt for purposes of reading as we may conclude from the title of a book printed at London in 1598 by Adam Islip--_The Necessary, Fit and Convenient Education of a young Gentlewoman, Italian, French, and English_.[737] John Evelyn's favourite daughter, Mary, was as familiarly acquainted with French as with English. Her knowledge of Italian was limited and characteristic of the general attitude taken up towards that language; she understood it, and was able "to render a laudable account of what she read and observed." His other daughter, Susanna, was also a good French scholar, but apparently knew no Italian, though she had read most of the Greek and Roman authors. Sir Ralph Verney, who dissuaded women from deep study, recognised that French was indispensable, and encouraged them to read French romances especially. While Italian was sometimes read, French was almost always spoken in polite circles. Milton's avowed preference for Italian forms a noticeable exception to the general rule, and even he acquired some knowledge of French at an early age.[738] There were also many more facilities for learning French than there were for Italian. It is certain--some of the dialogues of the French text-books prove it--that many ladies picked up a conversational knowledge of the language from their French maids. This was how the young daughters of Lord Strafford acquired their knowledge, as we see from the following account of their progress which he sent to their grandmother: "Nan, I think, speaks French prettily ... the other (Arabella) also speaks, but her maid, being of Guernsey, her accent is not good."[739] Women, however, had had at all times no small influence on the production of French text-books. One of the first written in England, the _Treatyz_ of Walter de Bibbesworth, was composed in the first place for the use of Lady Dionysia de Mounchensy. [Header: LADIES STUDY FRENCH] The two chief grammars of the early sixteenth century, the _Introductorie_ of Duwes and the _Esclarcissement_ of Palsgrave, both owed their origin to royal princesses, and early in the seventeenth century there appeared a grammar written specifically to enable women to "match old Holliband" and "_parlee_ out their part" with men--_The French Garden for English Ladyes and gentlewomen to walke in, or a Summer dayes labour_, by Peter Erondell or Arundell, a native of Normandy, and one of the group of refugee Huguenots, who taught the French language in London. Erondell informs us he had long felt the urgent need of such a book in his own teaching experience. "It is to be wondered," he writes, "that among so many which (and some very sufficiently) have written principles concerning our French Tongue (making the dialogues of divers kinds), not one hath set forth any respecting or belonging properly to women, except in the French Alphabet,[740] but as good never a whit as never the better; not that I finde faulte with it, but it is so little, as not to contayne scarce a whole page, so that it is to be esteemed almost as nothing. I knowe not where to attribute the cause, unles it be to forgetfulnes in them that have written of it. For seeing that our tongue is called _Lingua Mulierum_, and that the English ladyes and gentlewomen are studious and of a pregnant spirits, quicke concertes and ingeniositie, as any other country whatsoever, me thinketh it had been a verie worthie and specious subject for a good writer to employ his Pen." Accordingly Erondell undertook "to break the yce first," as he puts it. He opens his _Garden_ with some rules of pronunciation in English, "as a gate through the which wee must (and without the which we cannot) enter into our French Garden." He acknowledges that he has selected these rules "out of them which have written thereof." Many are taken from De la Mothe's _French Alphabet_, and Holyband, as well as Bellot, are also reckoned amongst those "which have written best of it." On one point, however, Erondell claims to make an observation "never noted before in any book." This had to do with the change in pronunciation of the diphthong _oi_.[741] "Whereas our countrymen were wonte to pronounce these words _connoistre_ ... as it is written by _oi_ or _oy_; now since fewe yeeres they pronounce it as if it were written thus, _conètre_." Erondell reduces the grammar rules to the smallest possible number. "He wishes the student to learn by heart" the first two verbs _avoir_ and _estre_, and for the rest to "help him selfe by the treatise that M. Holliband made thereof,[742] as being the best (French and English) that I have yet seen, notwithstanding it is not amisse to make you knowe our persons and the number of our conjugations, which M. Bellot, in his _French Guide_,[743] saith to be sixe, and I can number no more." In dealing with grammar, Erondell claims to correct a gross error common in England--the use of _de_ for the preposition _from_ before a masculine noun preceded by _le_; "because that in English it is said ... _I come from the country_, so the English students do commonly say, insteade of _Je viens du pays_, ... _Je viens de le pays_.... But why should I finde faulte in the English students," says Erondell, "whereas I my selfe have heard the French teachers (I mean of our language) commit commonly that error?" Erondell's grammar rules occupy but ten pages. They contain a few observations on the gender and number of nouns, on verbs, notes on _du_, _au_, _de la_, _a la_, _en_, _y_, and on the negative and degrees of comparison. He considers that the rules usually contained in French text-books are too many. Except for a few indispensable rules, "without the which our language can never be intelligiblie spoken," the rest are "rather a trouble and discouragement to the student then any furtherance." He compiled his book "for them of judgement and capacity only, which may far sooner attaine to the perfect knowledge of our tongue, by reason of cutting off those over-many rules, wherein the student was overmuch entangled." His first idea, indeed, had been to make a set of dialogues for women without any rules, but he realised that to do this would have been like building a "house without a doore"; "and so, the gate being wider open, they may walke in who will." Gentlemen also may find some "flowers" to please them, and the garden is an "arbour for the child": Who with the busie mother now and then May prattle of each point, in phrases milde The witty Boies, of bookes of sport and play, The pretty lasses of their worke all day. The dialogues, thirteen in number, and all of considerable length, form the main part of the work. As usual they are in French and English, and, in addition, the pronunciation of the more difficult French words is given in English spelling in the margin. [Header: PETER ERONDELL] They deal with the events in the daily life of a lady, from her rising in the morning till bed-time. The first portrays the lady, who is of a rather pedantic turn of mind, rising and dressing. The second introduces her two daughters and their French governess. There is much talk on the education of children, and we are spectators of the French tutor's (Erondell) arrival and of the French lesson, which forms the fourth dialogue. Each of the two girls in turn reads in French and then translates. The more advanced is given some English to translate into French, and the beginner is asked to conjugate certain French verbs. This is how the lesson opens: Sister Charlotte I pray you goe, Ma soeur Charlotte, Je vous prie fetch our bookes, bring our allez querir nos livres, apportez French Garden, and all our nostre jardin Francois, et tous other bookes: nos aultres livres: now in the name of God let us begin. or ça commençons au nom de Dieu. Mistres Fleurimond read first: Mlle. F. lisez premierement: speake somewhat louder parlez un peu plus haut to th' end I may heare afin que j'oye if you pronounce well: si vous prononcez bien: say that worde againe. dites ce mot la derechef. Wherefore do you sounde Pourquoy prononcez vous that s? cette s la? Doe you not knowe that it must be ne savez vous pas qu'il la faut left? Well, it is well said, laisser? Et bien, c'est bien dit, read with more facilitie, lisez avec plus de facilité, without taking such paines. sans tant vous peiner. Construe me that, what is that? Traduisez moy cela, qu'est cela? Do you understand that? tell me Entendez vous cela? dites m'en the signification in English--Truly la signification en Anglois--Certes Sir I cannot tell it, Mons. je ne le scauroye dire, I understand it not, je ne l'entend point, I beseech you tell it me, je vous supplie de me le dire, and I will remember it against et je le retiendray pour une another time--Give me your paper autre fois--Baillez moy vostre and I will write it, to th' end papier et ie l'escripray, afin you forget it not ... etc. que vous ne l'oubliez. . . . At the end of her lesson, Florimond has to point out her younger sister's mistakes; for, says Erondell, "in teaching others, one learns oneself." His rule for learning to read was, "observe your rules and read as you do in English"--a method which explains his system of guides to pronunciation. From the dialogues the student passes to the reading of French literature. The girls' French tutor came between seven and eight in the morning, the dancing-master at nine, the singing-master at ten, and another music-master at four in the afternoon. In the following dialogues the lady visits first the nursery, and next her sons and their tutors. She is then pictured receiving guests, going out shopping, presiding at the dinner-table,[744] and taking part in the conversation. Finally, in the evening, the company take a walk by the Thames, and the thirteenth and last dialogue "treateth of going to bed, prayers (including the Creed), and night-clothes." In order to give students an introduction to French verse as well as prose, Erondell adds to his book the story of the Centurion in the New Testament put into French verse by himself. He does not provide any English translation, and considers that the pupil who has progressed so far in the study of the language can very well do without it. For the same reason he here omits, as he does in the last dialogue also, the guides to pronunciation. For a time Erondell had been tutor in the Barkley family, and dedicated the _Garden_ to the Lady Elizabeth Barkley, with an expression of his gratitude for the many favours he had received from her. The verses on the Centurion are dedicated to Thomas Norton, of Norwood, whom he calls his "très intime et très honoré amy." As was usual at this time, Erondell's book is preceded by commendatory poems, including lines by William Herbert, author of _Cadwallader_, and by Nicholas Breton. There is also a sonnet by the "Sieur de Mont Chrestien, Gentilhomme françois," possibly the famous Antoine de Montchrétien, who in about 1605 was forced to leave France on account of a duel, and visited both England and Holland. Erondell appears to have been many years in England before he produced his _Garden_. At this date he had a large clientèle, including "many honourable ladies and gentlemen of great worth and worship." In about 1613 he engaged an assistant to help him, one John Fabre, a Frenchman, "born in the precinct of Guyand, a town of Turnon"; in 1618 Fabre was still "professeing the teaching of the French tongue with Mr. Peter Arundell."[745] In addition to compiling the _French Garden_, Erondelle prepared four new editions of Holyband's _French Schoolemaister_. Although they are said to be "newly corrected and emended by P. Erondell," he made no noticeable changes. The first of these editions appeared in 1606, and the others in 1612, 1615, and 1619. This last date is the latest at which we hear of him. [Header: ERONDELL'S WORKS] The earliest notice we have of Erondell is found in 1586, when he published a _Declaration and Catholic Exhortation to all Christian Princes to succour the Church of God and Realme of France_,[746] faithfully translated out of French, and printed side by side with the original--another of the many similar pamphlets in French and English. He had thus been in England at least twenty years when his book for teaching French was published, and its tardy appearance led one of his admirers to ask: Swift Erondell, why hast thou been so slowe Whose nature is to bring the summer in? In earlier years Erondell had no doubt made use of Holyband's works; he evinces a high esteem for the sixteenth-century teacher, and shows intimate acquaintance with his _Schoolemaister_ and his _Treatise on Verbs_. It is an interesting fact that until the middle of the seventeenth century and probably much later Holyband's sixteenth-century French was still being taught in England; as late as 1677 the _French Schoolemaister_ was among the books advertised for sale by Thomas Passenger at the sign of the Three Bibles on London Bridge.[747] The great changes taking place in the evolution of the French language reached England but slowly. Erondell translated another French work into English.[748] One day Richard Hakluyt, the geographer, brought him the whole volume of the Navigations of the French Nation to the West Indies to translate. From this Erondell selected the _Nova Francia, or the Description of that part of New France, which is one continent with Virginia, described in the three late voyages ... made by M. de Monto, M. du Pont Grave, and M. de Poutrincourt, into the countries called by the French men La Cadre, lying to the southwest of Cape Breton ..._, which was published in 1609 and dedicated to the "Bright Starre of the North, Henry, Prince of Great Britaine." The arrival of the French Queen of England, Henrietta Maria, in 1625, gave further stimulus to the already strong French influence at the Court. When she came she knew no English, and for many years after her arrival waywardly refused to study the language. Her numerous suite of French ladies and gentlemen, including Mme. Georges, the Duc and Duchesse de Chevreuse, and Père Sancy, shared her ignorance, as indeed did practically all foreigners. The English Court was thus called upon to exercise its French to the uttermost. The small French colony in London managed to make itself very unpopular, not only with the King but also with the whole Court. Their ignorance of English and English ways caused them to commit blunders which prejudiced people against them. Such was the case when Henrietta and her suite strolled, chattering and making a great noise, through an assembly of English people listening to a sermon. The preacher asked if he must stop, but no notice was taken, and soon the whole retinue returned in the same fashion, evidently not understanding a word of what was going on.[749] Within a year of their arrival, however, most of the French attendants were dismissed. Four years after the arrival of the French queen, who had a passion for the theatre, a French company arrived in London and acted before an English audience.[750] They first played a farce at Blackfriars on the 17th of November, but did not meet with much success, being "hissed, hooted, and pipinpelted." This hostile reception was partly due to the fact that women[751] took part in the acting--a thing hitherto unknown in England--and partly because the play was a "lascivious and unchaste comedye," and the company was formed of "certain vagrant French players who had beene expelled from their owne country." No wonder that they gave "just offence to all vertuous and well disposed persons in the town." Yet the French actors were not discouraged. They waited a fortnight, and then obtained a licence to play at the Red Bull. This second attempt does not appear to have been more successful than the first. After some three weeks had elapsed, however, the company decided to make a last effort. This time they acted at the Fortune, but with so little success, that the Master of the Revels refunded them half his fee "in respect of their ill-fortune." The failure of the venture was due largely to its novelty, and the popular dislike of the French. [Header: FRENCH PLAYERS IN LONDON] Though we are told that there was a "great resort" to the French plays,[752] apparently people went more for the sake of rioting than for the pleasure of hearing the French plays. The stormy reception of 1629 did not, however, hinder other French actors from coming to our country. In 1635 a new company arrived, this time under the special patronage of the Queen.[753] They first played before Her Majesty, who recommended them to the King. Through his influence they were allowed the use of the Cockpit Theatre in Whitehall. There, on the 17th of February, they presented a French comedy called _Mélise_--either Corneille's _Mélite_, or more probably Du Rocher's comic pastoral, _La Mélize, ou les Princes Reconnus_.[754] The King, Queen, and Court were present. The acting met with approval and the players received £10. There was no repetition of the riotous behaviour which had characterised the performances of 1629, probably because there were no women in the company, and also because the players were specially patronised by the Court and the aristocracy. A few days after the King gave orders to the Master of the Revels, Sir Henry Herbert, brother of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, that the French company should be allowed to act at Drury Lane Theatre on the two sermon days of each week during Lent, and through the whole of Passion week, when they would avoid rivalry with Beeston's English players, who did not perform on those days. Sir Henry Herbert, himself a good French scholar, tells us he "did all these courtesies to the French gratis," wishing to render the Queen his mistress an acceptable service. The French actors now enjoyed increasing popularity. When, at the end of Lent, they had to relinquish the Cockpit, Drury Lane, to the English players, their services were still in demand. On Easter Monday they acted before the Court in a play called _Le Trompeur puny_, no doubt the tragi-comedy of that name by Georges de Scudéry.[755] Their success was even greater than on the occasion of the Court performance of _Mélise_, and on the 16th of April following, they presented _Alcimedor_,[756] under the same circumstances, and "with good approbation." These three plays acted at the Court are the only part of their repertoire that is named in the record of the Master of the Revels. On the 10th of May they received £30 for three plays acted at the Cockpit, probably that in Whitehall, where they first acted _Mélise_ before the Court, nearly four months earlier, and not the Cockpit, Drury Lane, where they had played during Lent. The question now arose of providing the French players with a special theatre of their own. Arrangements were made for converting part of the Riding School in Drury Lane into a play-house, and on the 18th of April the King signified to Sir Henry Herbert his royal pleasure that "the French comedians should erect a stage, scaffolds and seats, and all other accommodations." On the 5th of May following a warrant was granted to Josias d'Aunay and Hurfries de Lau (so Sir Herbert spells their names)[757] and others, empowering them to act at the new theatre "during pleasure." How long the French company, whose director was Josias Floridor, continued to act in London is not known. But it is a striking fact that in 1635 there was a regular French theatre established in the city, and its presence must have had considerable effect. The French company under Floridor again appeared before the Court, in December 1635; we do not know what they played, beyond the fact that it was a tragedy. On the twenty-first of the same month, the Pastoral of _Florimène_ was acted in French at Whitehall by the French ladies who attended the Queen. The King, the Queen, Prince Charles, and the Elector Palatine, were present, and the performance was a great success. The Queen did not persist in her obstinate refusal to learn English. When she had been in the country about seven years, she began to study the language seriously. Mr. Wingate was her tutor, and her love of the theatre was put to practical use by the performance of long masques and pastorals in English in which she took part. It is not surprising that Henrietta Maria was ignorant of English, for our language was practically unknown in France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. [Header: ENGLISH IGNORED ON THE CONTINENT] Italian and Spanish were the fashionable modern foreign languages in France. English was either entirely ignored or regarded as barbarous, and since French was widely spoken at the English Court, and Latin was used by scholars, the need for it was not felt.[758] No foreign ambassador ever knew English. Of the Frenchmen who visited England,[759] only a few learnt the language. Chief among these were the French teachers, the pioneers among Frenchmen in the study of the English tongue. Of individuals, the Sieur de la Hoquette, man of letters and traveller, is said to have visited England to see Bacon, and learnt English in order to read the Chancellor's works in the original. He discussed Bacon's works and English novels with J. Bignon, and was surprised to find that scholar acquainted with them. Jean Doujat also knew English, as did La Mothe le Vayer, who married a Scotchwoman, and also perhaps Regnier Desmarais, who draws a few comparisons with it in his grammar.[760] But these were isolated exceptions. Among the languages in which Panurge addresses Pantagruel on their first meeting, English has a place, but is hardly recognisable in its Scottish dress.[761] And the Maréchal de Villars relates in his memoirs[762] that the Duc de la Ferté, "quand il avait un peu bu," would break out in English to the great astonishment and amusement of all who were present. There is a tradition that Corneille kept a copy of the English translation of the _Cid_, which he showed to his friends as a curiosity. Yet the general ignorance of English outside England did not discourage English actors from making professional tours abroad. They seem to have enjoyed considerable popularity in Germany and the Low Countries,[763] where they played at first in English. No doubt dancing, mimicry, and music had much to do with their success, and the clown probably took advantage of his position to offer interpretations from time to time. However, the actors soon learnt some German by mixing with German actors. A band of English acrobats had performed at Paris in 1583. Some years later, in 1598, a troupe of English comedians hired the Hôtel de Bourgogne,[764] the only theatre in Paris, from the _Confrérie de la Passion_, who usually played there. The English actors, at whose head was one Jehan Sehais, got into trouble for playing outside the Hôtel, contrary to the privileges of the _Confrérie_, and had to pay an indemnity. How much these actors made use of their language for attracting an audience is not certain. At a somewhat later date, another company played at Fontainebleau before Henry IV. and his son, afterwards Louis XIII. The "wild dramas" acted by the English players seem to have made a great impression on the young prince, who afterwards would amuse himself by dressing as a comedian and crying in a very loud voice, "Toph, toph, milord!" pacing about with great strides in the fashion of the English actors.[765] But it is highly probable that these few words were all the English the future king of France could muster. Like the language, English literature was generally ignored in France. Those men of letters who wrote Latin--More, Camden, Selden, etc.--were known under their Latin names. In the early years of the seventeenth century, however,[766] the French began to take an interest in English literature, and a few translations of prose works appeared, though English poetry and drama remained unnoticed. The first French version of an English work was that of Bishop Hall's _Characters of Vertues and Vices_ which appeared in 1610, and again in 1612 and 1619, and may have had some influence on La Bruyère's _Caractères_. [Header: NEGLECT OF ENGLISH] It is also interesting to note that this enterprising translator was no other than J. L'Oiseau de Tourval, Parisien, who wrote so enthusiastically of Cotgrave's dictionary, which appeared in the following year (1611).[767] In the course of the next twenty years about a score of other translations saw the light, including versions of Greene's _Pandosta_ (1615), of Sidney's _Arcadia_, and of Bacon's _Essays_. The translation of the _Arcadia_ was the subject of a violent literary quarrel. Two versions came out at the same time, and both claimed priority. One was due to J. Baudouin, who had lived two years in England learning the language. He was also responsible for the translation of Bacon.[768] His rival was one Mlle. Chappelain. "English is a language that will do you good in England, but past Dover it is worth nothing," wrote John Florio the language teacher, in his _First Frutes_ (1578). And more than half a century later English was still despised in foreign countries. While French was of use "in all furthest parts of Europe," English still served "but in the Brittaine lland,"[769] and even there did not receive due homage. English, we are told by an indignant upholder of the claims of our language,[770] was left for him who drives the plough; all the scholars, all the courtiers you passed in the street, were good scholars in foreign tongues; many of them chatted French as glibly as parrots, but could not write a single English line without a solecism. But in the meantime the study of English had had its advocates.[771] Richard Mulcaster has already been mentioned as the first Englishman who emphatically urged that English should be studied as thoroughly as foreign languages. "What reason is it," he asked, "to be acquainted abrode and a stranger at home? to know foreign things by rule, and our own but by rote? If all other men had been so affected, to make much of the foren and set light by their own, we should never by comparing have discerned the better. They proined their own speche, both to please themselves and to set us on edge." This was in 1582. Scholars took up the defence of the claims of English against French, just as they did the claims of Latin. Camden seeks to prove that English contains as many Greek words as French,[772] and so is as worthy of respect. And Osborne, in his _Advice to a Son_, tells the young diplomat to employ an interpreter in his dealings with these foreigners who refused to recognize the value of English, "it being too much an honouring of their Tongue, and undervaluing of your owne, to propose yourself a master therein, especially since they scorn to learn yours." There were, however, a few facilities for learning English at the disposal of foreigners, in addition to residence in England. The marriage of Charles I. with Henrietta Maria had been hailed both in France and England by books which taught the languages of the two countries conjointly, and so strengthened the new bond between them. In England appeared a new edition of Du Bartas, in French and English, for teaching "an Englishman French, or a Frenchman English." Wodroeph's _Marrow of the French Tongue_ (1625), which saw the light at the same time, was said to be "aussi utile pour le François d'apprendre l'Anglois que pour l'Anglois d'apprendre le François," though only the dialogues in French and English could serve this purpose, as, indeed, they might in any other French text-book.[773] This notice is evidently added merely as a concession to topical events; it had not figured in the earlier edition (1623). In France, on the other hand, was published a work in which English was treated more seriously. This was a _Grammaire Angloise pour facilement et promptement apprendre la langue angloise. Qui peut aussi aider aux Anglois pour apprendre la langue Françoise: Alphabet Anglois contenant la pronunciation des lettres avec les declinaisons et conjugaisons_, dedicated to Henrietta Maria, and probably arranged by one of the professors of the Collège de Navarre, from which it is dated. We are informed that the princess, and those intending to accompany her to her new home, studied English daily. These lessons, if they were really given, were no doubt a matter of form, and we may judge from the results that they were not taken seriously. [Header: ENGLISH GRAMMARS] This grammar issued in 1625 was not original; it had appeared at Rouen in 1595,[774] and before that date there had been several other editions. The 1595 edition was enlarged and corrected by a certain E. A., who, for about ten years previously, had spent much of his time translating French pamphlets on topical events and similar works from French into English.[775] E. A., who was probably the original compiler of the work, dedicated it to Queen Elizabeth. He says he had collected the material from different authors in the leisure time allowed him by his studies. In its contents the work resembles the usual French manuals produced in England. It opens with rules for the pronunciation of English, followed by grammar rules for the same language, all given in French and English. Then come the dialogues, taken textually and without acknowledgement from Holyband's _French Littleton_, and one dialogue specially for courtiers, which may have been original.[776] The book closes with the vocabulary of Holyband's _French Schoolemaister_. The grammatical part of the work is also taken from one of the productions of the French teachers in England--the _Maistre d'escole anglais_ (1580), written by Jacques Bellot for teaching English to foreigners in England and dedicated to a member of the royal family of France. Bellot protests against the general neglect of the English language, rich enough in his opinion to rank with the most famous living tongues. He claims to be the first to draw up precepts for teaching it. There is little exaggeration in Bellot's claim, for hardly any works on English had as yet been written, and these were chiefly treatises on the orthography, more scholastic than pedagogic in intention.[777] At the close of the year in which Bellot's work was published, however, appeared the first work on English by an Englishman, designed to give instruction to foreigners as well as his own countrymen. This was William Bullocker's _Booke at large for the Amendment of Orthographie for English Speech_, to which was added "a ruled grammar ... for the same speech to no small commoditie of the English Nation, not only to come to easie, speedie and perfect use of our owne language, but also to their easie and speedie and readie entrance into the secrets of other Languages, and easie and speedie pathway to all strangers, to use our language, heretofore very hard unto them." Two years later came Mulcaster's _Elementarie_, urging the claims of the vernacular, and expounding his method for teaching it. Other grammars followed, some in Latin, some in English,[778] but in hardly any of them is any attention paid to foreigners--a striking contrast with those published in France, in which foreigners were always an important consideration. In 1632, however, appeared Sherwood's English-French Dictionary, of which, it is said, the French were "great buyers." Towards the middle of the seventeenth century foreigners received more and more attention in such books, as English became better known. Simon Daines's _Orthoepia anglicana_,[779] for instance, intended for the use of both natives and foreigners, was published in 1640, as was also _The English grammar made by Ben Jonson for the benefit of all strangers out of his observation of the English language now spoken and in use_.[780] Ben Jonson had made a collection of grammars, and he speaks of a most ancient work written in the Saxon tongue and character. "The profit of grammar is great to strangers, who have to live in communication and commerce with us," he wrote, "and it is honourable to ourselves." In 1644 another work of like aim was issued under one of the usual florid titles affected at that time: _The English Primrose far surpassing others of this kind that ever grew in any English garden._ It professed to teach "the true spelling, reading and writing of English," and was "planted" by Richard Hodges, schoolmaster in Southwark, "for the exceeding great benefit both of his own countrymen and strangers." Similarly J. Wharton's grammar of 1655 claimed to be "the most certain guide that ever yet was extant" for strangers that desire to learn our language. [Header: ENGLISH GRAMMARS FOR FOREIGNERS] Thus travellers to England would find some provision for learning English. In the early seventeenth century several French teachers in London undertook to teach English to foreigners, and these were the earliest professional teachers of the language. They had all learnt English after their arrival in the country on very practical methods, an experience which must have reacted on their methods of teaching French. Most of them wrote English with ease, if not always idiomatically. As time advanced, especially in the latter part of the seventeenth century, they composed several English grammars for teaching the language to their pupils. Merchants as well as French teachers were pioneers in advancing the study of English by foreigners. In 1622 George Mason, one of the merchants in London skilled in the French tongue, wrote a _Grammaire Angloise, contenant reigles bien exactes et certaines de la Prononciation, Orthographie et construction de nostre langue, en faveur des estrangers qui en sont desireux_, but especially, he tells us, for the use of "noz françois tant a leur arrivée en ce pais, que en leur demeure en iceluy." This English grammar[781] is written in French, and gives rules for pronunciation and the parts of speech. It is followed by dialogues[782] in French and English, in the usual style, bearing much resemblance to the Latin colloquies and the dialogues of De la Mothe's _French Alphabet_. A new edition was issued at London in 1633. The earliest conversation books in French and English printed by Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde, and Pynson are called books for teaching English as well as French. They were indeed equally adapted for either language, but it is very improbable that at this early date even the most enterprising merchants learnt English. Yet the first foreigners to recognize the importance of English were merchants. English was given a place by the side of Latin, French, Spanish, Italian, and German in the edition of the polyglot dictionary for the use of merchants and travellers, printed at Venice in 1540,[783] and at a later date in the polyglot collection of dialogues which developed from the French and Flemish dialogues of Noel de Barlement; not, however, till 1576, when the book had been in vogue for about three-quarters of a century. Gabriel Meurier, schoolmaster of Antwerp, who taught French to many of the numerous English merchants always in the town, was acquainted with our language, but does not appear to have had any opening for teaching it, as he did French, Flemish, Italian, and Spanish. At a later date, however, we find an Englishman gaining his livelihood by teaching his own language in the Netherlands. In 1646 he published at Amsterdam _The English schole-master; or certaine rules and helpes, whereby the natives of the Netherlands may be in a short time, taught to read, understand and speake the English tongue, by the helpe whereof the English may be better instructed in the knowledge of the Dutch tongue, than by any vocabulars, or other Dutch and English Books, which hitherto they may have had for that purpose_. This work contains an English grammar, followed by selections from the Scriptures, moral and familiar sayings, proverbs, dialogues, letters in English and Dutch. The "Vocabulars" to which he refers furnished him with most of his dialogues. A new edition appeared in 1658. Rouen, ever a busy centre for merchants, was the place where provision for teaching English was first made in France. Editions of the polyglot dictionary, which included English in the edition of Venice in 1540, were printed at Rouen in 1611 and 1625, and again at Paris in 1631. The 1595 edition of E. A.'s English grammar appeared at Rouen, as had probably the earlier editions. This compilation of the English grammar of Bellot and the dialogues of Holyband was in vogue for a very long time. In addition to the Paris issue on the occasion of the marriage of Henrietta Maria with Charles I. (1625), editions appeared at Rouen in 1639, 1668, 1670, 1679, and most probably at other dates also; another was issued at London, 1677. Perhaps the first book for teaching English printed in France was a _Traicté pour apprendre a parler Françoys et Anglois_, published at Rouen in 1553, apparently an early edition of Meurier's work, printed at Rouen in 1563 as a _Traité pour apprendre a parler françois et anglois, ensemble faire missives, obligations,_ etc., and again at Rouen in 1641. It was long before English won recognition from foreigners other than merchants. Not until the eighteenth century was it learnt for the sake of its literature, and as a means of intercourse with the people who spoke it. This state of things made it incumbent on Englishmen to equip themselves with some foreign tongue, and they naturally chose French, the most universal language at that time. FOOTNOTES: [707] See accounts in Rye, _England as seen by Foreigners_. [708] J. O. Halliwell, _Letters of the Kings of England_, London, 1846. [709] Rye, _op. cit._ p. 153. [710] "Autobiographie," _Bull. de la Soc. de l'Hist. du Protestantisme Français_, vii. pp. 343 _sqq._ [711] Another famous Frenchman at the Court of James I. was Theodore Mayerne the Court Doctor (cp. _Table Talk of Bishop Hurd_, Ox. Hist. Soc. Collectanea, ser. 2, p. 390); also Jean de Schelandre and Montchrétien among men of letters. James refused to give audience to the poet Théophile de Viau, exiled for his daring satires. Boisrobert, St. Amant, Voiture, likewise visited England at this period. [712] Thurot, _Prononciation française_, i. p. xiv. [713] Gerbier, _Interpreter of the Academy_, 1648. [714] Aufeild: Translation of Maupas's _Grammar_, 1634. [715] Young, _L'Enseignement en Écosse_, p. 78. [716] Ellis, _Original Letters_, 1st series, iii. 89. [717] T. Birch, _Life of Henry Prince of Wales_, London, 1760, p. 20. [718] On Henry's death, St. Antoine became equerry to his brother Charles (Rye, _op. cit._ p. 253). [719] Ellis, _Orig. Letters_, ser. 1, iii. 95. [720] "The French fashion of dancing is most in request with us" (Dallington, _Method for Travell_, 1598). [721] His dancing-master was a M. du Caus. There were other Frenchmen in his service. Cp. "Roll of Expenses of Prince Henry," _Revels at Court_, ed. P. Cunningham, New Sk. Soc., 1842. [722] J. Aubrey, _Brief Lives_, ed. Clark, 1898, i. p. 254; Wood, _Athen. Oxon._ (Bliss). [723] T. Birch, _op. cit._ pp. 38, 66, 67. [724] Rye, _op. cit._ p. 155. [725] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, in Petitot et Monmerqué, _Collection des Mémoires relatifs à l'Histoire de France_, tom. 37, 1824, pp. 122-3. [726] _Cal. State Papers, 1660-61_, p. 162; cp. p. 207, _supra_. [727] Probably the second Duke, whom Charles, out of friendship for his father, the first Duke, brought up in his own family. [728] Foster, _Alumni Oxon._, ad nom. [729] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1663-64_, pp. 384, 526, 527; _1668-69_, p. 129; Shaw, _Calendar of Treasury Books, 1667-68_, pp. 346, 365, 620. [730] He received the order of knighthood from Charles I. in 1629. [731] _Cal. State Papers, 1633_, p. 349. [732] Le Grys translated several works from Latin into English. He died early in 1635; cp. _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [733] E. Godfrey, _English Children in Olden Time_, New York, 1907, p. 133. [734] Davenant, _The Wits_, Act II.; cp. Upham, _French Influence in English Literature_, p. 7. [735] Preface to Lyly's _Euphues_, 1623. [736] T. Middleton, _More Dissemblers among Women_, Act I. Sc. 4; cp. Upham, _op. cit._ p. 6. [737] Watt, _Bibliotheca Britannica_, 1824, ad nom. [738] Probably before he left school (Masson, _Life of Milton_, 1875, i. p. 57). [739] E. Godfrey, _op. cit._ p. 178. [740] De la Mothe devoted a short chapter to enumerating women's clothing. [741] Thurot, _Prononciation française_, pp. 374, 376. [742] _Treatise for Declining French Verbs_, 1580, 1599, and 1641. [743] Perhaps this is Bellot's _French Methode_ of 1588, of which there is no copy in the British Museum, the Bodleian, or Cambridge University Library. There is no trace of his having written a third grammar called the _French Guide_; in his French Grammar of 1578 the verbs are arranged in five conjugations. [744] This section in particular bears a close resemblance to the _Exercitatio_ of Vives. See Dialogue 17, in F. Watson's _Tudor Schoolboy Life_. [745] In Broad Street Ward; see Cooper, _List of Aliens_, Camden Soc., 1862; Hug. Soc. Pub., x. Pt. iii. p. 187. [746] Lambeth Library, 8vo, B-E in fours. Hazlitt, _Bibliog. Collections and Notes_, ii. 206. [747] It is included in almost all the Sale Catalogues of private libraries at the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth century. [748] Erondell was probably also responsible for numerous other translations from French into English; cp. p. 277, note 2, _infra_. [749] Strickland, _Lives of the Queens of England_, 1884, iv. p. 160. [750] J. Payne Collier, _History of English Dramatic Poetry, and Annals of the Stage_, 1879, i. pp. 451 _sqq._; F. G. Fleay, _A Chronicle History of the English Stage_, 1890, p. 334. [751] "Not women but monsters," wrote the Puritan Prynne in his _Histriomastrix_, 1633, p. 114. [752] Prynne, _op. cit._ p. 215. [753] Payne Collier, _op. cit._ ii. pp. 2 _sqq._; Fleay, _op. cit._ p. 339. [754] The former was first acted in France in 1629 and the latter in 1633; cf. Upham, _French Influence in English Literature_, p. 373. [755] Scudéry's work is in verse; a king and queen of England figure among the characters. It was first performed in France in 1631. [756] Probably a tragi-comedy by Du Ryer, acted in 1634; Upham, _op. cit._ p. 373. [757] Diary, reprinted: Malone's _Historical Account of the English Stage_, in an edition of Shakespeare's works, completed by Boswell, 1821, iii. pp. 120, 122. Herbert makes many of his entries in French. [758] Meurier, _Communications familières_, 1563. [759] While the English visited France in great numbers, very few Frenchmen came to England, except those engaged on diplomatic missions, or exiles. Thus, Ronsard, Jacques Grévin, Brantôme, Bodin, in the sixteenth century; Schelandre, d'Assoucy, Boisrobert, Le Pays, Pavillon, Voiture, Malleville, and a few others in the early seventeenth century, spent a short time in England. Among scholars, Peiresc, Henri Estienne, Justel, Bochart, and Casaubon visited our country. St. Amant was twice in England, and on the occasion of his second visit wrote a satirical poem, _Albion_, in which he gave vent to his dislike of the people and the country (_Oeuvres_, ed. Livet, 1855, vol. ii.). Guide-books to England were few, and far from giving a good impression of the country. See Jusserand, _Shakespeare in France_, pp. 8, 129. [760] Rathery, _Relations sociales et intellectuelles entre la France et l'Angleterre_, pp. 22-23, 48 sqq. [761] "Lord ghest tholb be sua virtiuff be intelligence, aff yi body schal biff be naturall rehutht tholb suld of me pety have for natur ..." (_Oeuvres de Rabelais_, ed. C. Marty Laveaux, i. 261). [762] Petitot et Monmerqué, _Collection des Mémoires_, tom. 68, Paris, 1828. [763] A. Cohn, _Shakespeare in Germany in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries_, London, 1865, pp. xxviii, cxxxiv, cxxxv. [764] Jusserand, _Shakespeare in France_, 1899, pp. 51 _sqq._; E. Soulié, _Recherches sur Molière_, Paris, 1863, p. 153. [765] _Journal de Jean Hervard sur l'enfance et la jeunesse de Louis XIII, 1601-28_, Paris, 1868. Quoted by Jusserand, _op. cit._ p. 57 n. One of Louis's tutors was an Englishman, Richard Smith. [766] S. Lee, "The Beginnings of French Translations from the English," _Proceedings of the Bibliog. Soc._ viii., 1907, pp. 85-112. [767] Tourval was for long engaged on turning James I.'s compositions into French, and complains of not receiving any reward nor even his expenses. [768] He also translated Godwin's _Man in the Moon_, 1648, which had some influence on Cyrano de Bergerac. He was probably the Jean Baudouin who studied at Edinburgh in 1597. [769] Gerbier, _Interpreter of the Academy_, 1648. [770] T. B. Squire, in Simon Daines's _Orthoepia Anglicana_, reprinted by R. Brotanek in _Neudrucke frühneuenglischer Grammatiken_, Bd. iii., 1908. [771] By the end of the sixteenth century it was quite a usual thing for learned subjects to be treated in English. Ascham apologised for using English in his _Toxophilus_ (1545), but in his _Scholemaster_ (1570) he used it as a matter of course. [772] Jusserand, _Histoire littéraire du peuple anglais_, 1904, p. 316. [773] Florio makes the same claim in his _First Frutes_ for teaching Italian and English. [774] _Grammaire Angloise et Françoise pour facilement et promptement apprendre la Langue angloise et françoise._ A Rouen, chez la veuve Oursel, 1595, 8vo. The Brit. Mus. copy contains MS. notes of a French student. [775] In 1586 he translated three letters of Henry of Navarre, and in following years a continuous series of similar works; in 1587 the _Politicke and Militarie Discourse_ of La Noue; in 1588 the _Discourse concerning the right which the House of Guise have to the crown of France_, etc. His latest translation appears to have been Louis XIII.'s _Declaration upon his Edicts for Combats_, 1613. This E. A. may have been identical with Erondell (or, as sometimes written, Arundel), who gives his name as "P. Erondell (E. A.)" in his translation of the _Declaration and Catholic exhortation_ (1586). [776] It bears a strong resemblance to the first dialogue in Erondell's _French Garden_. [777] Such as the works of Sir Thomas Smith, John Cheke, John Hart, all of which appeared before 1580. [778] By P. Greenwood (1594), Ed. Coote (1596), A. Gill (1619), J. Herves (1624), Ch. Butler (1633). Some are reprinted by Brotanek, _op. cit._; cp. F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, chap. i. [779] Reprinted by Brotanek, _op. cit._ vol. iii., 1908. [780] _Works_, 1875, vol. ix. pp. 229 _sqq._ [781] Reprinted by R. Brotanek, _op. cit._ Heft i., 1905, pp. 105. [782] Pp. 60 _sqq._ [783] It had no place in the earlier editions of 1534 and 1537. CHAPTER II FRENCH GRAMMARS--BOOKS FOR TEACHING LATIN AND FRENCH--FRENCH IN PRIVATE INSTITUTIONS One of the most noted teachers of English as well as of French was Robert Sherwood, who in 1632 completed his English-French Dictionary which was appended to the new edition of Cotgrave's work issued in that year.[784] Sherwood was born in Norfolk,[785] although he later called himself a Londoner. In July 1622 he entered Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and graduated B.A. in 1626. He then moved to London and opened a language school in St. Sepulchre's Churchyard, where he continued to teach for many years. He also taught English to many French, German, Danish, and Flemish nobles and gentlemen who visited London. To these distinguished visitors he dedicated his dictionary in 1632, as well as the second edition of his French grammar in 1634, expressing the hope that he would soon be able to produce an English grammar "toute entière," for only the practical exercises in French and English could be of use to them in their study of English. His French grammar was intended "for the furtherance and practice of gentlemen, scollers and others desirous of the said language." We gather that Sherwood's school was limited entirely to the higher classes, and was very different from Holyband's noisy and bustling establishment. The first edition of Sherwood's _French Tutour_, as he called his grammar, saw the light in 1625,[786] just before he graduated at Cambridge. He had probably worked at it as well as at his dictionary during his residence there, and appears to have taught French to private pupils. How he first acquired his knowledge of French, we do not know. He may have spent some years in France before going to Cambridge, since he would not find much opportunity of studying the language there. His work is little more than a translation of selections from the French grammar of Charles Maupas of Blois (1625). Perhaps he studied the language with Maupas himself, of whom he speaks with great respect. In parts of his grammar, however, Sherwood drew on his own "long experience" in teaching French. The second edition of the _French Tutour_ (1634) is said to be carefully corrected and enlarged. In it Sherwood follows the usual order of treatment. First come rules of pronunciation, then of grammar, which show "the nature and use of the Articles, a thing of no small importance in this language: also the way to find out the gender of all nounes: the conjugation of all the verbs regular and irregular; and after which followeth a list of most of the indeclinable parts (which commonly do much hinder learners) Alphabetically Englished; with a most ample syntax of all the parts of speech." This section closes with an alphabetical index "interpreting such nounes and verbes as are unenglished in the grammar." The practical exercises are in the form of "three dialogues and a touch of French compliments," in French and English, arranged in two parallel columns on a page. The first deals with familiar talk by the wayside, depicting travellers on their road to London, and, on their arrival, taking lodgings at the Black Swan in Holborn, doing their shopping, and taking their evening meal. The other two dialogues treat of less familiar subjects; and, on the whole, Sherwood's book was not of a popular kind, but was intended for the "learned." One describes the exercises and studies of the nobility, dancing, riding, fencing, hunting, geography, cosmography, and so forth; and the other turns on the subject of travel in foreign countries, in which Sherwood emphasizes the necessity for the traveller of "some good and fundamental beginning in the language of the country whither he goeth." The _Tutour_ closes with a selection of French compliments from the book of M. L. Miche on French courtesy, to which Sherwood added an English version. Another Englishman also ventured in the early years of the seventeenth century to write on the French language--William Colson, who called himself a Professor of Literal and Liberal Sciences. He had spent many years abroad as [Header: WILLIAM COLSON] travelling companion to young English gentlemen, "as well learning as teaching such laudable arts and qualities as are most fitting for a gentleman's exercise." Seemingly he spent some time in the Low Countries, and he may have found his pupils among the English troops serving there, as in 1603 he published at Liége a book in French on arithmetic which also provides military information. Before 1612 he had returned to London, where he composed a similar work in English, dedicated to the Lords of the Privy Council.[787] He tells us that on his return from his travels he wrote "certaine litteral workes," mostly on the teaching of languages, and like an earlier English writer, John Eliote, evolved a special method which he called "arte locall or the arte of memorie." He expounds his "method," which is very vague and obscure in its application, in one of his French text-books which appeared in London in 1620 and was called _The First Part of the French grammar, Artificially Deduced, into Tables by Arte Locall, called the Arte of Memorie_. Colson desired to reconcile the old orthography with the new, as Holyband had done earlier, by means of a reformed alphabet of twenty-six letters, and of a triple distinction of characters, Roman, Italian, and English. Roman type was to stand for the _proper_ pronunciation, that is, letters which are pronounced as they are written; the Italian for the _improper_, that is, letters which are not given their usual pronunciation; and finally the letters written but not sounded were to be printed in black letter. In his reformed alphabet he divides the letters into seven vowels and eighteen consonants, and subdivides the consonants into semivowels and mutes. He gives each letter its usual name, and then its special name according to his own scheme, as follows: A E' E O I Y V | H | S Z X I | L R N M | a é e o i y u | éh | és éz éx éi | él ér én ém | proper names | | | | speciall names | he | sé zé xé ié | lé ré né mé | \_____________/ \__________________________/ Aspiration 8 semivowels F [^] B P : D T G K | C Q éf é[^] éb ép : éd ét ég ék | éc éq | fé [^]é bé pé : dé té gé ké | cé qé \________________________________/ 10 mutes \______________________________/ 7 vowels 18 consonants \___________________________________________________________/ Elements and Letters And all the said Alphabet is briefly contained in these five artificiall words to be learnt by heart:--Haeiou--sezexeie--lereneme--fe[^]ebepe-- detegeke. After treating of the letters, Colson proceeds to deal with the other three chief parts of grammar--"the sillible, the diction, and the locution" (the last two dealing with accidence and syntax respectively) in a similarly intricate and obscure style. It is difficult to imagine what can have been his reasons for his scheme of complicated divisions and sub-divisions, more like a puzzle than anything else. Yet he appears to have been serious, and assures us that once his reformed alphabet is mastered "the perfect pronunciation, reading, and writing of the French tongue is gotten in the space of one month or thereabouts." It is not surprising that his attempted reform passed quite unheeded. This _First Part of the French grammar_, which is dedicated to "the Worshippfull, worthie and vertuous gentleman, M. Emanuel Giffard, Esquire," seems to be the only one of Colson's works on the French language which has survived. At its close is a large folding sheet, containing the table of his reformed alphabet, dedicated to Sir Michael Stanhope and Sir William Cornwallis by their affectionate servant. The date is 1613. Colson informs us that he had also compiled a French grammar divided into four parts, after a new method. He likewise refers to "all his bookes tending to the instruction of the French tongue," such as his "booke of the declination of nouns, and conjugation of Verbes," and his "three repertories of the English, French, and Latine tongues, compounded by arte locall for aiding the memorie in learning most speedily the words of the foresaide tongues by heart in halfe time": his "Repertoire of all syllables in general and of all French words in particular containing the Art to learn them easily by heart in verie short time and with little labour to the great contentment of him which is desirous of the French tongue, all reduced into Tables by Art Locall as before said": and "other works of ours shortly to be printed tending to the knowledge of the foresaid tongues, in which works is set downe by Art and order local (called the Art of Memory) most easy and brief rules to learne the foresaid bookes by heart." Most of these, no doubt, were short pamphlets, perhaps in the shape of the large folding sheet inserted at the end of the Grammar of 1620, and so stood but little chance of survival. At this same period the popular French grammar of Charles Maupas, well known to many travellers to France, was translated into English by William Aufeild and published in 1634. [Header: WILLIAM AUFEILD] Maupas's grammar, first printed at Blois in 1607, had won a considerable reputation in England, and was not without noticeable influence on the French grammars published in London. Sherwood, who had made free use of Maupas, praised him very highly. James Howell, in his edition of Cotgrave's Dictionary, advises students to seek fuller grammatical information in Maupas's Grammar, "the exactest and most scholarlike of all." William Aufeild, the translator of the book--"the best instructions for that language by the consent of all that know the book, that were ever written"--considers that it excels all the French grammars ever produced in England: "all of them put together do not teach half so well the idiom of the French tongue as this one doth." We are assured that the work was in great demand when it first appeared in England, and that a great number of the nobility and gentry were commonly taught by means of it. Finding that the fact that it was written in French was a great drawback, as it could only be used by those who already understood French, Aufeild decided to translate it into English, and dedicated his work to the young Duke of Buckingham,[788] son of the duke to whom Maupas had offered the original. Aufeild tells that he had been studying French for ten years when he undertook his task. He called the translation _A French grammar and Syntaxe, contayning most exact and certaine Rules for the pronunciation, Orthography, construction and use of the French language_.[789] To adapt the work to the use of the English, the translator placed a small cross under letters not pronounced in the French word, thus adopting Holyband's plan. These letters were also printed in a different type, "that better notice might be taken of them." He also endeavours to give the sounds of the French alphabet in English spelling, so that if the student "pronounce the one like an Englishman, he must needs pronounce the same sounds, written after the French manner, like a Frenchman." This, he says, is the only invention which he claims as his own in the whole work. "The examples as well as the text, are englished to save the reader so many lookings in his Dictionary"; and the word to which the rule has special reference is printed in different type from the rest of the example. Occasionally the text is expanded by additional explanations, included in parentheses. Aufeild advises the student of French to read the whole grammar through first, in order to get a general notion of the language. It is vain, he argues, to begin learning rules for the pronunciation of a language of which you are totally ignorant. Especially is this so in the case of the "unlearned," that is, those unacquainted with Latin grammar. For instance, "you shall find that in all the third persons plural of verbes ending in _-ent_, _n_ is not pronounced," and so on. Now, "unless a man can distinguish an adverbe from a verbe," he says, "or till he know how the plurall number is made of the singular how shall he know ... when to leave out _n_ before _t_?" "In my opinion," he adds, "it is but a dull and wearisome thing for a man to take a great deale of paines, in learning to pronounce what he understandeth not." Clearly his ideal was a preliminary grounding in the general principles of grammar. When you have a general knowledge of the whole language you may begin at the pronunciation and "so goe through it againe in order as it lieth." In the second reading the student should take into account the less important rules which are omitted in the first perusal. Aufeild's final piece of advice is at variance with the general practice among teachers of the time. He would have the pupil postpone all attempts at speaking the language until the last stages: "be not too greedy," he warns the reader, "to be thought a speaker of French before you are sure you understand what you read." The best known teacher of Italian in the seventeenth century, Torriano, was of the same opinion: "for the avoiding of a vulgar error or fault very predominant in many, namely of being over hasty to be speaking of a language, before it be well understood, I thought not amiss to produce the quotation of one Mr. Wm. Aufeild.... I jump with him that they who are last at speaking speak the best and surest and so much I find by my experience among my scholars."[790] Many years before, Roger Ascham had expressed the same view with regard to the teaching of Latin. [Header: AUFEILD'S ADVICE TO STUDENTS] He admitted that the "dailie use of speaking was the best method," but only provided the learner could always hear the language spoken correctly and avoid "the habit of the evil choice of words, and crooked forming of sentences"; but as it is, _loquendo male loqui discunt_, and he advises the postponement of speaking until some progress had been made.[791] Considering Aufeild's ideas as to the speaking of French, we quite expect to find him condemning attempts to pick up the language without the help of rules; "for if with Rules, you shall be often at a loss, certainly you shall stick at every word without them." It may be that "they which take another way, may speake more words in halfe a yeare then you shall in twelve month; but in a year's space you may, with diligence and industry, speake better (and after a while more) than another shall doe all his life time, unless there be a vast disparity between your abilities of mind." His attitude as to the respective importance of grammatical study and its practical application was not in keeping with that of Maupas, of whom he said, "I know not whom you can equal to him." Maupas had written his grammar in French instead of the international language, Latin, because he advocated the study of the grammar in the French language itself; he taught reading and pronunciation by means of reading the grammar in French. Aufeild, on the contrary, considered it a drawback that when English students travelled into France they had to learn enough French to converse with their teachers before they could learn of their teachers how to converse with others. This was the reason which induced him to translate the grammar, although in doing so he, no doubt unconsciously, set at nought Maupas's principal reason for writing it in French. We know of no other French grammar produced in France which was specially favoured by English learners of French. But no doubt many Englishmen, besides those who travelled, studied from French grammars. English travellers returning from France would, no doubt, bring back grammars which might also arrive through other channels. Even in the time of Elizabeth foreign books had been freely imported into England, and the foreign trade of the stationers of London was very extensive. That the early French grammars were known in England is shown by their influence on those produced in England, although in many cases this is more readily explained by the circumstance that they were the work of Frenchmen newly arrived from France. However, it is not likely that these French grammars were ever widely used in England for learning the language, when books in English were ready to hand and easier to use. In Scotland, on the other hand, where such books were not in existence, they were probably more widely employed. Both countries, Scotland in particular, made free use of foreign text-books for the teaching of Latin; but the case is hardly the same for the international language. In the meantime the production of French grammars in England continued uninterruptedly. _The Flower de Luce planted in England_ was the title of a grammar which appeared in 1619. This work was due to one Laur Du Terme, of whom nothing is known beyond the fact that he was a Frenchman and a protégé of Bacon, then Lord Chancellor. Du Terme had evidently been in England long enough to acquire some knowledge of English, in which he wrote his grammar. After imploring his patron to water his 'flower' with a few drops of favourable approbation, he proceeds to address the gentle reader in these words: "Looke not in this Treatise, for any eloquent words, nor polished sentences, for I doe not go about to begge any favour nor insinuate into any man's love by coloured and misticall phrases.[792] Neither do I intend to teach my masters, but in requitall of your kind curtesie in teaching mee this little English I have, do in the same set downe suche precepts as I find best for the pronouncing, understanding, and speaking of the French tongue." These precepts he selected from other grammars "used by many both teachers and learners, yet I presume this will be as agreeable as any were yet, and in brief containing more than ever I saw yet in English." The pronunciation is explained by comparison with English sounds, and then each part of speech is treated in turn; constant analogies with Latin occur, and he also gives a list of French suffixes with their Latin roots, and endeavours to introduce the Latin gerund and supine into French grammar, not being of those who sought to delatinize French grammar. For the verbs he refers the student to the rules given by Cotgrave at the end of his dictionary, "very profitable for every learner to reade," where they are arranged in four conjugations, "while some authors make three, some five, some six, and little enough for the understanding of all the verbs." [Header: LAUR DU TERME] He makes no claim to completeness--"and if by chance I have applied a rule instead of an exception or an exception instead of a rule, the teacher may easily mend it, and your courteous censure in reciprocall of the good-will I beare unto you I hope will excuse it. Reade it over, but not slightly, consider every rule and way every word in it." Du Terme's aim in his rules is to be brief and plain. He desired them to be regarded in the light of a reference book. The student was to begin to read from the very first. The _Flower de Luce_ does not provide the usual stock of reading-exercises, and Du Terme advises the student to use "any good French author he likes best; and what word soever he goes about to reade, let him looke upon his Rules concerning the pronunciation of the letters, how they are pronounced in several places, first the vowell, then what consonants are before and after, and, having compared and brought all the Rules concerning those letters together, he shall easily finde the true pronunciation of any word." The sounds of the language should be thoroughly mastered at the outset: "Bestow rather five days in learning five vowels, then to learne and passe them over in a day, as being the chief and only ground of all the rest, without the which you shall loose your labour, not being able to pronounce one diphthongue unless you pronounce the vowels well, perfectly, neatly and distinctly, without confounding one with another. The which case you must observe in the consonants." For the proper understanding of the matter read, he recommends the use of "some bookes that are both English and French, as the Bible, the Testament, and many others that are very common in England." He admits that this method is slow and difficult at first, "yet notwithstanding, after a little labour, will prove exceeding easie, as by experience hath been tryed: in so much as some have learned perfectly to reade and understande the most part in less than the quarter of a year, onely applying themselves unto it one hour and a half in a day." Paul Cougneau or Cogneau, another French teacher of London, also wrote a French grammar at this period. He called it _A sure Guide to the French tongue_, and published it in 1635. Cogneau had no mean opinion of his book. "It hath in some things a peculiar way, not commonly traced by others," he tells us. "In the beginning are rules of pronunciation, then for the declension of articles, nouns and pronouns, and in the end the conjugation of diverse verbs, both personal and impersonal ... and throughout the whole book there is so great a multiplicity of various phrases congested as no one book for the bulk contains more. All which besides are set forth with plainness as fit it for the capacity even of the meanest. Much pains hath been employed about it, and I hope not without great benefit and profit in the right use of it, and consequently not unworthy of the kind acceptance which I heartily wish." But the work has little value or originality, in spite of its interest to the modern reader. The rules occupy thirty pages only. They are taken mainly from Holyband and De la Mothe. The nouns, articles, and pronouns receive very meagre treatment, but the auxiliaries and verbs, the regular and a few irregular verbs, are fully conjugated at the end of the book, being arranged in sentence form, as in many modern text-books: J'ay bien dormi ceste nuit. Tu as trop mangé. Il a trop bu, etc. The practical exercises, which fill the next three hundred pages, reproduce the dialogues of the same sixteenth-century writers--the only two who retained their popularity in the seventeenth. The exercises of the _French Schoolemaister_, the _French Littleton_, and the _French Alphabet_ are all repeated without any acknowledgement. Like Du Terme, Cogneau attached much importance to pronunciation and reading. He held that pronunciation was best learnt with the help of a teacher, and that rules were not of much use in this case. "I have observed," he writes, "how many of my countrymen have taken great pains and labour to show the English how to pronounce the French letters, by letters; but these men labour in vain: for I know that the true pronunciation of any tongue whatsoever cannot be taught so: nor none can learn it so; I mean, to speak it well and truly as it ought to be: to learn to understand it by such rules, one may in time and with great pains, but, as I have said, never to speak it well and perfectly, without he be taught by some master. I say not that the rules are unprofitable, no, for they are very profitable being well used, and the learner being well directed to understand them aright; but, as I have said, so I say still, that whosoever will learn this noble and famous tongue, must chuse one that can speak good French, and one that hath a good method in teaching, and the first thing to learn of him must be to pronounce perfectly our 22 letters, and give every one its due sound and pronunciation." The student should undertake nothing until he has mastered the sounds of the letters and syllables. [Header: PAUL COGNEAU] Then he may pass to the reading, "and in that reading learn to spell perfectly, for it is that which will perfect thee, so that thou wilt be able to correct many Frenchmen both in their speaking and writing, if thou wilt take pains to learn it perfectly and be as perfect in it as in thy native tongue. If thou dost mark well what I have said, and do it, and if thou hast a good teacher, thou maiest learn the French tongue easily in a year." Cogneau gives his grammar rules in both French and English, and evidently intended them to form part of the reading material on which the student was to begin as soon as he had mastered the French sounds. From these he proceeds to the dialogues. "Thou must learn this book perfectly, to read the French in English and also the English in French perfectly, and I durst warrant that whosoever shall learn this book perfectly will be a perfect Frenchman, and shall be able both to speak and write the French tongue much better than the most part of Frenchmen." The only differences, then, between the methods advocated by Laur Du Terme and Cogneau are that the first would have the student learn the pronunciation by reading, and the second from the lips of a master before the student begins to read; and that Cogneau adopts the method of double translation, so strongly urged by De la Mothe, while Du Terme mentions only translation of French into English. In fact, Cogneau's method was probably suggested by the sixteenth-century teachers. Cogneau's _Guide_ was in vogue for a number of years. In 1658 a French teacher, Guillaume Herbert, who appears to have had no mean opinion of his own abilities, edited the fourth edition. He describes the earlier form of the work as a "blind" guide rather than a sure one, but now that it has been revised by him "both masters and scholars may with more confidence venture upon it as the most correct book now extant of this kind and in these tongues, and I dare promise them that if I live to see and oversee the next edition, I will so purge and order it that every reader may (if ingenious and ingenuous) give it deservedly the name of a Sure Guide." It is difficult to see in what the improvements he boasts of consist, for his is little more than a reprint of the earlier editions. With Herbert's edition the popularity of the _Sure Guide_ came to an end, no doubt owing to the appearance of more recent works. William Aufeild complained, not without reason, that most professors teach only what other men "have set downe to their hand in English many years agoe," and it is undeniable that several of the sixteenth-century French grammars continued to be used in England as late as the middle of the seventeenth century. Holyband was specially in favour, and so was De la Mothe. Peter Erondell, it has been seen, prepared new editions of the _French Schoolemaister_ in 1606, 1612, 1615, and 1619. Another French professor, James Giffard, was responsible for other editions in 1631, 1636, 1641, 1649, 1655, and it appears to have been printed again in 1668; this Giffard was probably the Jacques Giffard who attended the Threadneedle Street Church;[793] he is said to have been a native of the isle of Sark, and in 1640 he married Elizabeth Guilbert of Guernsey. Editions of the _French Littleton_ saw the light in 1602, 1607, 1625, 1630, 1633, and 1639. None of these editions contains any very noticeable alterations. The new editions of De la Mothe's _French Alphabet_ (1625, 1631, 1633, 1639, and 1647) are merely reprints of the first edition of 1592. Thus it came about that the French of the sixteenth century was still taught in England in the seventeenth, regardless of the great changes which had been accomplished in the language in the meantime. The first half of the seventeenth century was also a period during which French began to receive greater recognition in the educational world. Latin, it is true, retained its supremacy in the grammar school; but it is significant that a considerable number of Latin school-books were adapted to teaching French, and helped to swell the number of such manuals at the service of students. Thus French gained a place by the side of Latin, and some went so far as to question the supremacy of Latin as the "learned" tongue of Europe. In 1619 Thomas Morrice[794] deemed it necessary to refute the "error" of those of his countrymen who placed French before Latin--"a most absurd paradox" in his opinion, for "French was never reckoned a learned tongue; it belongs by right to one country alone, where the people themselves learn Latin." Such protests had little effect. In the first years of the century we have the earliest recognition of French as distinct from other modern languages, at the hands of a writer on education; [Header: FRENCH MAKES HEADWAY] J. Cleland held that a young gentleman's tutor should be skilled in the French as well as the Latin tongue, because "it is most used now universallie,"[795] and that the student, after translating English into Latin, should proceed to turn his Latin into French, "that he may profit in both the Tongues together."[796] It was indeed by no means uncommon for French and English tutors to give instruction in both these tongues. Denisot, Palsgrave, Holyband, and many other French teachers had done so. Joseph Rutter, tutor to the son of the Earl of Dorset, at whose request he translated the _Cid_ into English, is said to have made his pupil his collaborator in this task, and probably taught him French as well as Latin, and his case does not appear to have been exceptional. Evelyn, the diarist, learnt the rudiments of Latin from a Frenchman named Citolin, and probably picked up some French at the same time; travel abroad and his marriage with the daughter of Sir Richard Browne, English ambassador at Paris, who from her youth upwards had lived in France, gave him opportunities for improving his knowledge of the language, in which he was soon able to converse with ease.[797] Evelyn's son Richard also studied the two languages together; when he died in 1658, at the early age of five, he was able to say the catechism and pronounce English, Latin, and French accurately, also "to read an script, to decline nouns and conjugate all regular and most of the irregular verbs." He had likewise "learn'd _Pueriles_, got by heart almost the entire vocabulary of Latine and French primitives and words, and could make congruous syntax, turne English into Latine and _vice versa_, construe and prove what he read, and did the government and use of relatives, verbs, substantives, elipses, and many figures and tropes, and made a considerable progress in Comenius's _Janua_, began himself to write legibly, and had a strong passion for Greek."[798] The manuals for teaching Latin and French together, either Latin school-books with French added, or works specially written for giving instruction in the two languages, probably resulted from this connexion. At an early date French had found a place in several Latin dictionaries.[799] Soon afterwards it made its way into some of the Latin Colloquia and school authors. In 1591 the printer John Wyndet received a licence to print the dialogues of Corderius in French and English.[800] There is also a notice of an edition of Castellion's _Sacred Dialogues_ in the same two languages.[801] Aesop's _Fables_ were printed in English, French, and Latin in 1665, with the purpose of rendering the acquisition of these languages easier for young gentlemen and ladies; each fable is accompanied by an illustration due to Francis Barlow, and followed by a moral reflection. Thomas Philpott was responsible for the English version, and Robert Codrington, M.A., a versatile translator of the time, for the Latin and French. At least two other editions appeared in 1687 and 1703. Another favourite author was published in the same three languages at a later date--the _Thoughts of Cicero ... on (1) Religion, and (2) Man.... Published in Latin and French by the Abbé Olivet, to which is now added an English translation, with notes_ (_by A. Wishart_) (1750 and 1773). Of these few examples of Latin and French text-books, two are known only by hearsay. It is likely that others, adapted to the same purpose, have disappeared without leaving any trace at all; as such school-books were usually printed with a privilege, their names are not preserved in the registers of the Company of Stationers. Little wonder that such manuals, subjected to the double wear and tear of teaching both Latin and French, have been entirely lost. The one volume which has come down to us is Aesop's _Fables_ in French, Latin, and English, and its survival is explained by the elaborate and costly form in which it was issued. In 1617 was published the _Janua Linguarum Quadralinguis_ of Jean Barbier, a Parisian. The work, originally written in Spanish and Latin (1611) for the use of Spaniards, was in time adapted to teaching Latin and incidentally Spanish to the English, by the addition of an English translation in 1615. The fact that French was added two years later by Barbier is not without significance. Foremost among books for teaching French and Latin together, however, was the famous _Janua Linguarum_ of Comenius, from which Evelyn's son learnt his Latin, and presumably his French also. It was printed in England in English, French, and Latin, in the very year in which it had first come out at Leszna in Latin and German (1631). [Header: BOOKS FOR TEACHING LATIN AND FRENCH] In this form it was given the title of _Porta Linguarum trilinguis reserata et aperta, or the Gate of Tongues unlocked and opened_. The _Janua_ contains a thousand sentences, dealing with subjects encyclopaedic in plan, beginning with the origin of the world, and ending with death, providence, and the angels. The intervening chapters treat of the earth and its elements, animals, man, his life, education, occupations, afflictions, social institutions, and moral qualities. J. A. Anchoran, Licentiate in Divinity, a friend of Robert Codrington and apparently a Frenchman, was responsible for the edition of the _Porta Linguarum_ in English, French, and Latin. He declares he prepared it "in behalf of" the young Prince Charles (II.), then about a year old, and of "British, French and Irish youth." His efforts proved successful; there were two issues of the work in 1631, and other editions appeared in 1633, 1637, and 1639. With the second and following editions was bound an index to the French and Latin words contained in the _Porta Linguarum_, entitled: _Clavis ad Portam or a Key fitted to open the gates of tongues wherein you may readily find the Latine and French for any English word, necessary for all young scholars._ It was dedicated to the schoolmasters and ushers of England, and printed at Oxford, being the work of Wye Saltonstall, teacher of Latin and French in that University. Yet another brief treatise was commonly bound with the 1633 edition of the _Porta Linguarum_--_The Pathway to the Gate of Tongues, being the first Instruction for little children_, intended as an introduction to Comenius, but chiefly to give instruction in French. It was due to one of the French teachers in London, Jean de Grave, no doubt the son of the "Jean de Grave natif d'Amsterdam" who came to England in the early years of the seventeenth century and died some time before 1612. De Grave was a member of the French Church, and in 1615 was twice threatened with expulsion owing to his sympathy with the Brownists; but he saved the situation by recanting.[802] De Grave's _Pathway_ to Comenius opens with a table of the numbers, the catechism, graces, and prayers, all given in Latin, English, and French. The main section gives the conjugation of the four regular verbs (_j'aime_, _je bastis_, _je voy_, _je li_) and of _aller_, _avoir_, _estre_, _il faut_ and _on aime_, in French accompanied by English and Latin equivalents in parallel columns. De Grave makes a point of omitting all the compound tenses usually introduced into French verbs on the model of the Latin ones, as such forms can only be expressed by means of paraphrases or of the verbs _avoir_ and _estre_; thus French rather than Latin was in the author's mind: "Or m'a semblé qu'il ne fallait pas charger au commencement la memoire des petits enfants de choses desquelles le maistre diligent et industrieux, pourveu qu'il soit homme lettré et bien entendu en la grammaire françoise, pourra instiller peu à peu en leur esprit, plus par diligente pratique que par cette facheuse et prolixe circonlocution qui n'apporte aucun profit." He agreed with most of the French teachers of the time that few rules and much practice under the guidance of a good master, was the best way of learning French. In the first half of the seventeenth century also, the private institutions in which French had a place increased considerably in number, especially during the latter years of the reign of Charles I. and the Commonwealth. There were several projects, of which a few were actually realized for a time, for founding academies in England on the model of those in France. Their aim was to provide instruction in modern languages and polite accomplishments, in order to counterbalance the one-sidedness of the Universities, and save parents the expense of sending their children abroad, and protect the latter from the dangers to which they might be exposed in foreign countries. In 1635 the accomplished courtier Sir Francis Kynaston founded the _Museum Minervae_ at his house in Bedford Square, Covent Garden. Latin, French, and Italian were the chief languages of the curriculum. No foreigner was allowed to act as either regent or professor. A regulation stipulated that "noe Gentleman shall speak in the forenoon to the Regent about any businesse, but either in Italian, French, or Latin; but if any gentleman be deficient in all these languages, then shall he deale with some professour or other to speak unto the regent for him in the morning, but in the afternoon free accesse shall be granted to all that have any occasion to conferre with him."[803] A certain Michael Mason was the professor of languages. The Academy was short-lived, and probably did not survive its founder, who died at the beginning of the Civil War. [Header: FRENCH IN PRIVATE ACADEMIES] On the 19th of July 1649, another Academy of similar nature but wider scope was opened by the adventurous Sir Balthazar Gerbier in his house at Bethnal Green. In 1648 he published a prospectus, which appeared in several different forms, announcing to "all fathers of noble families and lovers of vertue" that "Sir Balthazar Gerbier, knight, erects an Academy wherein forraigne Languages, Sciences and all noble exercises shall be taught ... whereunto shall serve several treatises set forth by the said Sir B. G. in the Forraigne languages aforesaid, the English tongue being joyned thereunto ... whiche Treatises shall be continually at Mistresse Allen's Shop at the signe of the crown in Pope's head Alley neere the olde Exchange, London." Gerbier's intention was to teach the sciences and languages simultaneously, and by means of each other. French seems to have been the only foreign language which received special treatment at his hands. He was the author of _An Introduction to the French Tongue_, a work of very slight value, treating of the pronunciation and parts of speech and followed by a lengthy and wearisome dialogue between three travellers. Carrying out his expressed aim, he wrote several pamphlets on the subjects of polite education in French accompanied by a literal English translation.[804] Every Saturday afternoon a public lesson was read in the Academy, "as well concerning the grounds and rules of the aforesaid languages, as touching the sciences and exercises, which will give much satisfaction to all Fathers of noble families and lovers of vertue." There was also an "open lecture" by which the deserving poor were to be instructed gratis, on due recommendation. Gerbier is also said[805] to have started an Academy for languages at Whitehall. None of his efforts, however, met with much response. The private Academy as such was an institution which never really took root in England. Moreover, Gerbier was not a gifted man. The works he wrote for use in his Academy have very little value, and his lectures were severely criticised. Walpole calls one of them, typical of the rest, "a most trifling superficial rhapsody." Several other schemes[806] for courtly academies were never realised at all. Such were those of Prince Henry, son of James I., and of Lord Admiral Buckingham. A play of the Commonwealth period, Brome's _New Academy_ (1658), gives an amusing picture of one of these institutions and introduces us to a group of pushing French men and women who profess _inter alia_ to "teach the French Tongue with great alacrity." Private schools, on the contrary, were better patronised. There were undoubtedly numerous French schools in the style of those of the sixteenth century; Wodroeph refers to one, without giving any details, and the language school kept by Sherwood was well known. In many instances also French found a place in other private schools alongside the more usual studies. Sir John Reresby, for example, was sent at the age of fifteen to a school at Enfield Chase, where he was instructed in Latin, French, writing, and dancing. There he stayed two years and "came to a very passable proficiency in Latin, Greek, French, and rhetoric."[807] The elder brother of Thomas Ellwood, Milton's amanuensis, also learnt French and Latin at a private school at Hadley, near Barnet in Hertfordshire, before going with Thomas to learn Latin and some Greek at the free school of Thame.[808] Such schools seem to have been relatively numerous at the time of the Commonwealth. One was kept by Edward Wolley, D.D. of Oxford, who had been domestic chaplain to Charles I., and taken refuge in France on his sovereign's death. After spending seven years abroad as chaplain to Charles II. in exile, he returned to England and opened a school at Hammersmith. In 1654 the Protector issued stringent orders against "scholemasters who are or shall be Ignorant, Scandalous, Insufficient or Negligent." Many royalists were affected, and it was no doubt as a result of this measure that in 1655 Wolley had to petition Cromwell to allow him to continue his "painful employment" of instructing youth in Latin, Greek, French, and other commendable exercises. He pleads that since his return from France he has demeaned himself irreproachably, and that he causes "the Holy Scriptures to be read and religious duties to be daily used" in his school, and takes the children to church on Sunday; [Header: FRENCH IN PRIVATE SCHOOLS] moreover "they have always spoken with honour and reverence of his Highness."[809] Among the few royalist and episcopal schoolmasters who were not affected by the measure of 1654 was Samuel Turberville, a "very good schoolmaster," who kept school in Kensington. Sir Ralph Verney's second son Jack, afterwards apprenticed to a merchant, spent three years there (1656-59), and Turberville commends his "amendement in writing, the mastery of his grammar and an indifferent Latin author, his preservation of the ffrench, and the command of his Violl."[810] Sir Ralph Verney's son had previously acquired French in France, and wrote it fluently though not always correctly.[811] His fellow-pupils, we are told, called him the "young mounseer." There were also numerous schools for young ladies and gentlewomen in and about London and elsewhere. One French teacher, Paul Festeau, advertises the French boarding-school of Monsieur de la Mare at Marylebone, where girls were taught "to write, to read, to speak French, to sing, to dance, to play on the guitar and the spinette."[812] M. de la Mare was a Protestant, and a reader at the French Church. His wife was a good mother to the girls, we are told, and his daughter spoke French with much elegance. Another French teacher, Pierre Berault, mentions the pension for young ladies kept by his friend M. Papillon in Charles Street, near St. James's Square. French, writing, singing, dancing, and designing were the subjects of study. In other cases schools for girls and young ladies were attended by a visiting French master. The most popular French teacher of the time, Claude Mauger of Blois, was employed for some time after his arrival in England as French teacher to the young ladies of Mrs. Kilvert's once famous Academy. This practice became more and more widespread as the seventeenth century advanced, and was very common in the eighteenth century, as it still is nowadays. FOOTNOTES: [784] See p. 191, _supra_. [785] _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [786] _Catalogue of Books of some learned Men deceased_, 1678. It was licensed to the printer Humphrey Lownes on 3rd January 1625 (Arber, _Stationers' Register_, iv. 133). [787] General Treasury of Accounts, London, 1612. [788] Guy Le Moyne was probably his French tutor; cp. p. 262, _supra_. [789] _Written in France by Charles Maupas of Bloys. Translated into English with additions and explications peculiarly useful to us English, together with a preface and an introduction wherein are contained divers necessary instructions for the better understanding of it._ [790] _Italian reviv'd_, 1673. [791] _The Scholemaster_, ed. Arber, 1869, p. 28; cp. p. 182, _supra_. [792] Is this a reference to Eliote's _Ortho-Epia Gallica_? [793] _Threadneedle Street French Church Registers_, Hug. Soc. Pub. xiii. Pts. i. and ii. The earliest mention of Giffard occurs in 1629, and the latest in 1649. [794] _Apologie for Schoolmasters._ [795] Cleland, _Institution of a young nobleman_, 1607, pp. 28-29. [796] _Ibid._ p. 80. [797] His first literary attempt was a translation (1648) from the French of La Mothe le Vayer's essay on Liberty and Servitude. [798] _Diary_, January 27, 1658. [799] Cp. pp. 187 _sqq._, supra. [800] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, ii. 576; iii. 466. An edition in French and Latin was printed in London as late as the eighteenth century. [801] R. Clavell, _Catalogue of Books printed in London, 1666-1680_. [802] Schickler, _Églises du Refuge_, i. 409. His name occurs frequently in the _Threadneedle Street Church Registers_, Hug. Soc. Pub. ix. and xiii. [803] _The Constitution of the Museum Minervae_, 1636. Charles I. granted £100 from the Treasury, and Kynaston himself provided books and other material. [804] _The Interpreter of the Academy for forrain languages and all noble sciences and exercises_, 1648. [805] Pepys, _Diary_, ed. Wheatley, iv. p. 148 n. [806] Oxford Historical Soc., 1885, _Collectanea_, series 1, pt. vi. pp. 271 _sqq._ John Dury proposes a special class of schools for languages, which should teach the classics to those desiring "learning," and modern languages to those intended for commerce (_Reformed School_, 1650, quoted by F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, p. xxvii). [807] _Memoirs of Sir John Reresby_, 1875, p. 22; and _Memoirs and Travels_, ed. A. Ivatt, London, 1904, p. xv. [808] _Ellwood's Autobiography_, London, 1714, p. 4. [809] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1655-56_, p. 76. On the Restoration, Wolley enjoyed ecclesiastical preferment, and finally became Bishop of Clonfert. He published an English translation from the French of Scudéry's _Curia Politiae_, in 1546, and other works in English, of no special interest. See _Dict. Nat. Biog._, ad nom. [810] _Memoirs of the Verney Family_, iii. p. 361. [811] He usually wrote home in French. In the following extract he asks for a taper, then in fashion among his school-mates: "Je vous prie de m'anvoier de la chandelle de cirre entortillée, car tous les garçons en ont pour brullay (_sic_) et moy ie n'en ay point pour moy." [812] Two parents discuss the school in a dialogue: Où allez vous? Whither are you going? Je m'en vais voir ma fille. I am going to see my daughter. En quel lieu? In what place? A Maribone. At Maribone. Que fait elle là? What doth she do there? Comment, ne sçavez vous pas What, do you not know that I que je l'ay mise en pension? have put her at a Boording school? Chez qui? With whom? Chez un nommé Mons. de la At one Mons. de la Mare that Mare qui tient escole Françoise. keeps a French school. Vrayement, je n'en sçavois rien. Truly, I did not know it. Qu'apprend elle là? What does she learn there? Elle apprend à écrire, à lire, She learns to write, to read, à parler françois, à chanter, to speak French, to sing, à danser, à jouer de la guitare, to dance, to play on the guitar, et de l'épinette. and the spinette. CHAPTER III THE "LITTLE BLOIS" IN LONDON In the second half of the seventeenth century we come across a band of French teachers in London, which corresponds, in importance, to that which grouped itself round Claude Holyband in the vicinity of St. Paul's Churchyard at the same period in the sixteenth century. At its head was Claude Mauger, a native of Blois. Mauger had as long a teaching experience in London as Holyband; he arrived in about 1650, and we do not hear the last of him till the first decade of the next century. He was forced to quit his native town by "intestine distempers," probably an allusion to the persecutions which broke out there in the middle of the century. He appears to have been a Huguenot. Before coming to England he had been a student at Orleans, and for seven years had taught French to travellers, "the flowre of all Europe," at Blois,[813] where some years previously Maupas had laboured at the same task; among his pupils was Gustavus Adolphus, Prince of Mecklenburg. On arriving in England, Mauger exercised the same profession. And several others, driven from Blois like himself, gathered around him as friends, admirers, and fellow-workers. Among these, he tells us, he reckons Master Penson and Master Festeau as specially good masters of language. Of Penson nothing is known, save that he wrote some lines addressed to Mauger's critics. Festeau, however, is mentioned elsewhere by Mauger with high commendation, and the two seem to have been close friends. He came to England about the same time as Mauger, and may have accompanied him. These members of the "Little Blois" in London prided themselves on teaching the accent of Blois, "where the true tone of the French tongue is found, by the unanimous consent of all Frenchmen." The accent of Blois had already been recommended by some of the earlier French teachers. Charles Maupas was its foremost champion. Fate had been very unkind to him before his arrival in England, Mauger tells us. But he soon forgot his sorrows in his busy and successful life in London. Pupils flocked to him, and, as we saw, he was called upon by Mrs. Margaret Kilvert to teach French in her Academy for young gentlewomen--a place, according to him, "which needs nothing, only a name worthy to expresse its excellency." At the same time he was busy writing a French grammar, which appeared in 1653, and was dedicated to Mrs. Kilvert--_The True Advancement of the French Tongue, or a New Method and more easie directions for the attaining of it than ever yet have been published_, preceded by verses addressed to no less than fifty of his lady pupils. It does not differ materially as regards its contents from previous works of the kind and had apparently been first written in French, for Mauger says his work "hath now put on a language to which it was before a stranger." Rules of grammar and pronunciation occupy the first hundred and twenty pages, and the remaining half of the book comprises reading exercises in French and English, and a vocabulary. The sound of each letter is explained, then the declinable parts are treated in turn, and followed by a few scattered rules of syntax. The whole is a little incoherent, and lacks order. Mauger was evidently acquainted with the work of his fellow-townsman Charles Maupas. The second section of Mauger's grammar begins with lists of anglicisms to be avoided,[814] and then of "certaine francisms," or French idioms, and of familiar French phrases for common use. The dialogues turn chiefly on the study of French, and include discussions between students of French, talk of travel in France, and polite and gallant conversations between French and English ladies and gentlemen. Considering Mauger's many women pupils, it is not surprising to find a considerable part of his book devoted to them: two ladies discuss French and their French teacher, criticise the French accent of their friends, or receive visits or lessons from their French, music, or dancing masters. [Header: CLAUDE MAUGER] And as the two latter, especially the dancing-master, were usually French, they did much to assist the language tutor. French maids are also often introduced, and represented as instructing their mistresses in the French language as well as in French fashions. It is no doubt Mrs. Kilvert's Academy that is referred to in the following dialogue: Mon père, je vous prie, donnés moy I pray, Father, give me vostre bénédiction. your blessing. Ma fille, soyés la bien revenue. Daughter, you are welcome home. Comment se porte How does Mme. votre Maîtresse? your mistress? Mons. elle se porte bien. She is very well, Sir. N'avés vous point oublié votre Have you not forgot your Anglois? English quite? Non, mon père. No, sir. Je croy que vous parlés extrêmement I suppose you speak French bien. excellently well by this time? J'entends beaucoup mieux que I understand it better than je ne parle. I can speak it. Laquelle est la plus sçavante de vous Which of you two is the best deux? proficient? C'est ma soeur.--Je ne pense pas. My sister, Sir.--I don't believe that. Expliqués moy ce livre là en Render me some of that book back François. into French. Que signifie cela en François? What's that in French? Entendés vous cette sentence là? Do you understand that sentence? Ouy, Mons. Yes, Sir. Vous avez bien profité. . . . You have made good proficiency.... Sçavez vous travailler en ouvrages? Have you learnt any needlework there? Vostre luth n'est pas d'accord. . . . Your lute is out of tune.... Et vous, ma fille, vous ne dites But you, daughter, have you rien? nothing to say? J'attendois vos ordres. I expect your commands. Qu'avez vous appris? What have you learnt? Approchez vous de moy. Come nearer to me. Dancés une courante. Dance me a Courante. In another dialogue a French gentleman compliments an English lady on her French: Où avés vous appris à parler François, Mademoiselle? Monsieur, je ne parle pas, je ne fais que bégayer. Je vous proteste que d'abord j'ay creu que vous fussiés Françoise. Il est impossible à une Angloise de posséder vostre langue. Vous m'excuserés, il s'en trouve beaucoup. J'eus l'honneur il y a quelque temps d'entretenir une Dame qui parle aussi nettement qu'une Françoise. Je voy que vous avez inclination pour le François. Fort grande. Vous avez l'accent fort pur et net. De qui apprenés vous? D'un François nouvellement arrivé qui est de Blois. Il est vray que la pureté du langage se trouve là, non pas seulement l'accent, mais la vraye phrase. Tout le monde le dit. Vostre langue est fort difficile. Je voudrois parler aussi bien que vous. There is only one dialogue on a subject usually contained in French manuals--phrases for buying and selling. The vocabulary, which closes the book, is of a more usual kind. It is arranged under headings, beginning with the Godhead and ending with a list of things necessary in a house. This book of Mauger's enjoyed a greater and longer-lived popularity than any that had yet appeared. Edition followed edition until the end of the first decade of the eighteenth century, and it continued to be plagiarised for another fifty years. Its success can hardly have been due to the scholastic value of its rules, which are few and confused, but rather to its practical nature and lively dialogues. Mauger constantly revised his grammar; of the earliest editions, no two are identical. In each case he wrote new dedications, new addresses to the reader, new dialogues, and varied the form of the grammar rules. The second edition is much more typical than the first. Mauger had been ill in 1653, and had not been able to correct the proofs himself. This task he entrusted to a friend (perhaps Festeau), who "betrayed his expectation, and corrected it not exactly." He was likewise unable to add the English column to the dialogues, a task which was undertaken by the corrector of the press. In the case of the second edition, however, he attended "three times a day at the Presse," that he might correct it according "to the expectation of those who will honour it with their reading." He called it _Mr. Mauger's French Grammar_, and this was the title under which it continued to be published. Mauger dedicated the second edition to Colonel Bullar, mentioning the many favours heaped upon him by that officer. He again addresses French verses to numerous English ladies, his pupils. The grammar rules are much the same; the chief change in this part is the addition of a Latin translation to the English, "for to render it generally useful to strangers" visiting London, "which is this day accounted one of the most glorious cities of the world." That Mauger provided for the teaching of French to foreign visitors to England shows how important a place the study of the language held in our country, and we know that he numbered a few foreigners among his many students of the language. In this second edition he attempted, as Holyband had done before him, to adapt the orthography to the pronunciation, but without success. [Header: MAUGER'S FRENCH GRAMMAR] "I had thought," he writes, "for your greater advantage, to have fitted the writing to the pronunciation, but having found that I could not do so, without an absolute totall subverting of the foundations of the language, I had rather teach you to read and speak together than to show you how to speak without being able to read, or to read without knowing how to speak. They might say nevertheless that it would prevent many difficultyes if we did write as we speak." Mauger decided to follow the rules of the French Academy, instead of his own _caprichio_ which would "teach you to speak French without being able to read any other book than that I should present you with": for "our language," he said, "which is so highly esteemed by all strangers for its noble etymologies of Greeke and Latine, will not suffer itself to be so dismembered by the ignorance of those which profess it, not having one letter which doth not distinguish one word from another, the singular number from the plurall, the masculine gender from the foeminine, or which makes not a syllable long or short." The dialogues are new, but very similar to those of the first edition, the chief change being the introduction of a long and "exact account of the state of France, ecclesiastical, civil, and military as it flourisheth at present under King Louis XIV.," which was brought up to date in each subsequent edition. In following years the dialogues become more numerous; they number eighty in the sixth edition (1670). Each new issue promises additions, "of the last concern to the reader." A new feature in the sixth and seventh editions is a versified rendering of the grammar rules, entitled _Le Parterre de la langue françoise_. The verses were written at the request of the Duke of Mecklenburg, his former pupil, and arranged in the form of a dialogue between Mauger and the Duke, who first addresses his master: Le Langage françois est si plein de merveilles Que ses charmans appas, ravissans nos oreilles, Nous jettent sur vos bords pour gouster ses douceurs, Et pour en admirer les beautéz et les fleurs. Mais, pour nous l'acquérir il faut tant d'artifice, Qu'en ses difficultés il estreint nos delices, Estouffe nos desseins, traverse le plaisir Qui flatoit nostre espoir d'y pouvoir réussir. Les articles _de la_, _de_, _du_, sont difficiles. Si vous ne les monstrez par vos reigles utiles, Ils nous font bégayer presques à tous momens, Et ternissent l'éclat de nos raisonnemens. And Mauger answers him with an invitation to take what he will from the "parterre." Additional matter was introduced in 1673 in the shape of short rules for the pronunciation of English, which in the following editions were developed into a short English grammar, written in French dialogues. Later Mauger modified the arrangement of his French grammar rules, giving them in parallel columns of French and English, in the form of question and answer. The section dealing with the parts of speech is recast in the form of a conversation between a French master and his lady pupil. As to the dialogues, which are all "modish"--there is not a word in them but is "elegant"--they were divided into two categories, one elementary and the other advanced. In the twelfth edition, for instance, we have forty-six dialogues, in the style of those of the earlier editions, and then ten longer and more difficult ones. Mauger made hardly any changes in the issues that followed the twelfth, and in this shape it passed down to the eighteenth century. In the course of its development it had grown to nearly twice its original size. Mauger's popularity as a teacher of French grew apace with his grammar. The commendatory poems, one by John Busby, which are prefixed to the first two editions, show that even at that early date he was held in high esteem by many influential Englishmen; and each new edition was offered to some new patron. Mauger also published a collection of letters in French and English, which he considered "a great help to the learner of the French tongue," for "those who understand it with the help of the English, are capable of explaining afterwards any French author, being written on several subjects." The _Lettres Françoises et Angloises de Claude Mauger sur Toutes sortes de sujets grands et mediocres_ were dedicated to Sir William Pulteney. They were first issued in 1671, and again in 1676, with the addition of fifty letters. Many are addressed to gentlemen of note who had been his students at Blois, and continued to correspond with him for the purpose of practice in French. "Puisque vous désirez que je continue à vous écrire des Lettres Françoises," he wrote to the Count of Praghen in 1668, "pour vous exercer en cette langue qui est tant usitée dans toutes les cours de l'Europe, je reçois vos ordres avec joye." Others are addressed to pupils in London, including some of his large clientèle of ladies. [Header: MAUGER'S FRENCH AND ENGLISH LETTERS] For instance, he writes to a certain Mrs. Gregorie: Ayant ouï dire que vous estes allée a la campagne pour quinze jours, durant cette belle saison en laquele la nature déploye ce qu'elle a de plus beau, j'ay pris la hardiesse de vous écrire cette lettre en François pour vous exercer en cette langue que vous apprenez avec tant de diligence. Je suis bien aise que vous vous y adonniez si bien, car, comme vous avez la mémoire admirable, vous en viendriez bien tost à bout. He seems to have made a regular practice of exercising his pupils' French by writing to them in the language.[815] Among his young English pupils was William Penn, the Quaker, to whom he wrote a letter dated 1670: Je n'entendrois pas bien mes interests si Dieu m'ayant fait si heureux de vous monstrer le François que vous apprenez si bien, je n'en témoignois de la joye, en faisant voir à tout le Monde, que l'honneur que vous me faites de vous servir de moy, pour vous l'acquérir est tres grand. En effet monsieur, n'est-ce pas un bon-heur? Car je perdrois mon credit si Dieu ne me suscitoit de tems en tems des personnes comme vous, qui par leur diligence et capacité avec l'aide de ma méthode le soutiennent. . . . J'ay bien de la satisfaction qu'elle [_i.e._ l'Angleterre] sçache que vous m'avez choisy pour vous donner la connaissance d'une langue qui vous manquoit, qui est si estimée, et si usitée par toute la Terre. Terre. . . . Whether these letters were ever actually sent to his pupils is a question of some uncertainty, which we are inclined to answer in the affirmative. In any case, they provided him with an excellent opportunity of advertising himself by calling attention to some of his well-known pupils. Many were addressed to friends in France, where he seems to have had a very good connexion. He closes his collection with a short selection of commercial letters. Mauger was the author of several other short works--a _Livre d'Histoires curieuses du Temps_, destined for his pupils' reading; a _Tableau du jugement universal_ (1675), which sold so well that there were very few copies left at the end of the year; and a Latin poem of one hundred and four lines, entitled _Oliva Pacis_, celebrating the declaration of peace between Louis X. of France and Philip II. Besides many influential friends, he seems to have had several relatives in London.[816] One of these was a Master Keyser, his brother-in-law, a Dutch gentleman and painter, who lived in "Long Aker between the Maidenhead and the Three Tuns Tavern," and acted as a sort of agent for Claude. Mauger himself lived "in Great Queen Street, over against Well's Street, next door to the strong water shop," in 1670. Before 1673 he had moved to "within two doors of Master Longland, a Farrier in Little Queen St., over against the Guy of Warwick near the King's Gate in Holborn"; and in 1676 to "Shandois Street, over against the Three Elmes, at Master Saint André's." It was probably about the year 1670 that he began to teach English to foreigners visiting England. He had the honour "of helping a little to the English tongue both the French ambassadors, Ladyes, ambassadresses and several great Lords, who come daily from the court of France to the court of England." With many of these he had much familiar intercourse, and it was at their request that he wrote his rules for the English language. One of his letters is addressed to the sharp-witted Courtin, and others to the Marquis de Sande and Monseigneur Colbert's surgeon. Some of the numerous French nobility, "who come daily from the court of France to the court of England," attracted by the gay and Frenchified court of Charles II., also studied English under Mauger. He describes his method of teaching as discursive, "avec raisonnement." Practice and reading are the chief exercises. In one of his dialogues a lady pupil describes her French lesson;[817] it consisted in reading, with special attention to the pronunciation, and telling a story in French, no doubt a repetition of the matter read. For the pronunciation, Mauger considered "the living voice of a master better than all that can be set down in writing"; but none the less he provided rules for acquiring the true accent of Blois. He took little interest in grammar, but fully realized the necessity of guiding rules; "some man perhaps," he writes, "will answer me that he speaketh his naturall tongue well enough, without all these rules. I confesse he may speak reasonably well, because it is a natural thing for him to do. But you needs must confesse that a Latine schollar, who hath been acquainted with all such rules of grammar, speaketh better than such a one." Mauger would have the student first master his rules, and then begin "by all means" to read, "pour joindre la pratique à la speculation des règles." [Header: MAUGER'S METHOD OF TEACHING] He no doubt intended the student to attempt to speak at the outset with the guidance of a French master, whom he held absolutely indispensable. The following talk between two students throws light on the practical methods advocated: Apprenez-vous encore le françois? Do you learn French still? Ouy, je n'y suis pas encore parfait. Yes, I am not yet perfect in it. Et moi je continue aussi. And I continue also. Je commence à l'entendre. I begin to understand it. J'entens tout ce que je lis. I understand all I read. Avez vous un valet de pié françois? Have you a French foot boy? Ouy, monsieur. Yes, Sir. L'entendez-vous bien? Do you understand him well? Fort bien. Very well. Quel Autheur lisez vous? What author do you read? Je lis l'_Histoire de France_. I read the _French History_. L'avez-vous leüe? Have you read it? Je l'ay leüe en Anglois. I have read it in English. Je l'acheteray. I will buy it. Ou la pourray-je trouver? Where shall I find it? Partout. Everywhere. Avez-vous leüe l'_Illustre Have you read the _Illustrious Parisienne_? Parisien_? Allez-vous au sermon? Do you go to sermon? Ouy, Monsieur. Yes, Sir. Qui est-ce qui prêche? Who preaches? C'est un habile homme. 'Tis an able man. Avez-vous le Dictionnaire de Miège?[818] Have you Miège's Dictionary? Ouy, je l'ay. Yes, I have it. Voulez-vous me le prêter? Will you lend it me? Il est à votre service. It is at your service. Je vous remercie. I thank you. La langue françoise n'est-elle pas Is not the French tongue belle? fine? Je l'aime fort. I love it extreamly. Elle est fort à la mode. 'Tis very modish. "My dialogues," writes Mauger, "are so useful and so fit to learn to speak, that one may easily attain the French tongue by the assistance of a Master, if he will take a little pains on his side." He also advises his pupils to read the lengthy heroical romances so popular at the time--_L'Astrée_, and the enormous folios of De Gomberville, La Calprenède, Mlle. de Scudéry, and other romances of the same type--as well as the works of Corneille, Balzac, and Le Grand. With Antoine le Grand, Mauger claims personal acquaintance, and recommends his works with special emphasis, giving his pupils notice of a book newly published by him: "There is a French book newly printed at Paris called _L'Epicure spirituel_, written in good French by M. Antony le Grand, Author of _L'Homme sans passions_. You may have it at Mr. Martyn's shop [Mauger's publisher] at the sign of the Bell in St. Paul's Churchyard." He also advocates, for purposes of translation, the reading of the Bible and Common Prayers in French, books specially suitable owing to the ease with which English renderings could be found; and adds further that "at Mr. Bentley's shop, in Russel St. in Covent Garden, you may be furnished with French Bibles, French Common Prayers, French Testaments, and French Psalms." These would be of special use to his own students, as he encouraged them to frequent the French Church for the benefit of hearing the language. As for Mauger himself, although he appears to have professed the Protestant religion and to have come first to England as a refugee for the sake of his principles, he does not seem to have given much attention to religious matters. Neither does he manifest any particular interest in the French Church,[819] other than as an excellent place for his pupils to accustom themselves to the sounds of the French language. After he had spent some thirty years in England we find him moving to Paris, where he was constantly with "some of the ablest gentlemen of Port Royal," who assured him that his French Grammar and his Letters in French and English were in their library. This break in Mauger's long teaching career in England occurred some time about 1680, after the appearance of the eighth edition of his grammar in 1679. He now took up his residence in the fashionable quarter of Paris, usually frequented by foreigners, the Faubourg St. Germain, where he taught French to English travellers, and English to any one wishing to learn it. This change of abode modified his exclusive attitude towards the Blois accent. At an earlier date he had acknowledged that "after Blois the best pronunciation is got at Orleans, Saumur, Tours, and the Court," and in 1676 he writes, "Je suys exactement le plus beau stile de la Cour," and tells us that he had daily intercourse with French courtiers "tant ambassadeurs qu'autres grands seigneurs, à qui j'ay aussi l'honneur de monstrer la langue angloise." He also read all the latest books, and carried on a correspondence with learned men in Paris, among others Antoine le Grand. But in the same year that he was praising the French of Paris, he wrote, encouraging a noble Englishman to take up the study of French in England: [Header: MAUGER IN PARIS] "Si vos affaires ne vous permettent pas d'aller à Paris, pour vous y adonner, de quoy vous souciez-vous si vous avez Blois dans Londres qui est la source? En effet sa prononciation ne change jamais: de plus à cause du commerce qu'il y a entre les deux cours, l'une communique à l'autre sa pureté. Et je dy assurément qu'il y a icy quantité de personnes qui parlent aussi bien à la mode qu'au Faubourg Saint Germain. Et comme les fonteines font couler leurs eaux bien loin par de bons canaux sans se corrompre, vous trouverez des Maîtres en cette ville qui vous enseigneront aussi purement que sur les lieux." However, when he had himself spent two years in Paris, he gave up praising the merits of Blois, and always describes himself as "late professor of languages at Paris," which he now called "the centre of the purity of the French Tongue, where the true French phrase is to be found." From this time on his grammar claims to contain everything that can be desired in order to learn French as spoken at the Court of France, and "all the improvements of that Famous Language as it is now flourishing at the Court of France." During his stay at Paris, which extended from about 1680 to 1688, the popularity of his grammar in England did not diminish. Four editions were printed in London after having been corrected by himself at Paris--the ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth. The last was dedicated to the young Earl of Salisbury, who had studied French with Mauger when on the usual continental tour. Three motives, he states, induced him to return to England, "after having gathered the finest flowers of the French tongue at Paris to enrich my workes withall for the better satisfaction of those that learn it: The first the extream love which I bear to this generous country,[820] that has obliged me so much as to approve so generally of my books, that for her sake they are received very well beyond Sea, and especially in France. The second, to correct the thirteenth edition my self exactly, many faults of printing having crept into the four last editions which were Printed here in my absence though I corrected them at Paris. The third to see my relations and friends." After his return to England, he composed his _Book of Curious stories of the Times_ in French and English for the use of his pupils. The new editions of his grammar, however, are identical with the thirteenth, which itself bears very great resemblance to the twelfth issued while Mauger was still at Paris. How many years he continued to superintend the new issues of his grammar is not certain; the nineteenth edition of 1702 is the last described as "corrected and enlarged by the Author." Again and again he refers to the popularity of his book in England, and the "unexpressible courtesies" he received at the hands of his English patrons. "This grammar sells so well," he wrote in the sixth edition (1670), "as you may see, being printed so often, and many thousands every time, that I cannot but acknowledge the kindness of this generous nation towards me in raising its credit both at home and abroad, in so much that other Nations, following the general approbation concerning it of so wise a people, use it as commonly everywhere beyond the Sea, as they do here in London, and in all the dominions of his majesty of Great Britain." It was also looked on with much favour in France. In 1689 a French edition, called the thirteenth, was printed at Bordeaux. But it was in the Netherlands that the grammar received almost as warm a welcome as in England. The book thus forms another link between the study of French in England and the Low Countries. In 1693 this Dutch edition of the grammar was issued for the thirteenth time, and in 1707 for the fifteenth, both at the Hague. It was usually published with an English grammar of more importance than the short one added by Mauger to the English editions--that of Festeau, Mauger's friend and fellow-townsman. Their combined work was known as the _Nouvelle double grammaire Françoise-Angloise et Angloise-Françoise par messieurs Claude Mauger et Paul Festeau, Professeurs de Langues à Paris et à Londres_. The two grammars are followed by Mauger's dialogues and a collection of twenty-one "plaisantes et facetieuses Histoires pour rire," in French and English, entitled _l'Ecole pour rire_. The growing popularity of English from the beginning of the reign of William of Orange, the editor tells us in 1693, induced him to add the English grammar to the French grammar of Mauger, and he chose Festeau's because it was in as high favour for learning English as Mauger's was for learning French. [Header: PAUL FESTEAU] Paul Festeau was the author of a French as well as an English grammar,[821] and, like Mauger, he taught English to foreign visitors in London, as well as French to English people. Indeed his career bears a close resemblance to that of Mauger, of whom he seems to have been a sort of protégé. Like Mauger he had taught at Blois, and the two teachers probably came to England together; at any rate they arrived at much the same time. He enjoyed a greater popularity than Mauger as a teacher of English, and was also looked upon with respect as a teacher of French.[822] Festeau's French Grammar, first published in 1667, occupies an important second place among the French text-books produced in the third quarter of the seventeenth century. It was dedicated to Colonel Russel, of the King's Guard, who had learnt French under Festeau's guidance. As a grammar it is fuller and more clearly arranged than Mauger's, and, in main outline, there is much similarity between the two. The rules, which occupy the first two hundred pages, are written in English and provide information on pronunciation and on each part of speech in turn. Each is accompanied by a considerable number of illustrative examples, which, Festeau thought, were of great help in impressing the rule on the memory, and of more use than dialogues. He also included dialogues in his work, and was attacked on account of their prolixity. He argued, in reply, that "if the reader pleases to consider the store of phrases in the body of the Work amongst the Rules which do contain near two hundred pages, he will very well apprehend that, when a scholar hath learnt all these Phrases without book in learning the rules, he needs not at all burden his memory with many dialogues: for ... I have found by experience that those who have learned them were able afterwards to translate French into English, with the aid of a dictionary and I do maintain that it is not necessary to learn such abondance of Dialogue by heart, it is enough to read and English them, and next to that to explain them from English into French, and so doing the words and phrases do insensibly make an impression in the memory and the discreet scholar goeth forward with a great deal of ease. As for young children I yield that it is good they should continue the Dialogues: but after they have learned short phrases, they must of necessity learn long ones, otherwise they could never attain to the capacity of joyning words together. Beside when a master doth teach his scholar, he must not ask him a whole long phrase at once, he must divide it in parts according to the distinction of points. As for instance, if I will ask this long phrase of a child | Quand on a gaigné une fois | le jeu attire insensiblement | en esperance de gaigner davantage |. I will ask it him at three several times." Festeau gives the pupil the English in three separate phrases, and requires him to give the French rendering. "Them that will take the pains to peruse it," to use Festeau's own words in describing his grammar, "will observe a very new method, clear and intelligible Rules to the least capacities, fine remarks upon all the parts of speech and particularly upon the gender of nouns, and the use of moods and tenses. They will find the difficulties of the particles, _en_, _on_, and _que_ explained, which give commonly so much trouble to the learner, they will see the use and good order of impersonal verbs, as well active as passive, likewise also of the reciprocal and reflected verbs. Finally they will see familiar dialogues on divers sorts of subjects, very useful and profitable for them that desire to speak properly: no barbarous kind of words and phrases as are found in some other grammars, by reason that the Author professes to speak and to write his own language well." A vocabulary of thirty pages, in the style of Mauger's, and rules for the accents and the length of the vowels fill the rest of the volume. This was how the work stood in the third edition, which, Festeau explains, "might rightly be said the fourth, seeing that there was fifteen hundred copies drawn off the second edition, and two thousand of this, whereas they use to draw but a thousand at most: and considering the time it first came out, it seems that it sells pretty well. If some other former grammars have had more editions, it cannot be inferred thence that this comes short of them: we can buy nothing at market but what is to be sold, and when this hath been in the light as long, no doubt but (especially being better known) it may have as many editions." [Header: PIERRE LAINÉ] Possibly he was referring to Mauger's popularity, and the two friends may have become rivals during the latter part of their stay in England. On similar grounds he claimed that the sixth edition might be called the tenth, as two thousand copies were drawn of the four last editions. Mauger, however, states that "many thousand" copies of his grammar were drawn at every edition. By this time Festeau's grammar had acquired a considerable reputation. "The approbation that it hath received," he writes, "of the most learned of the nation, who have esteemed it the neatest, the easiest and most correct, is not a small advantage to it: It is that which hath encouraged me to bring it to a better perfection." There is, however, very little difference between the half score or so editions which were issued. Like Mauger, Festeau soon began to modify his attitude towards the Blois accent. In 1679, while still advertising himself proudly as a "native of Blois, where the true tone of the French Tongue is found by the unanimous consent of all Frenchmen," he claims to teach the "Elegancy and Purity of the French Tongue as it is now spoken at the Court of France." However, it is uncertain whether Festeau went to Paris or not. At the time when he first wrote of Court French he was teaching in London, and we are informed that "if any gentleman have occasion for the author of this grammar, his Lodging is in the Strand near St. Clement's, at Mr. John King's house, at the sign of the wounded heart." He was still there in 1693. In 1675 we see him requesting any "gentleman or others desiring to speak with him to inquire for him in Haughton Street, next door to the Joyner's Arms, near Claire Market," or at Mr. Loundes, his bookseller and publisher. At about this time he began to teach mathematics as well as, and by means of French; he was prepared to instruct gentlemen in all its branches. It was at the request of several gentlemen, with whom he "did often discourse of the same in French," that he added to the fourth edition of his grammar a long dialogue covering the whole field of mathematics, and giving "a clear and fair idea thereof." Another French tutor who flourished at the same time as Mauger, and who wrote a French grammar which, like his, appeared during the Commonwealth, was Peter Lainé. Lainé is not very communicative as regards himself; he does not even tell us from what part of France he came. All we know of him is that he was a protégé of Robert Paston, to whom he dedicated his book, and who, no doubt, had been his pupil for French. Of his grammar he writes, "I here expose to thy view a work which might rather be counted an Errata than a book"--a state of things for which both himself and the printer were to blame. For his part, he says, he does not write for the sake of seeing his name in print, or because he fancies he excels others. "I rather count myself inferior to the least of them. But the urgent importunities of some persons whom I have had, and still have the honour to inform in French, have made me undertake it to satisfie their desires, and my gratitude." His sympathy with the Protestants emerges clearly from the contents of his grammar. Apparently he did not belong to the Blois group. He differs from them in adopting the new orthography in which many of the unsounded letters were omitted. It was a pity to spoil the purity and elegance of the pronunciation by the old orthography, he thought; moreover the clear resemblance between the orthography and the pronunciation renders the language easier to foreigners; "seeing that we both write and speak any vulgar Tongue to be understood and to entertain Society, it is in my judgement, not only convenient but even necessary to bring as near a conformity betwixt the Tongue and the Pen, as may without prejudice to the material grounds of our language, afford all the facility that is possible to those that are strangers to it." It is curious to recall that Peletier, and other earlier writers, had, on the contrary, retained the etymological consonants of the old orthography, with the idea that the foreigner's Latin would thereby be of greater service to him. Lainé's _Compendious Introduction to the French Tongue, teaching with much ease, facility and delight, how to attain briefly and most exactly to the true and modern pronunciation thereof_, is very similar to Mauger's grammar in the distribution of the matter. Rules for the pronunciation, which as usual are briefly explained by means of comparison with English sounds, are followed by observations on each part of speech in turn;[823] finally come familiar phrases "to be used at the first learning of French," ten long dialogues, and a vocabulary, all in French and English. [Header: LAINÉ'S DIALOGUES] The book closes with what Lainé calls "an alphabetical rule for the true and modern orthography of that French now spoken, being a catalogue of very necessary words never before printed"--an alphabetical list of words. The grammatical section of the work is written in English. In the dialogues he purposely adapts the English to the French phrase. "I have been more careful," he explains, "in the whole course of the treatise, to observe the French, then the English phrase: to the end I might make its signification more intelligible, to vary less from the sense, and to afford most delight and more facility to the learner." According to him, the first thing to be learned by the student of French are the sounds of the language. He should commit to memory as many of the familiar phrases as he can easily retain, and from them pass to the "dialogical discourses." Their substance is much the same as in Mauger--polite and gallant conversations mainly between students of French, talk and guidance for travellers in France, etc. The following specimen is from a dialogue between an English gentleman and his language master: Quel beau livre est-ce là? What fine book is that? Mons., c'est le romant comique. Sir, it is the comic romance. Qui en est l'autheur? Who is the author of it? Mons. C'est Mons. Scarron. Sir, it is Mr. Scarron. Est-il fort célèbre? Is he very famed? Est il fort estimé? Is he much esteemed? Mons., c'est un esprit sublime et Sir, it is a sublime and transcendant. transcendant wit. De quoi traite cet ouvrage? What doth this work deal on? Mons., il n'est plein que Sir, it is full but de drolleries facesieuses. . . . of pleasant drolleries.... Lisons un peu: faites moi Let us read a little: do me la faveur de m'antandre the favour to understand me lire. read. Prononcez hardiment; Pronounce boldly; Observez vos accents. Observe your accents. Ne prenez point de mauvaise habitude. Take no ill habit. Lisés distinctement. Read distinctly. Vou lisez trop vîte. You read too fast. Notre langue est ennemi de la Our tongue is enemy to précipitation. precipitation. Lainé evidently intended that the dialogues, at least some of them, should be committed to memory, as well as read and translated; "after that," he continues, "as his sufficiency shall permit, he may proceed to Reading any Histories, among which the Holy Writ ought to have the pre-eminence, had not divine Providence, and the Eternal Spirit that dictated it, purposely rejected the affected smoothness and polishedness of the style." We recall, as we reflect on this strange reason for rejecting the Holy Scriptures as reading material, the unenviable reputation the refugees themselves had as regards literary style. As the Bible is left us "for divine study only," Lainé advises his pupils to make use of moral histories for purposes of reading. Many, he says, have been produced of late years. Nor did he limit his pupils' choice to these; he encouraged them to read the heroic romances so popular at the time--_Artamène ou le grand Cyrus_ and _Clélie_ by Mlle. de Scudéry, _Cassandre_ and _Cléopâtre_ by La Calprenède; also the _Poésies spirituelles_ of Corneille, the commentaries of Caesar in French, and Scarron's _Roman comique_. Lighter fare could be found in the _Gazette françoise_. FOOTNOTES: [813] "Which city, lying in the very middle of France, is the most famous for the true pronunciation of the language." [814] "What are you doing? You must not render this in French, _qu'estes vous en faisant?_ but thus, _Que faites-vous?_" ... and so on. [815] The practice was a common one at the time. Thus Sir Charles Cotterel wrote in Italian to Mrs. Katherine Philipps, who thanks him for the care he takes to improve her in Italian by writing to her in that language. Letter of April 12, 1662, in _Letters of Orinda to Poliarchus_, 1705. [816] One of his letters (No. 18) is addressed to Adrien Mauger (1675), Bachelor of Divinity, Claude's nephew, whom he calls the head of the family, and who apparently lived at Blois. [817] His fee was 40s. a month, for three lessons a week. [818] Cp. p. 383, _infra._ [819] The names Mauger and Maugier occur frequently in the Registers of the Threadneedle Street Church, but none can be connected with Claude. [820] "L'Angleterre que j'aime infiniment," he writes in his twelfth edition. [821] The first edition appeared in 1672. The second edition was advertised in 1678 (Arber, _Term Catalogues_, i. 323). [822] "De tous les professeurs de la langue françoyse, Festeau c'est de toi seul dont je fais plus de cas. Si tu es éloquent dans nostre langue angloise, Dans la tienne, pourquoy ne le serois-tu pas?" Thus wrote one of his pupils, Mr. P. Hume, probably the famous statesman and Covenanter. [823] Pp. 48-130. Lainé retains the usual six Latin cases; the verbs are divided into four conjugations; the indeclinables are given in lists. A vocabulary of nouns which have two meanings according as they are masculine or feminine is included. CHAPTER IV THE FRENCH TEACHING PROFESSION AND METHODS OF STUDYING THE LANGUAGE From their very first appearance the voluminous French romances of the time enjoyed great popularity in England,[824] partly, perhaps, on account of the lack of a supply of similar works in the vernacular. Several English translations appeared, but many preferred to read them in the original. Their importance in the eyes of the French teachers may also have increased their vogue. They were especially affected by Charles I.; and when on the eve of his death, he was distributing a few of his favourite possessions among his friends, he left the volumes of La Calprenède's _Cassandre_ to the Earl of Lindsey.[825] Later on, Pope describing, in his _Rape of the Lock_, the adventurous baron in quest of the much-coveted lock, pictures him imploring Love for help, and declares he to Love an altar built Of twelve vast French Romances neatly gilt. Among the most eager readers of French romances was Dorothy Osborne. We are enabled to trace part of her course in reading from the charming letters she wrote to Sir William Temple, her future husband. They are full of references to things French, and replete with French words; she uses English words in a French sense: _injury_ with her means _insult_; and she writes to explain that when she said _maliciously_ she really meant "a French _malice_, which you know does not signify the same thing as an English one." A little note sent to Temple when she was in London, shortly before their marriage, evidently in answer to one from him, may be quoted as a specimen of her French, and her total disregard of spelling and grammar: Je n'ay guere plus dormie que vous et mes songes n'ont pas estres moins confuse, au rest une bande de violons que sont venue jouer sous ma fennestre m'ont tourmentés de tel façon que je doubt fort si je pourrois jamais les souffrire encore; je ne suis pourtant pas en fort mauvaise humeur et je m'en voy ausi tost que je serai habillée voire ce qu'il est posible de faire pour vostre satisfaction; apres je viendré vous rendre conte de nos affairs et quoy qu'il en sera vous ne sçaurois jamais doubté que je ne vous ayme plus que toutes les choses du monde.[826] The French romances were Dorothy's constant companions, and her letters are full of criticisms of and references to her favourite passages. She sent the volumes to Temple by instalments,[827] as she finished them, pressing him for his opinion. _Le Grand Cyrus_ seems to have been her favourite. She had also a great admiration for _Ibraham ou l'Illustre Bassa_, which, like _Polexandre et Cléopâtre_ and the four volumes of _Prazimène_, was her "old acquaintance." _Parthenissa_, the English romance in the French style by Lord Broghill, did not meet with her approval. "But," she confides to Temple, "perhaps I like it worse for having a piece of _Cyrus_ by me that I am highly pleased with, and that I would fain have you read. I'll send it you." As for the English translations of her favourites, she had no patience with them. They are written in a language half French and half English, and so changed that Dorothy, their old friend, hardly recognizes them in this strange garb. French romances were not the only French interest Dorothy Osborne and Temple had in common. They had first become acquainted while travelling to France, the Osbornes on their way to join their father at St. Malo, and Temple setting out on the usual "tour." Temple, apparently, lingered with his new friends in France, until his father, hearing of this, ordered him to Paris.[828] There he evidently acquired the knowledge of French which Dorothy playfully declares a necessary qualification for _her_ husband: for she could not marry one who "speaks the French he has picked up out of the old Laws"; [Header: PEPYS'S FRENCH BOOKS] or, the other extreme, the "travelled monsieur whose head is all feather inside and out, that can talk of nothing but dances and duels, and has courage enough to wear slashes when every one else dies with cold to see him."[829] Another instance of the popularity of these romances and other French writings is found in Pepys's _Diary_.[830] Both Pepys and more particularly his wife, who was the daughter of a French refugee, were great readers of the romances. Pepys himself seems to have found them a little tiresome, and relates how on a certain occasion Mrs. Pepys wearied him by telling him long stories out of the _Grand Cyrus_, and how he hurt her feelings by checking her outpourings. She would sit up till past midnight reading _Cyrus_ or _Polexandre_. He would often stop at his bookseller's to buy French books for his wife, including _L'Illustre Bassa_ in four volumes, and _Cassandre_. One evening she read to him the epistle of _Cassandre_, which he pronounced "very good indeed." When they went to see Dryden's _Evening Love, or the Mock Astrologer_, Mrs. Pepys recognized at once its debt to _L'Illustre Bassa_, and on the following afternoon "she read in the _L'Illustre Bassa_ the plot of yesterday's play, which is exactly the same." His French books seem to have been a great source of interest to Pepys, and to have served him on many occasions. Being ill, "taking physique all day," he beguiled the time by reading "little French romances." He appears to have been particularly attracted by Sorbière's _Voyage en Angleterre_, which on its appearance caused some indignation at the English Court. Pepys read the book in the year of its publication (1664).[831] Unfortunately he has not left us a very full account of the other French books he knew. However, on the 1st May 1666, he writes that he went "by water to Redriffe, reading a new French book my Lord Bruncker did give me to-day, _L'Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules_" [by the Comte de Bussy], "being a pretty libel against the amours of the Court of France." Another volume which pleased Pepys was a "pretty" work, _La Nouvelle allégorique_, "upon the strife between rhetorique and its enemies, very pleasant." His choice of French literature was wide, ranging from Du Bartas, which he judged "very fine as anything he had seen," to Helot's "idle roguish book," _L'Eschole des Filles_, which he burnt, "that it might not stand in the list of books, nor among them to disgrace them if it be found."[832] At both Allestry's and Martin's, Pepys's booksellers, there was a great variety of French and foreign books, which often tempted him. "To my new bookseller's, Martin's," he writes on the 10th January 1667-8, "and there did meet with Fournier the Frenchman, that hath wrote of the sea and navigation,[833] and I could not but buy him." He was much interested in French treatises on music,[834] and sent to France for Mersenne's _L'Harmonie Universelle_, which he could not get at his bookseller's. Pepys's friend, William Batelier, brought him "one or two printed musick books of songs"[835] from France, among other French books. "Home," he again notes, on the 26th January 1668, "and there I find Will Batelier hath also sent the books which I made him bring me out of France, among others _L'Estat de France_, _Marnix_, _etc._,[836] to my great content, and so I was well pleased with them and shall take a time to look them over ... but my eyes are now too much out of tune to look upon them with any pleasure." And when his failing eyesight prevented him from reading with ease, his wife, Batelier, and his brother-in-law, Balty St. Michel, would read to him in French as well as in English. He got Balty to read to him out of Sorbière's _Voyage en Angleterre_, and under the date the 30th of January 1668-9 we find this entry: "I spent all the afternoon with my wife and Will Batelier talking, and then making them read, and particularly made an end of Mr. Boyle's _Book of Formes_, which I am glad to have over, and then fell to read a French discourse which he hath brought over with him for me." [Header: POLITE CONVERSATION FASHIONABLE] No doubt the polite French literature which the French teachers recommended so strongly to their pupils had some influence on the character of the dialogues which form part of their manuals. Mauger, Festeau, and Lainé all include polite conversations in their dialogues, and leave the old familiar subjects of buying and selling, wayside and tavern talk. Polite conversation was the fashion, and coteries for fostering it grew up in England on the model of those in France. Mrs. Katherine Philipps, generally known as "the matchless Orinda," is perhaps the most prominent of the ladies who tried, without any permanent success it is true, to introduce the refinements of the French _salons_ into England.[837] Each member of the "Society of Friendship" she gathered round her assumed fanciful names in the style of those affected by the adherents of the Parisian salons. "Orinda" was of course a great reader of French literature, and knew French perfectly. She is chiefly remembered for her translations of some of Corneille's plays into English.[838] French books of conversation, such as Mlle. de Scudéry's _Conversations sur divers sujets_[839] or the similar volume by Clerombault, which was rendered into English by a "person of honour" [1672], also give some clue to the tastes and tendencies of the time, though they had no direct influence on the dialogues specially written for students of French. But, like them, they turn on such subjects as the pleasures, the passions, the soul, love, beauty, merit, and so forth. Thus the French teachers of the time, in introducing a new style into their dialogues, undoubtedly yielded, to some extent at all events, to the tastes of their numerous lady pupils. A large proportion of Mauger's pupils were ladies. He praised their accent, and considered it clearer and more correct than that of their brothers. And in the later editions of his treatise the grammar rules are given in the form of a conversation between a lady and her French master. Another French teacher of the time, the author of a collection of dialogues in which the new style is the dominating feature, also shows a decided preference for his lady pupils. This writer was William or Guillaume Herbert, the author of the _French and English dialogues in a more exact and delightful method then any yet extant_. The thirty-four dialogues contained in this collection are all, with the exception of the first which is autobiographical, written in the _précieux_ style, full of points and conceits,[840] and all, with the same exception, are very alike and a little wearisome. Herbert says he does not write for every one, but for "les plus subtils." And in his first dialogue, which gives a free account of his condition and opinions, he proceeds to ridicule the traditional style of the French and English dialogues. A stranger addresses a friend of the author: Pourquoi ne parle-t-il point de vendre et d'acheter? Parce qu'il n'a rien à vendre et que fort peu d'argent pour acheter; et que les autres faiseurs de livres François en ce pais ont tout vendu et tout acheté avant qu'il allât au marché. Pourquoi ne dit-il rien du Manger et du Boire? Pour tant qu'il y prend fort peu de plaisir, faute d'appétit, et que quelques-uns de ceux qui l'ont precédé l'ont fait pour lui, nommant fidèlement toutes les viandes qu'ils ont portées à la table de leurs maîtres. Qui lèche les plats, en peut bien parler. Pourquoi ne parle-t-il point des Habits, et de La Mode, du Lever et du Coucher, de la Chambre et du Lit? Parce que nos maîtres, qui ont été valets de chambre ou laquais, lui ont épargné ce travail, comme leur étant plus propre qu'à lui. Pourquoi se tait-il des Merciers, des Tailleurs et des Cordonniers? Parce qu'ils aiment mieux argent contant que des paroles et que n'étant point dans leurs livres il ne se souvient guère d'eux et s'en soucie encore moins. Pourquoi laisse-t-il les Ministres, les Médecins et les Jurisconsultes, sans faire attention d'eux? Parce qu'ils ont assez d'esprit pour ne s'oublier pas: et assez de langue pour parler pour eux-mêmes. Et toutefois il en parle à la dérobée, sans leur donner un discours à part, quoiqu'il honore ces professions-là, et aime fort passionément plusieurs personnes de ces trois états, pour leurs rares mérites. N'a-t-il rien des Apoticaires, des Chirurgiens et des Barbiers? Pas un seul mot, monsieur, parce qu'il se sert rarement des premiers, et que, par la grâce de Dieu, il n'a ni playes ni ulcères ni vérole pour les seconds, et que, les derniers le tenant à la gorge, il n'oseroit parler. Il pourroit dire quelque chose des Parens et des Alliéz. Qu'en diroit-il, les siens lui étant si peu courtois? S'il parloit d'eux, ce seroit moyen de renouveler ses douleurs. [Header: STATE OF THE TEACHING PROFESSION] Herbert, it will be seen, had not a very high opinion of the social origin or ability of the majority of his fellow-teachers. He was a very unwilling member of the profession. He does not style himself "Professor of the French Language" on the title-page of his dialogues, although he taught both in his house and away from home, because few people care to boast of their cross, and his cross was--to be reduced to belong to a profession "que tant de valets, de mécaniques, et d'ignorants rendent tous les jours méprisable." He draws a far from flattering picture of the common sort of French teacher. He is a "brouillon," a shuffling fellow, who boasts, dresses well, and intrudes everywhere, cringing and offering his services at a cheaper price than the genuine teachers. He can hardly write seven or eight lines of French correctly. Yet men such as this, says Herbert, pass for first-class teachers, and some take upon themselves to correct and write books. What is more, they count many pupils, even among the nobility. Yet another cause of annoyance to Herbert was what seemed to him the presumption of the Blois fraternity. It is the fashion, he remarks scornfully, to say you come from Blois. And you do so if you happen to come from Normandy. He is not ashamed of his province, though he takes good care not to advertise it needlessly; Brittany (of which he was evidently a native) is better than Blois, according to him. Thus we may conclude that Herbert was one of the 'enemies' to whom members of the Blois group frequently allude. Festeau refers to them as being ignorant and envious persons, while Mauger describes them foaming with envy and jealousy, and trying to harm him in the eyes of his pupils, as well as casting aspersions on his grammar;[841] but he did not regard what they said, England having raised his grammar so high that "their envy cannot reach to it." And Mauger goes on to censure a certain section of the French teaching profession, "broken Frenchmen," who make their pupils speak rapidly, but not distinctly. "Have a speciall care," he exclaims, "that you have not to do with those that are not true Frenchmen as your Normans or Gascons. I confesse that a Norman that is a man of some quality or one that hath seen the world or that is a good scholar may possibly have the right accent, but any other that hath not such parts can never give the true accent." Herbert retorted that the Blois clique tried to persuade every one that Bretons and Normans cannot speak correct French. He naturally resented such assertions, and was not himself nearly so exclusive in the list of those who were not "good Frenchmen." He merely states that the English are greatly mistaken in their estimation of the French living here, "considering as such all those that speak their tongue, so that the high Germans, Switzers of the French tongue, Danes, Swedes, Dutch, Walloons, and those of Geneva pass for good French in the opinion of many, although in truth there are not here two naturall French 'mongst ten, which are taken for such, and who for their profit would gladly go for such." There was every need, thought Herbert, of protecting the profession from these incompetent teachers. Before a tutor is engaged he should be made to translate a passage from a good author from English into French, and then from French into English, and both the pieces should be examined by competent judges of both languages; for, according to him, a teacher must know English, or some other language with which the scholar is acquainted, such as Latin, so that there may be some foundation on which to build the new edifice. Beyond the importance he attached to translation, we know little of Herbert's ideas on the teaching of French. He devotes more space to criticizing the teachers. He does tell us, however, that French orthography is best learnt by transcribing French passages, by which operation it impresses itself on the mind without effort. He was also an advocate of much and careful reading. Grammatical rules he considered necessary, and he had intended to publish a grammar together with his dialogues, but he was prevented from doing so by illness. He hoped, however, to issue it a few months later, but apparently he was again prevented from carrying out his design. [Header: GUILLAUME HERBERT] Yet two years after the appearance of his dialogues he published another work but of quite a different character--_Considerations on the behalf of Foreiners which reside in England, and of the English who are out of their own country, to allay the tempest which is too often raised in the minds of the vulgar sort, and to sweeten the bitterness of a bilious or cholerick humour against strangers_, in which he showed "that of all the Nations of Europe, the English and French should love one another best, as well for their vicinity as for the great commerce that is 'mongst them in time of peace, and for their consanguinitie, there being in this country thousands of families which are descended from the French, and as many or more in France whose progenitours are English." These 'considerations,' twenty in number, are mainly a plea in favour of the foreign churches in England and of the liberty of aliens to trade and work in this country, with an allusion to the "good usage of neighbouring Nations" towards the English fugitives of Mary's reign. They are dated from the Charterhouse, June 1662, and appear to have been the only work Herbert published after his _Dialogues_. He had, however, previously shown his interest in the teaching of French by editing in 1658 the fourth edition of Cogneau's _Sure Guide to the French Tongue_,[842] which consisted largely of the style of dialogue which he ridiculed at a later date. Herbert had had a long career in England before we first hear of him as a teacher of French. He had composed treatises in French and in English, both of which he wrote with equal facility. His language gives no clue to his nationality, but, as we saw, we may conclude from his autobiographical dialogue that he was a native of Brittany. He was, no doubt, the William Herbert, native of France, who received a grant of letters of denization in 1636. At that date he was living at Pointington, Somerset, and was married to an Englishwoman, Frances Sedgwicke. In the previous year he had prepared for the press a work in French called _La Mallette de David_.[843] How he spent his time in Pointington is not clear, but in 1640 he was tutor to the sons of Montague Bertie, second Earl of Lindsey. On the death of his wife in 1645 he moved to London, and published a number of devotional works in English, which he had composed at Pointington, chiefly for the benefit of his wife and children. He refers to the unfavourable reception of these compositions in his French and English dialogues, which he hoped would meet with a better fate. Herbert also took a great interest in the foreign churches of London. He dedicated his _Quadripartit Devotion_ of 1648 to the "learned, pious, and reverend Pastors, Elders, and Deacons of all the French and Dutch congregations in England." At a later date he published a biting pamphlet against a French Pastor, Jean Despagne,--the _Réponse aux Questions de Mr. Despagne adressées à l'Eglise Françoise de Londres_ (1657), accusing "le ridicule Despagne" of blasphemy and immorality, as well as criticising his French. In this work Herbert agrees with Lainé in omitting a number of superfluous letters, with the intention of facilitating reading for foreigners, though he was opposed to too many changes, for fear of offending the partisans of the old orthography. The _Dialogues_ and the _Considerations in behalf of Strangers_ were the two works issued subsequently to the attack on Despagne, and with them ends all we know of the career of Herbert, critic of the French teaching profession, and earliest advocate of the "registration" of teachers. The Jean Despagne attacked so bitterly by Herbert was none the less a welcome guest in this country, and was the only truly French minister in London during the Commonwealth. English as well as French, attracted by his excellent sermons, gathered round him. Thus he co-operated in a sense, and no doubt unconsciously, with Mauger and the other French teachers of the time, who were busy encouraging their pupils to attend the French church. Despagne was minister, not of the old church of Threadneedle Street, but of a new congregation in Westminster, which met at first in Durham House in the Strand, and when that was pulled down, at the chapel in Somerset House (1653).[844] He held aloof from the older church, and went so far as to criticise Calvin. He was attacked and accused of schism, but was protected by his powerful patrons, chief among whom was the Earl of Pembroke. An important group of the royalist English nobility and gentry found in Despagne a means of satisfying their religious needs when the Anglican church was in abeyance. Among them was the diarist John Evelyn, who heard Despagne preach in the Savoy church. [Header: THE FRENCH CHURCHES] Another adherent, and a very faithful one, was a certain Henry Brown, who, in his English translation of one of Despagne's works,[845] speaks of the great resort of the English nobility and gentry to the "excellent sermons and Doctrines" of the French pastor. Many continued to attend after the Restoration, Evelyn among others; as late as 1670 he remarks that "a 'stranger' preached at the Savoy French church, the liturgie of the Church of England being now used altogether, as translated into French by Dr. Durell." The Savoy church had been authorized by Charles II. at the Restoration on condition that the English Liturgy in French should be used. The Threadneedle Street church, on the contrary, continued to use the Calvinistic 'discipline,' and regarded with jealousy and suspicion the church rising in Westminster. It refused all co-operation, and endeavoured to bring about the suppression of the new church. The Savoy church benefited on account of its situation in the fashionable residential quarter, while Threadneedle Street was away in the city. Consequently many members of the English aristocracy and gentry continued to frequent the Westminster church even after the Restoration. The use of the Anglican Liturgy was no doubt an additional attraction. When service was opened there in 1661, by J. Durel,[846] among the English present were the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, the Countess of Derby and her daughters, the Earl of Stafford, and the Dukes of Newcastle and Devonshire. Indeed the English gentry seem to have occupied the attention of the French churches just as much as the refugees themselves. The Threadneedle Street church felt the advantages of its Westminster rival in this respect, and at the Restoration, offered to establish a French Sabbath Lecture at Westminster for those of the English gentry and French Protestants who found Threadneedle Street too remote, hoping by this means to prevent division by having a separate church there.[847] The Threadneedle Street church, however, was not without its English adherents. Pepys went from time to time to both French churches, but more frequently to Threadneedle Street, as far as can be gathered from his diary, where he does not always specify which of the churches is meant. "At last I rose," he writes on the 28th September 1662, "and with Tom to the French church at the Savoy, where I never was before; a pretty place it is; and there they have the Common Prayer Book read in French, and which I never saw before, the minister do preach with his hat off, I suppose in further conformity with our Church." Pepys as a rule went to the Anglican church in the morning, and to the French in the afternoon. He usually has a very good word for the sermon, though on one occasion it was so "tedious and long that they were fain to light candles to baptize the children by." There were also services held at the French ambassador's, which many of the nobility attended, as well as French sermons at Court from time to time. Evelyn was present on one of these occasions: "At St. James's chapel preached, or rather harangued, the famous orator, Monsieur Morus, in French. There were present the King, the Duke, the French ambassador Lord Aubigny, the Earl of Bristol, and a world of Roman Catholics, drawn thither to hear this eloquent Protestant." This was on the 12th of January 1662. At a much later date, September 1685, he heard another Frenchman, "who preached before the King and Queene in that splendid chapell next St. George's Hall." It appears therefore that the practice, common among French teachers, of urging their pupils to go to the French church, met with some response, as did their advice as regards the reading of French literature. On both these points the teachers of the middle of the seventeenth century are at one with those of the sixteenth, and, as a general rule, there is very little difference between the methods used in the two centuries. Reading remained the basis of the teaching; dialogues were committed to memory and translated into English, less importance being attached to retranslation into French in later times. As for pronunciation, the teachers of the seventeenth century realised the inadequacy of teaching it by comparison with English sounds; they laid all the more emphasis on the services of a good tutor, continuing, none the less, to supply certain rules, though not without a warning. As time went on, more importance was attached to the grammar, which, though still limited in theory to essential general rules, was often studied in the first place, and not left till need for it arose in practice. The general opinion is thus expressed by James Howell: "What foundations are to material fabriques the same is grammar to a language. [Header: FRENCH BY "GRAMMAR AND ROTE"] If the foundation be not well laid, 'twill be but a poor tottring superstructure; if grammatical rules go not before, there is no language can be had in perfection. Yet there are no precepts so punctuall, but much must be left to observation, which is the grand Mistresse that guides and improves the understanding in the research and poursute of all humane knowledge, _Quod deficit in praecepto, suppleat observatio._" Students who learnt on this method, called a combination of "grammar and rote," would read aloud with their tutor, chiefly for practice in pronunciation; study the principal grammar rules and commit to memory the vocabulary of familiar phrases, and a few short dialogues; read and translate[848] French dialogues, and then pass to the favourite French authors; sometimes they would translate from English into French, or write French letters; finally they would converse as much as possible with their tutor, repeat stories they had read in French, and seize every opportunity of speaking the language and hearing it spoken. Such was the method employed by the more serious French teachers of the time. There were, however, others, and apparently very many, who taught "by rote" alone without any grammar rules--a common method of learning modern languages. "In England, the French, Spanish, and Italian Languages are not the languages of our country, and spoke only by few Persons, yet 'tis evident they are taught in London, and several other places in the Kingdom, purely by conversation." "For it is well known," argues a writer on education,[849] "that there are Grammars writ for the French, Italian, and Spanish languages, and yet notwithstanding, these Languages are learned by Conversation ... little children, who know not what Grammar means, are bred up to speak foreign languages fluently and correctly.... There are some indeed, in England that teach Modern Languages by Grammar. But this is not at all necessary, as is unanswerably evident from those Persons who perfectly learn them without it. However, those who reach the Modern Languages by Grammar only teach their scholars so much of it as to know how to decline Nouns and Verbs and understand some few rules. For as for the Languages themselves, they are generally taught not by Books but Conversation, which is found by experience to be much the readiest, easiest, and best Method of teaching them.... Some by great application have learn'd French or Italian in half a year's time by conversation, and indeed any foreign Tongue is ordinarily taught in a year or a year and a half. And such as are two years in learning any of them are accounted either very negligent or else very incapable of retaining them.... Men who know little or nothing of French, Italian, or Spanish, quickly learn any one of these languages only by going twice or thrice a week to a club where they are obliged to speak it." How common such practical methods of learning French were may be gathered from the fact that the few memoirs and similar writings which give any detail on the subject invariably mention them. For instance, the mother of Mrs. Hutchinson, the wife of the regicide and Governor of Nottingham, was sent to board in the house of a refugee minister in order to learn French.[850] As to Mrs. Hutchinson herself, she had a French nurse, and was taught to speak English and French together.[851] Others had tutors. Thus the mother of Lady Anne Halkett, the royalist and writer on religious subjects, paid masters to teach Lady Anne and her sister "to write, speak French, play on the lute and virginals and dance";[852] and Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, held up by Mrs. Makin as an example to "all ingenious and Vertuous Ladies," also had tutors for the polite accomplishments, and refers to her language lessons as "prating."[853] She acquired a good knowledge of French, became attendant to Queen Henrietta Maria, and accompanied her in her exile in France. [Header: FRENCH BY CONVERSATION] An example of the opportunities of acquiring a knowledge of French, "in any leisure hour," as Milton said of Italian, is found in the Letters of Robert Loveday, the translator of part of La Calprenède's _Cléopâtre_. Loveday lived during the Commonwealth as a dependent in the house of Lady Clinton at Nottingham, where, he says, French "was familiarly spoken by the best sort of the family."[854] He therefore had every opportunity of learning the language, and was much helped by an old Italian gentleman, skilled in French, who was living in the house on the same footing as himself. As a result of his application he was able to translate several French works into English "in those empty spaces of time which were left by those that command me at my disposall." He procured a copy of Cotgrave's dictionary and asked a friend in London to make enquiries at the booksellers if there was "any new French book of indifferent volume that was worth the translating and not enterprised by any other."[855] Loveday hoped by this means to give "larger scope to (his) narrow condition" at Nottingham. One of his first enterprises was the translation of a "mad fantastick Dream" he met with in Sorel's _Francion_, which he sent to his brother; but his chief work was a rendering of the first three parts of _Cléopâtre_, which was hardly of the "indifferent size" he writes of. The several parts appeared in 1652, 1654, and 1655 respectively, under the title of _Hymen's Praeludia, or Love's Masterpiece_, and were dedicated to his "ever-honoured lady" Lady Clinton. In the complete version, the fourth, fifth, and sixth parts are also ascribed to Loveday. Thus practical methods gained a firm hold in the teaching of French; when grammar was studied, it was within limited boundaries, and only so far as desirable for practical purposes. In the teaching of Latin, on the other hand, more and more importance was attached to the study of grammar, which took the foremost place, literature being regarded as little more than a collection of illustrative examples of the rules.[856] Grammar had become "a full swolen and overflowing stream, which, by a strong hand, arrogates to itself (and hath well-nigh gotten) the whole traffic in learning, especially of languages."[857] The use of the Grammar and reading books in Latin alone was another practice which engaged the attention of the reformers.[858] "A book altogether in Latin is a mere Barbarian to our children," wrote Charles Hoole,[859] who published many of the popular Latin school-books with English translations, in the style of those which are always present in the French text-books. His opinion was that "no language is more readily got than by familiar discourse in it, and ability therein is in no way sooner gained then by comparing the tongue we learn with that we know, and asking how they call this or how they say that in another language, which we are able to express in our own." A writer of the time[860] thus describes "that wild goose chase usually led": "ordinarily boys learn a leaf or two of the Pueriles, twenty pages of Corderius, a part of Esop's Fables, a piece of Tullie, a little of Ovid, a remnant of Virgil, Terence, etc. ... to read the accidence, to get it without book, is ordinarily the work of one whole year. To construe the Grammar and to get it without book is at least the task of two years more, and then, it may be, it is little understood until a year or two more is spent in making plain Latin ... when it is all done, besides declining nouns and forming verbs and getting a few words, there is very little advantage to the child." And a French teacher,[861] writing at about the same time, has left a very similar picture. [Header: GRAMMATICAL STUDY OF LANGUAGES] He describes how the child slaves till the age of fifteen or sixteen, forced to learn against his will a little Latin and Greek, with little result after seven or eight years of hardship. "Not 10 per cent really know either; they are buried under a _fatras_ of words and rules, which stun the memory and overturn the judgment, and all under the rule of the rod." Such is the learning of a foreign language "by grammar." The feeling of dissatisfaction with the usual method of teaching Latin in grammar schools, however, seems to have been general in the seventeenth century, and many were the protests and appeals for reform. "No man can run speedily to the mark of languages that is shackled and ingiv'd with grammar precepts," wrote Joseph Webbe,[862] who draws a careful distinction between the grammar-Latin thus acquired and what he calls Latin-Latin,[863] that is, "Such as the best approved authors wrote and left us in their books and monuments of use and custom," as distinct from "that Latin which we now make by grammar rules, and their collection out of that custom and those authors was to make us write and speak such Latin as that custom and those authors did, which was Latin-Latin, but it succeeded not." Consequently there arose a belief that "practice"--in speaking, reading, and writing the language--should take its place by the side of grammar. Writers pleaded, in the style of Elyot and Ascham, for the teaching of Latin on more practical lines, quoting Montaigne's experience.[864] Thomas Grantham[865] opened a private school, in which he sought to deliver youth from their "great captivity" and the hardship and uselessness of learning grammar word for word without book and in Latin, which the boy does not understand, "just as if a man should teach one an art in French when he understands not French." Grantham, on the contrary, taught his scholars to understand the rules first, and by repeatedly applying them they came to know them without book, whether they would or no. Similar was the method of the French teachers, who often carried the idea further, and taught their pupils the rules as need for them arose in practice. John Webster thus puts the case for and against learning by "rule." "As for grammar," he says,[866] "which hath been invented for the more certain and facile teaching and obtaining of languages, it is very controvertible whether it perform the same in the surest, easiest and shortest way or not, since hundreds speak their mother tongue and other languages very perfectly, use them readily, and understand them excellent well, and yet never knew or were taught any grammar rules, nor followed the wayes of Conjugations and Declensions, Noun or Verb. And it is sufficiently known that many men, by their own industry, without the method or rules of grammar, have gotten a competent understanding in divers languages: and many unletter'd persons will, by use and exercise, without Grammar rules, learn to speak and understand some languages in far shorter time than any do learn them by method and rule, as is clearly manifest by those that travel.... And again, if we conceive that languages learnt by use and exercise render men ready and expert in the understanding and speaking of them, without any aggravating or pushing the intellect and memory, when that which is gotten by rule and method, when we come to use and speak it, doth exceedingly rack and excruciate the intellect and memory: which are forced at the same time, not only to find fit words agreeable to the present matter discoursed of, and to put them into a good Rhetorical order, but must at the same instant of speaking, collect all the numerous rules of number, case ... as into one centre, where so many rayes are united and yet not confounded, which must needs be very perplexive and gravaminous to memorative faculty: and therefore none that attains languages by grammar do ever come to speak and understand them perfectly and readily, until they come to a perfect habit in the exercitation of them, and so thereby come to lose and leave the use of those many and intricate rules, which have cost us so many pains to attain to them, and so to justifie the saying that we do but _discere dediscenda_." Those who learn by "use and exercitation," on the other hand, acquire languages more quickly and with better results. If the study of grammar is insisted on, it should be made very brief. The indeclinables require no rules, but are learnt by use. [Header: LOCKE ON THE TEACHING OF FRENCH] Of the declinables the only ones that present any difficulties are the noun and the verb, regular and irregular. As to the irregulars, they are best learnt by "use," as rules only "render the way more perplexed and tedious. And the way of the regulars is facile and brief, being but one rule for all." Many others wrote in a similar strain,[867] advocating the teaching of Latin on lines widely used in the teaching of French. Several actually specified the modern language, which was first mentioned in books on education in this connexion. Thomas Grantham, in his _Brain Breaker's Breaker_ (1644), points out that many young gentlemen and ladies learn to speak French in half a year without grammar, and argues that the same purpose could be achieved with Latin and Greek in a twelvemonth. Similarly George Snell argued that Latin might be learnt "in as short a time as a Monsieur can teach French,"[868] for the pronunciation, so great a task in learning the living tongue, is of no importance in the dead language. At a somewhat later date, when French had made more headway in the scholastic world, Locke plainly states that people are accustomed to the right way of teaching French, "which is by talking it into children by constant conversation, and not by Grammatical Rules,"[869] and proposes that the same method should be applied to Latin. "When we so often see a Frenchwoman teach an English girl to speak and read French perfectly in a year or two, without any rule of grammar, or anything else but prattling to her, I cannot but wonder how gentlemen have overseen this way for their sons, and thought them more dull and incapable than their daughters."[870] Elsewhere Locke again draws comparisons between the teaching of Latin and that of French,[871] and a French teacher of the early part of the eighteenth century recognized the importance of this tribute when he published a grammar intended to confirm the knowledge acquired by "practice."[872] Yet all these proposals and protests do not seem to have had much effect on the teaching of Latin. In a few cases, however, experiments were attempted, usually in connexion with French. Several were made with the _Janua_ of Comenius, which had early been adapted to the teaching of French as well as Latin. The theories of Comenius himself had no doubt inspired the English reformers. He had written that rules are thorns to the understanding, that no one ever mastered a language by precept alone, though it is often done by practice; rules, however, should not be entirely discarded.[873] J. T. Philipps, who was later tutor to the Duke of Cumberland, son of George II., relates[874] how he taught both Latin and French on practical lines with the help of Comenius. His pupil first got a good notion of the Latin tongue by studying the verbs and nouns, and then learning the Latin column of the _Janua Linguarum_. "I likewise at som leisure Hours," continues Philipps, "taught him to read French and when he had good the pronunciation, he labour'd for some time, as he did before in the Latin, to make himself Master of the French Verbs and Nouns, and then began to learn the sentences in another column of the _Janua Linguarum_, which, by the assistance of the Latin, he mastered in a very short time. So that before the end of the first year, he could read Fontaine's _Fables_ from French into English, and give me an account of the French Minister's text which he heard, and part of the sermon; [Header: LANGUAGES LEARNT WITHOUT GRAMMAR] for I charg'd him never to miss the French Church, that he might the better accustom himself to the true Accent of that Tongue.... I spent an hour every Sunday Morning all the time the Boy was with me, to read over several short Catechisms or systems in Divinity both in French and Latin."[875] The learned Mrs. Bathsua Makin, who had been governess to the daughters of Charles I., and later kept a school at Tottenham High Cross, also advocated the use of the _Janua Linguarum_ for learning Latin and French. The young ladies of her school learnt ten Latin sentences of the _Janua_ a day thoroughly, spending "but six hours a day in their books." By the end of six months they had a fair knowledge of the language, and turned to French: "If the Latin tongue may be learnt in 6 months, where most of the words are new, then the French may be learnt in three, by one that understands Latin and English, because there is not above one word of ten of the French Tongue, that may not fairly, without force, be reduced to the Latin or English."[876] We are also told[877] of a boy of seven who spoke Latin, French, and English with equal facility, "by reason that his father talked to him in nothing but Latin, and his mother, who was a Frenchwoman, in nothing but French, and the rest of the family in nothing but English." And the Rev. Henry Wotton of Corpus Christi, Cambridge, has left an account of how, when he undertook the education of his son, "leaving off the Accidence in that Method that ordinarily children are trained up in, (he) immediately thought with (him)self to make an experiment whether children of his years might not be taught the Latin Tongue as ordinarily children are taught the French and Italian, and without the torture of grammar, to make them, by reading a Latin book, to understand Nouns and Verbs, Declensions and Moods, and that without the vast circuit, that ordinarily takes up 3 or 4 years, as preparatory to read any Latin author."[878] Evelyn bears witness to the success of Wotton's experiment. He saw the young William Wotton in London at the age of eleven, and pronounced him "a miracle."[879] To Evelyn also we are indebted for an account of another case of similar precocity due to the same method. He relates how he and Pepys saw a child of twelve, the son of one Dr. Clench, "who was perfect in the Latine authors, spake French naturally, and possessed amazing knowledge. His tutor was a Frenchman, who had not troubled him to learn even the rules of grammar by heart, but merely read to him, first in French, and then in Latin."[880] In no case, however, was the contrast between the prevalent methods of teaching Latin and French so marked as in the learning of Latin in Grammar Schools, and of French in France by "rote" or with the help of a few general grammar rules; the older the student, the more necessary were grammar rules considered. Richard Carew, for instance, was struck by the fact that he learnt more French without rules in three-quarters of a year in France than he had learnt Latin in more than thirteen years' strenuous study of grammar. He had gone to France on leaving the university. On his arrival he was at a loss for words, knowing nothing of the language; but after a short stay, spent in the midst of French people, talking and reading nothing but French, he surmounted the difficulties of the language with surprising ease, and wished students of Latin to benefit by his experience.[881] The two languages, indeed, were not infrequently studied together by the considerable number of English children who were sent to France for purposes of education. FOOTNOTES: [824] "It is most astonishing that there ever could have been people idle enough to write and read such endless heaps of the same stuff. It was, however, the occupation of thousands in the last century, and is still the private though disavowed amusement of young girls and sentimental ladies," wrote Chesterfield in the eighteenth century (_Letters to his Son_, 1774, p. 242). Even Johnson read and enjoyed these lengthy romances. [825] Jusserand, _The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare_, p. 381. [826] _Letters from Dorothy Osborne to Sir Wm. Temple, 1652-54_, London, 1888, p. 318. [827] He in turn passed them on to Lady Diana Rich. [828] T. P. Courtney, _Memoirs of the Life, Works and Correspondence of Sir Wm. Temple_, London, 1836, i. p. 5. [829] _Letters_, p. 172; ep. Goldsmith, _Essay on the Use of Language_: "If again you are obliged to wear a flimsy stuff in the midst of winter, be the first to remark that stuffs are very much worn at Paris." [830] Pepys used Cotgrave's Dictionary; _Diary_, February 26, 1660-1. [831] This book was very widely read in England. But there does not seem to have been an English translation of it before 1709 (Pepys's _Diary_, Oct. 13, 1664, ed. Wheatley, 1904). [832] _Diary_, Jan. 13, Feb. 8 and 9, 1667-8. [833] _L'Hydrographie contenant la théorie et la pratique de toutes les parties de la navigation_, 1643. [834] He read Descartes's _Musicae Compendium_, but did not think much of it. [835] Pepys relates how one evening Penn and he fell to discoursing about some words in a French song Mrs. Pepys was singing--_D'un air tout interdict_: "wherein I laid twenty to one against him, which he would not agree to with me, though I know myself in the right as to the sense of the word, and almost angry we were, and were an houre and more upon the dispute, till at last broke up not satisfied, and so home." [836] _Les Résolutions Politiques ou Maximes d'État_, par Jean de Marnix, Baron de Potes, Bruxelles, 1612. [837] Cp. E. Gosse, _Seventeenth Century Studies_, 1897; J. J. Jusserand, _The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare_, p. 373. [838] D. Canfield, _Corneille and Racine in England_, 1904. How common was the presence of Frenchmen in English families of high standing may be gathered from Orinda's statement that "one, Legrand, a Frenchman belonging to the Duchess of Ormond, has by her order set the fourth [song in _Pompey_ to music], and a Frenchman of my Lord Orrery's the second" (_Letters of Orinda to Poliarchus_, London, 1705, Letter dated Jan. 31, 1663). [839] Fifth ed., Amsterdam, 1686. Translated into English by F. Spence, London, 1683. Queen Henrietta Maria had done much to foster the spirit of the _Astrée_ and the Hôtel de Rambouillet in England: cp. J. B. Fletcher, "Précieuses at the Court of Charles I.," in the _Journal of Comparative Philology_, vol. i. 1903. [840] Between ladies and "cavaliers." Herbert explains that by "cavalier" he means _galant homme_. Here is a specimen of their style: "_Cavalier_: La voilà, je la vois.--_Dame_: Que voyez-vous, mons.?--Je vois la Gloire du beau sexe, l'Ornement de ce siècle, et l'Objet de mes affections.--Vous voyez ici bien des choses.--Toutes ces choses sont en une.--C'est donc une merveille.--Dites, ma chère Dame, la merveille des merveilles.--Je le pourrois dire après vous, car votre bel esprit ne se sauroit tromper.--Il se peut bien tromper, mais non pas en ceci.--Je veux qu'il soit infaillible en ceci: il faut pourtant que je voye cette Gloire, cet Ornement et cet Objet, pour en pouvoir juger.--Vous ne les sauriez voir que par réflexion.--Je ne vous entens pas.--Approchez-vous de ce miroir, et vous verrez ce que je dis. Qu'y voyez-vous, ma Belle?--Je vous y vois, monsieur.--Voilà une belle réponse.--Belle ou laide, elle est vraye.--Elle l'est effectivement: mais n'y voyez-vous rien que moi?--Je m'y vois aussi bien que vous.--Vous voyez donc cette illustre merveille, etc." [841] "Il y a des particuliers qui ne sont pas dans mes intérêts, qui les (_i.e._ his works) décrient hautement, non pas tant par malice que par jalousie, quelques-uns étant des personnes intéressées qui sont de ma profession, ou des critiques ignorans qui trouvent à redire à tout ce que les autres font, pour faire paroître ce qu'ils n'ont point, s'imaginant qu'on les prend pour des hommes d'esprit, quand on les entend reprendre les choses les mieux faites." [842] See p. 290, _supra_. [843] Arber, _Stationers' Register_, iv. 333. [844] Schickler, _Églises du Refuge_, ii. pp. 148-9, and 153. Despagne became a denizen in 1655 (Hug. Soc. Pub. xviii.). Cp. also Haag, _La France protestante_, ad nom., and the _Bulletin de la société de l'Histoire du Protestantisme français_, viii. pp. 369 _et seq._ He died in 1658. [845] _Harmony of the Old and New Testament_, 1682, Brown's preface. [846] Schickler, _op. cit._ ii. p. 224. [847] _Cal. of State Papers, Dom., 1660-61_, p. 277. [848] That translation was not always the means of interpretation is shown by the following passage from Mauger; a stranger questions one of his pupils: Entendez-vous tout ce que vous lisés? J'en entends une partie. Entendez-vous bien le sens? Fort bien, monsieur. Probably French was not 'construed' word for word, as Latin was, the clause, on the contrary, being made the starting-point. "Construing word for word is impossible in any language," wrote Joseph Webbe in his _Petition to the High Court of Parliament_, quoting as an example the "barbarous English of the Frenchman, '_I you pray, sir_,' for _Je vous prie, monsieur_." [849] _An Essay on Education_, London, 1711. [850] _Memoirs of the Life of Colonel Hutchinson_, ed. C. H. Firth, London. 1885, i. p. 16. [851] _Ibid._ p. 23. [852] _Autobiography of Lady Anne Halkett, 1622-1699, 1701_, Camden Society, 1875, p. 2. [853] _The Lives of Wm., Duke of Newcastle and of his wife Margaret ... written by the thrice noble and illustrious princess Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle_, ed. M. A. Lower, 1872, p. 271. [854] _Loveday's Letters, Domestick and forrain to several persons ..._, London, 1659, p. 31. [855] _Letters_, p. 105. Cp. also pp. 26, 47, 79, 135, etc. It is evident from the letter of Dorothy Osborne quoted above, p. 320, that she had learnt French chiefly by ear. Several of the inaccuracies, such as the use of the past participle for the infinitive, would not be noticeable in pronunciation. [856] F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, pp. 276 _sqq._ [857] J. Webbe, _An Appeale to Truth in the Controversie between Art and Verse about the best and most expedient course in languages_, 1622. [858] There was a strong feeling at this period in favour of a freer use of English in the teaching of Latin, chiefly on account of the time such a course would save. Thus Milton recognized the mistake of spending a great number of years in learning one language "making two labours of one by learning first the accidence, then the grammar in Latin, ere the language of those rules be understood." The remedy, he thought, was the use of a grammar in English (A. F. Leach, "Milton as Schoolboy and Schoolmaster," _Proceedings of the British Academy_, iii. 1908). Snell (_Right Teaching of Useful Knowledge_, 1649), Mrs. Makin or M. Lewis (?) (_Essay to Revive the Antient Education of Gentlewomen_, 1671), and others also argued that English should be the groundwork of the teaching of Latin. Most of the English grammars produced in the seventeenth century claim to be useful to scholars as an introduction to the rudiments of Latin; and it was on this footing, no doubt, that English grammar first made its way into the schools. Chief among these, perhaps, was J. Poole's _English Accidence for attaining more speedily the Latin Tongue, so that every young child, as soon as he can read English, may by it turn any sentence into Latin. Published by Authority, and commended as generally necessary to be made use of in all schooles of this commonwealth_, London, 1655. For a list of English grammars cp. F. Watson, _Modern Subjects_, chap. i. Lily's Grammar came to be almost always used with the English rendering by Wm. Hume. Cp. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, p. 296. [859] _An advertisement ... touching school books_, 1659. [860] _An Essay to Revive the Antient Education of Gentlewomen_, London, 1673 (by Mrs. Makin or Mark Lewis). [861] G. Miège, _A New French Grammar_, 1678, p. 377. [862] _Appeale to Truth_, 1622, p. 41. [863] _Petition to the High Court of Parliament, in behalf of auncient and authentique Authours, for the universall and perpetuall good of every man_, 1623. [864] _Essais_, liv. i., ch. xxv. [865] Cp. _The Brain Breaker's Breaker, or the Apologie of Th. Grantham for his Method of Teaching_, 1644. [866] _The Examination of Academies, wherein is discussed ... the Matter, Method and Customes of Academick and Scholastick Learning, and the insufficiency thereof discovered and laid open_, 1653, p. 21. [867] Thus Sir Wm. Petty, in his _Advice to S. Hartlib for the advancement of some particular parts of learning_ (1648), argues that languages should be taught by "incomparably more easy wayes then are now usuall." An anonymous "Lover of his Nation" proposed that children should learn Latin as they do English, by having no other language within their hearing for two years; and similarly with other languages (Watson, _Modern Subjects_, p. 482). Ch. Hoole, teacher at a private grammar school in London, also proposes that Latin should be learnt by speaking and hearing it spoken, and attributes the unsatisfactory knowledge of the language to the too frequent use of English in schools (_New Discoverie of the old art of Teaching Schooll_, 1660). The French teacher Miège suggests that Latin should be taught in special schools, on the same lines as French was taught in the French ones (_French Grammar_, 1678). In 1685 was published _The Way of Teaching the Latin Tongue by use to those that have already learn'd their Mother Tongue_; and in 1669 had appeared a work translated from the French, called _An Examen of the Way of Teaching the Latine Tongue to little children by use alone_. Among other publications of similar import are: _An Essay on Education, showing how Latin, Greek, and other Languages may be learn'd more easily, quickly and perfectly than they commonly are_, 1711; and _An Essay upon the education of youth in Grammar Schools in which the Vulgar Method of Teaching is examined, and a new one proposed for the more easy and speedy training up of Youth, to the knowledge of the Learned Languages ..._, by J. Clarke, Master of the Public Grammar School in Hull (London, 1720). [868] _Right Teaching of Useful Knowledge to fit scholars for some honest Profession_, London, 1649, p. 186. [869] Locke, _Some thoughts concerning Education_ (1693), ed. J. W. Adamson, in _Educational Writings of Locke_, London, 1912, p. 125. [870] _Op. cit._ p. 127. [871] "Why does the Learning of Latin and Greek need the rod, when French and Italian need it not?" (_op. cit._ p. 69). And again, "Those who teach any of the modern languages with success never amuse their scholars to make speeches or verses either in French or Italian, their business being language barely and not invention" (_op. cit._ p. 71). [872] J. Palairet, _New Royal French Grammar_, The Hague, 1738. [873] Languages, he held, were best learnt by rules of a simple nature, comparison of the points of difference and resemblance between the known and unknown language, and exercises on familiar subjects. [874] _A compendious way of teaching Ancient and Modern Languages ..._, 2nd edition, London, 1723, pp. 45 _et seq._ [875] He would then learn Italian and Spanish on the same plan. [876] _An Essay to Revive the Antient Education of Gentlewomen ..._, 1673. [877] _Essay on Education_, 1711. The case of Queen Elizabeth, who is said to have learnt only one or two Latin rules, is also quoted. [878] _An Essay on the education of children in the first rudiments of learning, together with a narrative of what knowledge Wm. Wotton, a child of 6 years of age, had attained unto upon the Improvement of those Rudiments in the Latin, Greek and Hebrew Tongues._ Reprinted, London, 1753, p. 38. [879] _Diary_, July 6, 1679. [880] _Ibid._, Jan. 27, 1688. [881] For this purpose he wrote _The True and readie way to learne the Latin Tongue, expressed in an answer to the Question whether the ordinary way of teaching Latin by Rules of Grammar be best_, 1654. CHAPTER V THE TOUR IN FRANCE And now methinks I see a youth advance Ready prepared to make the tour of France. _Satire against the French_, 1691. When, in the middle of the seventeenth century, England was torn in twain by civil war and party quarrels, even the Puritans willingly sent their children to be brought up in France. It was at this period that Thomas Grantham, a severe critic of the usual method of teaching Latin in Grammar Schools,[882] wrote this significant passage: "Let a boy of seven or eight years of age be sent out of England into France: he shall learn in a twelvemonth or less to write and speak the French tongue readily, although he keep much company with English, read many English books, and write many English letters home, and all this with pleasure and delight." The number of English children in France at this period was considerable.[883] At St. Malo, for instance, when proceedings were taken against the English in the town, the chief victims were the "English boys sent to learn French."[884] The memoirs of the Verney family afford a detailed picture of one of the numerous families of royalist sympathies, cut off from English public school and university life, and brought up in France. Sir Ralph Verney had taken the side of Parliament in the long struggle, but in 1643 went into voluntary exile in France rather than sign the Covenant. He settled at Blois with his family, and procured French tutors for his boys. Apparently he had some trouble at first, one of the tutors being dismissed "for drinking, lying and seeking to proselytise." Finally the education of the boys was entrusted to the Protestant pastor, M. Testard, who received foreign pupils. The young students worked hard at Latin and French under the minister's supervision. Testard reported of Edmund, the elder, "Il fait merveille. . . . Je luy raconte une histoire en français, il me la rend extempore en Latin."[885] And one day Mme. Testard found the young John hard at work in bed in the early morning with two books in French and Latin. The children wrote in French to their mother when she was absent in England making valiant and finally successful attempts to get the sequestration taken off Sir Ralph's estate. And when, after her death, Sir Ralph sought to divert his mind by travelling in Italy, Edmund,[886] then aged thirteen, wrote this letter--which shows clearly the dangers of a purely oral method: Plust à Dieu qu'il vous donnast la pensée de retourner à Blois. Les jours me semblent des années tant il m'ennuye d'ettre icy comme dans un desert de solitude; car quoy est cequi me peut desormais plaire dans cette ville, comment est ceque cette lumiere de la vie, et cette respiration de l'air me peuvent-elle estre agreeables, puisqu'y ayant perdu cequi m'estoit le plus au Monde et qu'il m'interesse plus q'une seule personne dont je suis privé de l'honneur de sa presence, au reste, graces a Dieu, nous nous porte fort bien et pourcequi et de moy je vous asseure que je ne manqueray jamais à mon devoir, c'espourquoy finissant je demeure et demeureray aternellement, Votre tres humble et fidel fils, EDMOND VERNEY. Sir Ralph had also in his charge two girls, his young cousins, whom their mother had entrusted to him: "Sweet nephew, I have after A long debate with my selfe sent my tow gurles where I shall desier youre care of them, that they may be tought what is fite for them as the reding of the french tong, and to singe, and to dance and to right and to playe of the gittar."[887] Sir Ralph regarded France as "the fittest place to breed up youth." [Header: SIR RALPH VERNEY'S VIEWS] "I wish peace in France for my children's sake," he wrote to M. Du Val, a French tutor. After bringing up his own family there, he would have liked to send his grandchildren to France with a sober and discreet governor, rather than to any school in England; but his son Edmund thought the advantage of learning to speak French fluently did not compensate for the loss of English public school life, which he himself had never enjoyed. Sir Ralph soon became a versatile source of information to parents desiring details of the cost of living and education in France. He considered £200 a year a proper allowance for an English youth to be boarded in a good French family, and that homes in which there were children were best, on account of the continual prattle of the young inmates. The families of French pastors were naturally preferred; and as the pastors were in the habit of taking French pupils also,[888] no doubt the young English boys found suitable companions. The Protestant schools,[889] established wherever possible by the French reformers in the vicinity of their churches, were also in favour with English parents. These schools, in which the subjects usually taught were reading, writing, arithmetic, and the catechism, were for obvious reasons looked on with suspicion by the Government; one by one they were dispersed, especially when the feeling against the Protestants became more acute towards the middle of the seventeenth century. Thus the schools of Rouen were closed in 1640; and shortly afterwards Sir Ralph Verney wrote, in reply to an inquiry about a school, that Rouen is a very unfit place, as no Protestant masters are allowed to keep school there; moreover, living is dear in the town, and the accent of the inhabitants bad. In some cases, when the schools had been closed or converted into Jesuit establishments, the ejected schoolmasters gave private lessons, or received a few _pensionnaires_ in their homes. Even this was forbidden in 1683. And two years later the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes dealt the severest blow of all. Regarding the Protestant Academies,[890] Sir Ralph sent the following report to his friends in England: "There are divers Universities at Sedan, Saumur, Geneva and other fine places, as I am told at noe unreasonable rate, and not only Protestant schoolmasters, but whole colleges of Protestants."[891] Many young Englishmen were sent to one or other of these towns, either to attend lectures at the Academies, or, more often, to study French and the "exercises" privately, in a Protestant atmosphere. Sir Orlando Bridgman, a friend of Sir Ralph Verney, after letting his son study with two other English boys under a M. Cordell at Blois, intended to send him either to Saumur or Poitiers, then to Paris, and so to the Inns of Court,[892] and Sir Thomas Cotton sent his sons to Saumur to perfect themselves in French.[893] In the middle of the seventeenth century, Sir Joseph Williamson, the future statesman and diplomat of the reign of Charles II., was living at Saumur with several young Englishmen in his care.[894] After graduating at Oxford, he had left England in the capacity of tutor to a young man of quality, possibly one of the sons of the Marquis of Ormonde. At Saumur, Williamson kept a book of notes relating to the studies of his pupils and containing the letters which he wrote to their parents in answer to inquiries concerning their progress. He and his pupils lived _en pension_ in a private house in the town, "with very civil company,"--"the best way to get the language which is much desired." On the whole Williamson's pupils do not seem to have made as rapid progress as either he himself or their parents desired. One anxious father writes to ask Williamson to let his son practise writing French daily; another exhorts his son to devote himself seriously to learning French by reading good authors and conversing. The Academies of Montauban and Sedan, though they never attained a popularity equal to that of Saumur, were not neglected, and attracted many foreign students. The Academy at Montauban was moved to Puy Laurens in 1659, where it remained until its suppression at the time of the Revocation. In 1678 Henry Savile, English ambassador at Paris, informed his brother, Lord Halifax, that there are only two Protestant Universities in France, at Saumur and Puy Laurens, and that of these Saumur is beyond dispute the better.[895] [Header: TRAVELLERS AT FRENCH UNIVERSITIES] From this we see that these two Academies were then the best known;[896] no doubt the rest, which had never been quite so popular, were much enfeebled by the hostile edicts which preceded the Revocation. Lord Halifax at first intended to send his sons to the College at Chastillon. Savile, however, stopped them when they arrived at Paris, as he had heard that the only teaching given at the College was reading, writing, and the catechism--the curriculum of the Protestant schools. In the end the boys were sent with their governor to the Academy at Geneva. On their return to England in 1681, one of them went to complete his education at the University and the other to the academy which was opened that year by the Frenchman M. Foubert, who had set up as a teacher of the "exercises" in London. Other travellers spent some time at one of the French Universities. The University of Paris usually counted a considerable number of English among its students, and Clarendon tells us that those who have been there "mingle gracefully in all companies." The Universities of Bordeaux, Poitiers, and Montpellier were also favourite resorts. Montpellier particularly, with its "gentle salutiferous air," attracted those suffering from the "national complaint."[897] When Will Allestry was there in 1668, he spent the greater part of his time learning French, and what leisure he had he employed in studying the Institutions.[898] Orleans, famous for the study of law, was also much patronised. The custom of studying in French Universities, however, did not meet with general approval in England. Sir Balthazar Gerbier pronounced it "no less than abusing the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge and the famous free schools of this realme to withdraw from them the sons of Noble families and those that are lovers of vertue." The same opinion is voiced by Samuel Penton, Master of Exeter Hall, Oxford, who did not omit even the Protestant Academies from his condemnation. "The strangeness of New Faces, Language, Manners and Studies may prove perhaps uneasie, and then their great want of discipline to confine him to Prayers, Exercises and Meals is dangerous: all he will have to do is to keep in touch with a Lecturer, and what is learned from him, most young Gentlemen are so civil as to leave behind them when they return."[899] The governors who usually accompanied young travellers, especially those of high birth, were not infrequently Frenchmen. We are told that it was a rare sight to see a young English nobleman at a foreign court with a governor of his own nation,[900] though some preferred an English governor, and cautioned travellers against foreign tutors. Samuel Penton warns us that if the young traveller is committed, for cheapness or curiosity, to a foreigner instead of an English governor, "there are some in the world who without a fee will tell you what that is like to come to."[901] One of the English governors, J. Gailhard, who was tutor abroad to several of the nobility and gentry, including the Earl of Huntingdon, Lord Hastings, and Sir Thomas Grosvenor, lays down "a method of travel" which is of special interest, as it is the one which he followed with his own pupils.[902] His view was that, if possible, the traveller should have some knowledge of French before setting out on his travels. The first thing he should do on arriving at Paris is to go to the famous Protestant temple at Charenton, and there give thanks for his safe journey so far--whether he understand French or not. He will do well to make but a short stay at Paris, where his progress will be hindered by the great number of his countrymen there. The best places to reside in are the towns along the valley of the Loire, where there are plenty of good masters to be had. Perhaps Angers is the best. The student is further urged to keep a diary, and talk as much as possible--"with speaking we learn to speak." The masters for the riding and fencing exercises, dancing and music, are to be looked upon as so many additional language teachers. Although "of ten words he could not speak two right, yet let him not be ashamed and discouraged at it: for it is not to be expected he should be a Master before he hath been a scholar." The language master should teach his pupil to read, write and spell correctly, and to speak properly. [Header: GUIDE-BOOKS FOR TRAVELLERS] The material for reading must be carefully chosen; romances, such as those of Scudéry, are often dangerous; it is better to use books which give instruction in such subjects as history, morality, and politics. Every evening there should be a repetition of what has been learnt during the day. Gailhard also draws attention to the necessity of respecting and observing the customs of the places visited: "Here in England, the manner is for the master of the House to go in before a stranger, this would pass for a great incivility in France; so here the Lady or Mistress of the House uses to sit at the upper end of the Table, which in France is given to Strangers. So if we be many in a company we make no scruple to drink all out of a glass, or a Tankard, which they are not used to do, and if a servant would offer to give them a glass before it was washed every time they drink, they would be angry at it. Here when a man is sneezing we say nothing to him, but there they would look upon't as a want of civility. Again, we in England upon a journey, use to ask one another how we do, but in France they do no such thing--amongst them that question would answer to this, 'what aileth you that you look so ill?'" The attitude of the French teachers in England towards the foreign tour gradually changed. They no longer saw in it a rival institution, depriving them of many of their pupils, but, on the contrary, a means of giving the finishing touch to the results of their own efforts in England. All strongly advise their pupils to go to France, and most of them add directions for travel in their text-books.[903] Mauger's dialogues include "most exact instructions for travel, very useful and necessary for all gentlemen that intend to travel into France," and Lainé's grammar is "enriched with choice dialogues useful for persons of quality that intend to travel into France, leading them as by the hand to the most noted and principal places of the kingdom." As the tour in France increased in popularity, the directions furnished by French teachers were supplemented by guide-books properly so called; towards the end of the seventeenth century books such as _The Present State of France_ and _The Description of Paris_ were to be had at every bookseller's in London.[904] As early as 1604 Sir Robert Dallington had written his _View of France_, in which he refers to a book called the _French Guide_, which "undertaketh to resemble eche countrie to some other thing, as Bretaigne to a horse-shoe, Picardy to a Neat's toung etc., which are but idle and disproportioned comparisons." Peter Heylyn, chaplain at the Courts of Charles I. and Charles II., was the author of two popular books of this type: _France painted to the Life by a learned and impartial Hand_,[905] and _A Full relation of two Journeys, the one in the mainland of France, the other in some of the adjacent Islands_.[906] Some of these guides are descriptions of the country, others are relations of journeys made there; to the first category belongs _A Description of France in its several governments by J. S. Gent_ (1692), and to the second, _A Journey to Paris in the year 1698 by Dr. Martin Lister_. Some include advice as to the course of study to be followed. And as Italy was still frequently included in the tour, travellers were sometimes supplied with information regarding that country.[907] So popular did the tour in France become in the seventeenth century that guide-books for travellers were produced on the spot. The earliest French books of this kind had not been specially designed for the use of foreign visitors; they were as a rule descriptions of the towns and their geographical positions, or notices on their history and antiquities.[908] In time, however, they assumed a character more particularly adapted to strangers.[909] [Header: ROUTES USUALLY FOLLOWED] One of the best known and most popular was _Le Voyage de France, dressé pour l'instruction et commodité tant des Français que des étrangers_, first published in 1639. The author, C. de Varennes, gives directions for the study of French. He thinks Oudin's Grammar the most profitable, on account of the manner in which it deals with the chief difficulties of foreigners, and Paris and Orleans the best towns for study. For the rest, the help of a tutor should be enlisted, and the student should converse as much as possible with children, and with persons of learning and ability; he should also read widely, preferably dialogues in familiar style and the latest novels; and write French, for which exercise he will find much help in the _Secrétaire de la Cour_ and the _Secrétaire à la mode_,[910] collections of letters and "compliments," which, we may say incidentally, enjoyed a popularity greatly exceeding their merit. The short tour in France grew in popularity as the seventeenth century advanced, and many were content to spend the whole of their sojourn abroad there, without undertaking the longer continental tour. Others went to France to prepare themselves for the longer tour. Naturally the tour in France alone engaged the attention of French teachers. We are told that the cost of a tour of three months need not be more than £50. "If you take a friend with you 'twill make you miss a thousand opportunities of following your end: you go to get French, and it would be best if you could avoid making an acquaintance with any Englishman there. To converse with their learned men will be beside your purpose too, if you go for so short a time: they talk the worst for conversation and you had rather be with the ladies."[911] The chief routes which French masters in England advised their pupils to take were those from Dover to Boulogne and from Rye to Dieppe, whence it was usual to proceed through Rouen to Paris.[912] Locke, for instance, landed at Boulogne when on his way to the South of France; thence he made his way to Paris, chiefly on foot.[913] "If Paris be heaven (for the French with their usual justice, extol it above all things on earth)," he writes after a night spent at Poy, "Poy certainly is purgatory on the way to it." His impressions of Tilliard were more favourable: "Good mutton, and a good supper, clean linen of the country, and a pretty girl to lay it (who was an angel compared with the fiends of Poy) made us some amends for the past night's suffering." It was on the same route to Paris that the Norman Claude du Val, afterwards notorious on the English highways, first came into contact with the English as he was journeying to Paris to try his fortune there. At Rouen he met a band of young Englishmen on their way to Paris with their governors, to learn the exercises and to "fit themselves to go a-wooing at their return home; who were infinitely ambitious of his company, not doubting but in those two days' travel (from Rouen to Paris) they should pump many considerable things out of him, both as to the language and customs of France: and upon that account they did willingly defray his charges." When the young Englishmen arrived at Paris and settled in the usual quarter, the Faubourg St. Germain, Du Val attached himself to their service, and betook himself to England on the Restoration, which drained Paris of many of its English inhabitants.[914] Many travellers, however, agreed with the French teachers that Paris was not a suitable place for serious study of French, both on account of the many distractions it offered and of the great number of English people resident there. It therefore became customary with the more serious-minded to retire for a time to some quiet provincial town where the accent was good. The French teacher Wodroeph tells us as much: "Mais, Monsieur, je vois bien que vous estes estranger et vous allez à la cour à Paris pour y apprendre nostre langue françoise. Mais mieux il vous vaut d'aller à Orleans plustost que d'y aller pour hanter la cour et baiser les Dames et Damoiselles. . . . Parquoy je vous conseille mieux vous en esloigner et d'aller à Orleans là où vous apprendrez la vraye methode de la langue vulgaire."[915] The towns in the valley of the Loire were favourite resorts for purposes of study.[916] Orleans, Blois, and Saumur seem to have been the most popular. [Header: LOIRE TOWNS FAVOURED] For instance, James Howell, after spending some time in Paris, where he lodged near the Bastille--"the part furthest off from the quarters where the English resort," for he wished "to go on to get a little language"[917] as soon as he could--went to Orleans to study French; he describes it as "the most charming town on the Loire, and the best to learn the language in the purity." The town was never without a great abundance of strangers.[918] The fame of Blois and its teachers was widespread; and Bourges, Tours, Angers, and Caen were noted for the purity of their French. Saumur and other towns in which the Protestants were powerful were also much frequented. John Malpet, afterwards Principal of Gloucester Hall, Oxford, spent two years in France with his pupil, Lord Falkland, visiting Orleans, Blois, and Saumur.[919] John Evelyn visited Paris, Blois, Orleans, and Lyons, and finally settled at Tours, where he engaged a French master and studied the language diligently for nineteen weeks. While studying in one or other of these towns, English travellers usually lodged in hotels, _auberges_, or _pensions_,[920] and sometimes with French families. One of their chief difficulties appears to have been to avoid their fellow-countrymen in such places. Gabriel Du Grès suggests that when English students are thus thrown together they should come to an agreement that any one who spoke his native tongue should pay a fine. A further though less serious impediment was the speaking of Latin, still considered necessary to the traveller by scholars such as John Brinsley.[921] For this reason travellers "for language" are advised to frequent the company of women and children, and "polite" society, rather than that of scholars. It is a great inconvenience, observes Du Grès, if your landlord can speak Latin. The majority of travellers, however, do not appear to have experienced any embarrassment in this respect; on the contrary, those with little previous knowledge of French found their Latin of use in their first French lessons if they studied the language "grammatically" with a master. French teachers in England usually recommended suitable _pensions_ to their students. Gabriel Du Grès, for instance, gives a list of such lodgings at Saumur, his native town; Mauger, of those of Blois, Orleans, and other towns in the Loire valley.[922] In like manner they addressed their pupils to recommendable academies for instruction in the polite accomplishments and military exercises. However, for the most part they advised their pupils to go to private masters, who would attend to their French as well as the "exercises." The house of M. Doux, who had a riding school at Blois, was considered a particularly appropriate residence for those desiring to learn French, on account of his daughters, who spoke "wondrously well," as was also that of a certain M. Dechaussé, who kept an academy for teaching young gentlemen to ride. What is more, French teachers in England, no longer regarding their fellow-workers in France as rivals but rather as collaborators, as we have seen, not infrequently entertained friendly relations with them, and even went so far as to direct pupils to them. Claude Mauger, for instance, sent as many of his pupils as possible to M. Gaudrey at Paris, the author of verses in praise of Mauger's _Tableau du Jugement Universel_. This change of attitude is probably explained by the fact that in the seventeenth century French was studied more seriously in England than in the sixteenth century; and students on their arrival in France had often had preliminary instruction under the care of a French tutor in England; Clarendon significantly states that in France "we quickly _renew_ the acquaintance we have had with the language by the practice and custom of speaking it." Students going abroad for purposes of study are therefore addressed to M. Nicolas, an excellent master at Paris, M. le Fèvre, an _avocat en parlement_ at Orleans, and others. We are also informed that _abbés_ were fond of teaching their language to strangers, especially the English.[923] Moreover, several French teachers in England had previously exercised their profession in France. The most popular of all, Claude Mauger, had spent seven years teaching French at Blois. [Header: FRENCH GRAMMARS FOR TRAVELLERS] Many years later, when he had made his reputation as a successful teacher of French in London, he went for a time to Paris, where he settled in the Faubourg St. Germain, and was busily occupied in teaching French to travellers, among others to the Earl of Salisbury. He also tells us that his books were very popular in France, and used by the great majority of English students there. Several of the French teachers in France wrote books for the use of their pupils. Mauger himself quotes the authority of "all French Grammarians that are Professors in France for the teaching of travellers the language." Yet in the seventeenth century, when the French language became one of the chief preoccupations of polite society as well as of scholars, many grammars paid no attention to teaching the language to foreigners. There were, however, several well-known teachers of languages at Paris who wrote grammars specially for their use. Alcide de St. Maurice, the author of the _Guide fidelle des estrangers dans le voyage de France_ (1672), composed a grammar called _Remarques sur les principales difficultez de la langue françoise_ (1674), which has little value, and is compiled chiefly from Vaugelas and Ménage. His chief aim was to overcome the usual difficulties--pronunciation and orthography. Several years previously he had written a collection of short stories inspired by the _Decameron_. The _Fleurs, Fleurettes et passetemps ou les divers caractères de l'amour honneste_, as he called them, were published at Paris in 1666, and were no doubt intended as reading matter for his pupils. A work called the _Nova Grammatica Gallica_, written in Latin and French for the use of foreigners, appeared at Paris in 1678. It is mainly compiled from Chiflet and other French grammarians. A certain M. Mauconduy was responsible for the grammar, which was on much the same lines as that of Maupas. The French theologian M. de Saint-Amour, of the Sorbonne, addressed several foreigners to Mauconduy, who issued for their use daily _feuillets volants_, containing remarks on the language. His pupils made rapid progress, and usually knew French fairly well in three months, we are told. Another of these teachers, Denys Vairasse d'Allais,[924] lived, like Mauger, in the Faubourg St. Germain, and like him taught English as well as French. He had spent some time in England in his youth, and perhaps taught French there. He also corresponded with Pepys, the famous diarist. Vairasse had a particular affection for his English pupils, and they appear to have been in the majority. He was a strong advocate of the study of grammar, and condemned attempts to learn French "by imitation" alone. His _Grammaire Méthodique contenant en abrégé les principes de cet art et les regles les plus necessaires de la langue françoise dans un ordre claire et naturelle_ appeared at Paris in 1682.[925] In it he criticizes severely all the French grammars for the use of strangers produced either in France or in foreign countries. Shortly afterwards the grammar was abridged and translated into English as _A Short and Methodical Introduction to the French Tongue composed for the particular benefit of the English_, printed at Paris in 1683. This French grammar published in English at Paris is a striking testimony to the importance of the English as students of French. René Milleran, like Vairasse d'Allais, taught English as well as French. He was a native of Saumur, but spent most of his life at Paris teaching languages, and for a time acted as interpreter to the king. He composed for the use of his pupils a French grammar entitled _La Nouvelle Grammaire Françoise, avec le Latin à coté des exemples devisée en deux parties_ (Marseilles, 1692), which is no doubt a first edition of his _Les deux Gramaires Fransaizes_ (Marseilles, 1694), in which he expounds his new system of orthography. His collection of letters, _Lettres Familieres Galantes et autres sur toutes sortes de sujets, avec leurs responses_, of which the third edition appeared in 1700, enjoyed a great popularity, like most similar collections at this time: successive editions appeared right into the eighteenth century. This, he says, was the first work which won for him the favour of so many foreign noblemen. His method was to give the students copies of the letters in either Latin or their own language, and to let them translate them into French. He announced an edition of the letters with English, German, and Latin translations for the use of his pupils, but it does not appear to have been published. Like most writers connected with the Court, Milleran calls attention to the purity of his style, and announces that no other books give such exact rules for the language of the Court. A special feature of his work was the selection of letters by members of the French Academy. [Header: HOWELL'S ADVICE TO TRAVELLERS] Nor was the more familiar side neglected: there are numerous letters to and from students of French, reporting on their progress in the language, with mutual congratulations on improvement in style, etc. It is said of Milleran's compositions that their chief merit is their scarcity, and few will agree with De Linière, the satirist and enemy of Boileau, who wrote in praise of Milleran: Cet homme en sa Grammaire étale Autant de sçavoir que Varron, Et dans ses Lettres il égale Balzac, Voiture et Cicéron. Not a few English travellers dispensed with the services of a tutor in France. Among these was James Howell, who studied French at Paris, Orleans, and Poissy, where he endangered his health by too close application; he acted for a time as travelling tutor to the son of Baron Altham. He put his knowledge of French to the test by translating his own first literary production, _Dodona's Grove_. This, he says, he submitted to the new _Académie des beaux esprits_, founded by Richelieu, which gave it a public expression of approbation.[926] The translation was printed at Paris in 1641 under the title of _Dendrologie ou la Forêt de Dodone_. Howell left instructions for travellers, based on his own experience of study abroad, and typical of the theories current at the time. He advises[927] the student who has settled in some quiet town to choose a room looking on to the street, "to take in the common cry and language"; to keep a diary during the day, and in the evening to write an essay from this material, "for the penne maketh the deepest furrowes, and doth fertilize and enrich the memory more than anything else." He should avoid the company of his countrymen, "the greatest bane of English Gentlemen abroad," and frequent cafés and ordinaries,[928] and engage a French page-boy "to parley and chide withal, whereof he shall have occasion enough."[929] Howell strongly felt the necessity of travelling in France at an early age in order to gain a good pronunciation, "hardly overcome by one who has past the minority ... the French tongue by reason of the huge difference betwixt their writing and speaking will put one often into fits of despair and passion." He draws a grotesque picture of "some of the riper plants" who "overact themselves, for while they labour to _trencher le mot_, to cut the word as they say, and speake like naturall Frenchmen, and to get the true genuine tone ... they fall a lisping and mincing, and so distort and strain their mouths and voyce so that they render themselves fantastique and ridiculous: let it be sufficient for one of riper years to speak French intelligibly, roundly, and congruously, without such forced affectation." It is equally important to avoid bashfulness in speaking: "whatsoever it is, let it come forth confidently whether true or false sintaxis; for a bold vivacious spirit hath a very great advantage in attaining the French, or indeed any other language." The student will also do well to repair sometimes "to the Courts of pleading and to the Publique Schools. For in France they presently fall from the Latine to dispute in the vulgar tongue." He should also combine the study of grammar--that of Maupas is the best--with his practical exercises, and begin a course of reading, making notes as he goes on. The most suitable books are those dealing with the history of France, such as Serres and D'Aubigné. Much judgment is needed in the choice of books on other subjects, "especially when there is such a confusion of them as in France, which, as Africk, produceth always something new, for I never knew week pass in Paris, but it brought forth some new kinds of authors: but let him take heed of tumultuary and disjointed Authors, as well as of the frivolous and pedantique." However, "there be some French poets will affoord excellent entertainment specially Du Bartas, and 'twere not amisse to give a slight salute to Ronsard and Desportes, and the late Théophile.[930] And touching poets, they must be used like flowers, some must only be smelt into, but some are good to be thrown into a limbique to be Distilled." The student is likewise admonished to make a collection of French proverbs, and translate from English into French--the most difficult task in learning the language, "for to translate another tongue into English is not hard or profitable." [Header: USUAL COURSE] Finally, "for Sundayes and Holydayes, there bee many Treasuries of Devotion in the French Tongue, full of patheticall ejaculations, and Heavenly raptures, and his closet must not be without some of these.... Peter du Moulin hath many fine pieces to this purpose, du Plessis, Allencour and others. And let him be conversant with such bookes only on Sundayes and not mingle humane studies with them. His closet must be his Rendez-vous whensoever hee is surprized with any fit of perverseness, as thoughts of Country or Kindred will often affect one." Having acquired some knowledge of French in this retirement, "hee may then adventure upon Paris, and the Court, and visit Ambassadours," and go in the train of some young nobleman. In addition he should enter into the life of the town, read the weekly gazettes and newspapers, "and it were not amisse for him to spend some time in the New Academy, erected lately by the French Cardinall Richelieu, where all the sciences are read in the French tongue which is done of purpose to refine and enrich the Language." He may also frequent one of the divers Academies in Paris, for private gentlemen and cadets. It was also customary to make either the _Grand_ or the _Petit Tour_ of France, after the period of studious retirement. The _Grand Tour_ included Lyons, Marseilles, Toulouse, Bordeaux, and Paris; the _Petit Tour_, Paris, Tours, and Poitiers.[931] Paris, we can guess, was the chief attraction to most young Englishmen of family and fortune. Dryden thus describes the education of a young gentleman of fashion:[932] "Your father sent you into France at twelve years old, bred you up at Paris, first at a college and then at an Academy." Much importance was attached to a course of study at the University there, and many recognized the advantages gained therefrom. But on the other hand there were not a few complaints of the dangers of lack of discipline and the company of dissolute scholars, and still more, of the neglect of all serious study. Clarendon[933] assures us that many English travellers never saw the University nor knew in what part of Paris it stood; but "dedicate all that precious season only to Dancing and other exercises, which is horribly to misspend it"; with the result that when such a traveller returns to England, all his learning consists in wearing his clothes well, and he has at least one French fellow to wait upon him and comb his periwig. He is a "most accomplish'd Harlequin:"[934] Drest in a tawdrey suit, at Paris made, For which he more than twice the value paid. French his attendants, French alone his mouth Can speak, his native language is uncouth. If to the ladies he doth make advance, His very looks must have the air of France. Such being the case, Admiral Penn thought well to send his son William to France[935] in the hope that the brilliant life there would make him forget the Quaker sympathies formed at Oxford.[936] The plan succeeded for the time being; Penn returned "a most modish person, a fine Gentleman, with all the latest French fashions," and Pepys[937] reports that he perceived "something of learning he hath got, but a great deale, if not too much of the vanity of the French garbe and affected manner of speech and gait. I fear all real profit he hath made of his travel will signify little." No doubt many "raw young travellers" did "waste their time abroad in gallantry, ignorant for the most part of foreign languages, and no recommendation to their own country."[938] Costeker in _The Compleat Education of a Young Nobleman_ pictures what the young traveller abroad often is, and what he might be. To begin with, "the utmost of his thoughts and ideas are confined to the more fashionable part of dress." Then, "according to custom, our Beau is designed to Travel; the Tour proposed is to France, Italy and Spain. Were I to act the part of an impartial Inquisitor I would ask for what? Why, most undoubtedly, I might expect to be answered, to see the World again and perfect his Studies, and by that means compleat the fine Gentleman. Thus equiped with a fine Estate, little Learning, and less Sense, and intirely ignorant of all Languages but his own, he launches into a foreign Nation, without the least knowledge of his own, where the sharpers will find him out, discover his Intellects, and make the most of him; they besiege him with fulsome Adulation, against which his feminine refined Understanding is too weak to resist. [Header: SIR JOHN RERESBY IN FRANCE] I will not dwell long upon the subject of his stay there, supposing he has made his Tour, and seen all the most remarkable and wondrous curiosities of those Nations, he returns a little better than he went, except for smattering a little of the tongues, and can give us but as bad and imperfect an Account of their nation as he was capable of giving them of ours; all the Advantage he brings from thence is their Modes and Vices ... the incommoding a French Peruke unmans the Bow at once."[939] And next to himself he "loves best anyone who will call him a _Bel Esprit_." How different a picture from that of the traveller which is painted as a model to young Englishmen: at the age of twenty he goes abroad for two years, after having acquired a true knowledge of his own nation and made himself master of French and Latin. He is capable of learning more in a month than another ignorant of languages can in twelve. "I am confident were all our young Noblemen educated in this manner the French Court would no longer bee esteem'd the Residence of Politeness and Belles Lettres but must then yield to the British one in many degrees, by reason our young Gentlemen would not only be perfect Masters in their exterior but intellectual Perfections, and England will then be fam'd for the Excellency of Manners and Politeness as it is now for the incomparable Beauty of the Ladies."[940] Sir John Reresby's account of how he spent his time abroad may be given as a fairly typical example.[941] He went to France, in company with Mr. Leech, his governor, in 1654. They travelled from Rye to Dieppe, and thence to Paris, passing through Rouen. Their stay at Paris was very short, as Reresby found the great resort of his countrymen there a great "prevention" to learning the language. "I stayed no longer in Paris," he tells us, "than to get my clothes, and to receive my bills of exchange, and so went to live in a pension or boarding house at Blois.... I employed my time here in learning the language, the guitar and dancing, till July, and then, there having been some likelihood of a quarrel between me and a Dutch gentleman in the same house, my governour prevailed with me to go and live at Saumur[942].... At Saumur in addition to the exercises I learnt at Blois, I learned to fence, and to play of the lute. Besides that I studied philosophy and the mathematicks, with my governor, who read lectures of each to me every other day. After eight months' stay I had got so much of the language to be able to converse with some ladies of the town, especially the daughters of one M. du Plessis.... In the month of April I began to make the little tour or circuit of France, and returned to Saumur after some six weeks' absence. In July, I went (desirous to avoid much English company resident at Saumur) to Le Mans, the capital town of Mayence, with the two Mr. Leeches and one Mr. Butler. We lodged, and were in pension at the parson's or minister's house; there were there no strangers. There were several French persons of quality that lived there at that time, as the Marquis de Cogne's widow, the Marquis de Verdun, and several others, who made us partakers of the pastimes and diversions of the place. All that winter few weeks did pass, that there were not balls three times at the least, and we had the freer access by reason that the women were more numerous than the men. I stayed there till April 1656, and then returned to Saumur with my Governor alone." After staying there for some time, Reresby dismissed his governor and made a tour in Italy. FOOTNOTES: [882] _Discourse in derision of the Teaching in Free Schools_, 1644. [883] One John Gifford, for instance, obtained permission to spend seven years in France in order to educate his family there (_Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1623-25_, p. 282). Mr. Storey sent his grandson Starky to France to learn the language (_ibid., 1649-50_, p. 535). [884] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1654_, p. 427. Care was taken to prevent English students abroad from going to Roman Catholics; in 1661 Francis Cottington made a successful application for the remission of a forfeiture he incurred by going to Paris without a licence and living three months in the house of a Papist (_Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1661-62_, p. 566). [885] _Memoirs of the Verney Family_, i. pp. 477, 497. [886] Among the books he read were Monluc's _Commentaires_, the _Secrétaire à la mode_, and the _Secrétaire de la cour_ (_Memoirs of the Verney Family_, iii. p. 80). [887] _Memoirs_, iii. p. 66. [888] An Edict of 1683 restricted the number of such pupils allowed to French pastors to two. [889] An account of the schools of the French Protestants is given by M. Nicolas in the _Bulletin de l'Histoire du Protestantisme français_, vol. iv. pp. 497 _et seq._ [890] Cp. pp. 233 _sqq._, _supra_. The names of many famous families are found in the registers of Geneva University--the Pembrokes, Montagus, Cavendishes, Cecils, etc. Borgeaud, _L'Académie de Genève_, p. 442. [891] _Memoirs_, i. p. 358. [892] _Verney Memoirs_, vol. i. p. 358. [893] _Cal. of State Papers, Dom., 1661-62_, p. 283. [894] _Ibid., 1656-56_, pp. 182, 188, 281, 288, 316. [895] _Savile Correspondence_, Camden Society, 1858, pp. 80, 71 _sqq._, 228. [896] When the Academy of Saumur was suppressed in 1684, the town lost about two-thirds of its inhabitants. [897] Locke was one of those who went to the South of France "carrying a cough with him"; cp. his Journal in King, _Life of Locke ... with Extracts from his ... Journal_, 1830, i. pp. 86 _sqq._, Nov. 1675-March 1679. [898] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1667-68_, p. 69. [899] _New Instructions to the Guardian_, 1694, p. 101. [900] Cooper, _Annals of Cambridge_, iv. 184. [901] _New Instructions to the Guardian_, 1694, p. 101. [902] _The Compleat Gentleman or Directions for the Education of Youth as to their breeding at home and Travelling Abroad_, 1687, pp. 33 _sqq._ [903] Eliote seems to have been the first to have described the Grand Tour--in his grammar, _Ortho-Epia Gallica_ (1593). Sherwood followed his example in 1625. After the middle of the century such dialogues assume a more educational and guide-like and less descriptive form. [904] Lister, _A Journey to Paris in the year 1698_, p. 2. Lister had previously visited France in about 1668. In 1698 he visited the aged Mlle. de Scudéry and the Daciers, and frequented the French theatres. [905] Second edition, 1657. [906] London, 1656. Another edition appeared in 1673, entitled _The Voyage of France, or a compleat Journey through France_. [907] As in _A Tour in France and Italy made by an English Gentleman_ (J. Clenchy), 1675 and 1676, reprinted in _A Collection of Voyages_, 1745, vol. i.; and _Remarks on the Grand Tour of France and Italy lately performed by a person of quality_ (W. Bromley), 1692 and 1693 (when it was entitled _Remarks made in Travels through France and Italy with many public inscriptions. Lately undertaken by a Person of Quality_). Cp. pp. 220 _sqq._, supra. [908] For instance: _Le Guide des chemins pour aller et venir par tous les pays et contrées du Royaume de France . . . par C. Estienne_, Paris, 1552, 1553; Lyons, 1556. _Les Antiquitez et Recherches des Villes, chasteaux, et places plus remarquables de toute la France_, 6e éd., 1631. L. Coulon, _Le fidèle conducteur pour le voyage de France montrant exactement les Routes et choses remarquables qui se trouvent en chaque ville, et les distances d'icelles avec un dénombrement des Batailles qui s'y sont données_, Paris, 1654. [909] As _Le Guide Fidelle des étrangers dans le voyage de France_, Paris, 1672 (by Aloide de St. Maurice); _Les Délices de la France ou description des provinces et villes capitales d'icelles_, Leyde, 1685; _Le Gentilhomme étranger voyageant en France, par le baron G.D.N._, 1699--borrowed, without acknowledgement, from _Le Guide Fidelle_ of 1672. Cp. A. Babeau, _Les Voyageurs en France depuis la Renaissance jusqu'à la Révolution_, Paris, 1885, chapter v. [910] By La Serre. The former, which first appeared in 1625, went through fifty editions. [911] Lockier, in Spense's _Anecdotes_, 1820, p. 75. [912] _Journal_, p. 89. [913] Riding on horseback was the more usual mode of travelling, the horses being hired from town to town; cp. Locke's _Journal_, p. 149. Wherever possible, travellers went from one town to another by water--as from one of the Loire towns to another. [914] _The Memoirs of M. du Val ... intended as a severe reflexion on the too great fondness of English ladies towards French valets which at that time was a common complaint_, London, 1670, Harleian Miscellany, iii. p. 308. [915] _Spared Houres of a Souldier_, 1623. [916] Moryson mentions Orleans as a good town; Edward Leigh, Blois and Orleans (_Foelix Consortium_, 1663); Evelyn, Blois and Bourges; Lookier, Orleans and Caen. [917] _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_, 9th ed., 1726, p. 38. [918] Heylyn, _Voyage of France_, 1673, p. 294. [919] He kept a diary in Latin (1648-50); cf. Wood, _Athenae Oxon._ (Bliss), iii. 901. [920] Gailhard, _The Compleat Gentleman_, 1678. [921] Who, in his _Ludus Literarius_, urges boys to practise speaking Latin "to fit them if they shall go beyond the seas, as Gentlemen who go to travel, Factors for merchants, and the like." [922] He tells us that at Rouen the English usually went to an inn kept by a certain Mr. Madde; at Dieppe, Madame Godard's house was very popular; at Paris, the best hotel was the "Ville de Venize." At Orleans, good lodging was found at the "Croix Blanche," kept by one M. Richard, and at the house of M. Marishall Laisné. [923] J. Rutledge, _Mémoire sur le caractère, et les moeurs des Français comparés à ceux des Anglais_, 1776, p. 55. [924] Vairasse was born _c._ 1630, probably at Allais. [925] Another grammar of similar intent was that of Ruau, _La vraie methode d'enseigner la langue françoise aux estrangers expliquée en Latin_, Paris, 1687. [926] _Epistolae Ho-Elianae_, 9th ed., 1726, p. 283. [927] _Instructions for forreine travel_, 1642, ed. Arber, 1869, pp. 19 _sqq._ [928] Bacon had many years before advised the traveller to keep a diary: and further "let him sequester himself from the company of his countrymen, and diet in such places where there is a good company of the nation where he travaileth" (_Essay on Travel_). [929] A Huguenot boy of about sixteen was considered a suitable valet (Lainé, _French Grammar_, 1650). [930] _I.e._ Théophile de Viau. [931] St. Maurice, _Guide Fidelle_, 1672. [932] _Limberman or the Kind Keeper_, Act I. Sc. 1. [933] _On Education._ Miscellaneous Works, 1751, pp. 322-3. [934] _Satire against the French_, 1691. [935] Webb, _The Penns and Penningtons of the Seventeenth Century in their Domestic and Religious Life_, 1867, p. 154. [936] Gibbon, on the contrary, was sent to the house of a pastor of Lausanne, in the hope that he would abjure the doctrines of Roman Catholicism, which he had affected at the same University. [937] _Diary_, August 26 and 27, 1664; August 30, 1664. [938] D. Fordyce, _Dialogues on Education_, 1745, i. p. 417. [939] _The Compleat Education of a Young Nobleman_, 1723, pp. 13 and 14. [940] Costeker, _op. cit._ pp. 50-51. [941] _Memoirs of Sir John Reresby, 1634-1689_, London, 1875, pp. 26 _sqq._, and _Memoirs and Travels of Sir John Reresby_, London, 1904, p. 21. [942] Travelling by boat on the Loire, as was usual, and passing by Tours. They were accompanied by a band of French men and women who, says Reresby, tried to make the journey more pleasant by singing, and made it less so. CHAPTER VI GALLOMANIA AFTER THE RESTORATION The French teachers of London at the time of the Restoration, chief amongst whom were Claude Mauger, Paul Festeau, Pierre Lainé, and Guillaume Herbert, all urged students to travel in France as a means of completing the knowledge of French acquired in England; yet at the same time they naturally and in their own interests lay emphasis on the facilities for learning the language in England, especially after the Restoration, when, to use Mauger's words, there was a little France in London, as well as a little England in Paris; "there being so great a correspondence between the two Courts of England and France that we see here continually the Lords of the latter, as they see at Paris persons of quality of the former, besides an infinity of others going and coming from thence." This indeed was the period in which Francomania reached its height in England. During the Commonwealth the English Court and many of the nobility and gentry had sojourned in France, and returned thence imbued with admiration for everything French. This admiration was intensified by the universal popularity of the French language and French fashions. Gentlemen from all parts of Europe repaired to France to learn the language and "frenchify" their manners. France was the country to which English gentlemen resorted "to get their breeding"; and the Chancellor Clarendon held that their manners were much improved by the contact. On the other hand, French men and women of the same class came to the English Court in larger numbers than ever before. Some returned with their English friends at the Restoration. Others followed later, for the English Court offered more attractions to pleasure-seekers than did the French Court, now under the influence of Madame de Maintenon. The indignation and dismay aroused in France by the execution of Charles I.[943] made the welcome offered to the royalist emigrants all the warmer in the first instance. We are told that Paris, and indeed all France, was full of loyal fugitives.[944] The exiled English Court was sheltered at the Louvre and the Palais Royal in turn.[945] The queen arrived in her native land in 1644, and shortly afterwards came Prince Charles, then about sixteen years old, and James, the young Duke of York. Mlle. de Montpensier, the grand-daughter of Henry IV., remarks on the French of the two young princes. James, she thought, spoke the language with ease, and very well indeed, and Mademoiselle was no lenient critic.[946] But Charles had not drawn as much profit from the lessons received in England.[947] He found the pronunciation an almost insuperable difficulty, stammered and hesitated, and during the early part of his stay remained almost mute for want of words. Mademoiselle says he could not utter one intelligible sentence in French, though he understood all she said to him. Charles, however, soon felt the benefit of his sojourn abroad. When he returned to France from Holland in 1648, he had already made much progress and answered the French king readily in French, when that monarch inquired about the horses and dogs of the Prince of Orange. He was ready enough to talk of hunting in French, but when the queen wished to know about the progress of his affairs, and to talk of serious matters, he excused himself, declaring he could not speak French.[948] He would also sit silent for long periods in Mlle. de Montpensier's presence, and only ventured to convey his compliments to her through Lord Jermyn, one of the chief counsellors of Charles I., who remained in the service of the queen during her exile in France. [Header: THE ENGLISH COURT IN FRANCE] But the princess was delighted to see a great improvement in his speaking of the language at the time of his return from the expedition into Scotland, and the fatal battle of Worcester. He forgot his shyness and spoke French well, relating to her the thrilling story of his escape, and how he was "furieusement ennuyé" in Scotland, where they think it a sin to listen to a violin. He was also able to make the princess very pretty compliments in French, and on these occasions, she remarks, he spoke the language particularly well.[949] Charles is even said to have gone incognito to several French reformed churches during his stay in France. The presence of Cromwell's ambassador prevented his going to the famous church of Charenton, but he went to others. On one occasion he listened to the sermon in the Protestant church of La Rochelle, in company with the Duke of Ormond, and expressed his satisfaction to one or two of the congregation to whom he revealed his identity.[950] Many other Englishmen improved their French during their enforced stay on the Continent. Most of the high officials of the Court of Charles I., the courtiers, nobles, and gentlemen round the king, spent the greater part of the interregnum in Paris, although some of them were disturbed by the French understanding with Cromwell in 1656. John Evelyn[951] enumerates most of the distinguished Englishmen he met in France,[952] and remarks on the number of French courtiers who paid their respects to the king (Charles II.); he himself kissed His Majesty's hand at St. Germain's. French courtiers had free intercourse with the English at concerts, festivals, and other entertainments.[953] They also met at the Academies so fashionable at the time. On the 13th March 1650, for instance, Evelyn witnessed a "triumph" in Mr. Del Campo's Academy, where "divers of the French and English noblesse, especially my Lord of Ossory, and Richard, sons to the Marquis of Ormond (afterwards Duke), did their exercises on horseback in noble equipage before a world of spectators and great persons, men and ladies." And again, on the 24th of May, he writes, "we were invited by the Noble Academies to a running, where were many brave horses, gallants and ladies, my Lord Stanhope entertaining us with a collation." The king's brother, the young Duke of Gloucester, set the example by daily attending one of these academies. Sir John Reresby, that time-serving politician, has also left an account of his journey in France during the Commonwealth. On his arrival at Paris in 1654 he saw the king, the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert playing at billiards in the Palais Royal; "but was incognito, it being crime sufficient the waiting upon His Majesty to have caused the sequestration of his estates."[954] Reresby was again in France in 1659, and was well received by Henrietta Maria. Almost alone of the English exiles, Sir Edward Hyde, the Chancellor, who found the discomforts of the exiled Court very great, failed to become a fluent speaker of French, chiefly because he was unable to overcome the difficulties of the pronunciation. After the Restoration he was the one high official of the English Court who did not speak the language with fluency. It was not till the time of his exile in France, after his disgrace in 1668, that he mastered the language sufficiently to read its literature; but he still found "many inconveniences" in speaking it.[955] Men of letters formed a considerable section of the English colony in France. Waller, Denham, Cowley, Davenant, Hobbes, Killigrew, Shirley, Fanshawe, Crashaw, etc., and later Roscommon, Rochester, Buckingham, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, and others lived in France, and some mixed freely in French literary circles, then centring round the Hôtel de Rambouillet, and such names as those of Malherbe, Vaugelas, Corneille, Bossuet, Scudéry, La Calprenède. English literature of the Restoration gives ample proof of their familiarity with both the language and literature of their hosts.[956] Waller, for instance, after spending some time at Rouen, moved to Paris, where he lived "in great splendour and hospitality."[957] [Header: ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS IN FRANCE] Cowley, who had followed the queen to Paris, became secretary to Lord Jermyn, afterwards Earl of St. Albans, and deciphered the letters which passed between the king and queen of England. The dramatist Davenant was twice in France, where he remained several years on his second visit. Hobbes, who for many years acted as a travelling tutor, made his mark in the philosophic circles of Paris, and knew Mersenne, Sorbière, and Gassendi. He fled to Paris during the civil wars, and for a time was engaged in teaching arithmetic to the Prince of Wales.[958] Among the many children sent to France for education during the Civil War and Commonwealth were several future literary men. Both Vanbrugh and Wycherley were brought up in this way. At the age of fifteen Wycherley was "sent for education to the Western parts of France, either to Saintonges or the Angoumois. His abode there was either upon the Banks of the Charente, or very little remov'd from it. And he had there the Happiness to be in the neighbourhood of one of the most accomplish'd Ladies of the Court of France, Mme. de Montausier, whom Voiture has made famous by several very ingenious letters, the most of which were writ to her when she was a Maid, and call'd Mlle. de Rambouillet. I have heard Mr. Wycherley say he was often admitted to the Conversation of that lady, who us'd to call him the Little Hugenot: and that young as he was, he was equally pleased with the Beauty of her Mind, and with the Graces of her person."[959] One of the young royalists who received his education in France during the Commonwealth so completely mastered the French language that he gained an important place among French men of letters: the famous Anthony Hamilton, the author of short stories in French[960]--masterpieces in the light vein[961]--and of the well-known life of his gallant brother-in-law, the Comte de Grammont, which gives a vivid picture of the life at the Court of Charles II. Hamilton has been placed second only to Voltaire as a representative of the _esprit français_.[962] At the Restoration, Hamilton returned to England with the rest of the English emigrants, together with a considerable number of Frenchmen who had attached themselves to the English Court. He was followed two years later by the hero of his _Mémoires_,[963] the Comte de Grammont, who pronounced the English Court so like that of France in manners and conversation that he could hardly realize he was in another country.[964] French was the language freely used by the English emigrants on their return to London, and by others in imitation of them. "French is the most in use," wrote William Higford in the year of the Restoration, "a most sweet tongue called the Woman's tongue, and as I think for the address from the servant to the mistress, and from the servant to the soveraigne, there is no sweeter nor more civil."[965] The use of the French language was spreading all over Europe, but nowhere was it so popular as in England: "indeed it is most alamode and best pleases the ladies and we cannot deny but Messieurs of France are excellent wits."[966] The presence of so many of these _messieurs_ in London intensified the already strong French atmosphere. Several famous names occur in the list of French ladies and gentlemen who took up their abode in England at this time. Shortly before De Grammont, St. Evremond had arrived in England, where he spent over thirty years, and died in 1703. Both played important parts in the social life of the time. De Grammont especially was very popular. [Header: FRENCH COURTIERS IN LONDON] He received a warm welcome at Court, where he met many old friends and was overwhelmed with hospitality; to make an engagement with him it was necessary to see him a fortnight beforehand. He himself added to the Court festivities by giving French entertainments in the Parisian style. At the numerous festivities held in honour of De Grammont, St. Evremond[967] was almost invariably one of the guests. He soon became the centre of a _coterie_, half English and half French, including his literary companion the Dutchman Vossius, Canon of Windsor, the French doctor Le Fèvre, professor of chemistry to Charles II.,[968] and the learned Huguenot Henri Justel, who had charge of the royal library at St. James's. What contributed most to reconcile St. Evremond to his life in England, however, was the arrival of Hortense Mancini, Duchesse de Mazarin, niece of the cardinal. The French ambassador Courtin said England was the refuge of French wives who had quarrelled with their husbands, and the Duchesse was one of these.[969] In her _salon_ St. Evremond met the most distinguished Englishmen and foreign ministers of the day. He saw her daily, and she inspired much of his best work. There, too, met French Catholics, Huguenots, and Englishmen, free from all religious prejudice, and talked of the subjects which interested them most. Another of Mazarin's nieces, the Duchesse de Bouillon,[970] was also in London for a time, and received in her _salon_ Waller, St. Evremond, and others; at one time there was a possibility of La Fontaine joining her circle. La Fontaine seems to have felt some interest in England and the English, who, he says, pensent profondément; Leur esprit, en cela, suit leur tempérament, Creusant dans les sujets, et forts d'expériences, Ils étendent partout l'empire des sciences. To Mrs. Harvey, sister of Lord Montagu and friend of the Duchess of Mazarin, he dedicated his fable _Le Renard Anglais_. Both St. Evremond and the Duchess of Mazarin ended their days in England.[971] St. Evremond enjoyed the favour of three English kings. Charles II. gave him a pension, and when William III. dined with one of his courtiers, he is said to have always stipulated that the French writer should be of the party, as he took great delight in his conversation. Though St. Evremond received permission in 1689 to return to his native land, he did not avail himself of the offer, preferring to remain in the midst of his English friends, who were accustomed to his ways and manners and his peculiarities.[972] But during the whole of his thirty years' stay in England he made no attempt to speak English. French was the language in which he and the rest of his countrymen carried on their daily intercourse with their hosts. Pepys also refers frequently to the Frenchmen he met in London.[973] On one occasion at the Cockpit his attention was diverted from the stage by a group of loquacious Frenchmen in a box, who, not understanding English, were amusing themselves by asking a pretty lady, who knew both languages, what the actors said. "Lord! what sport they made!" says Pepys. On another occasion at Whitehall he met a very communicative Frenchman with one eye, who shared a coach with him, and told him the history of his own life "without asking." Covent Garden, we are told, was the favourite resort of the French residents, "nearer the Court, than the Exchange."[974] Their presence, however, was not confined to Court circles; for the French were beginning to take an interest in England and to visit the country,[975] although, as yet, their curiosity had not extended to the language. In a few cases English was studied. Mauger even tells us that several of his contemporaries learnt it in France. It is certain that some employed the services of the French teachers of London, who were willing to teach their newly acquired language to their countrymen; for this purpose the practice of attaching English grammars to French ones--a combination first instituted by Mauger, who urged the French and English to avail themselves of this opportunity of exchanging lessons--became more and more common as the seventeenth century drew to its close. [Header: FRENCH VALETS AND "FEMMES DE CHAMBRE"] In the meanwhile guide-books[976] and relations of travel in England appeared. The writer of one of these, M. Payen,[977] remarks on the great number of strangers, especially Frenchmen, in London.[978] At the time of the Restoration, however, the chief significance of their presence lies in the need they created for the English to speak French. The great demand for everything French, including the language, offered an opening for many Frenchmen in London; for all the men and women of fashion were not in the position of De Grammont, who sent his valet, Thermes, to France every week to bring back the latest fashions from Paris. "Nothing will go down with the town now," writes a contemporary author, "but French fashions, French dancing, French songs, French servants, French wines, French kickshaws, and now and then French sawce come in among them, and so no doubt but French doctors may be in esteem too."[979] In almost every book written at the time there is some reference to the mania for French fashions. And some time later the Abbé Le Blanc relates how, on one occasion in England, a self-satisfied Englishman taunted him thus: "Il faut que votre pays soit bien pauvre, puisque tant de gens sont obligés de le quitter pour chercher à vivre en celui-ci. C'est vous qui nous fournissez de Maîtres à danser, de Perruquiers, de Tailleurs, et de Valets de chambre: et nous vous devons cette justice, pour la Frisure ou pour le Menuet, les François l'emportent sur toutes les autres Nations. Je ne comprens pas comment on aime si fort la Danse dans un Pays où l'on a si peu sujet de rire. N'est-il pas triste, par exemple, de ne cultiver vos Vignes que pour nous?"[980] Regarding the French _valets_ and _femmes de chambre_ in London, the Abbé writes: "Il n'est pas étonnant que l'on trouve en Angleterre tant de Domestiques François. A Londres on se plaît à parler notre Langue, on copie nos usages, on imite nos moeurs: ils entretiennent du moins dans nos manières ceux qui les aiment: et les Anglois les payent à proportion de l'utilité qu'ils en retirent."[981] We are told that the French lackey was "as mischievous all the year as a London apprentice on Shrove Tuesday";[982] yet he was indispensable: His Lordship's Valet must be bred in France, Or else he is a clown without Pretence: The English Blockheads are in dress so coarse, They're fit for nothing but to rub a horse. Her Ladyship's ill manner'd or ill bred, Whose Woman Confident or Chamber Maid, Did not in France suck in her first breath'd Air, Or did not gain her education there.[983] French cooks were also in great demand, and it was a point of gentility to dine at one of the French ordinaries. Thus Briske, in Shadwell's _Humourists_, is condemned as "a fellow that never wore a noble or polite garniture, or a white periwig, one that has not a bit of interest at Chatelin's, or ever ate a good fricacy, sup, or ragoust in his life"; for now, "like the French we dress, like Frenchmen eat." "Substantial beef" is "boil'd in vain," and "our boards are profaned with fricassee":[984] Our cooks in dressing have no skill at all, French cooks are only of the modish stamp. Pepys did not care for the new French restaurants. At the most popular, Chatelin's,[985] he says, they serve a "damned base dinner at the charge of 8s. 6d." He preferred the old English ordinaries where English food was given a French name. Yet he admits that at the French houses the table is covered and the glasses clean, all in the French manner; and when he dined with his patrons of the Admiralty, he usually was given a "fine French dinner."[986] [Header: THE FRENCH TAILOR] As to the French dancing-master, he is a "very Paladin of France when he comes into England once, where he has the Regimen of the Ladies leges and is the sole Pedagoge of their feet, teaching them the French Language, as well as the French Pace."[987] French music was also the vogue. We are told that during the reign of Charles II. "all musick affected by the beau mond ran in the ffrench way."[988] John Bannester, the first violin to the king, is said to have lost his post[989] for having upheld, within the hearing of His Majesty, that the English musicians were superior to the French. Soon after the Restoration, Charles on one occasion gave great umbrage to the English musicians by making them stop their performance and bidding the French music play instead. In the same way the French tailor is "the King of Fashions and Emperor of the Mode, not onely in France, but most of its Neighboring Nations, and his Laws are received where the King of France's will not pass";[990] and thus the French Now give us laws for pantalons, The length of breeches and the gathers, Port-cannons, periwigs and feathers.[991] There was a French peddling woman at Court, Mlle. Le Boord, who "us'd to bring peticoates, and fanns and baubles out of France to the Ladys,"[992] and whose opinion had great weight. De Grammont won the favour of the English ladies by having French trinkets sent them from France. "Let the fashion be French, 'tis no matter what the cloth be."[993] Travellers from France were beset with questions as to the latest mode. Some devotees were said to receive weekly letters from France providing information on this subject.[994] At one moment Charles protested against the rage for French fashions by adopting a simple garment after the Persian style, which was first worn at Court on the 18th October 1666. Divers gentlemen went so far as to wager that His Majesty would not persist in this change; and when Louis XIV. retorted by ordering his pages to be attired in the same Persian garb, Charles withdrew. "It was a comely and manly attire," writes Evelyn, "too good to hold, it being impossible for us in good earnest to leave the Monsieurs' vanities long."[995] Francomania indeed was carried to extremes: And as some pupils have been known In time to put their tutors down, So ours are often found t'ave got More tricks than ever they were taught.[996] We are told of an "English captain that threw up his commission because his company would not exercise after the French Discipline."[997] Dryden even accuses the French of influencing the course of English politics:[998] The Holy League Begot our Cov'nant; Guisards got Whig, Whate'er our hot-brain'd sheriffs did advance, Was like our fashions, first produced in France, And when worn out, well scourg'd and bannish'd there. Sent over, like their godly Beggars, here. A French patent was said to authorize any crime.[999] "Now what a Devil 'tis should make us so dote on these French," says Flecknoe,[1000] and another writer adds:[1001] Our native speech we must forget e'er long To learn the French that much more modish Tongue. Their language smoother is, hath pretty Aires, But ours is Gothick if compar'd with theirs. The French by arts of smooth insinuation Are now become the Darlings of the Nation. [Header: FRENCH SPOKEN AT COURT] The example was set at Court, where French was commonly in use, and where to be able to speak it well was a necessity and proof of good breeding. "Mark then, I makes 'em both speak French to show their breeding," says the author Boyes of his two kings in Buckingham's _Rehearsal_.[1002] Sir John Reresby first attracted notice at Court by his fluent French. "It was this summer," he writes in 1661, "that the Duke of York first took any particular notice of me. I happened to be in discourse with the French Ambassador and some other gentlemen of his nation, in the presence at Whitehall, and the Duke joined us, he being a great lover of the French tongue and kind to those who spoke it. The next night he talked with me a long while as he was at supper with the king."[1003] And Reresby, with a keen eye for his own advancement, took advantage of this to secure the patronage of the Duke. He also tells us that the King, Duke, and French ambassador were very often merry and intimate together at Louise de Kerouaille's (now Duchess of Portsmouth) lodgings,[1004] where French alone would be used, for it was an unknown thing for a French ambassador to speak English. There was not a courtier[1005] who did not speak French with ease, Clarendon alone excepted. The ladies of the Court were equally well versed in the language. When De Grammont, who had made the acquaintance of most of the courtiers in France, came to make that of the ladies, he needed no interpreter, for all knew French--"assez pour s'expliquer et toutes entendaient le françois assez bien pour ce qu'on avait à leur dire."[1006] Amongst them was Miss Hamilton, Anthony's sister, who became De Grammont's wife,[1007] and was much admired at the Court of Louis XIV. The accomplishments of Miss Stuart may be quoted as typical of the rest: "elle avoit de la grâce, dansoit bien, parloit françois mieux que sa langue naturelle: elle étoit polie, possédoit cet air de parure après lequel on court et qu'on n'attrappe guères à moins de l'avoir pris en France dès sa jeunesse."[1008] The least gifted lady of the Court was Miss Blake, who "n'entendoit presque point le françois." When the Countess of Berkshire recommended one of her near relatives as one of the queen's dressers, the fact that she had been twelve years in France, and could speak French exceedingly well, was mentioned as her chief qualification.[1009] The Portuguese queen[1010] was indeed out of place in her Frenchified Court. She could not speak French, and Spanish was her means of intercourse with Charles II. and the Duke of York, who both spoke this language fairly well, and were able to act as interpreters between their French mother and the young queen. Catherine's Portuguese attire was the subject of much amusement, and her efforts to induce the ladies of the Court to adopt it were of no avail. James II., when he was an exile in France for the second time, told the nuns of Chaillot that she had endeavoured to prevail on King Charles to use his influence with them: "but the ladies dressed in the French fashions and would not hear of any other, constantly sending artificers and dressmakers to Paris to import the newest modes, as they do to this very day."[1011] The country ladies caught the fashion as it was going out in London.[1012] In many cases the passion for all things French became a mania with the ladies, as is frequently pictured in the drama of the time.[1013] A Frenchified lady would have a French maid, "born and bred in France, who could speak English but brokenly," with whom she would talk a mixture of broken French and English; while many a one like Melantha of Dryden's _Marriage à-la-mode_,[1014] doted on any new French word: "as fast as any bullion comes out of France, she coins it into English, and runs mad in new French words."[1015] [Header: THE FRENCHIFIED LADY] She importunes those returned from the tour in France, or who have correspondence with Parisians, to know the latest words used in Paris. Her maid supplies her daily with a store of French words: _Melantha._ ... You _sot_ you, come produce your Morning's work.... O, my Venus! 14 or 15 words to serve me a whole day! Let me die, at this rate I cannot last till night! Come read your words.... _Philotis._ _Sottises._ _Melantha._ _Sottises, bon._ That's an excellent word to begin withal: as for example, he or she said a thousand _sottises_ to me. Proceed. _Philotis._ _Figure_: as what a _Figure_ of a man is there! _Naïve_ and _Naïveté_. _Melantha._ _Naïve!_ as how? _Philotis._ Speaking of a thing that was naturally said: it was so _naïve_. Or such an innocent piece of simplicity: 'twas such a _Naïveté_. And as Melantha becomes excited with her new acquisitions, she bestows gifts on her maid at each new word. A new catechism[1016] for the ladies was invented on these lines: --Of what Nation are you? --English by birth: my education _à la mode de France_. --Who confirms you? --Mademoiselle the French Mantua maker. We are told that the Frenchified lady was educated in a French boarding-school, by a French dancing master, a French singing master, and a French waiting woman. "Before I could speak English plain," she tells us, "I was taught to jabber French: and learnt to dance before I could go: in short I danced French dances at 8, sang French at 10, spoke it at 13, and before 15 could talk nothing else." Among the gentlemen _à la mode_, "to speak French like a magpie" was also the fashion: We shortly must our native speech forget And every man appear a French coquett. Upon the Tongue our English sounds not well, But--oh, monsieur, la langue françoise est belle;[1017] wrote a satirist of the time. And so the Francomaniacs, designated as _beaux_ or English _monsieurs_, became the subject for satire and ridicule. Their French was often not of a very high standard. Pepys met one of the _monsieurs_, "full of his French," and pronounced it "not very good." Many, no doubt, had to be content "t' adorn their English with French scraps." And while they idly think t' enrich, Adulterate their native speech: For, though to smatter ends of Greek Or Latin be the rhetorique Of pedants counted and vainglorious, To smatter French is meritorious, And to forget their mother tongue Or purposely to speak it wrong.[1018] Butler says that "'tis as ill breeding now to speak good Englis, as to wrote good Englis,[1019] good sense or a good hand," and "not to be able to swear a French oath, nor use the polite French word in conversation," debarred one from polite society. The town spark or _beau garzion_ is frequently introduced in the comedies of the time. Not being master of his own language, he intermingles it with scraps of French that the ladies may take him for a man of parts and a true linguist.[1020] Such is Sir Foppington, who walks with one eye hidden under his hat, with a toothpick in prominence, and a cane dangling at his button;[1021] and Sir Novelty Fashion, who prefers the title of _Beau_ to that of Right Honourable;[1022] and the _Monsieur_ of Paris of Wycherley's _Gentleman Dancing Master_, "mightily affected with French Language and Fashions," preferring the company of a French valet to that of an English squire, and talking "agreeable ill Englis." Etherege's Sir Fopling Flutter[1023] presents us with a telling picture of what was considered good breeding and wit at the Court of Charles II. [Header: THE ENGLISH "MONSIEUR"] Sir Fopling is "a fine undertaking French fop, arrived piping hot from Paris," bent on imitating the people of quality in France and on speaking a mixture of French and English. "His head stands for the most part on one side, and his looks are more languishing than a lady's when she lolls at stretch in her coach, or leans her head carelessly against the side of a box in the playhouse." He judges everything according to what is done at Paris, and English music and dancing make him shudder. And as it was _à la mode_ to be Attended by a young petit garçon Who from his cradle was an arch Fripon,[1024] he walks about with a train of French valets. Mr. Frenchlove of James Howard's "English Monsieur" (1674) is likewise "a Frenchman in his second nature, that is in his fashion, discourse and clothes"; he cannot discover a _divertissement_ in the whole of London, but finds "some comfort that in this vast beef-eating city, a French house may be found to eat at." The French ordinaries held an important place in the daily round of the _beau_. His toilet occupied the whole of the early part of the day. He would then go to the French ordinary,[1025] where he boasts of his travels to the untravelled company, and if they receive this well, plies them with "more such stuff, as how he, simple fellow as he seems to be, had interpreted between the French King and the Emperor." Or, if his accomplishments will not stand this strain, "flings some fragments of French or small parcels of Italian about the table."[1026] He may then take the promenade or _Tour à la Mode_, where he salutes with _bon meen_, and has a hundred _jolly rancounters_ on the way.[1027] He usually ended his day at the play. And here again he would find the desired French atmosphere. Many translations or adaptations of French plays were acted,[1028] and the English drama of the period is so full of French words and phrases that it is hardly intelligible to any one without a good knowledge of French.[1029] The Frenchified Gallants and Ladies, the French Valets, and other French characters introduced so freely into the plays, offered ample opportunity for the use of French words.[1030] Dryden, alone, is responsible for the introduction of more than a hundred such words.[1031] As literature was fashionable at the time, most of the dramatic authors were themselves gentlemen _à la mode_ with strong French tastes. Sedley, for instance, had a great reputation in the world of fashion. Wycherley and Vanbrugh had both been educated in France. Etherege had probably resided many years in Paris. Cibber, who always played the part of the fop in his own plays, went twice to France specially to study the airs and graces of the French _petit-maître_,--at no better place, however, than a _table d'Auberge_, the Abbé Le Blanc tells us:[1032] "Il faut lui pardonner ses erreurs sur ses modèles, il n'étoit à portée d'en voir d'autres: si même il n'a pas aussi bien imité ceux-ci que les Anglois se le sont persuadé, je n'en suis pas surpris: il m'a avoué de bonne foi qu'il n'entend pas assez notre langue pour suivre la conversation." It is unlikely, however, that Cibber's French was as scanty as the _abbé_ reports. At any rate his daughter Charlotte, afterwards Mrs. Clarke, tells us that she understood the alphabet in French before she was able to speak English.[1033] The prologues and epilogues of the Restoration plays are frequently addressed to the gallants, and often in a language which would appeal to them; for instance, a French Marquis speaks the epilogue in Farquhar's _Constant Couple_: ... Vat have you English, dat you call your own, Vat have you of grand plaisir in dis towne, Vidout it come from France, dat will go down? Picquet, basset: your vin, your dress, your dance, 'Tis all, you zee, tout à-la-mode de France. [Header: FRENCH PLAYS IN LONDON] The Francomaniacs of the time would find still more to their taste at the French play. During nearly twenty years after the Restoration, London was hardly ever without a company of French players. The beaux and gallants flocked to see "a troop of frisking monsieurs," and cry "Ben" and "keep time to the cadence of the French verses":[1034] Old English authors vanish and give place To these new conquerors of the Norman race, wrote Dryden, protesting against the caprice of the town for the French comedians; and he adds elsewhere:[1035] A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight, Who with broad bloody bills, call you each day, To laugh and break your buttons at their play. There was a great rush to the French plays, both tragedies and comedies. Valets went hours in advance to reserve a place for their masters. There is no need, says Dryden, to seek far for the reason of their popularity,--they are French, and that is enough. People go to show their breeding and try to laugh at the right moment. The English dramatist insinuates that the comedians let in their own countrymen free of charge that they might lead the applause, and give the cue to the ladies. The English Court and its followers had evidently acquired a taste for French plays during their sojourn abroad. Immediately after the Restoration a French company settled in London, and the king became their special patron and protector. In 1661 he made a grant of £300 to Jean Channoveau to be distributed among the French comedians,[1036] and in 1663 they obtained permission to bring from France their stage decorations and scenery. It seems to have always been the king's "pleasure" that "the clothes, vestments, scenes, and other ornaments proper for and directly designed for their own use about the stage should be imported customs free."[1037] The earliest troupe of French actors, under Jean Channoveau, acted at the Cockpit in Drury Lane; and there, on the 30th August 1661, Pepys took his wife to see a French comedy. He carried away a very bad impression of the play, describing it as "ill done, the scenes and company and everything else so nasty and out of order and poor, that (he) was sick all the while in (his) mind to be there." He vented his ill humour on a friend of Mrs. Pepys whom she had met in France; and "that done, there being nothing pleasant but the foolery of the farce, we went home." French comedies were also acted at Court. Evelyn, who went very little to the theatre, witnessed one of these on the 16th December 1662, but makes no observation on it. In the _Playhouse to be let_ of Davenant, who directed the Duke's company playing at Dorset Gardens,[1038] figures a Frenchman who has brought over a troupe of his countrymen to act a farce. The French actor Bellerose is said to have made a fortune by playing in London.[1039] Another of these actors who ventured to London was Henri Pitel, sieur de Longchamp, who came in 1676 with his wife and two daughters.[1040] He stayed nearly two years in England, and shone at the Court of Charles II. Charles himself is said not to have missed one of the French plays,[1041] at which his mistress, Louise de Kerouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, Mme. Mazarin, the French ambassador, and many courtiers were always present. In 1684 the "Prince's French players" were again expected in England,[1042] no doubt the same troupe, directed by Pitel and known as _Les comédiens de son Altesse sérénissime M. le Prince_. FOOTNOTES: [943] Expressed in the _Lettres_ of Guy Patin, and numerous pamphlets published at the time. [944] Evelyn, _Diary_, Sept. 1, 1650. [945] In the _Journal de voyage de deux jeunes Hollandais à Paris, 1656-58_ (ed. A. P. Faugère, 2nd ed., Paris, 1899), there is some information concerning the exiled Court. The teacher Lainé mentions a lady in the suite of the exiled queen in his _Dialogues_. [946] _Mémoires_, 4 vols., Paris, 1859, i. pp. 102, 137, 225, etc. [947] _Supra_, pp. 262 _sqq._ [948] After the Restoration he would also try to get out of a difficult situation on the same plea. He talked French freely to Mlle. de Kerouaille. However, when the French Ambassador, Courtin, wished to discuss with him the negotiations with the Dutch, he excused himself on the ground that he had forgotten nearly all his French since his return to England, and asked for delay to reflect on anything proposed in that language. He offered the same excuse for his Council, but Courtin retorted that many of them spoke French as well as English. Cp. J. J. Jusserand, _A French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II._, London, 1892, p. 143. [949] "Il me disoit des douceurs, à ce que m'ont dit les gens qui nous écoutoient et parloit si bien françois, en tenant ces propos-là, qu'il n'y a personne qui ne doive convenir que l'Amour étoit plutôt françois que de toute autre nation. Car, quand le roi parloit sa langue (la langue de l'amour) il oublioit la sienne et n'en perdoit l'accent qu'avec moi: car les autres ne l'entendirent pas si bien" (_Mémoires_, _ed. cit._ i. p. 322). [950] _Lettre de M. de L'Angle à un de ses amis touchant la religion du sérénissime roy d'Angleterre_, Geneva?, 1660, p. 18. [951] Evelyn was in France in 1643, on his way to study anatomy at Padua, and again in 1646-7 on his return, and yet again in 1649. [952] Lord High Treasurer Cottington, Sir Ed. Hyde, etc.; cp. _Diary_, Aug. 1 and 18, Sept. 7, 12, 13, Oct. 2, 7, 1649, etc. [953] Thus the King invited the Prince of Condé to supper at St. Cloud ... "where I saw a famous (tennis) match betwixt Mons. Saumaurs and Colonel Cooke, and so returned to Paris." Evelyn, _Diary_, Sept. 13, 1649. [954] _Memoirs of Sir John Reresby of Thribergh, Bart., M.P. for York, etc., 1634-1689_, ed. J. J. Cartwright, London, 1875, pp. 26, 42 (cp. pp. 359 _sqq._, supra). [955] Sir Henry Craike, _Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon_, 1911, ii. pp. 321 _sqq._ [956] W. Harvey-Jellie, _Les Sources du Théâtre anglais à l'époque de la Restauration_, Paris, 1906, pp. 37 _sqq._ [957] Evelyn visited Waller several times. [958] Evelyn met Hobbes at Paris in September 1650. [959] Dennis, _Original Letters, familiar, moral and critical_, London, 1723, i. p. 215. At a later date he was again in France for reasons of health. The king gave him £500 to pay the expenses of a journey to the South of France. He was at Montpellier from the winter of 1678 to the spring of 1679. [960] ". . . cette langue dont il savait toutes les plus délicates ressources en grâce, en malice plaisante et en ironie." Cf. Sayous, _Histoire de la littérature française à l'étranger_. [961] "Hamilton dans le conte (says Sayous, _op. cit._) l'emporte sur Voltaire qui eut été le premier, si au lieu de se jeter dans les allégories philosophiques il s'était abandonné, comme notre Écossais, au plaisir plus innocent de laisser courir son imagination et sa plume." [962] The Scotch Chevalier de Ramsay (1686-1743), the friend of Fénelon, also wrote French with remarkable purity. His best known work is _Les Voyages de Cyrus avec un discours sur la mythologie_ (Paris, 1727; London, 1730). At a later date Thomas Hales (1740?-1780), known as d'Hèle, d'Hell, or Dell, a French dramatist of English birth, also made himself a name in French literature (Sylvain van de Weyer, _Les Anglais qui ont écrit en français_, Miscellanies, Philobiblon Soc., 1854, vol. i.). [963] Hamilton, _Mémoires du Comte de Grammont. Histoire amoureuse de la Cour de Charles II_, ed. B. Pifteau, Paris, 1876, Preface. Voltaire often quoted the beginning of _Le Bélier_ as a model of style. [964] "Il trouvoit si peu de différence aux manières et à la conversation de ceux qu'il voyoit le plus souvent, qu'il ne lui paroissoit pas qu'il eut changé de pais. Tout ce qui peut occuper un homme de son humeur s'offroit partout aux divers penchans qui l'entrainoient, come si les plaisirs de la cour de France l'eussent quitté pour l'accompagner dans son exil" (_Mémoires_, _ed. cit._ p. 83). Grammont had been banished from the French Court on account of a presumptuous love affair. [965] _Institution of a Gentleman_, London, 1660, p. 88. The book first appeared as _Institutions, or Advice to his Grandson_, in 1658. [966] J. Smith, _Grammatica Quadralinguis_, 1674. [967] Sayous, _op. cit._ ii. ch. iv. [968] Evelyn once accompanied His Majesty "to M. Favre to see his preparation for the composition of Sir Walter Raleigh's rare cordial," when the chemist made a learned discourse in French on the nature of each ingredient. [969] _Revue Historique_, xxix., Sept.-Oct. 1885, p. 25. [970] J. J. Jusserand, _Shakespeare in France_, London, 1899, pp. 132, 135, 136. Mme. d'Aulnoy, the fairy-tale writer and authoress of the _Mémoires de la cour d'Angleterre_, was also among the French ladies in London at this time. [971] St. Evremond was buried at Westminster at the age of ninety-one. The Duchess died at Chelsea in 1699. [972] In a letter to Justel he spoke of the Thames as "nostre Thamise." [973] Evelyn's Diary, likewise, is full of mentions of meetings with Frenchmen. [974] Sorbière, _Relation d'un voyage en Angleterre . . ._, Paris, 1664, p. 32. [975] Cp. Ch. Bastide, _Anglais et Français du 17e siècle_, Paris, 1912. [976] Jusserand, _Shakespeare in France_, p. 136, note 2. [977] _Les Voyages de M. Payen_, Paris, 1667. [978] Mauger calls London "une des merveilles du monde. On y vient de tous côtez, pour admirer sa magnificence." [979] _The Ladies' Catechism_, 1703. [980] J. B. Le Blanc, _Lettres d'un Français_, à La Haye, 1745, iii. p. 67. [981] _Ibid._ i. p. 145. Mrs. Pepys assisted Lady Sandwich to find a French maid (_Diary_, Nov. 15, 1660), and was herself very desirous of one. The prejudiced Rutledge writes nearly a century later: "As the lower classes of the French are so completely qualified for Domestics, it is not surprising that such numerous colonies of French _valets de chambre_, cooks and footmen are planted all over Europe: and that the nobility and fashionable people of so many countries shew an avowed Propensity to Prefer them even to their fellow natives" (_Account of the Character and Manners of the French_, 1770, pt. ii. p. 172). [982] Flecknoe, _Characters ..._ (1665), London, 1673, p. 8. "They (the French) have gained so much influence over the English Fops that they furnish them with their French Puppydogs for _Valets de Chambre_" (_French Conjuror_, 1678). Addison (_Spectator_, No. 45) says he remembers the time when some well-bred Englishwomen kept a _valet de chambre_ "because, forsooth, they were more handy than one of their own sex." [983] _Satire on the French_, 1691. Reprinted as the _Baboon à la Mode_, 1701. [984] _Satirical Reflections_, 1707, 3rd pt. [985] Cp. Wycherley, _Country Wife_, Act I. Sc. 1. [986] _Diary_, Oct 19, 1663; May 30, 1665; May 12, 1667; Feb. 18, March 13 and 26, 1668. [987] Flecknoe, _Characters_, p. 12. Pepys describes a French dance at Court (_Diary_, Nov. 15, 1666), which was "not extraordinarily pleasing." He much admired the dancing of the young Princess Mary, taught by a Frenchman (_Diary_, March 2, 1669). The _maîtres d'armes_ were often Italians and Spaniards. There were protests against the French and Italian singing and dancing "taught by the dregs of Italy and France" (_Satirical Reflections_, 1707). [988] Pepys's _Diary_, ed. H. B. Wheatley, v. p. 332, note, and vi. p. 187. [989] A Frenchman was appointed in his place; cp. _Cal. of State Papers, 1660-61_, p. 7; _1663-64_, pp. 214, 607. Children were sent to France to learn music. Pepys did not like the "French airs" (_Diary_, July 27, 1661; June 18, 1666). [990] Flecknoe, _Characters_, p. 48. French gardeners (_Cal. State Papers, 1661-62_, pp. 175, 294) and French barbers were also in favour. Pepys went to the French pewterer's (March 13, 1667-8). [991] S. Butler, _Hudibras_. [992] Evelyn, _Diary_, March 1671. [993] Vincent, _Young Gallants' Academy_, 1674. [994] Cp. Sedley, _Mulberry Garden_ (Sir J. Everyoung: "Which is the most à la mode right revered spark? points or laces? girdle or shoulder belts? What say your letters out of France?"). There is hardly a comedy of the time without some such references to French fashions; cp. Etherege, _Sir Fopling Flutter_; Shadwell, _Humours of the Army_, etc. [995] Evelyn, _Diary_, Oct. 18, 1666. Evelyn had himself written a pamphlet called _Tyrannus or the Mode_, an invective against "our overmuch affecting of French fashion," in which he praised the comeliness and usefulness of the Persian style of clothing. This he had presented to the king: "I do not impute to this discourse the change whiche soone happen'd, but it was an identity that I could not but take notice of" (_Diary_, Oct. 18 and 30, 1666). [996] Butler, _Satire on our ridiculous imitation of the French_; "A l'étranger on prend plaisir à enchérir sur toutes les Nouveautez qui leur viennent de France. . . ." Muralt (_Lettres_, 1725). [997] _French Conjuror_, 1678. [998] _Duc de Guise_, Prologue; cp. Prologue to _Albion and Albanius_: "Then 'tis the mode of France without whose Rules None must presume to set up here as fools." [999] French money was said to be most successful in bribes. Farquhar, _Constant Couple_, iv. 2. [1000] Flecknoe, _Characters_, p. 12. [1001] _Satire against the French_, 1691. [1002] Acted 1671; Act II. Sc. 2. [1003] _Mémoires_, _ed. cit._ pp. 51-52. [1004] _Ibid._ p. 143. [1005] Lord Rutherford, for instance, begs pardon for his English, being more accustomed to the French tongue (_Cal. of State Papers, 1661-62_, p. 4). [1006] Hamilton, _op. cit._ p. 82. [1007] The story goes that Grammont was leaving England without marrying Miss Hamilton, when her brother overtook him and told him he had forgotten something, whereat he realized his oversight and returned to repair it. It is said that this incident supplied Molière with the subject of his _Mariage forcé_. [1008] Hamilton, _op. cit._ p. 82. [1009] _Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1661-62_, p. 28. [1010] Two grammars for teaching Portuguese greeted the new queen. One was a _Portuguese Grammar_ in French and English by Mr. La Mollière, a French gentleman, 1662 (_Register of the Company of Stationers_, ii. 307); and the other, J. Howell's _Grammar for the Spanish or Castilian tongue with some special remarks on the Portuguese Dialect_, with a description of Spain and Portugal by way of guide. It was dedicated to the queen. [1011] Fragment of the Journal of the Convent of Chaillot, in the secret archives of France, Hôtel de Soubise. Quoted by Strickland in _Lives of the Queens_, 1888, iv. p. 383. [1012] Cp. Sedley, _Mulberry Garden_. [1013] Such as Lady Lurewell of Farquhar's _Constant Couple_; Lady Fanciful in Vanbrugh's _Provoked Wife_; Brome's _Damoiselle_ (1653); or Mrs. Rich in _The Beau Defeated_ (1700?). [1014] _The Frenchified Lady never in Paris_ was the name given her by Henry Dell in his play, based on Dryden's and printed 1757 and 1761. [1015] There is a book called _The Art of Affectation_ teaching ladies to speak "in a silly soft tone of voice and use all the foolish French words which will infallibly make your person and conversation charming" (Etherege, _Sir Fopling Flutter_). [1016] _The Ladies' Catechism_, 1703? [1017] _Satire against the French_, 1691, p. 14. [1018] _Satire on our ridiculous imitation of the French_; Chalmers, _English Poets_, viii. p. 206. [1019] Cp. Swift, _Poem written in a Lady's Ivory Table Book_ (1698): "Here you may read, Here in beau-spelling--tru tel deth." [1020] _Character of the Beau_, 1696. [1021] Cibber, _Careless Husband_, Act I. Sc. 1. [1022] Cibber, _Love's last shift or the Fool in fashion_. Sedley's Sir Charles Everyoung, Ned Estridge, and Harry Modish are all "most accomplished monsieurs," as are Clodis in Cibber's _Love Makes a Man or the Fop's Fortune_; Sir Harry Wildair in Farquhar's play of that name; Lord Foppington of Vanbrugh's _Relapse or Virtue in Danger_; Bull Junior in Dennis's _A Plot and no Plot_; Clencher, senior, the Prentice turned Beau in Farquhar's _Constant Couple_; Mrs. Behn's _Sir Timothy Tawdry_; Crowne's _Sir Courtly Nice_, etc. In 1697 appeared a work called _The Compleat Beau_. [1023] _Sir Fopling Flutter or the Man of Mode_, 1676. Supposed to be a portrait of the then notorious Beau Hewitt. [1024] _Satire against the French_, 1691. [1025] _Character of the Beau_, 1691. Most of the accomplished "monsieurs" frequented the French houses (Sedley, _Mulberry Garden_). Act II. Sc. 2 of Wycherley's _Love in a Wood_, and Act II. Sc. 2 of his _Gentleman Dancing Master_, both take place in a French house. Cp. _Character of the Town Gallant_, 1675. [1026] Vincent, _Young Gallants' Academy_, 1674, p. 44. [1027] Flecknoe, _Characters_, 1673. The 1665 edition of his _Aenigmatical Characters ..._, 1665, contains a description in French of the _Tour à la Mode_: ". . . C'est une bataille bien rangée où l'on ne tire que des coups d'Oeillades, et où les premiers ayant fait leur descharge, ilz s'en vont pour donner place aux autres" . . ., etc. (p. 21). [1028] Charles II. openly avowed his preference for the French drama. Dryden wrote his _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, "to vindicate the Honour of our English writers from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them." Pepys saw many of the French plays acted in English. Cp. H. McAfee, _Pepys on the Restoration Stage ..._, Yale Univ. Press, 1916. [1029] A. Beljame, _Le Public et les hommes de lettres au 18e siècle_, Paris, 1897, p. 139. [1030] As in Etherege's _Comical Revenge or Love in a Tub_, _Sir Fopling Flutter_, and the plays of Cibber, Vanbrugh, Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, Farquhar, Wycherley, etc.; _The French Conjuror_, 1678; _The Beau Defeated_, 1700?, etc. [1031] A. Beljame, _Quae e Gallicis verbis in Anglicam linguam Johannes Dryden introduxerit_, Paris, 1881. On French influence in Restoration Drama, see Charlanne, _L'Influence française en Angleterre_, pp. 64 _sqq._ [1032] _Lettre à M. de la Chaussée_: _Lettres_, 1745, ii. p. 240. [1033] _Narrative of her Life, written by Herself_, pub. in series of Autobiographies, London, 1826, vol. vii. p. 12. Most of the writers of the time were able to write some French. Flecknoe, for instance, wrote some of his _Characters_ in the language, and wrote a French dedication of his Poems (1652), "à la plus excellente de son sexe." [1034] Dryden, "Prologue spoken at the opening of the new house, 26 March, 1674," _Works_, ed. Scott and Saintsbury, x. p. 320. [1035] "Prologue to Arviragus and Phihera by L. Carlell, revival," _Works_, x. 405. [1036] Shaw, _Calendar of Treasury Books, 1660-67_, p. 311. [1037] _Ibid., 1672-75_, pp. 14, 24, 29, etc.; _1677-78_ (vol. v.), pp. 692, 803; _1684_ (vol. vii.), p. 1444. [1038] Charles had granted two privileges: one to Henry Killigrew, who directed the King's company acting at Drury Lane, and the other to Sir William Davenant, who directed the Duke's company. The rival companies united in 1682. [1039] Chardon, _La troupe du roman comique dévoilée et les comédiens de la campagne au 17e siècle_, Le Mans, 1876, p. 47. [1040] Chardon, _op. cit._ p. 98. [1041] _Revue Historique_, xxix., Sept.-Oct. 1858, p. 23. [1042] _Historical MSS. Commission Reports_, v. p. 186. French dancers and singers also attracted the English from the performances of their own actors; cp. Cibber, Epilogue to _The Careless Husband_, and Farquhar, Preface to _The Inconstant_. CHAPTER VII THE TEACHING OF FRENCH AND ITS POPULARITY AFTER THE RESTORATION In the meantime French grammars were being published in England in considerable numbers.[1043] So plentiful were they that there was "scarce anything to be seen anywhere but French grammars." The manuals of Mauger and Festeau were still in vogue, and that of Mauger was frequently reedited. Among new grammarians figures the tutor to the children of the Duke of York (James II.), Pierre de Lainé, who may possibly have been identical with the Pierre Lainé who published a grammar in 1655.[1044] His French grammar, written in the first place for the Lady Mary (afterwards Mary II.), was published in 1667,[1045] when the princess was about five years old. It was subsequently placed at the service of the Lady Anne, afterwards queen, and a second edition appeared in 1677, with the title: _The Princely Way to the French Tongue as it was first compiled for the use of her Highness the Lady Mary and since taught her royal sister the Lady Anne etc. by P. D. L. Tutor for the French to both their Highnesses_.[1046] "Before you begin anything of Letters or rules," says Lainé, "you may Learn how to call in French these few things following. Ma Tête, say maw tate my Head Mes Cheveuz, say maysheveu my Hair," and so on for the parts of the body, the numbers, days, and months, with similar guides to pronunciation. He then proceeds to treat of the sounds of letters and syllables, based on comparison with English. These rules occupy less than a fifth of the book; the remainder contains practical exercises. First come familiar phrases and dialogues, strongly religious in tone, including prayers, the catechism, commandments, etc., and conversation specially suited to royal princesses. A chronological abridgement of the sacred scriptures by way of dialogue is followed by rules of grammar, likewise in dialogue form. Lastly come the _Fables_ of Aesop put into "burlesque French" for the use of her Highness the Lady Mary when a child, and models of letters suitable for children, and accompanied by answers. In later years Lainé spent some time at Paris as secretary[1047] to Sir Henry Savile, the English envoy at the French Court, who did so much to prepare a favourable reception in England for the refugees at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.[1048] Lainé was the first teacher to receive a grant of letters of denization under the Order in Council of the 28th July 1681.[1049] Shortly afterwards the same privilege was bestowed on Francis Cheneau, whose _French Grammar, enrich'd with a compendious and easie way to learne the French tongue in a short time_, was licensed for printing in 1684.[1050] For many years Cheneau continued to teach French, and in time added Latin, English, and Italian to his repertory. He describes himself as a native of Paris, "formerly slave and Governor of the Isles of Nacsia and Paros in the Archipelago." At the time of the appearance of his second work on the French language, in 1716, he was "living in his House in Old Fish St. next door to the Faulcon in London," where could be seen his short grammars for Latin, Italian, and English. The most versatile compiler of French manuals at this period was Guy Miège, a native of Lausanne, who came to England at the time of the Restoration. For two years he was employed in the household of Lord Elgin, and was then appointed under-secretary to the Earl of Carlisle, ambassador extraordinary to Russia, Sweden, and Denmark. After spending three years abroad with the embassy, he travelled in France on his own account from 1665 till 1668, preparing a _Relation of the Three Embassies_ in which he had taken part. [Header: THE DICTIONARIES OF GUY MIÈGE] His book was published in 1669, on his return to London. He then settled in England as a teacher of French and geography, and wrote many works for teaching the language. The first was _A New Dictionary French and English and English and French_ (1677), dedicated to Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond. As usual, this French-English Dictionary is based on a French-Latin one--in this case that of Pomey. Miège was also closely acquainted with Howell's edition of Cotgrave's dictionary, last published in 1670; but he held it very defective in retaining so many obsolete words, and in not being adapted to the "present use and modern orthography--which indeed is highly pretended to in the last edition thereof, but so performed that the title runs away with all the credit of it." He looked upon Cotgrave "as a good help indeed for reading of old French books (a thing which few people mind)." For his own part, his design was to teach the latest Court French, and he made a point of omitting all the provincial and obsolete words Cotgrave had searched out so carefully, words "that offend the eyes and grate the ears, but the Rubbish of the French Tongue." To "season the naturall dulness of the work" he included many proverbs, descriptions, and observations in both the English and French parts. Considering that "the way to understand the bottom of a language is to learn how the derivatives are formed from their primitives and the compounds from their simples,"[1051] he arranged all the derivatives after their respective primitives; that nothing might be wanting, however, he placed them in their alphabetic order also, with a reference to the necessary primitive. Miège's innovation in excluding all obsolete terms from his dictionary raised such a storm at its first appearance[1052] that he felt himself bound to yield to public opinion by making a separate collection of such words, which he called _A Dictionary of barbarous French or A Collection, by way of Alphabet, of Obsolete, Provincial, misspelt, and Made Words in French, taken out of Cotgrave's dictionary with some additions_. It was, he said, "performed for the satisfaction of such as read old French." By the time of its publication in 1679, however, the storm raised by his first work had died away. Miège continued his lexicographical labours. In 1684 appeared _A Short French Dictionary English and French, with another in French and English_, a work of no ambitious aims, containing a list of words pure and simple, with no descriptions or observations, intended for beginners, travellers, and those who could not afford the price of the larger one, and, above all, for foreigners reading English. The English were too eager and advanced in the study of French to find much help in so slight a work, but foreigners evidently adopted the dictionary; editions appeared at the Hague in 1691, 1701 (the fifth), and 1703;[1053] another was issued at Rotterdam as late as 1728. For the use of English students and those desiring to study either language more thoroughly, Miège prepared, during many years of hard work, an enlarged edition of his first French dictionary of 1677, which, he tells us, was compiled under great disadvantages; "the Publick was in haste for a French Dictionary, and they had it accordingly, hurried from the design to the composition, and from under my pen to the press." The new work, on a much larger scale, was known as _The Great French Dictionary, in two parts_, and published in 1688, eleven years after the appearance of its nucleus, the _New French Dictionary_ (1677). It gives words according to both their old and modern orthography, "by which means the reader is fitted for any sort of French book," and, writes Miège, "although I am not fond of obsolete and barbarous words, yet I thought fit to intersperse the most remarkable of them, lest they should be missed by such as read old Books." Each word is accompanied by explanations, proverbs, phrases, "and as the first part does, here and there, give a prospect into the constitution of the kingdom of France, so the second does afford to foreiners what they have hitherto very much wanted, to wit, an Insight into the Constitution of England...." In the _Great Dictionary_ Miège abandoned his plan of arranging the derivatives under their primitives, because it had made his former work "swarm with uneasy references"; he followed the alphabetical order strictly, "but in such a manner that, where a derivative is remote from its primitive, I show its extraction within a Parenthesis." [Header: MIÈGE'S FRENCH GRAMMARS] Each of the two sections of the _Great Dictionary_ is preceded by a grammar of the language concerned. First comes the _Grounds of the French Tongue_, before the French-English Dictionary, and then a _Méthode abrégée pour apprendre l'Anglois_. This French grammar was a reprint of one of those which Miège had compiled while working at his dictionaries. In 1684 Miège tells us that he had "put forth two French grammars, both of them well approved by all unprejudiced persons. The one is short and concise, fitted for all sorts of learners, but especially new beginners; the other is a large and complete piece, giving a curious and full account of the French Tongue. To this is annexed a copious vocabulary and a long Train of useful Dialogues." The more advanced of these grammars was the first to appear, being published in 1678 under the title of _A New French Grammar, or a New Method for learning the French Tongue_. After dealing with pronunciation, he passes to the accidence and syntax, with special attention to his favourite theory of the importance of a knowledge of primitives and derivatives. He is much indebted to the grammars of Vaugelas and Chiflet, especially in his observations on letter-writing, on repetition of words, and on style. The second half of the book contains a vocabulary, arranged under the usual headings, and familiar dialogues, without which he dare not offer the work to a public "so well convinced of their Usefulness, as to the speaking part of a Language"; therefore, "though it were something against the grain," he included such exercises, "exceeding even Mr. Mauger's in number." The one hundred and fifteen familiar dialogues are followed by four more advanced ones in French alone, "for proficient learners to turn into English." The first deals with the education of children, and the others with geography, a subject Miège taught in either French or English "as might be most convenient." The elementary grammar had been issued about 1682[1054] as _A short and easie French Grammar fitted for all sorts of learners; according to the present use and modern orthography of the French with some Reflections on the ancient use thereof_. In 1682 the vocabulary and dialogues of the earlier grammar were, each of them, issued separately, probably to facilitate their use with this second grammar. In 1687 appeared the _Grounds of the French Tongue or a new French Grammar_,[1055] which Miège incorporated in his _Great French Dictionary_ in the following year. In general outline its contents resemble those of the grammar which had appeared ten years before. It is, however, an entirely new work. Most of the rules differ,[1056] and the vocabulary and dialogues are new. He breaks away from the old tradition of introducing the Latin declension of nouns into French grammars.[1057] The _Grounds of the French Tongue_ is about a hundred pages shorter than the grammar of 1678, and on the whole it is less interesting from the point of view of the student of French. The second part, called the _Nouvelle Nomenclature Françoise et Angloise_, which might be obtained apart from the grammar, had originally appeared in 1685 as part of Miège's _Nouvelle méthode pour apprendre l'Anglois_.[1058] Consequently the dialogues are more suited to the student of English than to the student of French, as they deal chiefly with life in England and the impressions of a Frenchman in London, including an account of the coffee-houses, the penny post, the churches, English food and drink, and so forth. Lastly, in about 1698,[1059] appeared _Miège's last and best French Grammar, or a new Method to learn French, containing the Quintessence of all other Grammars, with such plain and easie rules as will make one speedily perfect in that famous language_. A second edition was issued in 1705. The work was based on his first grammar (1678), which thus benefited by his long experience as a writer on the French language and teacher of that tongue. Miège held that French was best learnt by a combination of the methods of rote and grammar, either being insufficient without the other; as for attempting to learn foreign languages at home by rote, "'tis properly building in the air. [Header: BEST METHOD OF STUDY] For whatever progress one makes that way, unless he sticks constantly to it, the Language steals away from him, and, like a Building without a foundation, it falls insensibly." Englishmen who learn French by ear in France soon find the fluency of which they are so proud slipping away from them after their return to England;[1060] and even Frenchmen who have never studied their language grammatically begin to lose the purity of phrase after they have been some time in England. Accordingly "a great care ought to be taken to pitch upon the best sort of Grammar and to make choice of a skilful Master. Now a skilful master must be first such a one as can speak the true modern French: A Thing few people can boast of, besides courtiers and scholars, so nice a language it is." Therefore the student should not waste his time, as many do, with the common sort of teachers, who speak, for the most part, but a corrupt and provincial French, and yet are patronized by many. In the second place, the teacher should be a man of some learning; and in the third, he should have "some skill in the English tongue, not that he should use much English with his scholars,[1061] but because, without it, 'tis impossible he can teach by the grammar, or explain the true meaning of words." Lastly, he should himself be thoroughly acquainted with the grammar, and be able to find out what should be learnt "by rote, what by heart, and what passages need not at all be learnt." But, when all is done, "there is an art in teaching not to be found amongst all men of knowledge." Thus the right use of a grammar depends much on the skill and judgement of the teacher. Miège declares against overburdening the memory with abstruse and difficult rules. In most cases it is enough if the learner understands the rule; there is no need to confine him to the author's words or to make him learn long lists of exceptions. "The best thing to exercise his memory in, besides the general and most necessary rules, is to learn a good store of words with their signification. And then, whether he comes to read French, or to hear it spoke, one word doth so help another, that by degrees, he will find out the meaning." As for the dialogues, only a few, and those of a familiar type, should be learnt "without book." "An analysis is the best use they can be put to, but some teachers will find it too hard a task." The best way, therefore, is "to lay a good foundation with grammar rules, and to raise the Superstructure by Practice"; the more adventurous the learner is in speaking French the better. If, however, "one be so very averse from Grammar rules as to look upon them as so many Bug bears, my opinion is that he may begin by Rote, provided he make good at last his Proficiency that Way, with the help of a choice Grammar. And then the Rules will appear to him very plain, easy and delectable." In 1678 Miège was receiving pupils for French and geography at his lodging in Penton Street, Leicester Square, and we are told that in 1693 he was taking in _pensionnaires_ in Dean's Yard, near Westminster Abbey. Towards the end of his teaching career in England he appears to have been on very friendly terms with another teacher of French, Francesco Casparo Colsoni, an Italian minister, who also taught Italian and English. Colsoni wrote a book for teaching the three languages,[1062] called _The New Trismagister_ (1688), in which he drew freely from the works of Mauger, Festeau, and his friend Miège. In the meantime other manuals appeared, including a translation of a grammar which was first published at Paris in 1672[1063]--_A French Grammar, teaching the knowledge of that language.... Published by the Academy for the reformation of the French Tongue_ (1674), printed in parallel columns of English and the original French. _A Very easie Introduction to the French Tongue_ was published in about 1673, which claimed to be "proper for all persons who have bad memories." A certain John Smith, M.A., J. G. D'Abadie, formerly of the Royal Musketeers and for a time teacher of French at Oxford, Jacob Villiers, who had a French school at Nottingham, and Jean de Kerhuel, a French minister,[1064] all published grammars at about the same time.[1065] [Header: PIERRE BERAULT] Among the more interesting French teachers of the period is Pierre Berault, a French monk who was converted to Protestantism when he was on the point of setting out for England to work among the refugees as a Jesuit emissary.[1066] On the 2nd of April 1671 he "abjured all the errors of the Church of Rome" in the French Church of the Savoy, London, and subsequently devoted himself to teaching French. Until nearly the end of the century he lived in various parts of London, "waiting upon any Gentlemen or Gentlewomen who have a mind to learn French," and using, according to his own account, a very sound method. At the same time he was busy with his pen. He began with a compilation setting forth his religious principles,[1067] and with books on moral and religious subjects, in French and English for the benefit of learners.[1068] Later he wrote _A New, plain, short and compleat French and English grammar_ (1688), which had an "extraordinary sale and reception," and passed through numerous editions. Berault's motto as regards the teaching of French was _omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci_,--a fit combination of grammar rules and practical exercises. The grammar, which occupies less than half the book, begins with an explanation of grammatical terms for the benefit of those ignorant of Latin; it then deals shortly with the pronunciation and the declinable parts of speech;[1069] lastly come a few rules of syntax and short vocabularies of the indeclinables. The reading exercises open with the catechism, creeds, commandments, and prayers. The dialogues, accompanied, contrary to custom, by an interlinear translation, are at first very simple, and arranged in syllables for the benefit of beginners, but they become more difficult. The following is a dialogue between a French tutor and his scholar: Good morrow, Sir, how do you do? Bonjour, Monsieur, comment vous portez vous? Very well to serve you. Fort bien pour vous servir. Do you teach the French tongue? Enseignez-vous la langue Françoise? Yes sir, and the Latin also. Ouy, monsieur, et aussi la Latine. Will you teach me these two tongues? Voulez vous m'enseigner ces deux langues? I will do it willingly. Je le feray volontiers. * * * * * What method do you hold? Quel méthode voulez-vous tenir? Because you understand Latin Parce que vous entendez la langue Latine I will begin by the pronunciation Je commenceray par la prononciation Which you can learn in two lessons. Que vous pouvez apprendre en deux leçons. Then I will teach you the nouns, Puis je vous enseigneray les noms, Pronouns, verbs and other parts of speech. Pronoms, verbes et autres parties d'oraison. And afterwards the rules of syntax. Et ensuite les règles de Composition. How long will I be in learning all that? Combien seray-je à apprendre tout cela? But little time if you will follow me. Peu de temps si vous voulez me suivre. Berault added a selection of Cordier's Colloquies in French and English to his work, as well as the usual proverbs, idioms and polite letters, and a vocabulary. The letters have no English translation, Berault believing that "whoso will peruse this grammar, he will not only be able to explain them but any other French book whatsoever." Accordingly he supplied a list of what he considered suitable modern French books, all of which could be obtained from one or other of the French booksellers in London. In the second half of the seventeenth century the position of the French language in England was further strengthened by its growing popularity all over Europe. "I have visited," wrote the dramatist Chappuzeau in 1674,[1070] "every part of Christendom with care. [Header: FRENCH AND LATIN] It has been easy for me to observe that to-day a prince with only the French language which has spread everywhere, has the same advantages that Mithridates had with twenty-two." The French language was regarded as "one of the chiefest qualifications of accomplished persons," and "the common language of all well-bred people, and the most generally used in the commerce of civil life." Bayle states that in many parts of Europe there were people who spoke and wrote French as purely as the French themselves, and that in many foreign towns all the men and women of quality and many of the common people spoke French with ease. Writers of the time are unanimous in describing French as the universal language; and most French teachers write in the style of Guy Miège to the effect that "the French tongue is in a manner grown universal in Europe ... and of all the parts of Europe next to France none is more fond of it than England." Thus, in the second half of the seventeenth century, French was in a position to dispute its ground with Latin. France herself set the example. French was the language used at Court, while Latin was used only by scholars. Significant it is that in 1676 Louis XIV., in consequence of Charpentier's _Défense de la langue françoise pour l'inscription de l'arc de Triomphe_, replaced the Latin inscriptions on his triumphal arches by others in French. Replying to Charpentier's essay, a Jesuit, P. Lucus, wrote a treatise in defence of Latin.[1071] Charpentier retorted by two laboured volumes, _De l'excellence de la langue françoise_ (1683), and finally won the day. In this he refers to the universality of French, and draws attention to the advantages which would result to science if it were studied in that language. The long Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns, which first reached England from France, also shows the spirit of the times. And Bayle asserts as evidence of the supremacy of French that: "Veut-on qu'un libelle courre bien le monde, aussitôt on le traduit en françois, lors même que l'original est en Latin: tant il est vrai que le latin n'est pas si commun en Europe aujourd'hui que la Langue françoise."[1072] In England French had long been a rival to Latin as the most commonly used foreign tongue, and after the Restoration it was generally recognized, among courtiers, men of fashion, ministers of state, and diplomats, as the more convenient means of intercourse. Only scholars and the universities continued to uphold the traditional supremacy of the Latin tongue, and even at the universities Latin had passed out of colloquial use before the Restoration, though still used in disputations and other prescribed exercises.[1073] The victory of French in the world of fashion was an easy one. It had "long since chased Latin from the gallant's head," declares Sedley,[1074] and Ravenscroft in his prologue to the _English Lawyer_,[1075] in which a jargon made up of Latin and English predominates, thus addresses the gallants: Gallants, pray what do you doe here to-day? Which of you understands a Latine play?... This age defies th' accomplishments of Schools, The Town breeds Wits, the Colleges make Fools. Samuel Vincent,[1076] instructing the gallant how to behave at an ordinary, warns him to "beware how (he) speaks any Latin there: your ordinaries most commonly have no more to do with Latin, than a desparate town or Garrison hath."[1077] Latin also lost what ground it held as the official language. Milton had been Latin secretary during the Commonwealth, but after the Restoration French was the language used. "Since Latin hath ceased to be a Language, if ever it was any, which I am not sure of, at least in this present age," wrote Lord Chancellor Clarendon,[1078] "the French is almost naturalised through Europe, and understood and spoken in all the Northern Courts and hath nearly driven the Dutch out of its own country, and almost sides the Italian in the Eastern Parts, where it was scarce known in the last Age." French, therefore, had little to fear from Latin as the language of intercourse with ambassadors and other foreigners in England; and still less from English, which was not to receive any recognition at the hands of foreigners for years to come. [Header: FRENCH IN THE SCHOLASTIC WORLD] Considering the almost universal popularity of French, and the general neglect of English, most Englishmen were obliged to agree with Clarendon that it was "too late sullenly to affect an ignorance" of that language because the French "will not take the Pains to understand ours," and we may gain much by being conversant in theirs. He adds "it would be a great Dishonour to the court if, when Ambassadors come thither from Neighbour Princes, no body were able to treat with them, or converse with those who accompany them in no other language but English, of which not one of them understand one word; not to mention how the king shall be supplied with Ministers, or Secretaries of State, or with Persons fit to be sent Ambassadors abroad," if those who aspire to such rank are not acquainted with the necessary foreign language. Before the Restoration, French, in spite of the important place it held in the world of polite education, had received very little recognition at the hands of educational writers. Cleland alone, in his _Institution of a Nobleman_ (1607), had treated it seriously. After 1660, however, its widespread use and popularity rendered this omission no longer possible, and at this time occurs a break in the tradition of classical scholarship.[1079] The case for French was put most forcibly and with greatest effect by Locke in his _Thoughts on Education_. Referring to the young scholar, he writes: "As soon as he can speak English, 'tis time for him to learn some other Language. This no body doubts of, when French is proposed ... because French is a living language, and to be used more in speaking, that should be first learned, that the yet pliant Organs of Speech might be accustomed to a due formation of those sounds and he get the habit of pronouncing French well, which is the harder to be done the longer it is delay'd. When he can speak French well, (which on conversational methods is usually in a year or two), he should proceed to Latin."[1080] For the same reasons Clarendon would have French learnt first, by "rote," "without the Formality or Method of grammar."[1081] Even in the world of scholarship the traditional deference shown to ancient learning received some check, and the educational value of the ancient languages was called in question. Some believed that "a gentleman might become learned by the only assistance of modern languages." Evelyn wrote a discourse on the subject at the request of Sir Samuel Tuke for the Duke of Norfolk; unfortunately it was lost, "to his griefe"[1082] and ours. It contained, he told Pepys, "a list of Authors and a method of reading them to advantage ... nor was [he] without some purpose of one day publishing it, because 'twas written with a vertuous designe of provoking our court fopps and for encouragement of illustrious persons who have leisure and inclinations to cultivate their minds beyond a farce, a horse, a whore and a dog, which, with very little more are the confines of the knowledge and discourse of most of our fine gentlemen and beaux." Learning, he felt, would assume a more attractive form in the eyes of the majority, if it were attained through modern languages. Defoe likewise thought Latin and Greek were not indispensable to scholarship, and considered it a pity to lock up all learning in the dead languages.[1083] Hobbes even went so far as to suggest in his _Behemoth_ (_c._ 1668) that it would be well to substitute French, Dutch, and Italian for Latin, Greek, and Hebrew at the universities. Others recommended that the classics should be read in French translations, and it is probable that men of fashion at the time read them in this form, if at all. Sedley implies that to read Terence in Latin was a mark of ill-breeding.[1084] The fashionable Etherege, who knew neither Latin nor Greek, had a large number of French translations of classical plays amongst his books.[1085] And at a somewhat later date the Abbé Le Blanc remarks[1086] that the English have become so fond of French that they prefer to read even Cicero in that language. He writes to tell Olivet how eagerly his translations are received in England. "Celle des Tusculanes que vous venez de publier de concert avec M. Le Père Bouhour a été goûtée en Angleterre de tous ceux qui sont en état de juger des Beautés de l'Original et de la fidélité avec laquelle chacun de vous les a rendues." The readiness with which the English read French books also attracted the Abbé's attention.[1087] [Header: PROPOSALS FOR REFORMED SCHOOLS] It was no new thing for French literature to be widely appreciated in England. But before the Restoration it had received but little recognition as a profitable subject of study, except for students of statecraft and military tactics. In 1673, however, one writer[1088] takes a new step in stating that "all learning is now in French," and goes on to say that if it were in English "those dead languages would be of little use, only in reference to the scriptures." Similarly Mary Astell, the author of _A Serious Proposal to the Ladies_ (1694), urges the ladies, who most of them know French, to study French Philosophy, Descartes and Malebranche, rather than restrict themselves to idle novels and romances. And when Locke was in Paris in 1677 he bought the best class-books and manuals in French and Latin for the use of Lord Shaftesbury's grandson. The many English gentlemen who had French tutors were frequently taught not only the French language, but other subjects from French text-books. There were, moreover, several proposals for reformed schools,[1089] in which French was given a place by the side of Latin. In the ideal school as pictured by Clarendon, the master is well acquainted with the French language; and "those that teach the exercises" are Frenchmen, both that the scholars "may be accustomed to that language, and retain what they are supposed to have learnt before, and because they do teach all Exercises best."[1090] Thomas Tryon, the "Pythagorean," proposed a school in which there was to be a tutor for French and Latin, or one for each language, and a music master.[1091] The scholars should begin at an early age, and nothing but French and Latin be spoken in their hearing. The school should stand apart, so that the pupils have no intercourse with "wild" children. In about a year they learn French and Latin by conversation, and then other subjects with the help of these languages. Newcomers soon pick up a colloquial knowledge of the language by mixing with their schoolfellows. When they speak the languages perfectly, then is the time, says Tryon, to study the grammar; "for to speak is one thing, and the Art or Reason of speaking is another. The first must be done by Imitation and Practice, the other is the Work of time, and must be improved by degrees. They that learn the Art of speaking before they can speak invert the true Method ... for the Reason and Philosophy of speaking is a great Art and the work of Time, and not at all to be taught to children." Before studying rules the learners should not only speak, but read perfectly. After learning the letters they should read daily for two or three hours, "in any book that treats of Temperance and Vertue." Notwithstanding the increased importance attached to French in all spheres, the modern language received no status in the grammar schools, where the sole aim pursued was "to make good Latin and Greek scholars and minute philosophers."[1092] On the other hand, the private institutions in which the language was taught naturally increased very greatly in number. Many Huguenot refugees opened schools in and about London, and one French observer was struck by their number.[1093] Some arose in provincial towns. At Nottingham, for instance, an Englishman, Jacob Villiers, had a school of some importance. Villiers himself was a well-known citizen. His name appears in the Charter of 1682 as one of the chief councillors of the town; and he was one of "the council of eighteen" who were displaced by an order of the Privy Council of 10th February 1688.[1094] He was described on his gravestone in St. Mary's Churchyard as a descendant of a collateral branch of the family of the great favourite of James I. and Charles I. The family "continued still in Nottingham" in the middle of the eighteenth century.[1095] Villiers's French school was flourishing some years before the first mention of him as a public character. [Header: FRENCH SCHOOL AT NOTTINGHAM] He had acquired his knowledge of French abroad, having travelled for many years in France[1096] and Germany, where he gave English lessons and received favours from the Prince Elector Palatine, elder brother of Prince Rupert. It was no doubt after his return that he opened his school for gentlemen and ladies. He also completed a book on the French and English languages, which was published in London in 1680, "to gratify the ladies and gentlemen his scholars, and all such who have a mind so to be." His chief aim was to encourage the French and English to learn each other's language by pointing out the close affinity between them. The _Vocabularium Analogicum, or the Englishman speaking French, and the Frenchman speaking English, Plainly shewing the nearness or affinity betwixt the English, French and Latin_,[1097] contains a vocabulary of similar words in the three languages--"a verbal eccho repeating words thrice and that without any considerable variation"--which occupies the main part of the work.[1098] It is preceded by rules for pronouncing French, taken, without acknowledgement, chiefly from Wodroeph, and followed by selections from Pierre de Lainé's _Royal French Grammar_ of 1667. Learners of French are advised to master the pronunciation first, and to engage a French master. A collection of familiar phrases and commendatory and other French verses, some of them also taken from Wodroeph, close the volume. Several schools or academies in which young ladies studied French, as well as philosophy and other serious subjects, were started at this time, such as that kept by Mrs. Bathsua Makin, a learned Englishwoman of the day, who for some time was governess to the daughters of Charles I. Subsequently she opened a school for gentlewomen, first at Putney (1649) and afterwards at Tottenham High Cross, "where, by the blessing of God, Gentlewomen may be instructed in the Principles of Religion, and in all manner of sober and vertuous education. More particularly in all things ordinarily taught in other schools as works of all sorts, dancing, musick, singing etc." Half their time was employed in acquiring these arts and the other half in learning the Latin and French tongues. "Gentlewomen of eight or nine years old, that can read well, may be instructed in a year or two, according to their parts, in the Latin and French tongues, by such plain and short rules, accommodated to the grammar of the English Tongue, that they may easily keep what they have learned, and recover what they shall lose." Those wishing to pursue their studies further could learn other languages, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, or Spanish, or could study astronomy, geography, and other subjects. The usual fee was £20 a year, but more was charged if the pupil made good progress. Parents were advised to apply for details at Mr. Mason's Coffee House in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange, on Tuesday, or on Thursdays at the Bolt and Tun in Fleet Street, from three to six in the afternoon.[1099] Mary Astell, another learned Englishwoman, to whom we have already alluded, came forward with a proposal advocating a scheme of study for women, in the retirement of an establishment "more academic than monastic." She urges her sex to study rhetoric, logic, and philosophy, and, as most of them know French, to read Descartes and Malebranche, and not idle novels and romances. The project ultimately fell to the ground, however, chiefly on account of the opposition of Bishop Burnet, who condemned it as a popish design. Shortly afterwards Defoe, who "would deny women no sort of learning," proposed an academy for women,[1100] in which they should be taught "all sorts of breeding suitable to both their genius and their quality, and in particular music and dancing, which it would be cruelty to bar the sex of, because they are their darlings: but besides this they should be taught languages, as particularly French and Italian; and I would venture the injury of giving a woman more tongues than one." As to reading, history is the best subject. There are traces of other academies in which modern languages and the "exercises" were the chief studies.[1101] At the end of _Musick or a Parley of Instruments_, a musical entertainment performed by the students of one of these academies, is an advertisement of the curriculum; instruction in French and Italian was given by foreigners, and mathematics, music, and the "exercises" received attention. [Header: FRENCH IN PRIVATE INSTITUTIONS] Mark Lewis, the friend of Mrs. Makin,[1102] taught like her in a school or "gymnasium" at Tottenham High Cross, where "any person, whether young or old, as their Quality is, may be perfected in the Tongues by constant conversation." The school flourished about 1670, and there was then "an apartment for French," while Italian and Spanish were "to receive attention hereafter."[1103] Lewis's method of teaching so pleased the Earl of Anglesey, then Lord Privy Seal, that he sent his grandsons to the school, and enabled Lewis to secure letters patent for his method. A similar academy was kept by a certain Mr. Banister in Chancery Lane near the Pump. There was a wide choice of studies, including Latin, Greek, and French, for the languages, and the usual "exercises." Any person that desired could be accommodated in Mr. Banister's house "with diet and lodging at reasonable Rates, ... or they may come thither at set times and be Instructed in the things before mentioned." The academy kept by Thomas Watts in Little Tower Street differed from the majority in aiming at qualifying young gentlemen for business. Writing, arithmetic, and merchants' accounts were taught, as well as mathematics and experimental philosophy: a master resident in the house gave lessons in French, a language absolutely necessary to business men, and "so far universal that the place is not known where 'tis not spoken." Accordingly it received special attention; and "as a just notion of grammar, so the opportunity of frequent conversation, is absolutely necessary, if one would ever arrive at any Perfection in this Language," Watts, therefore, not only "fix'd on a Master capable of doing the first, but entertained him constantly in his house, where all those young gentlemen that learn French are obliged always to speak it, and have their master daily to converse with."[1104] Some academies confined themselves chiefly to the exercises. But even then the atmosphere was French. Such was the academy opened in London in 1682 by M. Foubert, a Frenchman lately come from Paris. He was helped by a royal grant, and seems to have been fairly successful. On his arrival his goods were delivered at the house of M. Lainé,[1105] probably the French teacher of that name. As time went on such schools became more and more numerous and the demand for instruction in French increased. The language was no longer limited chiefly to certain classes: the gentry, merchants, soldiers, and others requiring it for practical purposes. It came to be regarded as a necessary part of a liberal education. The ever-growing call for teachers of French was met by the great invasion of Protestant refugees caused by the renewal of the fierce persecutions which culminated in the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. The reception of the fugitives was doubtful under James II., who looked upon them with disfavour, but could not, for political reasons, refuse them hospitality. With the advent of William of Orange in 1689, however, their position was assured, and they became ardent supporters of the new monarch. They arrived in such multitudes, says a contemporary, that it was impossible to calculate their number; there was hardly an English family of standing in which one or more refugees did not find a home--often a permanent one. From this time dates a new period in the teaching of French in England, dominated by the influence of these refugees, from whose ranks the chief tutors and schoolmasters were recruited, and whose French grammars and manuals continued, in some cases, to be used till the end of the eighteenth century, and even later. FOOTNOTES: [1043] A play called _The French Schoolmaster_ appeared in 1662 (Fleay, _Chronicle of English Drama_, 1891, ii. p. 338). [1044] There are, however, no points of resemblance between that work and the grammar which appeared about twelve years later. [1045] Catalogue of the Library of Dean Smallwood, 1684. [1046] Cp. Arber, _Term Catalogues_, i. 269. Anne was three years younger than Mary. [1047] Schickler, _Les Églises du Refuge_, ii. p. 311. [1048] _Savile Correspondence_, Camden Society, 1856, _passim_. [1049] Huguenot Society Publications, xviii. p. 138. [1050] _Stationers' Register_, iii. p. 277. [1051] Such was also the opinion of J. Minsheu, author of the _Ductor in Linguas_ (1617): "I have always found that the true knowledge and sure holding of them in our memories, consisted in the knowing of them by their causes, originalls and etymologies, that is by their reasons and derivations." [1052] His work suffered in having to strive against Cotgrave's long settled reputation. [1053] The third edition appeared, like the first, at London, 1690. [1054] Arber, _Term Catalogues_, i. 477. [1055] 8vo: pp. 168, 142. Printed for Th. Bassett.... [1056] For instance, that for the gender of nouns, in 1678, states that those ending in "e" or "x" are masculine, and the rest feminine; in 1687, those ending in "e" and "ion" are feminine and the rest masculine; in both cases long lists of exceptions are given. [1057] "To follow the old road I should now decline a noun or two with these articles, and six cases to be sure, to wit, the nominative, accusative, dative, vocative, and ablative, whether our language can afford them or not. But why should I perplex the learned with so improper and needless a thing? For the distinction of cases is come from the variable termination of one and the same noun. A thing incident (I confess) to the Latine tongue, but not to our vulgar speech." [1058] A second edition of Miège's English Grammar appeared in 1691. [1059] Arber, _Term Catalogues_, iii. 67, 487. [1060] But if they have been grounded in the principles before travelling, they make quicker progress, and do not lose their knowledge. [1061] "Car il n'y a rien de tel pour apprendre une langue que de l'entendre parler." [1062] Later he added rules for Spanish to his work. Colsoni also wrote _Le Guide de Londres pour les Estrangers_ (1st edition, 1693), and several works chiefly on topical subjects, of little interest. In 1694 his _Guide_ was followed by Richard Baldwin's _Booke for Strangers_. [1063] And again in 1679. [1064] Who translated one of Tillotson's sermons into French (1673). [1065] See Bibliography. [1066] Schickler, _op. cit._ ii. p. 282. [1067] _The Church of Rome evidently proved Heretick_ (1680); _The Church of England evidently proved the holy catholick Church_ (1682). Towards the end of his career he wrote a _Discourse of the Trinitie ... etc._ (1700). Berault calls himself a French minister, and he served as chaplain on several of His Majesty's ships during the war with France at the end of the century. [1068] _Le Véritable et assuré Chemin du Ciel en François et en Anglois_ (1681), and the _Bouquet ou un Amas de plusieurs veritez Théologiques_ (1685), dedicated to Anne Stuart, afterwards queen. [1069] Berault is behind the times in retaining most of the Latin cases and tenses. His grammar, on the whole, is fuller and more detailed than most of its kind. [1070] _Le Théâtre françois_ (1674). ed. Monval, 1876, p. 62. Jean Blaeu, in translating from English into French Ed. Chamberlain's _Present State of England_ (1669), states: "Je ne l'ay pas sitost veu en Anglois que j'ay jugé qu'il méritoit de paroistre dans la langue françoise, comme estant plus universelle dans la chrestienté qu'aucune autre" (1671). Jusserand, _Shakespeare in France_, p. 20, note. [1071] _De monumentis publicis latine inscribendis._ Goujet, _Bibliothèque françoise_ (1740-56), i. p. 13. [1072] Bayle, _Oeuvres_, iv. p. 190, quoted by Charlanne, _L'Influence française en Angleterre_, pt. ii. p. 202. [1073] F. Watson, _Grammar Schools_, p. 312. [1074] Epilogue to _Bellamira_. [1075] London, 1678. [1076] _Young Gallants' Academy_, 1674, p. 44. [1077] A little later Swift wrote that "the current opinion prevails that the study of Latin and Greek is loss of time...." (_Works_, 1841, ii. p. 291). [1078] _A Dialogue ... concerning Education_, Miscellaneous Works, London, 1751, p. 338. [1079] Even the universities had to give some recognition to the modern language. A Professorship of Modern History and Modern Languages was founded at both universities in 1724. Cp. Cooper, _Annals of Cambridge_, iv. 128. [1080] "Some Thoughts," _Educational Writings of Locke_, 1912, p. 125. [1081] The same opinions are voiced by later writers, such as Costeker, _Education of a Young Nobleman_, 1723, p. 18; and the author of a pamphlet _On Education_, 1734. [1082] Evelyn, _Diary_, Dec. 6, 1681. [1083] _The Compleat Gentleman_ (1728), ed. K. D. Bülbring, 1890. [1084] Epilogue to _Bellamira_. [1085] _Works_, ed. A. Wilson, Verity, London, 1888, Preface. [1086] Le Blanc, _Lettres d'un Français_, à la Haye, 1745, ii. p. 1. [1087] He tells Maupertuis of the great success of his _De la Figure de la Terre_ (1738) in England, where it was awaited with impatience and received with acclamation (_Lettres_, ii. 244). [1088] _An Essay to revive the antient Education of Gentlewomen_ (Mrs. Makin or Mark Lewis). [1089] French no doubt often reached grammar school boys indirectly. Thus Charles Hoole in 1660 (_A New Discoverie of the old Art of Teaching School_) recommends the Dialogues of Du Grès for their private reading; perhaps, however, he was thinking more of the Latin than of the French part. [1090] _Miscellaneous Works_, 1751, pp. 320-1. [1091] _A New Method of Educating Children ..._, 1695. [1092] Th. Sheridan, _Plan of Education_, 1769, p. 42. [1093] M. Misson, _Mémoires et Observations d'un voyageur en Angleterre_, à la Haye, 1698, p. 99. [1094] Information supplied by J. Potter Briscoe, Esq., of Nottingham. [1095] C. Deering, _An Historical Account of the ancient and present State of the Town of Nottingham_, Nottingham, 1751, p. 32. [1096] He remarks on the desire to learn English expressed by several French persons he met, chiefly Huguenots. [1097] Printed by J. D. for Jonathan Robinson at the Golden Lion, and George Wells, at the Sun in Paul's Churchyard. 8vo, pp. 224. [1098] Pp. 17-132. [1099] _An Essay to revive the Antient Education of Gentlewomen ..._, London, 1673. [1100] _Essay on Projects_ (1697), London, 1887, pp. 164 _sqq._ [1101] Cp. Loveday, _Letters_, 1639, p. 178. [1102] Lewis also interviewed parents any Thursday in the afternoon between three and six o'clock, at the Bolt and Tun in Fleet Street. [1103] _Model for a school for the better education of Youth_, and Advertisement at the end of his _Plan and Short Rules for pointing periods ..._ (_c._ 1670). [1104] Advertisement in _An Essay on the Proper Method for forming the Man of Business_, 4th ed., 1722, pp. 44-45. [1105] _Calendar of State Papers, Treasury Books, 1679-80_, pp. 132, 140. APPENDICES APPENDIX I CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF MANUALS AND GRAMMARS FOR TEACHING FRENCH TO THE ENGLISH I The Middle Ages _A. Manuscripts_ * Indicates that there are also other manuscripts of later date. Henry III. (1216-1272): _c._ 1250 Short Treatise on French Verbs (Trinity College, Cambridge, R. 3, 56). Edward I. (1272-1307): * Le treytyz ke moun sire Gautier de Bibelesworthe fist a ma dame Dionisie de Mounchensy pur aprise de langwage (ed. T. Wright, "Volume of Vocabularies," 1857). * Tractatus Orthographiae of T. H. Parisii Studentis (ed. M. K. Pope, "Modern Language Review," April 1910). _c._ 1300 * Orthographia Gallica (ed. J. Stürzinger, "Altfranzösische Bibliothek," viii., Heilbronn, 1884). Edward II. and Edward III. (1307-1377): Commentaries in French on the Orthographia Gallica (ed. Stürzinger, _ut supra_). Epistolaries, or Collections of model letters (MSS. Harl. 4971, Harl. 3988, Addit. 17716 Brit. Mus.; Ee 4, 20, Camb. Univ. Libr.; B 14. 39, 40, Trinity Col. Camb.; 182, All Souls, Oxon.; 188, Magdalen Col.). Cartularies, or Collections of Bills, Indentures, etc. (Harl. 4971; Ee 4, 20, Camb. Univ. Libr.; Addit. 17716). Undated Vocabularies and Verb Tables and Fragments on Grammar (Ee 4, 20, Camb. Univ. Libr.; Harl. 4971, Addit. 17716, Brit. Mus.; 188, Magdalen Col., Oxon.). _c._ 1340 Nominale sive Verbale in Gallicis cum expositione eiusdem in Anglicis (ed. Skeat, "Transactions of the Philological Soc.," 1903-1906). Richard II. (1377-1399): Tractatus Orthographiae of Coyfurelly, Doctor in Law of Orleans (ed. Stengel, "Zeitschrift für neufranzösische Sprache und Literatur," vol. i., 1878). 1396 * Maniere de Language (ed. P. Meyer, "Revue critique," 1873). 1399 Petit Livre pour enseigner les enfanz de leur entreparler comun francois (ed. Stengel, _op. cit._). _c._ 1409 Donait francois pur briefment entroduyr les Anglois et la droit language de Paris et de pais la d'entour fait aus despenses de Johan Barton par pluseurs bons clercs du language avandite (ed. Stengel, _op. cit._). Conjugation of Verbs, by R. Dove. Le Donait soloum douce franceis de Paris (Sloane MSS. 513). _c._ 1415 Liber Donati (MSS. Dd 12, 23, Gg 6, 44, Camb. Univ. Libr.; Addit. 17716 Brit. Mus.). Femina. Liber iste vocatur Femina, quia sicut Femina docet infantemloqui maternam, sic docet iste liber iuvenes rethorice loqui Gallicum prout infra patebit (ed. W. A. Wright, Roxburghe Club, 1907). 1415 Maniere de Language (ed. P. Meyer, "Romania," xxxii., 1903). John Lydgate, Praeceptiones linguae gallicae, li. 1. (Bale, "Scriptores Britanniae," fol. 203.) _c._ 1500? Dialogues in French and English (MS. Ii. 6, 17, Camb. Univ. Libr.). _B. Printed Books_ _c._ 1483 Tres bonne doctrine pour aprendre briefment francoys et engloys. Printed by William Caxton. B.L. 4to. (Ed. H. Bradley, "Early English Text Society," extra series, lxxix., 1900.) Another edition. Fragment of one leaf in the Bodleian. _c._ 1492? Here is a good boke to lerne to speke French. B.L. 4to. Colophon: Per me Richardum Pynson. _c._ 1498? Here beginneth a Lytell treatyse for to lerne Englisshe and Frensshe. B.L. 4to. Colophon: Here endeth a lytyll treatyse for to lerne Englysshe and Frensshe. Emprinted at Westmynster by my Wynken de Worde. Another edition. Fragment of one leaf in the British Museum. B.L. 4to. II TUDOR AND STUART TIMES 1521 BARCLAY. The introductorie to wryte and to pronounce frenche. ? VALENCE. Introductions in frensche.... 1528 Fragment of grammar in Lambeth Library. 1530 PALSGRAVE. Lesclarcissement de la langue francoyse. _c._ 1534 DUWES. An introductorie for to lerne ... french trewly. _c._ 1535 DUWES. An introductorie for to lerne ... french trewly. _c._ 1547 DUWES. An introductorie for to lerne ... french trewly. 1552 VERON. Dictionariolum puerorum.... 1553? DU PLOICH. A Treatise in English and Frenche.... 1553? Traicté pour apprendre a parler françoys et angloys. 1557 G. MEURIER. La Grammaire Françoise. . . . 1557 (BARLEMENT.) A Boke intituled Italion, Frynsshe, Englysshe Latin. 1559 Ane A.B.C. for Scottes men to read the frenche toung.... 1563 MEURIER. Communications familieres. 1565 HOLYBAND. The French Schoolemaister. 1566 HOLYBAND. The French Littleton. 1568 (BARLEMENT.) A Boke intituled Ffrynshe, Englysshe and Duche. 1571 A Dictionarie french and english. 1572 HIGGINS. Huloets dictionarie ... the French thereunto annexed. 1573 HOLYBAND. The French Schoolemaister. 1574 BARET. An Alvearie ... in Englishe, Latin and French. 1575 * A plaine pathway to the French Tongue. 1576 LEDOYEN DE LA PICHONNAYE. A Plaine Treatise to larne ... French. 1578 BELLOT. The French Grammer. 1578 DU PLOICH. A Treatise in English and Frenche, new ed. 1578 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1578 (BARLEMENT.) Dictionaire . . . en quattre Langues. ? HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1580 HOLYBAND. A Treatise for Declining of Verbs. 1580 HOLYBAND. De Pronuntiatione Linguae Gallicae. 1580 HOLYBAND. The Treasurie of the French Tong. 1581 BARET. Alvearie ... New ed. 1581 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1581 BELLOT. Le Jardin de Vertu. 1582 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1583 HOLYBAND. Campo di Fior. 1585 HIGGINS. The Nomenclator or Remembrancer of Adrianus Junius. 1588 BELLOT. The French Methode. ? HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1590 DE CORRO. The Spanish Grammer with certeine Rules teaching ... French. 1591 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1591 CORDERIUS. Dialogues in French and English. 1592 DE LA MOTHE. The French Alphabet. 1593 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1593 HOLYBAND. A Dictionarie French and English. 1593 ELIOTE. Ortho-Epia Gallica. 1595 E. A. Grammaire Angloise et Françoise. 1595 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1596 MORLET. Janitrix ... ad perfectam Linguae Gallicae cognitionem. 1597 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1598 The Necessary ... Education of a Young Gentlewoman, Italian, French and English. 1599 HOLYBAND. A Treatise for Declining of Verbs. 1602 A Short Syntaxis of the French Tongue. 1602 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1604 SANFORD. Le Guichet François. 1605 SANFORD. A Briefe Extract of the former grammar ... in English. 1605 ERONDELL. The French Garden. 1606 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1607 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1611 COTGRAVE. A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues. 1612 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1615 The Declining of Frenche Verbes (HOLYBAND?). 1615 The French A.B.C. 1615 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1617 JEAN BARBIER. Janua Linguarum Quadralinguis. 1618 FARREAR. A Brief Direction to the French Tongue. 1619 LAUR DU TERME. The Flower de Luce. 1619 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1620 COLSON. The First Part of the French Grammar. 1623 WODROEPH. The spared Houres of a souldier in his Travels. 1623 J. S. A Shorte Method for the Declyning of Ffrench Verbes. 1625 SHERWOOD. The French Tutour. 1625 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1625 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1625 WODROEPH. The True Marrow of the French Tongue. 1625 L'ISLE. Part of Du Bartas, French and English. 1625 Grammaire Angloise et Françoise. 1630 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1631 ANCHORAN. Comenius's Janua Linguarum. 1631 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1631 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1632 COTGRAVE. French-English Dictionary, with SHERWOOD'S English-French Dictionary. 1633 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1633 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1633 ANCHORAN. Comenius's Janua Linguarum. 1633 SALTONSTALL. Clavis ad Portam. 1633 DE GRAVE. The Pathway to the Gate of Tongues. 1634 SHERWOOD. The French Tutour, 2nd ed. 1634 AUFEILD. A French Grammar and Syntaxe. 1635 COGNEAU. A Sure Guide to the French Tongue. 1636 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1636 DU GRÈS. Breve et accuratum grammaticae gallicae Compendium. 1637 (BARLEMENT.) The English, Latine, French, Dutch Scholemaster. 1637 BENSE. Analogo Diaphora ... trium Linguarum, Gallicae, Hispanicae et Italicae. 1637 ANCHORAN. Comenius's Janua. 1639 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1639 HOLYBAND. French Littleton. 1639 Grammaire Angloise et Françoise. 1639 DU GRÈS. Dialogi Gallico-Anglico-Latini. 1639 ANCHORAN. Comenius's Janua. 1639 (BARLEMENT.) New Dialogues or Colloquies ... 1641 MEURIER. A treatise for to learne to speake Frenshe and Englishe. 1641 HOLYBAND. Treatise for Declining of French Verbs. 1641 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1643 GOSTLIN. Aurisodinae Linguae Gallicae. 1645 COGNEAU. Sure Guide ... 1647 DE LA MOTHE. French Alphabet. 1648 GERBIER. An Introduction of the French Tongue. 1649 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1650 COTGRAVE. French Dictionary. 1651 COGNEAU. Sure Guide. 1652 DU GRÈS. Dialogi ... 1653 MAUGER. True Advancement of the French Tongue. 1655 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1655 LAINÉ. A Compendious Introduction to the French Tongue. 1656 MAUGER. French Grammar, 2nd ed. 1658 COGNEAU. Sure Guide. 1658 MAUGER. French Grammar, 3rd ed. 1659 LEIGHTON. Linguae Gallicae addiscendae Regulae. 1660 DU GRÈS. Dialogi ... 1660 COTGRAVE. Dictionary. 1660 HERBERT. French and English Dialogues. 1660 HOWELL. Lexicon Tetraglotton. 1662 MAUGER. French Grammar, 4th ed. 1662 LEIGHTON. ... Regulæ. 1666 Æsop's Fables in English, French and Latine. ? Castellion's Sacred Dialogues ... French and English. 1667 MAUGER. French Grammar, 5th ed. 1667 FESTEAU. French Grammar. 1667 DE LAINÉ. Princely Way to the French Tongue. 1668 HOLYBAND. French Schoolemaister. 1668 Grammaire Françoise et Angloise. 1668 Grammaire Françoise et Angloise. 1670 MAUGER. Grammar, 6th ed. 1671 MAUGER. Lettres françoises et angloises. 1671 FESTEAU. Grammar, 2nd ed. 1673 MAUGER. Grammar, 7th ed. 1673 COTGRAVE. Dictionary. 1674 A French Grammar ... Published by the Academy. 1674 SMITH. Grammatica Quadralinguis. 1674 A very easie Introduction to the French Tongue. 1675 FESTEAU. Grammar, 3rd ed. 1676 D'ABADIE. A New French Grammar. 1676 MAUGER. Grammar (the English edition). 1676 MAUGER. Lettres, 2nd ed. 1677 DE LAINÉ. Princely Way, 2nd ed. 1677 Grammaire françoise et angloise. 1677 MIÈGE. A New Dictionary, French and English. 1678 MIÈGE. A New French Grammar. 1679 MAUGER. Grammar, 8th ed. 1679 FESTEAU. Grammar, 4th ed. 1679 Grammaire Françoise et Angloise. 1679 MIÈGE. Dictionary of Barbarous French. 1680 VILLIERS. Vocabularium Analogicum. 1681 BERAULT. Chemin du Ciel. 1682 MAUGER. Grammar, 10th ed. 1682 MIÈGE. Short and Easie French Grammar. 1683 VAIRESSE D'ALLAIS. Short and Methodical Introduction. 1684 MIÈGE. A Short French Dictionary. 1684 KERHUEL. Grammaire Françoise. 1684 MAUGER. Grammar, 11th ed. 1684 CHENEAU. French Grammar. 1685 FESTEAU. Grammar, 5th ed. 1685 BERAULT. Bouquet . . . de Plusieurs Veritez Theologiques. 1686 MAUGER. Grammar, 12th ed. 1687 Æsop's Fables in English, French and Latine. 1687 MIÈGE. Grounds of the French Tongue. 1688 MIÈGE. Great French Dictionary. 1688 BERAULT. New ... French and English Grammar. 1688 COLSONI. The New Trismagister. 1689 MAUGER. Grammar, 13th ed. 1690 MIÈGE. Short French Dictionary, 3rd ed. 1690 MAUGER. Grammar, 14th ed. 1690 COLSONI. A new Grammar of three languages. 1691 MIÈGE. Short French Dictionary. 1691 BERAULT. Grammar, 2nd ed. _c._ 1691 LANE. French Grammar. ? GROLLEAU. Compleat French Tutor. 1693 FESTEAU. Grammar, 6th ed. 1693 BERAULT. Grammar, 3rd ed. 1693 Eloquent Master of Languages. 1694 BOYER. Compleat French Master. 1694 MAUGER. Grammar, 16th ed. 1695 COLSONI. New and Accurate Grammar [new edition]. 1698 MIÈGE. Last and Best French Grammar. 1698 BERAULT. French and English Grammar. 1698 MAUGER. French Grammar. 1699 MAUGER. French Grammar [new edition]. 1699 BOYER. French Master, 2nd ed. ? VASLET. Nomenclator Trilinguis. 1699 BOYER. Royal French Dictionary. APPENDIX II BIBLIOGRAPHY, ARRANGED ALPHABETICALLY, OF MANUALS FOR TEACHING THE FRENCH LANGUAGE TO THE ENGLISH, FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY TO THE END OF THE STUART PERIOD A., E.: Grammaire Angloise et Françoise pour facilement et promptement aprendre la langue Angloise et Françoise. Revûë et corrigée tout de nouveau d'une quantité de fautes qui étoient aux précédentes impressions par E. A. Augmentée en cette dernière édition d'un vocabulaire Anglois et François. Rouen, 1595. Cp. sub "Anonymous Works," Grammaire Angloise et Françoise. ÆSOP: Cp. CODRINGTON. ANCHORAN, J. A.: Porta Linguarum Trilinguis reserata et aperta, sive seminarium linguarum et scientiarum omnium, hoc est compendiaria Latinam, Anglicam, Gallicam (et quamvis aliam) Linguam una cum artium et scientiarum fundamentis sesquianni spatio ad summum docendi et perdiscendi methodus sub titulis centum periodis mille comprehensa. The Gate of Tongues unlocked and opened.... London, George Millar for Michael Sparke, 1631. Another issue, George Millar for the Author, 1631. Another ed.: Porta linguarum ... J. A. Anchorani ... Th. Cotes sumptibus M. Sparke, 1633. 3rd ed. Anna Griffin sumptibus M. Sparke. London, 1637. 4th ed. E. Griffin for M. Sparke, 1639. ANONYMOUS WORKS (Arranged chronologically): De la Prosodie, etc. (Fragment in the Lambeth Library dated 1528.) (BARLEMENT.) A boke intituled Italion, Frynsshe, Englysshe and Laten. London, Ed. Sutton, 1557. Another ed.: A Boke intituled Ffrynsshe, Englysshe and Duche. London, John Alde, 1569. Another ed.: Dictionaire, Colloques ou Dialogues en Quattre langues, Flamen, Ffrançoys, Espaignel et Italien, with the Englishe to be added thereto. George Bishop, 1578. Another ed.: The English}{French Latine }{Dutch Scholemaster, or an Introduction to teach young Gentlemen and Merchants to travell or trade. Being the only helpe to attaine to those Languages. London, for Michael Sparke, 1637. Another ed.: New Dialogues or Colloquies and a little Dictionary of eight Languages. A Booke very necessary for all those that study these tongues either at home or abroad, now perfected and made fit for travellers, young merchants and seamen, especially those that desire to attain to the use of the tongues. London, Printed for Michael Sparke, 1639. Ane A, B, C for Scottes men to read the frenche toung with ane exhortatioun to the noblis of Scotland to favour thair ald friendis. Licensed to Wm. Nudrye, 1559. A Dictionarie french and english. 1571. Col.: Imprinted at London by Henry Bynneman for Lucus Harrison. An. 1570.[1106] A plaine pathway to the French Tongue, very profitable for Marchants and also all other which desire the same, aptly devided into nineteen chapters. The contents whereof appear in the next Page. Printed in London by Thomas East, 1575. Another ed. Newly corrected. London, by Th. East (date unknown). Corderius. Dialogues in French and English. John Wyndet, 1591. Grammaire Angloise et Françoise . . . Revûë et corrigée . . . par E. A. (_q.v. sub_ A., E.) Another ed.: Grammaire Angloise pour facilement et promptement apprendre la langue angloise. Qui peut aussi aider aux Anglois pour apprendre la langue Françoise. Alphabet anglois contenant la prononciation des Lettres avec les declinaisons et conjugaisons. Paris, 1625. Another ed. Rouen, 1639. Another ed. Rouen, 1662. Another ed. Rouen, 1670. Another edition. London, 1677. The Necessary, fit and convenient Education of a young Gentlewoman, Italian, French and English. Adam Islip, 1598. A Short Syntaxis in the French Tongue. 12º. London, 1602. The French A. B. C. Licensed to Rd. Field, 1615. The Declining of Frenche Verbes. Rd. Field, 1615 (another edition of Holyband's Treatise for declining of Verbs?). (Sébastien Châteillon.) Sacred Dialogues translated out of Latin into French and English for the benefit of youth. Sold by R. Hom and J. Sims. (Date unknown, between 1666 and 1668?) A French Grammar Teaching the knowledge of that language, how to read and write it perfectly without any other precedent Study than to have learnt to Read only. Published by the Academy for Reformation of the French Tongue. London. Printed by W. G. for Wm. Copper at the sign of the Pelican in Little Britain, 1674. A very easie Introduction to the French Tongue, or A very brief Grammar, proper for all persons who have bad memories. Containing all the principal grounds for the more speedy practice of discourse. Also many peculiar phrases; with a very useful Dialogue for young factors. 8vo. Sold by J. Sims at the King's Head in Cornhill, _c._ 1673. AUFEILD, WILLIAM: A French Grammar and Syntaxe contayning most exact and certaine rules for the pronunciation, orthography, construction and use of the French Language. Written in French by Charles Maupas, of Bloys. Translated into English with additions and explications peculiarly useful to us English; together with a preface and an Introduction wherein are contained divers necessary instructions for the better understanding of it, by W. A. London, printed for Rich. Mynne, dwelling in little Britaine at the signe of St. Paul, 1634. BARBIER, JEAN: Janua Linguarum Quadralinguis, or The Gate to the Latine, English, Frenche and Spanish Tongues. London, 1617.[1107] BARCLAY, ALEXANDER: Here begynneth the introductory to wryte and to pronounce frenche, compyled by Alexander Barclay, compendiously at the commandement of the right hye excellent and myghty prynce Thomas, duke of Northfolke. [Col.] Imprynted at London in the Flete strete at the sygne of the rose Garlande by Robert Coplande, 1521, the yere of our lord MCCCCCXXI ye XXII day of Marche. BARET, JOHN: An Alvearie or triple Dictionarie in Englishe, Latin, and French. Very profitable for all such as be desirous of any of those three languages. Also by the two tables at the ende of this booke they may contrariwise finde the most necessarie Latin or French words, placed after the order of an Alphabet, whatsoever are to be found in any other Dictionarie. And so to turne them backwardes againe into Englishe when they reade any Latin or French authors and doubt of any harde worde therein. London, Henry Denham, 1574. A new edition: An Alvearie or quadruple dictionarie containing four sundrie tongues, namelie, Englishe, Latine, Greeke and Frenche. Newlie enriched with a varietie of wordes, phrases, proverbs and divers lightsome observations of Grammar. By the Tables you may contrariwise finde out the most necessarie wordes placed after the Alphabet, whatsoever are to be found in any other dictionarie. Which Tables also serving for lexicons, to lead the learner unto the English of such hard wordes as are often read in Authors, being faithfullie examined, are truelie numbered. Verie profitable for such as be desirous of anie of those languages. London, Henry Denham, 1581. BARLEMENT. Cp. Entry under "Anonymous Works." BELLOT, JACQUES: The French Grammer, or an Introduction orderly and Methodically, by ready rules, playne preceptes and evident examples, teachinge the Frenche Tongue: Made and very commodiously set forth for their sakes that desire to attayne the Perfecte knowledge of the same Language, by James Bellot, Gentleman of Caen in Normandy. Imprinted at London in Fleet Street by Th. Marshe, 1578. Le jardin de vertu et bonnes moeurs, plain de plusieurs belles fleurs et riches sentences avec le sens d'icelles recueillies de plusieurs autheurs, et mises en lumiere par J. B. gent. Cadomois. Imprimé à Londres par Th. Vautrollier, 1581. The French Methode. London, 1588. BENSE, PIERRE: Analogo Diaphora seu Concordantia Discrepans et Discrepantia Concordans trium linguarum Gallicae, Hispanicae et Italicae. Unde innotescat, quantum quaque a Romanae linguae, unde ortum duxere, idiomate deflexerit; earum quoque ratio et natura dilucide et succinte delineantur. Operâ et studio Petri Bense, Parisini, apud Oxon. has linguas profitentis. Oxoniae. Excudebat Guilielmus Turner impensis authoris, 1637. BERAULT, PIERRE: A new, plain, short and compleat French and English Grammar. Wherby the learner may attain in few months to speak and write French correctly as they do now in the Court of France, and wherein all that is dark, superfluous and deficient in other grammars is plain, short and methodically supplied. Also very useful to strangers that are desirous to learn the English tongue: for whose sake is added a short but very exact English Grammar. Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulce. London, 1688. Second edition, _c._ 1691. Third edition, with additions, 1693. Fourth edition, 1700. Another edition: A New and Compleat French and English Grammar, plainly showing the shortest and easiest way to understand, speak, and write spedily those Languages, but especially the French. Containing above twenty pleasant and useful Dialogues translated into English by Sir R. L'Estrange, and here rendered into French with several others, almost word for word. To which is added a short but exact English Grammar. Also a French and English Dictionary, where the parts of speech are ranged separately. Comprehending all that's necessary for any Persons that have a desire to learn either Language, by Peter Berault, French Minister, lately chaplain of Her Majesty's ships Kent, Victory, Scarborough, and Dunkirk. London, 1707. Le Véritable et assuré chemin du ciel en François et en Anglois. London, 1680. Bouquet ou un amas de plusieurs veritez théologiques propres pour instruire toutes sortes de personnes, particulierement pour consoler une ame dans ses Troubles. London, 1685. BEYER, GUILLAUME: La vraye instruction des trois langues la Françoise, l'Angloise et la Flamende. Proposée en des règles fondamentales et succinctes. Un assemblage des mots les plus usités, et des colloques utiles et récréatifs; où hormis d'autres discours curieus, le gouvernement de la France se réduit. Historiquement et Politiquement mise en trois langues. Seconde ed. augmentée. Dordrecht, 1681. (Date of first edition unknown.) CHÂTEILLON (or CASTELLION), S. Cp. entry under "Anonymous Works." CHENEAU, FRANÇOIS: Francis Cheneau's French Grammar, enrich'd with a compendious and easie way to learne the French Tongue in a very short time. Licensed to Ch. Mearne, _c._ 1684. The Perfect French Master teaching in less than a month to turn any English into French by Rule and Figure, Alphabetically, in a Method hitherto altogether unknown in Europe. With the regular and irregular Verbs. By Mr. Cheneau of Paris, Professor of the Latin, English, French, Italian Tongues, formerly slave and Governor of the Isles of Nacsia and Paros in the Archipelago, now living in his house in Old Fish St. next door to the Faulcon in London. Where may be seen his short grammars for all these tongues, after the same way. W. Botham for the author. London, 1716. CODRINGTON, ROBERT: Æsop's Fables, With his life in English, French and Latine. The English by Tho. Philipott, Esq., the French and Latine by Rob. Codrington, M.A. Illustrated with one hundred and ten sculptures. By Francis Barlow, and are to be sold at his House, The Golden Eagle in New Street near Shoe Lane, 1665-6. Another ed. London, 1687. Another ed. [London], 1703. COGNEAU, PAUL: A Sure Guide to the French Tongue, teaching by a most easy way to pronounce it naturally, to reade it perfectly, write it truly and speke it readily. Together with the Verbes personal and impersonal and useful sentences added to some of them, most profitable for all sorts of people to learn. Painfully gathered and set in order after the alphabetical way, for the better benefit of those that are desirous to learn the French, by me Paul Cogneau. London, 1635. Another ed. [London] 1645. Another ed. [London] 1651. Fourth ed., exactly corrected, much amplified, and better ordered. (By Wm. Herbert, _q.v._) London, 1658. COLSON, WILLIAM: The First Part of the French Grammar, Artificially reduced into Tables by Arte locall, called the Arte of Memorie. Contayning (after an extraordinary and most easy method) the Pronunciation and Orthographie of the French Tongue according to the new manner of writing, without changing the originall or old, for the understanding of both by a reformed alphabet of twenty-six letters and by a triple distinction of characters (Roman, Italian and English) representing unto the eye three sorts of pronunciation distinguished by them. Proper, signified by a Roman character: Improper, noted by an Italian: and superfluous, marked by an English.... And as most amply is declared in the explication of the foresaid reformed alphabet, and letters in it otherwise ordered, and named then heretofore, and two otherwise shaped ... for _j_ and _v_ consonants. In which is taught, the universall knowledge of the four materiall parts of Grammar ... for the better understanding of the rules of the triple pronunciation aforesaid. Also the Artificiall and generall declination terminative of Nounes and Verbes. Lately compiled by William Colson of London, Professor of Litterall and Liberall Sciences. London, Printed by W. Stansby, 1620. COLSONI, FRANCISCO CASPARO: The New Trismagister. Or the New Teacher of three Languages by whom an Italian, an English and a French Gentleman may learn to discourse together, each in their several languages: in four parts. (I.) The Italian learns to speak English. (II.) The English and Italian Gentlemen learn to speak French. (III.) The French and the English Gentlemen learn to speak Italian. (IV.) The Frenchman learns to speak English. 1688. Another edition: A New and Accurate Grammar whereby French and Italian, the Spaniard and the Portuguese may learn to speak English well, with rules for the learning of French, Italian, and Spanish. Nouvelle et curieuse Grammaire par laquelle. . . . Par F. Colsoni, M.(A). et Maitre des dites Langues demeurant dans Falcon Court en Lothbury. 8vo. Printed for S. Manship at the Ship in Cornhill, _c._ 1695. COMENIUS. Cf. entry under "Anonymous Works." CORDERIUS. Cf. entry under "Anonymous Works." CORRO, ANTONIO DE: The Spanish Grammer, with certeine Rules teaching both the Spanish and French tongues. By which they that have some knowledge in the French tongue may the easier attaine to the Spanish, and likewise they that have the Spanish with more facilitie learne the French: and they that are acquainted with neither of them, learne either or both. Made in Spanish by M. Anthonie de Corro, translated by John Thorius, Graduate in Oxeford. London, 1590. COTGRAVE, RANDLE: A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues, compiled by Randle Cotgrave. London, 1611. Another ed. ... Whereunto is also annexed a most copious dictionary of the English set before the French, by R. S. L. (Robert Sherwood, Londoner, _q.v._) London, 1632. Another ed. ... Whereunto are newly added the animadversions and Supplements of James Howell, Esquire. Inter Eruditos Cathedram habeat Polyglottes. London, 1650. Another ed. ... Whereunto are added sundry Animadversions, with supplements of many hundreds of words never before printed: with accurate castigations throughout the whole work, and distinctions of the obsolete words from those that are now in use. Together with a large Grammar, a dialogue consisting of all Gallicisms, with additions of the most significant proverbs, with other refinements according to Cardinal Richelieu's late Academy. For the furtherance of young learners, and the advantage of all others that endeavour to arrive to the most exact knowledge of the French Language, this work is exposed to publick, by James Howell, Esqr. London, 1660. Another ed. London, 1673. D'ABADIE, J.G.: A new French Grammar, containing at large the principles of that tongue, or the most exact rules, criticall observations, and fit examples for teaching with a good method and attaining the French Tongue as the Witts or the Gentlemen of the French Academy speak and pronounce it at this present time. Composed for the use of the English gentry by J.G. d'Abadie, Esq. Oxford, Printed by H. Hall, Printer to the University, for J. Crosby, 1676. DE GRAVE, JEAN: The Pathway to the Gate of Tongues, being the first instruction for little children, with A short manner to conjugate French Verbes. Ordered and made Latine, French and English by Jean de Grave, Professor of the French Tongue in the City of London. Oxford, 1633. (Bound with second ed. of Comenius's Porta Linguarum. London, 1633.) DE LA MOTHE, N., G.: The French Alphabet, teaching in a very short time, and by a most easie way, to pronounce French naturally, to read it perfectly, to write it truly and to speak it accordingly. Together with the treasure of the French tongue, containing the rarest sentences, proverbs, parobles, similies, apothegmes, and Golden sayings of the most excellent French Authors, as well Poets as Oratours. The one diligently compiled and the other painfully gathered and set in order, after the alphabetical maner, for the benefit of those that are desirous of the French tong. Printed by E. Alde, and are to be solde by H. Jackson, dwelling in Fleet Street, beneath the Conduit at the sign of St. John Evangelist, 1595. First edition. London, Richard Field, 1592 (no copy known). Another edition. London, Geo. Miller, 1625. Another edition. London, Geo. Miller, 1631. Another edition. London, Geo. Miller, 1633. Another edition. London, Geo. Miller, 1639. Another edition. London, A. Miller, 1647. DE LA PICHONNAYE, LEDOYEN: A Plaine Treatise to larne in a shorte space of the French Tongue. London, H. Denham, 1576. DE SAINLIENS, CLAUDE. Cf. HOLYBAND. DU GRÈS, GABRIEL: Breve et Accuratum grammaticae Gallicae Compendium in quo superflua rescinduntur et necessaria non omittuntur, per Gabrielem du Grès, Gallum, eandem linguam in celeberrima Cantabrigiensi Academia edocentem. Cantabrigiae. Impensis Authoris amicorum gratiâ. 1636. Dialogi Gallico-Anglico-Latini, per Gabrielem Dugrès Linguam Gallicam in illustrissima et famosissima Oxoniensi Academia (haud ita pridem privatim) edocentem. Oxoniae, L. Lichfield, 1639. Editio secunda, priori emendatior. Oxoniae, 1652. Editio tertia. Oxoniae, 1660. DU PLOICH, PIERRE: A Treatise in English and Frenche right necessary and proffitable for al young children (the contentes whereof apere in a table at the ende of this boke), made by Peter du Ploiche, teacher of the same dwelling in Trinitie lane at the signe of the Rose. Richard Grafton, [1553?] Another ed. Imprimé à Londre par Jean Kingston, La xiiii. Auvril, 1578. DU TERME, LAUR: The Flower de Luce, planted in England, or a short Treatise and brieffe compendium wherein is contained the true and lively pronunciation and understanding of the French tongue. Compiled by Laur du Terme, Teacher of the same. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, 1619. DUWES, GILES: An Introductorie for to lerne to rede, to pronounce, and to speke Frenche trewly, compyled for the right high excellent and most vertuous lady, the lady Mary of Englande, daughter to our most gracious soverayn Lorde Kyng Henry the Eight. Printed at London by Thomas Godfray, cum privilegio a rege indulto, [1533?] Another ed. Printed at London by Nicolas Bourman for John Reyns in Paules churchyarde at the signe of the George. [1534?] Another ed., newly corrected and amended. Printed by John Waley, [1546?] ELIOTE, JOHN: Ortho-Epia Gallica. Eliot's Fruits for the French. Enterlaced with a double new invention, which teacheth to speke truely, speedily and volubly the French Tongue. Pend for the practice, pleasure and profit of all English Gentlemen who will endevour by their owne paine, studie and dilligence to attaine the naturall accent, the true pronunciation, and swift and glib Grace of that noble, famous and courtly Language. Natura et Arte. London, Printed by John Wolfe, 1593. ERONDELL, PIERRE: The French Garden for English Ladyes and Gentlewomen to walke in or a sommer dayes labour. Being an instruction for the attayning unto of the French tongue: wherein for the practise thereof are framed thirteene dialogues in French and English, concerning divers matters, from the rising in the morning till Bedtime. Also the Historie of the Centurion mencioned in the Gospell: in French Verses. Which is an easier and shorter Methode then hath beene yet set forth to bring the lovers of the French tongue to the perfection of the same. By Peter Erondell, Professor of the same language. London, Printed for Ed. White, 1605. Cf. HOLYBAND, French Schoolemaister. FARREAR, ROBERT: A brief Direction to the French Tongue. Oxford, 1618. FESTEAU, PAUL: A new and Easie French Grammar, or a Compendious way how to Read, Speak and Write French exactly, very necessary for all Persons whatsoever. With variety of Dialogues. Whereunto is added a Nomenclature English and French. London. Printed for Th. Thornycroft and are to be sold at the Eagle and Child near Worcester House in the Strand, 1667. Second ed., c. 1671. [Another ed.]: Paul Festeau's French Grammar, being the newest and exactest Method now extant for the attaining to the purity of the French Tongue. Augmented and enriched with several choice and new dialogues.... The third ed., Diligently corrected, amended and much enlarged with the Rules of the Accent, by the Author, Native of Blois, and now Professor of the French Tongue in London. London, 1675. [Another ed.]: Paul Festeau's French Grammar being the newest and exactest method ... for the attaining of the Elegancy and Purity of the French Tongue as it is now spoken at the Court of France. Augmented and enriched with several choice and new Dialogues, furnished with rich phrases, proverbs and sentences, profitable and necessary for all persons. Together with a Nomenclature English and French, and the Rules of Quantity. The fourth ed., Diligently corrected, amended and very much enlarged by the author, native of Blois, a city in France where the true tone of the French tongue is found by the Unanimous consent of all Frenchmen. London, 1679. Fifth ed. 1685. Another ed., _c._ 1688. Another ed. 1693. Another ed., _c._ 1699. Another ed., corrected and enlarged by the author, _c._ 1701. GERBIER, SIR BALTHAZAR: An Introduction of the French tongue, (in) "The Interpreter of the Academie for forrain languages and all noble sciences and exercises." The first part. London, 1648. GIFFARD, JAMES. Cf. HOLYBAND, French Schoolemaister. GOSTLIN: Aurisodinae linguae Gallicae. 8vo. London, 1643. GRAVE. Cf. DE GRAVE. GROLLEAU: Grolleau's Compleat French Tutor. (Date unknown, some time after 1685.) HERBERT, WILLIAM: French and English Dialogues. In a more exact and delightful method then any yet extant. London, 1660. Cf. COGNEAU. HIGGINS, JOHN: Huloet's Dictionarie, corrected and amended and set in order and enlarged with many names of men, townes, beastes, foules, fishes, trees, shrubbes, herbes, fruites, places, instrumentes, etc. In eche place fit phrases gathered out of the best Latin authors. Also the French thereunto annexed, by which you may finde the Latin or Frenche of anye Englishe woorde you will. By John Higgins, late student in Oxeforde. Londoni, in aedibus Thomae Marshij, anno 1572. The Nomenclator or Remembrancer of Adrianus Junius, Physician, divided into two Tomes, conteining proper names, and apt termes for all thinges under their convenient Titles, which within a few leaves doe follow. Written by the said Adrianus Junius in Latine, Greek, French, and other forrein tongues, and now in English by John Higgins. With a full supplie of all such words as the last inlarged edition affoorded; and a dictional index, conteining above 1400 principall words with their numbers directly leading to their interpretations. Of special use for all scholars and learners of the same languages. London, 1585. HOLYBAND, CLAUDE, or DE SAINLIENS: The French Schoolemaistr, wherein is most plainlie shewed the true and most perfect way of pronouncinge of the French tongue, without any helpe of Maister or Teacher: set foorthe for the furtherance of all those whiche doo studie privately in their owne study or houses: Unto the which is annexed a Vocabularie for al such woordes as bee used in common talkes: by M. Claudius Hollybande, professor of the Latin, French and Englishe tongues. Imprinted at London, by William How for Abraham Veale, 1573. First ed. 1565 (no copy known). Another ed. (Date unknown; after 1580.) Another ed.: The French Schoolemaister of Claudius Hollybande. Newly corrected.... London, 1582. Another ed. Newly corrected by C. Hollyband. London. (Date unknown.) Another ed.: The French Schoolemaister, wherein is most plainely shewed the true and perfect way of pronouncing the French tongue, to the furtherance of all those which would gladly learne it. First collected by Mr. C. H., and now newly corrected and amended by P. Erondelle, Professor of the said tongue. London, 1606. Another ed. London, 1612. Another ed. London, 1615. Another ed. London, 1619. Another ed.: The French Schoolemaister.... First collected by Mr. C. H. ... and now ... corrected ... by James Giffard. London, 1631. Another ed. ... newly corrected and amended by James Giffard, Professor of the said tongue. London, 1636. Another ed. ... new corrected, amended and much enlarged, with severall quaint Proverbes and other necessary rules, by James Giffard, Professor of the said Tongue. London, 1641. Another ed. London, 1649. Another ed. London, 1655. Another ed.: The French Schoolmaster teaching easily that language. London, 1668. The French Littelton, A most easie, perfect and absolute way to learne the Frenche tongue. Newly set forth by Claude Holliband, teaching in Paules Churchyarde by the signe of the Lucrece. Let the reader peruse the epistle to his owne instruction. Imprinted by T. Vautrollier: London, 1566. Another ed. London, 1578. Another ed. London, 1579. Another ed.: Set forth by Claudius Holliband, teaching in Pauls Churchyard at the sign of the Golden Ball. London, 1581. Another ed. ... London, 1591. Another ed. ... by Claudius Holliband, Gentilhomme Bourbonnois. London, 1593. Another ed. London, 1597. Another ed. London, 1602. Another ed. London, 1607. Another ed. London, 1609. Another ed. London, 1625. Another ed. London, 1630. Another ed. London, 1633. Another ed. London, 1639. A Treatise for Declining of Verbs which may be called the second chiefest worke of the frenche tongue: Set forthe by Claudius Hollyband, teaching at the signe of the Golden Ball in Paules Church Yarde. London, 1580. Another ed. London, 1599. Another ed. London, 1641. De Pronuntiatione. Claudii a Sancto Vinculo de pronuntiatione linguæ Gallicæ libri duo. Ad illustrissimam simulq doctissimam Elizabetham Anglorum Reginam. T. Vautrollerius; Londoni. 1580. The Treasurie of the French Tong: teaching the waye to varie all sortes of verbes. Enriched so plentifully with wordes and phrases (for the benefit of the studious in that language) as the like hath not before bin published. Gathered and set forth by C. Hollyband. For the better understanding of the order of the dictionarie peruse the Preface to the reader. London, 1580. Campo di Fior, or the Flowery Field of four languages, Italian, Latin, French and English. London, 1583. A Dictionarie French and English. Published for the benefite of the studious in that language. Gathered and set forth by Claudius Hollyband. London, 1593. HOWELL, JAMES: Lexicon Tetraglotton, and English, French, Italian, Spanish Dictionary. Whereunto is adjoined a large nomenclature of the proper terms (in all four) belonging to several arts and sciences, to recreations, to professions both liberal and mechanick etc. Divided into fifty-two sections. With another Vocabulary of the choicest Proverbs.... London. Printed by J. G. for Cornelius Bee at the King's Arms in Little Brittaine, 1660. Cf. COTGRAVE. HULOET. Cf. HIGGINS. KERHUEL, JEAN DE: Grammaire Françoise, composée par Jean de Kerhuel, Professeur de la ditte Langue. A French Grammar.... 8vo. Printed for J. Wickins at the Miter in Fleet Street, 1684. LAINÉ, PIERRE: A compendious Introduction to the French Tongue. Teaching with much ease, facility and delight, how to attain and most exactly to the true and modern pronunciation thereof. Illustrated with several elegant expressions and choice Dialogues, useful for persons of Quality that intend to travel into France, leading them, as by the hand, to the most noted and principal places of that Kingdom. Whereunto is annexed an alphabetical Rule for the true and modern orthography of that French now spoken, being a catalogue of very necessary words never before printed. By Peter Lainé, a teacher of the said tongue now in London. London. Printed by T. N. for Anthony Williamson at the Queen's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard, near the West End. 1655. LAINÉ, PIERRE DE: The Princely way to the French Tongue, as it was first compiled for the use of her Highness the Lady Mary and since taught her royal sister the Lady Anne. To which is added a Chronological abridgement of the sacred scriptures by way of dialogue. Together with a longer explication of the French Grammar, Choice fables of Æsop in Burlesque French, and lastly some models of letters French and English, by P.D.L. 2nd ed. London. Printed by J. Macock for H. Herrington etc., 1677. First ed. 1667. (No copy known.) LEIGHTON, HENRY: Linguæ Gallicæ addiscendæ regulæ. Collectæ opera et industria H. Leighton, A.M. Hanc linguam in celeberrima Academia Oxoniensi edocentis. Oxoniae, 1659. Another ed. 1662. LISLE OF WILBRAHAM, WM.: Part of Du Bartas, English and French, and in his owne kinde of verse, so near the French Englished, as may teach an Englishman French, or a Frenchman English. Sequitur Victoria Junctos. By Wm. L'isle of Wilburgham, Esquier for the King's Body. London. Printed by John Hoviland, 1625. MAUGER, CLAUDE: The true advancement of the French Tongue, or A new Method, and more easie directions for the attaining of it, then ever yet have been published. Whereunto are added many choice and select dialogues, containing not onely familiar discourses, but most exact Instructions for Travell, in a most elegant style and phrase, very useful and necessary for all gentlemen that intend to travel into France. Also a chapter of Anglicismes, wherein those errors which the English usually commit in speaking French are demonstrated and corrected. By Claudius Mauger, late professor of the French Tongue at Blois, and now teacher of the said Tongue here in London. London. Printed by Tho. Roycroft for J. Martin and J. Allestry at the Bell in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1653. Another ed.: Mr. Mauger's French Grammar. Enriched with severall choise Dialogues containing an exact account of the State of France, Ecclesiastical, civil, and Military, as it flourisheth at present under King Louis the xivth. Also a chapter of Anglicisims, with instructions for travellers into France. The second edition, enlarged and most exactly corrected by the Authour, late professor at Blois. London. Printed by R. D. for John Martin and J. Allestree at the Bell in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1656. Third ed. London, 1658. Another ed. ... enriched with 50 new short dialogues. Containing for the most part an exact account of England's Triumphs, with the state of France ... as it flourisheth now since Cardinal Mazarin's death. With a most curious and most ingenious addition of 700 French verses upon the rules. Also a Chapter of Anglicisms, with instructions for Travellers into France. Fourth ed. Exactly corrected, enlarged and perused by the great care and diligence of the author, late publick Professor of Blois, in France, for all Travellers. London. Printed for John Martin ... 1662. Fifth ed. London, 1667. Another ed. ... Enlarged and Enriched with 80 new dialogues, both familiar and high with compliments, and the exact pronunciation. All digested in a most admirable order, with the State of France.... Also a chapter of Anglicisms and Francisms. With 700 French verses containing all the rules of the French Tongue. As likewise the Generall Rules of the English Pronunciation. Sixth ed. Exactly corrected by the author.... London. Printed for J. Martin at the sign of the bell, and James Allestry at the Rose and Crown in Paul's Churchyard, 1670. Another ed.: La Grammaire françoise de Claude Mauger expliquée en Anglois, Latin et en François, enrichie de regles plus courtes et plus substantielles qu'auparavant, comme du regime des verbes, de la conjugaison de tous les irreguliers par toutes leurs personnes, d'un Traité de l'accent etc. Et à la fin, d'un abrégé des regles generales de la Langue Angloise, en dialogues françois, outre ce qui étoit dans la sixième édition. La 7e. éd. Reveue et corrigée par l'autheur . . . à Londres. Londres. Imprimée par T. Roycroft pour Jean Martin et se vendent à l'enseigne de la cloche au cymitière de Sainct Paul. 1673. Claudius Mauger's French Grammar, etc. Another ed., with additions: The "English Edition." London, Printed by John Martyn, c. 1676. Eighth ed. Londres, J. Martyn, 1679. Tenth ed. Corrected by the author, now professor of the Languages at Paris. London, 1682. Eleventh ed. London, T. Harrison, c. 1683. Twelfth ed. . . . avec des augmentations de Mots à la Mode d'une nouvelle Methode et de tout ce qu'on peut souhaiter pour s'acquirir ce beau Language comme on le parle à present à la cour de France. Où on voit un ordre extraordinaire et methodique pour l'acquisition de cette langue, sçavoir, une très parfaite pronuntiation, la conjugaison de tous les Verbes irreguliers, des Regles courtes et substantielles, ausquelles sont ajoutez un Vocabulaire et une nouvelle Grammaire Angloise pour l'utilité de tant d'estrangers qui ont envie de l'apprendre. La douzième édition exactement corrigée par l'autheur à present Professeur des Langues à Paris. Londres. R. E. pour R. Bently et S. Magnes demeurant dans Russel St. au Covent Gardin. 1686. Thirteenth ed. ... Corrected by the author, late at Paris and now at London. London, 1688. Fourteenth ed. ... Corrected and Enlarged by the author. London. Sold by T. Guy at the Oxford Arms in Lombard Street. 1690. Sixteenth ed. ... exactly corrected and Enlarged by the Authour. Late Professor of the Languages at Paris. London. R. E. for R. Bently in Russel St. in Covent Gardin, 1694. Eighteenth ed. ... corrected and enlarged by the author. London, for T. Guy, 1698. Nineteenth ed. ... corrected and enlarged by the Author, late professor of the Languages at Paris. London, R. Wellington, 1702. Twentieth ed. ... Faithfully corrected from all the errors in the former by a French Minister. London, R. Wellington, 1705. Twenty-first ed. ... with additions. London, R. Wellington, 1709. Mauger's Letters. Written upon several subjects, faithfully translated into English, for the greater facility of those who have a desire to learn the French Tongue. Corrected and Revised by the author, formerly professor of French at Bloys, now at London. London, 1671. Another ed.: Lettres Françoises et Angloises de Claud Mauger sur Toutes sortes de sujets grands et mediocres avec augmentation de 50 lettres nouvelles, dont il y en a plusieurs sur les dernières et grandes Revolutions de l'Europe. Très exactement corrigée, polies et écrites, dans le plus nouveau stile de la cour, dans lesquelles la pureté et l'élégance des deux langues s'accordent mieux qu'auparavant. Très utiles à ceux qui aspirent au beau language, et sont curieux de sçavoir de quelle manière ils doivent parler aux personnes de quelque qualité qu'elles soient. Outre Quantité de Billets à la fin du Livre, qui sont très necessaires pour le commerce. La seconde édition. Londres, imprimée par Tho. Roycroft et se vendent chez Samuel Lowndes vis à vis de l'Hostel d'Exeter dans la Strand. 1676. MEURIER, GABRIEL: La Grammaire Françoise contenante plusieurs belles reigles propres et necessaires pour ceulx qui desirent apprendre la dicte langue par Gabriel Meurier. . . . Anvers, 1557. Traicté pour apprendre a parler Françoys et Angloys. Rouen, Etienne Colas, 1553. Communications familieres non moins propres que tresutiles a la nation Angloise desireuse et diseteuse du langage François, par G. Meurier. Familiare Communications no leasse proppre then verrie proffytable to the Inglis nation desirous and nedinge the ffrenche language, by Gabriel Meurier. En Anvers. . . . Chez Pierre de Keerberghe sus le Cemitiere nostre Dame a la Croix d'or. 1563. Another ed.: Traité pour apprendre a parler François et Anglois: ensemble un Formulaire de faire missives, obligations, Quittances, Lettres de Change, necessaire a tous marchands qui veulent trafiquer. A Treatise for to learne to speake Frenshe and Englische, together with a form of making letters, indentures, and obligations, quittances, letters of exchange, verie necessarie for all Marchants that do occupy trade of Marchandise. A Rouen, chez Jacques Cailloué, tenant sa boutique dans la Court du Palais. 1641. MIÈGE, GUY: A New Dictionary French and English with another English and French according to the present use and modern orthography of the French, inrich'd with new words, choice phrases and apposite proverbs. Digested into a most accurate method and contrived for the use of both English and Foreiners, by Guy Miège, Gent. London. Printed by T. Dawks for T. Basset at the George near Clifford's Inn in Fleet Street, 1677. A New French Grammar or a New Method for learning of the French Tongue. To which are added for a help to young beginners a large vocabulary, and a store of familiar Dialogues, besides Four curious discourses of Cosmography in French for proficient learners to turn into English. By Guy Miège, Gent., author of the New French Dictionary, professor of the French Tongue and of Geography. London. Th. Basset.... 1678. A Dictionary of Barbarous French or a Collection by Way of Alphabet of Obsolete, Provincial, Misspelt and Made Words in French. Taken out of Cotgrave's Dictionary with some additions. A work much desired and now performed for the satisfaction of such as read old French. By Guy Miège, Gent., author of the New French Dictionary. London, for Th. Basset, 1679.[1108] A Short and Easie French Grammar, fitted for all sorts of learners: according to the present use and modern orthography of the French, with some Reflections on the ancient use thereof. London, Th. Basset, 1682. A Large Vocabulary English and French for the use of such as learn French or English. London, Th. Basset, 1682. One Hundred and Fifteen Dialogues French and English fitted for the use of learners. London, Th. Basset, 1682. A Short French Dictionary, English and French with another in French and English, according to the present use and modern orthography, by Guy Miège, Gent. London, for Th. Basset, 1684. Another ed. London, 1690. Another ed. The Hague, 1691. Fifth ed. The Hague, 1701. Another ed. 1703. Another ed. Rotterdam, 1728. The Grounds of the French Tongue, or a new French Grammar according to the present use and modern orthography. Digested into an easy, short and accurate Method with a Vocabulary and Dialogues. London, for Th. Basset, 1687. The Great French Dictionary in two parts. The first part French and English. The second English and French. According to the ancient and modern orthography: wherein each language is set forth in its greatest latitude. The various senses of words both proper and figurative are orderly digested, and illustrated with apposite phrases and proverbs. The hard words explained: and the proprieties adjusted. To which are prefixed the Grounds of both Languages in two Discourses, the one English, the other French, by Guy Miège, Gent. London, for Th. Basset, 1688. Miège's last and best French Grammar, or a new Method to learn French, containing the Quintessence of all other Grammars, with such plain and easie rules as will make one speedily perfect in that famous language.... London, W. Freeman and A. Roper, 1698. Another ed., the second. London, J. Freeman, 1705. MORLET, PIERRE: Janitrix sive Institutio ad perfectam linguae Gallicae cognitionem acquirendam. Authore Petro Morleto Gallo. Oxoniae, excudebat Josephus Barnesius, 1596. PALSGRAVE, JOHN: Lesclarcissement de la langue francoyse compose par maistre Jehan Palsgrave Angloys natyf de Londres et gradue de Paris. 1530. [Col.] The printing fynysshed by Johan Hawkyns, the xviii daye of July. The yere of our lorde God M.C.C.C.C.C. and XXX. S., J.: A short method for the Declyning of Ffrench Verbes etc., by J. S., _c._ 1623. SALTONSTALL, WYE: Clavis ad Portam, or a key fitted to the gates of tongues. Wherein you may readily find the Latine and French for any English word, necessary for all young schollers. [Oxford?] Printed by Wm. Turner, 1634. (Bound with the 1633 edition--London--of Anchoran's Comenius.) SANFORD, JOHN: Le Guichet François. Sive janicula et brevis introductio ad linguam Gallicam. Oxoniae. Excudebat Josephus Barnesius, 1604. A briefe extract of the former Latin Grammar, done into English for the easier instruction of the Learner. At Oxford. Printed by Joseph Barnes, and are to be sold in Paules Churchyard at the signe of the Crowne by Simon Waterson. 1605. SHERWOOD, ROBERT: The Frenche Tutour, London, Humphrey Lownes, 1625 (no copy known). The French Tutour by way of grammar exactly and fully Teaching all the most necessary Rules for the attaining of the French tongue, whereunto are also annexed three Dialogues; and a touch of French compliments all for the furtherance of Gentlemen, Schollers and others desirous of the said language. Second ed. carefully corrected and enlarged by Robert Sherwood, Londoner. London, Printed by Robert Young, 1634. Dictionnaire Anglois-François. 1632. Cf. COTGRAVE. SMITH, J.: Grammatica Quadrilinguis, or brief Instructions for the French, Italian, Spanish and English Tongues, with the Proverbs of each Language fitted for those who desire to perfect themselves therein. By J. Smith, M.A. Printed for J. Clarke at the Star, in Little Britain, and J. Lutton at the Anchor in Poutry. London, 1674. THORIUS, J. Cf. CORRO. VAIRASSE D'ALLAIS, DENYS: A short and methodical introduction to the French tongue, composed for the particular benefit and use of the English. Paris, 1683. VALENCE, PIERRE: Introductions in Frensche for Henry the Yonge Erle of Lyncoln (childe of greate esperaunce), sonne of the most noble and excellente pryncesse Mary (by the grace of God queene of France etc.). [No date or place.] VERON, JOHN: Dictionariolum puerorum, tribus linguis, Latina, Anglica et Gallica conscriptum. Latino gallicum nuper ediderat Rob. Stephanus Parisiis, cui Anglicam interpretationem adiecit Joannes Veron. London, John Wolfe, 1552. VILLIERS, JACOB: Vocabularium Analogicum, or the Englishman speaking French, and the Frenchman speaking English. Plainly showing the nearness or affinity betwixt the English, French and Latin. Alphabetically digested. With new and easy directions for the attaining of the French tongue, comprehended in rules of pronouncing, rules of accenting and the like. To which is added the explanation of Mounsieur de Lainé's French Grammar by way of dialogue set forth for the special use and encouragement of such as desire to be proficients in the same language. The like not extant. By Jacob Villiers, Master of a French School in Nottingham. London, printed by J. D. for Jonathan Robinson, at the Golden Lion, and George Wells, at the Sun in St. Paul's Church yard, 1680. WODROEPH, JOHN: The spared houres of a souldier in his travels, or The true marrowe of the French Tongue, wherein is truly treated (by ordre) the nine parts of speech, together with two rare and excellent bookes of Dialogues, the one presented to that illustrious prince Count Henry of Nassau, in his younger yeares for his Furtherance in this tongue, newly reviewed and put in pure French Phrase (easie and delightfull) from point to point; and the other formed and made (since) by the Authour himselfe. Added yet an excellent worke, very profitable for all the ages of man, called the Springwell of Honour and Vertue, gathered together very carefully, both by ancient and Moderne Philosophers of our Tyme. With many Godly songs, sonets, Theames, Letters missives, and sentences proverbiales: so orderly, plain and pertinent, as hath not (formerly) beene seene in the most famous Ile of great Britaine. By John Wodroephe, Gent. Les Heures de relasche. . . . Imprimé à Dort, Par Nicolas Vincentz, Pour George Waters, Marchant Libraire, demeurant près le Marché au Poisson, à l'Enseigne des Manchettes dorées. 1623. Second edition: The Marrow of the French Tongue, containing: 1. Rules for the true pronunciation of every letter as it is written or spoken. 2. An exact Grammar containing the nine parts of speech of the French Tongue. 3. Dialogues on French and English, fitted for all kind of discourse for courtiers, citizens, and countrymen, in their affairs at home or travelling abroad. With variety of other helps to the learner as Phrases, Letters missive, sentences, proverbes, Theames, and in both languages. So exactly collected and compiled by the great paines and industry of M. John Wodroephe, that the meanest capacity either French or Englishman, that can but reade, may in a short time by his owne industry without the helpe of any Teacher attaine to the perfection of both languages. Ce livre est aussi utile pour le François d'apprendre l'Anglois que pour l'Anglois d'apprendre le François. The second edition. Reviewed and purged of much gross English, and divers errors committed in the former edition printed at Dort. London. Printed for Rd. Meighen at the signe of the Leg in the Strand, and in St. Dunstan's Churchyard in Fleet Street, 1625. FOOTNOTES: [1106] Licensed to Harrison (Arber, _Stationers' Register_, i. 364); assigned over to Th. Woodcock by Harrison's widow, 1578 (_ibid._ ii. 331). [1107] Based on Bathe's _Janua Linguarum_ in Latin and Spanish, 1611. [1108] Sometimes bound with the Dictionary of 1677. INDEX _The names of those who taught French or wrote French grammars are marked with an asterisk._ *A., E., 277, 280 *Abadie, J. G. d', 388 A B C of Geneva, 132 _A B C for Scottes men_, 154 Académie française, 110 _n._, 192, 193, 305, 354, 355, 357, 388 Academies, 120 _sq._, 231, 296 _sq._, 345, 397 _sq._; academies in France, 352, 357, 363 _sq._; Protestant academies in France, 232 _sq._, 343 _sq._ Addison, Joseph, 218, 220, 370 _n._ Aesop, in French, 294, 382 Aimar de Ranconnet, 190, 230 _n._ Alexander, Sir Wm., 250, 255 Alexandre, Pierre, 118 Alexis, Guillaume, 101 Allen, Cardinal, 217 _Amadis de Gaule_, 85, 194 _n._, 196, 223 Amyot, Jacques, 196, 199 *Anchoran, J. A., 295 Ancients and Moderns, quarrel of, 391 *André, Bernard, 68, 75, 76 Angers, 205, 346, 351 Anglo-French, 18 _sq._, 26 Anne, Queen of England, 381, 389 _n._ Anne of Cleves, 72 Anvers, 241 _sq._, 244, 245, 279 Arithmetic, 139, 154, 399 Ascham, Roger, 64, 73, 120, 146, 182, 183, 184, 216, 275 _n._, 286, 335 Ashley, Robert, 151, 129 Astell, Mary, 395, 398 Aubigné, Agrippa d', 65 _n._, 197, 356 *Aufeild, Wm., 260 _n._, 284 _sq._, 292 Aulnoy, Mme. d', 367 _n._ Auteuil, 201 Bacon, Anthony, 234 Bacon, Francis, 66, 118 _n._, 194 _n._, 212, 219, 221 _n._, 224, 273, 275, 288, 355 _n._ Bacon, Nicholas, 118 _n._, 120 Balzac, Guez de, 309, 355 Banister's Academy, 399 *Barbier, Jean, 294 *Barclay, Alexander, 4, 34, 62, 65, 69 _n._, 77 _sq._, 123, 144, 237, 240 *Baret, James, 187 _sq._, 189, 192 Barkley, Lady Elizabeth, 268 *Barlement, Noel de, 241 _sq._, 246, 279 Baro, Pierre, 119 *Barton, Jehan, 27 _n._, 32 _sq._, 38, 78 Basset, James, 213, 214 *Baudouin, Jean, 275 Bayle, Pierre, 391 Baynton, Andrew, 87 _n._, 91, 96, 100, 105, 106 Beal, Sir Robert, 201 _Beau, Character of the_, 376 _n._, 377 _n._ _Beau, The Compleat_, 376 _Beau, The Defeated_, 374 _n._, 378 _n._ Beaux, 235 _sq._, 247, 321, 357 _sq._, 370 _n._, 375 _sq._, 378, 394 Belleau, Remi, 174 Belleforest, François de, 196 *Bellemain, Jean, 107 _sq._, 112, 113 Bellerose, 380 *Bellot, Jacques, 156 _sq._, 168, 172, 185, 186 _n._, 196, 202, 265, 266, 277, 280 *Bense, Pierre, 204 *Berail, Gilles, 156 *Berault, Pierre, 300, 388 _sq._ Bèze, Théodore de, 196, 197, 202, 234 *Bibbesworth, Walter de, 11 _sq._, 16, 28, 38, 40, 264 Bignon, Jérôme, 66 _n._, 273 Blois, 218, 227 _sq._, 235, 241, 282, 284, 301 _sq._, 325, 342, 344, 350, 351, 352, 359 Blount, Th., 263 *Bod, Charles, 155 _n._ Bodin, Jean, 197, 199. 273 _n._ Bodley, Sir Th., 234 Boiasteau, Pierre, 195, 196 Boileau, 218, 220 _n._, 355 Boisrobert, 259 _n._, 273 _n._ Boleyn, Anne, 71, 72, 83, 95 Booksellers and French teachers, 129, 138, 163 Bossuet, 364 Bouhours, le Père, 220 _n._, 394 Bouillon, Duchesse de, 367 *Bourbon, Nicolas, 83, 89 Bourges, 241, 351 *Boy, Francis, 149 Boyle, Richard, 200 Bozon, Nicolas, 8 _n._ Brantôme, 273 _n._ Bretons: teach French, 325, 326 Brinsley, John, 179 _n._, 351 Brome, Rd., 298, 374 _n._ Buck _Third Universitie_, 169 _n._ Buckingham, George Villiers, first Duke, 227, 262, 285, 298, 396; second Duke, 364, 373 Bullar, Colonel, 304 Burghley, Wm. Cecil, Lord, 119, 121, 123, 187, 191, 211, 215, 217 Burgundians, 115, 119, 145, 168 _sq._, 241 Busby, John, 306 *Bushell, Abraham, 155 Bussy, le Comte de, 321 Butler, Mr., 360 Butler, Samuel, 371 _n._, 372 _n._, 376 _n._ Caen, 156, 159, 239, 351 Calvin, Jean, 66, 84, 107, 108, 112, 195, 328 Camden, Wm., 66, 71, 194 _n._, 212, 274, 276 Cameron, John, 249 _Campo di Fior_, 143 _n._, 145, 159, 185 Canterbury, French school at, 120 _sq._ Capell, Sir Arthur, 216 Carew, Richard, 212, 340 Carleton, Dudley, 217, 247 Cartularies, 42 Casaubon, Isaac, 118, 150, 234 _sq._, 259, 273 _n._ Castellion, dialogues of, 182, 294 Castiglione, Baptista, 73 _n._ Catechism, in French, 130, 147, 153, 295, 339, 382, 389 _Catechism, The Ladies'_, 369 _n._, 375 Caxton, Wm., 42 _sq._, 47, 48, 54, 55, 56, 201, 246, 279 Chamberlain, John, 247 _Champ fleury_, 100 Chappuzeau, 390 Charenton, 259, 346, 363 Charles I., 170, 185, 194 _n._, 203, 207, 248, 255, 261 _sq._, 271, 272, 276, 280, 296, 298, 319, 323 _n._, 339, 348, 362, 363, 396, 397 Charles II., 70 _n._, 205, 207, 262, 263, 272, 295, 298, 308, 329, 330, 344, 348, 362 _sq._, 366, 367, 368, 371, 372, 373, 374, 376, 377 _n._, 380 Charpentier, 391 Chartier, Alain, 101 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 18, 19 Cheking, John, 105 *Chemin, Nicholas, 149 *Cheneau, Francis, 382 Chesterfield, Lord, 319 _n._ *Chevallier, A. R., 112, 119, 150 _n._ *Chiflet, Laurent, 230 _sq._, 353, 385 Children and study of French, 12, 32, 38 _sq._, 52, 55, 212 _sq._, 239, 242, 295 _sq._, 331, 338 _sq._, 340, 341 _sq._, 357, 365, 371 _n._, 382, 395 Church, use of French in the, 24 Churches: foreign, in England: Dutch, 116 _sq._; French, 116 _sq._, 145 _sq._, 151, 155 _sq._, 159, 167, 169, 295, 299, 309, 310, 328 _sq._, 339, 389; Italian, 146; Walloon, 117; Protestant, in France, 363. _See_ Charenton Cibber, Colley, 376 _n._, 378, 380 _n._ Clarendon, Ed. Hyde, Earl of, 209, 210 _n._, 218, 345, 352, 357, 361, 364, 373, 392, 393, 395 Cleland, James, 182, 197, 293, 393 Clinton, Lady, 333 *Codrington, Rt., 294, 295 *Cogneau, Paul, 289 _sq._, 327 *Cokele, John, 149 Colet, John, 62, 182, 183, 215 Collège de Navarre, 213, 276 Colleges: in France, 357; English Roman Catholic, in France, 232; Protestant, in France, 232, 345 Collet, Claude, 196 *Colson, Wm., 282 _sq._ *Colsoni, F. C., 388 Comedians. _See_ Theatre Comenius, 293, 294 _sq._, 338, 339 Commercial French, 42, 53, 65, 169 _n._, 243, 245, 307, 399. _See_ Merchants Commines, Philippe de, 196, 197, 199 Commonwealth, 262, 296, 298, 315, 333, 341, 361, 366 Coningsby, Sir Th., 247 Cooks, French, 370 Cordano, Girolamo, 62, 72 _n._ *Cordell, M., 220 Cordier, Mathurin, 181, 255, 294, 334, 390 Corneille, Pierre, 220 _n._, 271, 273, 293, 309, 323, 364 Corneille, Th., 318 Cornwallis, Sir Wm., 127, 284 Correspondence: use of French in, 17, 23, 66, 69, 71 _sq._, 108, 259, 260, 262, 299 _n._, 319 _sq._, 342, 353 *Corro, Antonio de, 202 Coryat, Tom, 63, 221, 235 Cosmo III. of Tuscany, 63 Costeker, J. L., 358, 393 *Cotgrave, Randle, 190 _sq._, 240, 245, 275, 281, 285, 288, 321 _n._, 333, 383 Cotterel, Sir Ch., 307 _n._ Courtesy book, 47, 52 Courtin, French ambassador, 308, 362 _n._, 367 Cowley, 364, 365 Coxe, Leonard, 100 *Coyfurelly, Canon, 10, 35, 38 Cranmer, 83, 112, 118, 120 Cromwell, Secretary, 81, 83, 98, 105, 119, 120 Cromwell, Gregory, 80, 105, 119 *Curlew, Nicholas, 149 Daines, Simon, 275 _n._, 278 Dallington, Sir Rt., 65 _n._, 221 _n._, 222 _sq._, 225, 226, 231, 261 _n._, 348 Dancing, 94, 137, 209, 231, 232, 261, 267, 282, 298, 299, 303, 332, 342, 346, 357, 359, 369, 371, 397, 398 Dancing-master: French, 369, 370, 375, 376 Danneau, Lambert, 77 *Darvil d'Arras, Ch., 155 _n._ Davenant, Sir Wm., 263 _n._, 364, 365, 380 Defoe, Daniel, 225 _n._, 394, 398 *Deger, Anness, 170 *De la Barre, 246 _n._ *De la Mare, 299 *De la Mothe, G., 119, 161 _sq._, 183, 184, 186, 200, 225, 265, 279, 290, 291, 292 De la Porte: epithets, 117 *Denisot, Nicolas, 83 _sq._, 89, 293 Descartes, 395, 398 Despagne, Jean, 328, 329 Desportes, 174, 250, 356 Dialects, French, 27, 28, 54, 144, 145, 169, 241, 326 Dialogues: French, 36 _sq._, 43 _sq._, 48 _sq._, 93, 102, 124, 130 _sq._, 135, 137 _sq._, 164 _sq._, 176, 193, 206, 241 _sq._, 254, 267, 282, 291, 294, 299 _n._, 302 _sq._, 305, 309, 313 _sq._, 317, 324, 347, 349, 385, 386, 389; Latin, 145, 181, 185, 294 Dictionaries: French and English, 95, 122, 141, 168, 187 _sq._, 192, 199, 253, 281, 383 _sq._; Latin, influence on French, 122, 187, 189, 190, 293, 383 Digby, Sir John, 203 Diplomacy: use of French in, 7, 22, 23, 65, 67, 70 _n._, 169 _n._, 260, 392, 393 Doctors, French, 259 _n._, 369 _Donait_, 30 _sq._, 33 Douay, 129, 217 _n._, 232 Doujat, Jean, 273 *Dove, R., 31 Drama: French influence, 364, 378 Drummond of Hawthornden, 195, 220 _n._ Dryden, 321, 357, 372, 374, 378, 379 Du Bartas, 65 _n._, 151, 174, 175, 177, 185, 186, 196, 250, 276, 322, 356 Du Bellay, 84, 196 *Du Buisson, 148 *Du Grès, Gabriel, 205 _sq._, 351, 352, 395 _n._ Du Moulin, Pierre, senior, 207, 259 Du Moulin, Pierre, junior, 200, 357 Du Perron, Cardinal, 259 *Du Plantin, 149, 150 Du Plessis, 360 Duplessis-Mornay, 66 _n._, 233, 357 *Du Ploich, 129 _sq._, 143, 145, 200, 225, 240, 243 Dutch, 115 _sq._, 119, 169 _n._, 209, 227, 240 _sq._, 280, 326, 394. _Cp._ Netherlands _Dutch Tutor_, 169 _n._ *Du Terme, Laur, 288 _sq._, 290, 291 Du Val, Claude, 350 *Du Val, J. B., 230 *Du Val, M., 343 Du Val, Pierre, 213 *Duwes, Giles, 4, 77, 86 _sq._, 113, 123, 132 _n._, 133, 144, 171, 264 Edward VI., King, 66, 72, 83, 107 _sq._, 111, 112, 113, 114, 116, 118, 123, 130, 134, 180, 212 _n._ Effiat, Marquis d', 66 _Elementarie_, 62 _n._, 184, 278 Eliot, Sir John, 217 *Eliote, John, 65, 127 _sq._, 179, 180, 232, 288 _n._, 347 _n._ Elizabeth, Queen, 64 _n._, 66, 67, 73, 74, 95, 108 _sq._, 110 _sq._, 113, 115, 117, 123, 140, 141, 146, 147, 151, 156, 160, 196, 215, 240, 247, 277, 287, 339 _n._ Elizabeth Stuart, Princess, 151, 175, 249, 260 Ellwood, Th., 298 Elyot, Sir Th., 92, 182, 183, 184, 187 _n._, 335 English language, 4, 7, 18, 21, 23, 48, 62, 66, 89, 129, 141, 145, 171, 192, 241 _sq._, 262, 264, 269, 270, 272 _sq._, 281, 288, 308, 310, 334 _n._, 368, 384, 390 _n._, 392, 397; taught in France, 353, 354, 397; broken English, 171, 236 _sq._, 374, 376, 378; grammars of the, 159, 276 _sq._, 281, 306, 312, 334 _n._, 385, 386, 389 English literature, 190 _n._, 274 _sq._ Englishmen: judged by foreigners, 20, 117 _sq._, 367; write in French, 365, 366 _n._, 378 _n._ English teachers of French, 99, 123, 144, 152, 159, 168, 171 _sq._, 180, 283 Epistolaries, 17 _sq._, 35, 42 *Erail, Evrard, 155 _n._ Erasmus, 62, 64 _n._, 65 _n._, 104, 112 *Erondell, Pierre, 196, 264 _sq._, 269 _n._, 277 _n._, 292 _Esclarcissement, l'_, 3, 61, 78 _n._, 86 _sq._, 190, 264. _See_ Palsgrave Essex, Rt. Devereux, Earl of, 234 Estienne, H., 66 _n._, 273 _n._ Estienne, Rt., 122, 189 Etherege, Sir George, 371 _n._, 374 _n._, 376, 378, 394 Eton, 120 _Euphues_, 216 _n._, 263 Evelyn, John, 218, 221, 264, 293, 294, 328, 329, 330, 340, 350 _n._, 351, 362 _n._, 363, 365 _n._, 367 _n._, 368 _n._, 371 _n._, 372, 380, 394 "Exercises," 231, 352, 395, 398 Expenses of travellers, 232, 343, 349 *Fabre, John, 268 *Fabri, Philémon, 207 Farquhar, George, 208, 372 _n._, 374 _n._, 376 _n._, 378, 380 _n._ *Farrear, Rt., 204 Fashions, French, 68, 71, 236 _sq._, 303, 321 _n._, 358. 361, 369, 371, 372, 373, 376, 377 Fees of French teachers, 139, 179, 206 _n._, 308 _n._ _Femina_, 28 _sq._, 39 _n._, 40, 52 Fencing, 231, 232, 282, 346, 360, 371 _n._ *Festeau, Paul, 299, 301, 304, 312 _sq._, 323, 325, 361, 381, 388 Field, Rd., 162, 163 Finett, Sir John, 260 Flecknoe, Rd., 370 _n._, 371 _n._, 372, 377 _n._, 378 _n._ Flemings, 115, 127, 152 _n._, 169, 241, 255. _Cp._ Netherlands Flemish, 45, 62, 241 _sq._, 246, 260, 280 *Florio, John, 65, 127, 201, 239 _n._, 254, 261, 275, 276 _n._ *Fontaine, Rt., 155 _n._, 156, 168 Foreigners visit England, 6, 61, 63, 66, 74, 114 _sq._, 124 _sq._, 259, 277 _sq._, 281, 304, 308, 313, 327, 368 _sq._ Foubert's Academy, 345, 399 _France, Survey of_, 177 François I. of France, 68, 69, 71, 73, 93 François de Valois, 159 _Frans and Englis_, 201 _French Alphabet_, 162 _sq._, 184, 225 _n._, 265, 279, 290, 292 _French Conjuror_, 370 _n._, 372 _n._, 378 _n._ _French Garden_, 264 _sq._ _French Littleton_, 136 _sq._, 141, 142 _sq._, 160, 277, 290, 292 _French Methode_, 161, 266 _n._ _French Schoolemaister_, 135 _sq._, 140, 142 _sq._, 199, 246, 268, 269, 277, 290, 292 _French Schoolmaster_, 381 _n._ _French Tutor_, 168 _French Tutour_, 281 _sq._ Froissart, 21, 23, 101, 196 Gailhard, J., 219, 224 _n._, 346, 351 _n._ _Galaunt, Treatyse of a_, 237 Gallants. _See_ Beaux *Ganeur, Onias, 155 _n._ Garlande, John de, 5, 7, 24 Garnier, Jean, 201 Garnier, Philippe, 230 Garnier, Robert, 194 _n._ Gascoigne, George, 142 Gascons, 326 Geneva, 233 _sq._, 249, 326, 343 _n._, 344, 345 _Gentleman's Companion_, 219 Geography, 383, 385, 388, 398 *Gerbier, Sir Balthazar, 222 _n._, 260 _n._, 275 _n._, 297, 345 German language, 62, 73 _n._, 121, 169 _n._, 230 _n._, 236, 242 _sq._, 279, 295, 354 Germans, 123 _n._, 326 Germany, 211, 219, 220 Gibbon, 358 _n._ *Giffard, James, 292 Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, 121 Glapthorne: _The Ladies' Privilege_, 237 Goldsmith, 321 _n._ Gomberville, de, 309 _Good Boke to lerne Frenshe_, 47 _sq._, 54 _sq._ Governors. _See_ Tutors _Governour, The_, 92, 182, 183 _n._ Gower, 18, 19 Grammar: rules of French, 9, 10, 13, 31 _sq._, 77 _sq._, 80, 82, 88 _n._, 89 _sq._, 92, 132, 143 _sq._, 157 _sq._, 265 _sq._, 286, 288, 290, 305, 386 Grammont, le Comte de, 366, 369, 371, 373 Grantham, Th., 335, 337, 341 *Grave, Jean de, 295 _sq._ Greek, 64 _n._, 73, 74, 84, 88, 92, 120, 121, 153, 188, 190, 210, 239, 276, 293, 298, 305, 335 _n._, 337, 338 _n._, 394, 398, 399 Greene, Rt., 178, 194 _n._, 215, 275 Grelot, Jérôme, 260 Grenville, Fulke, 128 Grévin, Jacques, 65 _n._, 273 _n._ Grey, Lady Jane, 64 _n._, 73 _n._ Grey, Lord of Wilton, 202, 208 Grocyn, 62 Guide-books for travellers: in England, 273 _n._, 321, 369, 388, 396 _n._; in France, 221 _sq._, 347 _sq._ *H. T., Parisiis Studentis, 11, 35 Hainault, 38, 145, 241 Hakluyt, Rd., 269 Halkett, Lady Anne, 332 Hall (chronicler), 236 Hall, Joseph, 216, 237 _n._, 238, 274 Hamilton, Anthony, 365 _sq._, 373 Hamilton, Miss, 373 Harley, Lady Brilliana, 195, 210 Harrison (chronicler), 64 _n._, 216 Harrison, Lucus, 187, 188 Harvey, Gabriel, 199 Hawes, Stephen, 68 *Hawmells, Gouvert, 169 Hebrew, 153, 169 _n._, 398 Henrietta Maria, 261 _sq._, 269 _sq._, 276, 280, 323 _n._, 332, 362, 364 Henry III. of France, 159 Henry IV. of France, 66, 235, 247, 260, 261, 274, 362 Henry VII. of England, 68, 75, 103 Henry VIII. of England, 4, 22, 62, 66, 68 _sq._, 71, 72, 75, 76, 86, 90, 96, 97, 101, 103, 112, 114, 130, 212, 213, 237 _n._ Henry Stuart (Prince), 186, 191, 260 _sq._, 298 *Henry, Jean, 140 Hentzner (traveller), 74, 112 _n._ Herberay des Essarts, 85, 194 _n._, 196, 223 Herbert, George, 238 *Herbert, Guillaume, 291, 324 _sq._, 361 Herbert, Sir Henry, 271, 272 Herbert, Wm. (poet), 268 Herbert of Cherbury, Lord, 186, 187, 194, 199, 218, 220, 224, 235, 271 Herbert of Swansea, Lord, 142 Heylyn, Peter, 348, 351 _n._ Higden: _Polychronicon_, 15, 24 Higford, Wm., 209, 210 _n._, 216 _n._, 366 *Higgins, John, 189 _sq._, 192 Hobbes, 220, 264, 265, 394 *Holyband, 56, 119, 134 _sq._, 156, 157, 159, 160, 162 _n._, 163, 164 _n._, 166, 168, 169, 171, 176, 179 _n._, 183, 185, 187, 188, 189, 190, 195, 196, 197, 199, 202, 204, 225, 240, 241, 246, 250, 253, 264, 265, 268, 269, 277, 280, 281, 283, 285, 290, 292, 293, 301, 304 Hoole, Charles, 182 _n._, 186, 189, 334, 337 _n._, 395 _n._ Hotman, François, 66 *Hotman, Jean, 200 Howard, Katherine, 72 Howell, James, 192 _sq._, 197, 212 _n._, 218 _n._, 221 _n._, 240, 285, 330, 351, 355, 374 _n._, 383 Huguenot. _See_ Refugees _Huloet's Dictionarie_, 189 Hume, P., 313 Humphrey: _The Nobles_, 115 _n._, 118, 238 _n._ Hutchinson, Mrs., 332 Inns of Court, 188, 203, 209, 210, 219, 344 _Institution of a Gentleman_ (Higford), 209, 210 _n._, 216 _n._, 366 _Institution of a Nobleman_ (Cleland), 182, 197, 293, 393 Institutions, educational. _See_ Academies, Colleges, Schools, Universities Italian, 64, 65, 68, 73, 74, 84, 88, 112, 120, 121, 145, 165, 169 _n._, 171, 185, 186, 192, 195, 199, 201, 203 _n._, 204, 209, 212, 217, 218, 220, 230 _n._, 236 _sq._, 241 _sq._, 254, 261, 263 _sq._, 273, 276 _n._, 279, 280, 286, 296, 307 _n._, 331, 333, 338 _n._, 339, 371 _n._, 377, 382, 388, 392, 394, 398, 399 Italy, 211, 212, 213, 215, 216 _sq._, 219, 220, 221, 236, 244, 348, 358, 360 James I., 151, 186, 190 _n._, 232 _n._, 249, 259 _sq._, 275 _n._, 298, 396 James II., 248 _n._, 262, 362, 373, 374, 381, 400 _Jardin de Vertu_, 160, 185, 186 _n._ Jermyn, Lord, Earl of St. Albans, 362, 365 Jodelle, Étienne, 196 Jonson, Ben, 220, 237, 278 Justel, Henri, 367, 368 _n._ Katherine of Aragon, 71, 73 Katherine of Braganza, 374 *Kerhuel, Jean de, 388 Kerouaille, Mlle. de, Duchess of Portsmouth, 362 _n._, 373, 380 Killigrew, Henry, 364, 380 _n._ Kilvert, Mrs., 300, 302, 303 Kynaston, Sir Francis, 296 La Bruyère, 275 La Calprenède, 309, 318, 320, 321, 333, 364 La Fontaine, 338, 367 *Lainé, Pierre, 315 _sq._, 323, 328, 347, 355 _n._, 361, 362 _n._ *Lainé, Pierre de, 381 _sq._, 397, 399 Lake, Sir Th., 151 Lambeth fragment, 81 _sq._, 132 _n._ La Mothe le Vayer, 273, 293 _n._ Langland, Wm., 19 *Langlois or Inglishe, 153 _sq._, 156 _n._ Languet, Hubert, 63, 66 _n._, 217, 221 La Serre, 342 _n._, 349 Latimer, 62, 63 Latin and French, 4, 5, 8, 9, 24, 33, 42, 87, 89, 104, 153, 180 _sq._, 201, 212, 213, 221, 227, 228, 231, 236, 241 _sq._, 246, 248, 263, 276, 284, 286, 287, 288, 292 _sq._, 296, 305, 316, 326, 331 _n._, 333 _sq._, 335, 337 _sq._, 341, 342, 351, 353, 354, 376, 386, 390, 391 _sq._, 394, 395, 397; use and study of, 62 _sq._, 65, 66, 68, 72, 73, 74, 88, 92, 106, 111, 112, 119, 120, 121, 127, 130, 132, 139, 151, 171, 198, 208, 210, 234, 239, 259 _sq._, 273, 298, 351, 356, 376, 382, 397, 399; text-books, 5 _n._, 106, 139, 145, 181, 185, 279, 293, 334 Latini, Brunetto, 7, 26 Law French, 22, 30, 61, 64, 165, 321 Le Blanc, Abbé, 23 _n._, 369, 378, 394 Le Fèvre (chemist), 367 Le Fèvre, Raoul, 46 Le Grand, Antoine, 309, 310 *Le Grys, Sir Rt., 263 Leicester, Rt. Dudley, Earl of, 83, 172, 200 Leicester, Countess of, 262 Leigh, Ed., 204, 350 _n._ *Leighton, Hy., 203 _sq._, 208 *Lemaire, Mary, 170 Lemaire de Belges, 101 Le Mans, 360 *Le Moyne, Guy, 207, 262, 285 _n._ *Le Pipre, Paul, 148 _sq._ Le Roy, Louis, 151 Letters: model French, 17, 35, 245, 255, 306 _sq._, 331, 349, 354, 390 Lewis, Mark, 334 _n._, 395 _n._, 398 _n._, 399 Lewisham, French school at, 140 _Liber Donati_, 30 _sq._ Lily's Grammar, 181, 334 _n._ Linacre, 62, 215 Lincoln, Earl of, 80 Lindsey, Montagu Bertie, Earl of, 327 Lisle, Lady, 213, 214, 237 _n._ _See_ Basset Lisle of Wilbraham, 185 Lister, Martin, 348 Literature, French, study of, 24, 57, 101, 174, 194 _sq._, 199, 220 _n._, 221, 223, 229, 231, 248, 250, 261, 267, 289, 309, 317, 319 _sq._, 330, 333, 342, 347, 349, 356, 390, 395, 398 _Livre des Mestiers_, 45 _sq._ Locke, 219, 337, 338, 345 _n._, 349, 393, 395 L'Oiseau de Tourval, 190, 275 Lorris, G. de, 101 Louis XII. of France, 70, 104 Louis XIII. of France, 274, 372 Louis XIV. of France, 230 _n._, 305, 373 *Louveau, Jean, Sieur de la Porte, 150 *Love, John, 129, 170 Loveday, Rt., 333, 398 *Lydgate, John, 34 Lyly, John, 216, 263 Maids, French, 264, 303, 332, 369, 370, 374, 375 Maintenon, Mme. de, 361 Makin, Mrs. Bathsua, 332, 334 _n._, 339, 395 _n._, 397, 398 Malebranche, 218, 395, 398 Malherbe, 364 Malpet, John, 351 _Manière de Langage_, 26 _n._, 35 _sq._, 38, 39, 40, 42, 47, 52 Margaret of Navarre, 71, 74, 84, 111 Margaret of Savoy, 69 Margaret of Scotland, 101 Marie de Medicis, 230, 262 Marillac (ambassador), 72, 73 Marot, Clément, 83, 174, 196 Marseilles, 357 Marsilliers, Pierre de, 153 *Martin, Martin, 149 Mary I. of England, 72, 73, 86, 89, 90, 93 _sq._, 101 _sq._, 109, 112, 113, 115, 116, 156, 233, 327 Mary II. of England, 371 _n._, 381, 382 Mary Tudor, Queen of France, 69, 70, 71, 80, 81, 86, 94, 101, 104, 105 *Mason, Baudouin, 155 _n._, 156 _n._ Mason, George, 279 *Masset, Jean, 230 *Massonnet, Peter, 262 _sq._ Mathematics, 283, 315, 360, 398, 399 *Mauconduy, 353 *Mauger, Claude, 246, 300, 301 _sq._, 313, 314, 315, 317, 323, 325, 326, 328, 331 _n._, 347, 352, 353, 361, 368, 370 _n._, 381, 385, 388 *Maupas, Charles, 227 _sq._, 230, 282, 284 _sq._, 287, 301, 302, 353, 356 *Maupas, junior, 228 _sq._ Maupertuis, 395 _n._ Mayerne, Théodore, 259 _n._ Mazarin, Duchesse de, 367, 380 Mecklenburg, Duke of, 301, 305 Meigret, Louis, 110 _n._, 226 Melville, James, 153 Melville, Sir James, 73, 212 _n._ Ménage, Gilles, 353 Merchants: study of French by, 35, 37, 38, 39, 41 _sq._, 49, 50, 53, 55, 124, 137, 141, 169 _n._, 239 _sq._, 253, 299, 400 Meschinot, Jean, 101 Meteren, Immanuel von, 62 Methods of studying French, 56, 82, 90 _sq._, 133, 139, 143 _sq._, 166 _sq._, 177, 179 _sq._, 184 _sq._, 195, 206, 222 _sq._, 225 _sq._, 228, 231, 250 _sq._, 267, 283, 286 _sq._, 289, 290 _sq._, 296, 308 _sq._, 314, 317, 326, 330 _sq._, 346, 349, 354, 355 _sq._, 386 _sq._, 395 _sq._ *Meurier, Gabriel, 244 _sq._, 273 _n._, 279, 280 Middleton, Th., 263 _n._ *Miège, Guy, 309, 334 _n._, 337 _n._, 382 _sq._, 388, 391 *Milleran, René, 354 _sq._ Milton, 64, 194, 214, 264, 298, 333, 334 _n._, 392 Minsheu, J., 169 _n._, 383 _n._ Misson, M., 396 _n._ Molière, 373 Monluc, 197, 342 _n._ Montaigne, 20, 127, 183, 261, 335 Montauban, 232, 233, 249, 344 Montausier, Mme. de., 365 Montchrétien, 259, 268 Montjoy, Christopher, 125, 162 Montpellier, 232, 233, 234, 345, 365 _n._ Montpensier, Mlle. de, 262, 263 More, Sir Th., 62, 83, 104, 105, 120, 236, 274 *Morlet, Pierre, 201, 202, 205 Morrice, Th., 171, 212, 292 Moryson, Fynes, _Itinerary_, 198, 214, 221, 223 _sq._, 225, 235, 237 _n._, 239, 350 _n._ Motteville, Mme. de, 262 _n._ Mulcaster, Rd., 62 _n._, 64 _n._, 142, 184, 188, 216 _n._, 225, 275, 278 Muralt, 230, 372 _n._ Music, 94, 120, 121, 147, 209, 214, 267, 299, 303, 322, 332, 342, 346, 359, 371; French music, 395, 397, 398 Nantes, Edict of, 170, 233, 343, 345, 382, 400 Nash, 236, 237 _n._, 238 Neckam, Alexander, 5, 7, 24 Netherlands, 45, 75, 76 _n._, 115, 211, 239, 249, 283, 312; French taught in the Netherlands, 240 _sq._; teachers from the Netherlands, 152, 169 Newcastle, Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of, 329, 332 New Testament: in French, 130, 137, 153, 167, 186, 195, 196, 197, 222, 268, 289, 298, 310, 317, 318, 382 Newton, Th., 156 Nicot, 189, 190, 230 _n._, 244 _n._ Nîmes, 232, 233, 234 _Nomenclator_, of Adrian Junius, 189 _Nominale_, 16, 28 Normans in England, 47, 81, 112, 145, 146, 156, 161, 265, 326 Norton, Th., 268 Nottingham: French school at, 396 Nucius, Nicander, 62, 66, 117 Ordinaries, 355, 370, 377, 392 Orleans, 27, 35, 37, 38, 221, 226, 230, 232, 235, 241, 301, 310, 345, 350, 351, 352, 355 _Orthographia Gallica_, 8 _sq._, 38 Orthography, French, 8 _sq._, 10 _sq._, 31, 35, 78, 87, 109 _sq._, 137, 165, 283, 305, 316, 326, 328, 354, 383, 384 Osborne, Dorothy, 318 _sq._, 333 _n._ Osborne, Francis, 197, 218, 223 _n._, 245, 276 Ossory, Lord, Duke of Ormond, 120, 364 *Oudin, Antoine, 229 _sq._, 249 Oudin, César, 229 Overbury, Sir Th., 221, 237 _n._, 238 _n._ *Palairet, J., 338 Palmer, Herbert, 207 Palmer, T., 221 *Palsgrave, J., 3 _sq._, 57, 61, 76, 77, 78, 80, 81, 86 _sq._, 123, 128, 153, 166, 171, 176 _n._, 177, 180, 190, 212, 232, 264, 293 *Papillon, 300 Parker, Matthew, 119 Parr, Katherine, 64 _n._, 72, 108, 111, 112 Pasqualigo, Piero, 68 Pasquier, Étienne, 75, 154 _n._, 192 Passports, 215, 216, 219 _n._ Paston, Rt., 316 Pastors: French, 116, 150, 328, 332, 342, 343, 360, 388, 389 _n._ Patin, Guy, 362 _n._ Peacham, Th., 213 Peiresc, 66 _n._ Peletier du Mans, 66, 110 _n._, 175, 227, 316 Penn, Wm., 307, 322 _n._, 358 *Penson, M., 301 Penton, Samuel, 216 _n._, 224 _n._, 345, 346 Pepys, Samuel, 23 _n._, 208, 321 _sq._, 330 _sq._, 340, 353, 358, 370, 371 _n._, 375, 377 _n._, 379, 394 Pepys, Mrs., 209, 321, 380 Perlin, Étienne, 81, 116 _n._, 117, 118 _n._, 210 _n._ Pettie, George, 237 _n._ Petty, Sir. Wm., 239, 337 _n._ *Philippe, J. T., 338 Philipps, Katherine, 307 _n._, 323 Pibrac, 66 _n._, 186, 196, 250, 261 Picard, 103, 144, 169 Pillot, 202, 227 Pléiade, 84, 158 Poitiers, 344, 345, 357 Pope, Alex., 319 Port Royal, 310 Portuguese grammar, 374 _n._ _Positions_, 64 _n._, 216 _n._, 225 _n._ Poulet, Sir Amias, 65, 200, 212, 215 *Poullain, Valerand, 150 Prayers in French, 130, 135, 137, 153, 268, 295, 310, 382, 389 Précieuses, 323, 324 *Preste, John, 156 _n._ *Primont, Vincent, 148, 149 Pronunciation, of French, 8 _sq._, 28 _sq._, 33, 79, 82, 87, 89, 110, 132, 137, 141, 143, 157, 164 _sq._, 175 _sq._, 206, 224, 227, 228, 231, 236, 253, 265 _sq._, 283, 285, 288, 290, 302, 305, 316, 330 _sq._, 355, 381, 390 Protestants. _See_ Refugees Proverbs, 107, 124, 135, 137, 166, 180, 356, 384, 390 _Purchas Pilgrimes_, 212, 221, 237 _n._ Purfoote, Th., 138, 141 Puttenham _Arte of Poesie_, 70 _n._ Pynson, Rd., 47 _sq._, 53 _sq._, 56, 94 _sq._, 97 _sq._, 201, 279 Rabelais, 83, 174, 176, 273 Racine, 220 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 217 _n._, 220, 367 _n._ Rambouillet, Mlle. de, 365 Rambouillet, Hôtel de, 364 Ramus, Petrus, 175, 202 Ramsay, Chevalier de, 366 _n._ Ravenscroft, Ed., 392 Readers: in French and English, 134, 160, 185, 186 _n._, 187, 276, 306, 307, 311, 353, 389 _n._ Reading. _See_ Methods Refugees, 61, 75, 114 _sq._, 122, 125, 129, 146 _sq._, 149, 153, 155 _sq._, 161, 169 _sq._, 173, 200, 207, 240 _sq._, 301, 329, 396, 400 Register of aliens, 159, 163, 170 Régnier-Desmarais, 273 Religious Houses: use of French in, 23, 61 Religious instruction in French, 147, 181. _Cp._ New Testament, Prayers Reresby, Sir John, 220, 224, 298, 359, 364, 373 Rheims, 232 Rhétoriqueurs, 158 Richelieu, Cardinal, 192, 206, 357 Richmond, Hy. Fitzroy, Duke of, 105, 212 Riding, 231, 261, 282, 346 *Rieu, Pierre de, 149 *Robone, Jean, 148, 149 *Rolland, Alexander, 154 Roman Catholics (teachers), 115, 129, 169, 170 _Roman de Jehan et Blonde_, 21 _Roman de la Rose_, 98, 101 _Roman de Renart_, 20, 21 Romances, French, 120, 193, 195, 264, 309, 318, 319 _sq._, 346, 349, 395, 398 Ronsard, 65 _n._, 84, 174, 196, 273 _n._, 356 Rouen, 156 _n._, 244, 245, 247, 277, 280, 343, 349, 350, 359, 364 Rowe, John, 152 *Rowland, Francis, 149 *Rowsignoll, Nicholas, 149 Russel, Colonel, 313 Rutland, Roger, 5th Earl of, 234 Rutledge, J., 352 _n._, 370 _n._ Rutter, Joseph, 293 Sackville, Rt., 140, 200 Saint Amant, 259 _n._, 273 _n._ Saint Amour, M. de, 353 Saint Gelais, Octovian de, 101 Saint Évremond, 366, 367 _sq._ Saint Malo, 341 *Saint Maurice, Alcide de, 348 _n._, 353, 357 _n._ St Paul's Churchyard, 129, 135, 138, 140, 156, 159, 161, 163, 168, 170, 202, 225, 301 Salons, 323, 367 *Saltonstall, Wye, 203, 295 *Sanford, J., 202 _sq._, 208 *Saravia, Adrian, 150 _sq._, 239 Saumur, 205, 232, 233, 249, 310, 344, 345, 350, 351, 352, 354, 359 _sq._ Savile, Sir Hy., 221, 344 _sq._, 382 Scaliger, 63, 65 _n._ Scarron: _Roman Comique_, 317, 318 Schelandre, Jean de, 259 _n._, 273 _n._ Scholars: attitude to French, 63, 128, 198 _sq._, 208, 271, 337, 392, 393 _sq._ _Scholemaster, The_, 146 _n._, 182, 183 _n._, 216 _n._, 275 _n._, 287 _n._ _Schoolmasters, Apologie for._ _See_ Morrice Schoolmistresses, 170 Schools: Grammar Schools and French, 4, 5, 15, 24, 40, 127 _sq._, 149, 152 _sq._, 171, 180, 182, 189, 209, 210, 292, 335, 341, 395 _n._, 396; private schools and French, 40, 219, 298, 335, 339, 395 _sq._, 397 _sq._; French schools, 129 _sq._, 134 _sq._, 150 _sq._, 153 _sq._, 179 _n._, 183, 192, 225, 243, 247, 255, 281, 299, 375, 396; French Church Schools, 145 _sq._, 150; Protestant Schools in France, 232, 343, 345; Scotch Schools and French, 152 _sq._ Scotland: French in schools of Scotland, 152 _sq._; tutors, 212 _n._; French Grammars in Scotland, 154, 288 Scudéry, Georges de, 193, 271, 299 _n._ Scudéry, Mlle, de, 309, 318, 320, 321, 323, 347, 348 _n._, 364 Sedley, Ch., 371 _n._, 374 _n._, 376 _n._, 377 _n._, 378, 392 _n._, 394 Selden, John, 66 _n._, 274 Seymour, Anne, Jane, and Margaret, 84 Seymour, Jane (Queen), 72, 95, 214 Shadwell, Th., 370, 371 _n._, 378 _n._ Shakespeare, 64, 65, 69, 125 _sq._, 162, 194 _n._, 209 _n._, 236, 237, 255, 272 _n._ Sheridan, 396 _n._ *Sherwood, Rt., 192, 278, 281 _sq._, 285, 298, 347 _n._ Shrewsbury School, 128, 224 Sidenham, Sir Humphrey, 248 Sidney, Sir Philip, 63, 128, 129, 197, 213, 217, 220 _sq._, 224, 247, 275 Singing, 69, 267, 300, 342, 369, 371 _n._, 397 Singing-master, French, 375 Smith, Hy., 208 *Smith, John, M.A., 388 Smith, Sir Th., 124, 277 _n._ Snell, George, 334 _n._, 337 Soldiers and French, 197, 238, 246 _sq._, 260, 400 Somerset, Protector, 66, 84, 105, 107, 112 Sorbière: _Voyage en Angleterre_, 321, 322, 364, 368 _n._ Sorel: _Francion_, 333 Southampton: French School at, 150 Spain, 215, 217, 358 Spaniards, 371 _n._ Spanish, 64, 65, 72 _sq._, 121, 164, 169 _n._, 171, 186, 192, 199 _n._, 202, 203 _n._ 204, 209, 212, 218, 220, 230 _n._, 236 _sq._, 241 _sq._, 263, 273, 279, 280, 294, 331, 374, 388 _n._, 399 Stanhope, Sir Michael, 284 Strafford, Lord, 264 Suffolk, Brandon, Duke of, 69, 80, 81, 94, 105 Swift, 22, 376 _n._, 392 _n._ Swiss teachers, 326, 382 Sylvester, Joshua, 151, 186, 194 _n._, 237 _n._, 239 Sylvius, 4 _n._, 76, 110 _n._, 137 _n._, 226 Tailors, French, 369, 371 Teachers of French criticised, 173, 250, 266, 325 _sq._, 387 Temple, Sir Wm., 318, 320 Theatre: French comedians in England, 68, 270 _sq._, 379; Frenchmen at the Cockpit, 368; English players abroad, 274 Thierry, J., 189 *Thorius, 202 Torriano, 64 _n._, 286 Tory, Geoffrey, 100 Toulouse, 357 Tours, 310, 351, 357, 359 _n._ Townsend, A., 220, 235 _Tractatus Orthographiae_, 10, 11 Translations: French, of English and Latin writings, 178, 194, 269, 277 _n._, 319, 320, 323, 355, 390 _n._, 394 Travel and Travellers, 35 _sq._, 43, 51, 137, 169 _n._, 210, 211 _sq._, 242 _sq._, 247, 282, 284, 287, 317, 320, 336, 340, 341 _sq._, 359, 361, 363 _sq._, 371, 384, 387 _n._, 397 *Tresol, Adrian, 155 _n._, 156 _n._ *Tressol, A., 156 _n._ Trevisa, John of, 24 Tryon, Th., 395 _sq._ Turberville, S., 299 Turler, Jerome: _Traveiles_, 221 _n._ Turner, Dr. Wm., 64 _n._ Tutors, travelling, 212, 215, 219, 220, 222, 224, 231, 248, 346, 355, 359 Udal, Nicholas, 64 _n._ Universities, English: and the French language, 6, 7, 15, 24, 40 _n._, 75, 118, 186, 195, 198 _sq._, 261, 262, 281, 295, 296, 345, 388, 392, 393 _n._, 394 Universities, French: English students at, 5, 6, 27, 77, 104, 172, 210, 213, 226, 232, 345, 357 Utenhove, John, 150 *Vairasse d'Allais, Denys, 353 _sq._ *Valence, Pierre, 77, 80 _sq._, 205 _n._ Valets, French, 309, 350, 355, 358, 359, 369, 370, 376, 377, 378, 379 Vanbrugh, Sir John, 364, 365, 374 _n._, 376 _n._, 378 Vaquerie, Jean, 155 _n._ *Varennes, C. de, 349 Vaugelas, 353, 364, 385 Vaughan, Stephen, 98 Vautrollier, Th., 160, 162, 163, 245 _n._ Verneuil, Jean, 200 _n._ Verney, Sir Ralph, 220, 248, 264, 298, 341 _sq._ Veron, John, 122, 150 _n._, 187, 189 Verone, John, 122 Versification, French, 158 Viau, Théophile de, 259 _n._, 356 Villars, Maréchal de, 273 *Villiers, Jacob, 388, 396 _sq._ Vincent, Samuel, 371 _n._, 377 _n._, 392 Vives, 145, 175, 181, 185, 268 _n._ Vocabularies, 5, 11 _sq._, 16, 28, 36, 38, 40, 52, 88, 91, 135, 137, 177, 241 _sq._, 245 _n._, 279, 280, 302, 304, 314, 316, 385, 390, 397 Voiture, 259 _n._, 273 _n._, 355, 365 Voltaire, 117, 365 _n._, 366 Vossius, 367 Waddington, Ralph, 187 Wadington, Wm. of, 19 Waiting-women, French. _See_ Maids Walker, O.: _Of Education_, 220 _n._, 221 _n._ Waller, Edmund, 364, 367 Walloons, 115, 127, 144, 168, 254, 326 Wallop, Sir Hy., 123, 162 Walsingham, 119, 211, 213 Watts, Th., 399 Webbe, Joseph, 331, 334 _n._, 335 Webster, John, 336 Wenman, Sir Rd., 162, 200 Wharton, Sir Philip, 123, 156 William III., 312, 368, 400 William of Wykeham, 23 Williamson, Sir Joseph, 207, 208, 344 Wilson: _Arte of Rhetorique_, 120, 238 _n._ Withers, Hy., 234 *Wodroeph, 225 _n._, 240, 246, 248 _sq._, 276, 298, 350, 397 Wolley, Ed., D.D., 298 Wolsey, Cardinal, 69, 70, 94, 104 Women, and study of French, 12, 22, 27, 64 _n._, 70, 214, 225, 239, 244, 263 _sq._, 299, 304, 306, 308, 323, 324, 334 _n._, 337, 339, 342, 373 _sq._, 378, 395, 397 _sq._; the Frenchified lady, 22, 374 _sq._ Wood, Anthony A., 200, 204 Wotton, Sir Henry, 120, 234 *Wotton, Rev. Henry, 339 Writing, 119, 130, 139, 147, 262, 298, 299, 332, 399 Wroth, Sir Th., 157 Würtemberg, Duke of, 66, 74 Wycherley, 364, 365, 370 _n._, 376, 377 _n._, 378 Wykeham, Wm. de, 23 Wynkyn de Worde, 47 _sq._, 53 _sq._, 56, 201, 237, 279 Yver, Jacques, 196 Zouche, Lord, 142 _sq._, 234 THE END _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. FRENCH MANCHESTER UNIVERSITY FRENCH SERIES No. I. LES OEUVRES DE GUIOT DE PROVINS. POÈTE LYRIQUE ET SATIRIQUE Edited by JOHN ORR, M.A., _Professor of French Language, University of Manchester_. Demy 8vo. =10s. 6d. net.= "This is an excellent edition of the complete works of a French poet of the time of Philippe Auguste.... If we mistake not, this edition is the first old French text published in England having no immediate bearing upon English history. There have been some such texts published ... elsewhere, but none, I believe, of this importance, nor any edited with this degree of thoroughness or this wealth of illustrative commentary."--Professor T. A. JENKINS, Chicago, in _Modern Philology_. No. II. OEUVRES POÉTIQUES DE JEAN DE LINGENDES Edited by E. T. GRIFFITHS, M.A., _Late Lecturer in French Language and Literature in the University of Manchester_. Crown 8vo. Cloth. =6s. net.= "Cette réimpression fait honneur aux publications de l'Université de Manchester, et l'exécution typographique mérite les mêmes éloges que l'information savante de l'éditeur."--L. ROUSTAN in _Revue critique d'histoire et de littérature_. No. III. 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The first line indicates the page or the note number and original text, the second the corrected text. p. x: Travelers at the French Universities Travellers at the French Universities. p. 37: il dira tout courtoisenent il dira tout courtoisement. p. 39: le roy d'Angliterre est osté le roy d'Angleterre est osté. p. 39: Maris, oy, il y avoit tant de presse Marie, oy, il y avoit tant de presse. p. 160: a wastefull, a riotious and and an outrageous spender a wastefull, a riotious and an outrageous spender. p. 166: deligently gathered and faithfully set diligently gathered and faithfully set. p. 176: Qe-heur et-til? Qel-heur et-til? p. 237: a thing easily gotton a thing easily gotten. p. 239: For instance Sir Willam Petty For instance Sir William Petty. p. 241: Lesquelles choses considererées Lesquelles choses considerées. p. 252: de leurs prouesses, entreprinses de leurs prouesses, entreprises. p. 398: accomodated to the grammar accommodated to the grammar. p. 411: Qui peut aissi Qui peut aussi. p. 414: of Nacsia and Paros in the Archipeligo of Nacsia and Paros in the Archipelago. p. 414: ou hormis d'autres discours curieus où hormis d'autres discours curieus. p. 423: se vendent a l'enseigne se vendent à l'enseigne. n. 126: E. J. Furnival E. J. Furnivall. n. 433: the Picard or Bourgonions the Picard or Bourgignions. n. 671: H. Glapthorne, "The Ladies Privilege" H. Glapthorne, "The Ladies' Privilege." Errata list: p. 41: "pernes" should be "prenez" ("Sir pernes le hanappe"). p. 43: "comnencier" should be "commencier" ("Veul comnencier"). p. 92, n. 230: "The Boke of the Governour" appears as "The Boke named the Governour" in n. 462. p. 104: "Sir Thomas More, writing to Erasmus in 1617" should be "Sir Thomas More, writing to Erasmus in 1517." p. 137-138: the small cross below the unsounded letters in the quotation does not always correspond to modern pronunciation. The original has been retained. p. 283, n. 361: Liége should be Liège. p. 293: "to read an script" should be "to read a script." n. 126, 313: Author "E. J. Furnivall" should be "F. J. Furnivall." n. 276: "congnoissance" should be "cognoissance" ("la congnoissance des histoires"). 
378	----	The White Knight: Tirant lo Blanc written and copyrighted by Robert S. Rudder Joanot Martorell and Marti Johan d'Galba. The White Knight: Tirant lo Blanc. Robert S. Rudder. 1556 Lafayette Rd. Claremont, CA. 91711. rrudder@lausd.k12.ca.us THE WHITE KNIGHT: TIRANT LO BLANC by Johanot Martorell and Marti Johan d'Galba Edited and Translated by Robert S. Rudder For Jose Rubia Barcia Friend and colleague at UCLA A true "caballero andante" TABLE OF CONTENTS: INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I. COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK CHAPTER II. THE TOURNAMENT CHAPTER III. SICILY CHAPTER IV. CONSTANTINOPLE CHAPTER V. THE BATTLEFIELD CHAPTER VI. A TRUCE CHAPTER VII. IN THE PRINCESS'S BED CHAPTER VIII. THE BETROTHAL CHAPTER IX. WIDOW REPOSE CHAPTER X. THE BARBARY COAST CHAPTER XI. PLAERDEMAVIDA CHAPTER XII. CONQUEST CHAPTER XIII. THE WEDDING CHAPTER XIV. DEATH CHAPTER XV. AFTERMATH DEO GRATIAS INTRODUCTION "Tirant lo Blanc is the best European novel of the fifteenth century," says Damaso Alonso in his excellent study.(1) Miguel de Cervantes, writing from the 17th century, affirms: "as far as style is concerned, this is the best book in the world."(2) If this is so, why has the novel all but disappeared from view? Some place the blame on the language of the original: Catalan, whose literature is not widely read in the original tongue. Others say it is the fault of the erotic scenes ~~ too shameful for the polite society of earlier times. To my mind, a heavily contributing factor is its rhetoric. As Joseph Vaeth says: "Within this work may be found religious and philosophical discourses, speeches and disputations...; formal debates...; documents and papers...; formal challenges and replies...; dramatic lamentations; long and fervent prayers; and allusions to classical Latin authors, to biblical characters and to figures prominent in medieval literature." He goes on to say that if the novelist had omitted many of these elements, "his book would in that case have been reduced to approximately one-fourth of its present size, but quite probably it would now be considered a masterpiece of narration and dialogue."(3) Such has been the aim of this translation: The story line has been slightly abridged, but the most dramatic change is that most of the rhetoric has been eliminated. If the reader's literary palate is tickled by this version, and if he would like to read the entire manuscript in English, he is referred to the version by David Rosenthal or to the even more complete translation by Ray La Fontaine.(4) Who was the author of this spicy, brutally realistic novel of kings and knights of the fifteenth century? We know that Joanot Martorell, son of the king's chamberlain, Francesc Martorell, was born in Valencia in about 1413. He lived in England during the years 1438 and 1439, and also traveled to Naples. Death came to him in 1468. During his life he wrote several letters of combat, and he began to write his novel Tirant lo Blanc in about 1460. Whether or not he actually finished the book is still a matter of debate, for it was not published during his lifetime. Another writer, Marti Joan de Galba, adds his name as a second author, and says that he wrote the last one-fourth of the book. But he died six months before it was published, and his contribution, if any, is questionable. And what was the success of this novel? Only 715 copies were printed on its initial run in 1490, and apparently all were sold. A second edition did not appear until 1497. An abridged translation into Spanish was finally produced in 1511, and no further Spanish editions appeared until the 20th century.(5) It was translated into Italian in the 16th century, into French in the 17th century, and finally into English late in the 20th century. Of interest is the fact that soon after the appearance of Tirant lo Blanc, and throughout the 16th century, Spain was flooded with novels of chivalry. But these were of quite a different nature. Although the major characters are also knights highly instilled with the code of chivalry, they become involved in fantastic adventures filled with dragons, enchanters, and the like, following the lead of the French romances that were translated into Spanish beginning in the 13th century. These Spanish novels of chivalry were produced in such great numbers and read so widely that no less than Spain's great mystic, Saint Teresa of Avila, was for a time a voracious reader of them. While Tirant lo Blanc had no literary followers until Cervantes more than one hundred years later, it does have the honor of being "the earliest existing romance of chivalry printed in the Peninsula."(6) This being so, from where did Joanot Martorell receive his inspiration? Although Professor Henry Thomas notes that "the tracing of sources...(may be only) one degree higher than the hunting of cats,"(7) we feel impelled to relate some of the more important discoveries of literary scholarship. The first section of the book is in imitation of an English romance, "Guy of Warwick", in which England fights off a Danish invasion. When Tirant lo Blanc appears for the first time, asleep on his horse, and stumbles upon the hermit who explains at great length the order of chivalry, the entire section (which this present translation omits) is taken from Ramon Lull's Libre del Orde d'Cauayleria.(8) Tirant himself may be an amalgamation of several historical figures: Roger de Flor, Richard Beauchamp, Louis IX, Peter II of Aragon, Joan Hunyadi lo Blanch of Hungary, etc. Tirant's adventures in Africa closely parallel many people, events and place names from Ramon Muntaner's Chronica.(9) More important than any of these "sources", however, is this question: What did Martorell do with the material that came to him from books, from life, and from his imagination? Cervantes, writing more than one hundred years after Tirant lo Blanc was published, was sufficiently impressed to talk about it in his Don Quixote not once, but on two separate occasions, in fairly glowing terms.(10) Furthermore, some readers have pointed out scenes that appear to be similar in both books: both Philippe and Don Quixote find holes in their stockings, which leads one into great searching for a lost needle, and the other into even deeper depression; there is a cat-howling episode in both books, etc. And there is one other way that Tirant lo Blanc points the way toward the Quixote: in the framework. Cervantes uses a device often found in the novels of chivalry that preceded his work, stating that his book is no more than a "translation" from another language. (While, in fact, the authors of those books are simply advertising the next novels they intend to write in the series, much as the "Hardy Boys" or "Nancy Drew" series advertise in the final pages of each novel.) But in the Quixote the device has a far deeper purpose: Cervantes informs us that Don Quixote is a flesh and blood figure whose real-life adventures appear in several Arabic histories, and one in particular, by a certain Cide Hamete Benengeli. With the aid of a translator, Cervantes says, he is now bringing the story of Don Quixote's life back into the Spanish tongue. What we have here is, of course, a ploy to make the characters seem more real, and Cervantes makes this assertion with a broad wink, for while we are "suspending our disbelief," we also know that it is nothing more than his artistry. And what of Tirant lo Blanc? According to Martorell's dedication, his book is also a translation: from the English original, he is translating into Portuguese, and from the Portuguese into Catalan. But where is the English original from which this book is simply a translation? There is no character in English literature or history named Tirant lo Blanc, and discounting the beginning pages, taken from the "Guy of Warwick" romance, there is no book in English from which this one has been translated. As for the translation into Portuguese, there is no book about Tirant in that language. So why does Martorell tell us all this? (Although, as we have noted, other novels of chivalry speak of themselves as "translations", all were printed after the publication of Tirant lo Blanc.) Is this novel then, which Cervantes so admired, also presenting us with a "true history" which has been "translated" in a way similar to the Quixote? Within Tirant lo Blanc we also find allusions to historians who have "originally" set these words down. For example: "Here the book returns to the emperor..." "Hippolytus... performed singular acts of chivalry which this book does not relate, but defers to the books that were written about him." Is there any difference between this and the statements of Cervantes about his characters? ("Here Cide Hamete Benengeli leaves him for an instant and returns to Don Quixote..." "The history goes on to tell that when Sancho saw...") But we are given no broad wink from Martorell. It is all true, he tells us, and there is nothing more to be said. That Martorell died before the work was published, and that Marti Joan de Galba may have made some additions before it was finally published, does not clarify the matter. For De Galba also affirms that the book is no more than a translation from the English to the Portuguese, and from that language into the Valencian tongue, and that he is merely finishing what Martorell was unable to complete. There are no broad winks. But the characters belie the "history": They come to life as no straight-forward, factual history can bring its subjects to life. As Damaso Alonso so accurately puts it: this fifteenth century work "is precisely that whip that could excite Cervantes' imagination. Tirant was not yet the modern novel, but in it were many elements, and furthermore, essential elements of what would become the modern novel."(11) Having read this novel, who could forget the characters that Martorell has brought to life? Who would not feel grief at the death of Tirant and the princess, no less united in soul than Calisto and Melibea in Spain (making their appearance a few short years later in Fernando de Rojas' masterpiece, La Celestina), than Romeo and Juliet in England, and no less tragic. And in remembering Tirant, who would not smile at the thought of him serving as a go-between for Prince Philippe and the infanta, Ricomana. Could anyone be more delightful than the forthright Plaerdemavida (whose name translates literally as "Pleasure-of-My-Life") -- surely one of the best delineated characters in any literature. Or anyone more villainous than the odious Widow Repose -- a figure stamped indelibly on our minds, wearing her ridiculous red stockings and hat in the bath. As Cervantes says: "In (Tirant lo Blanc) knights eat and drink, sleep and die in their own beds, and make their wills before they die..." And his praise for Tirant is also borne out by the characters in the Quixote. For in many of that book's most memorable episodes, they too eat and drink (and regurgitate), they sleep (when someone or something does not awaken them to a new adventure), Don Quixote makes out his will (to the contentment of some of the beneficiaries), and finally he dies in his bed (and Cervantes warns us that no one should try to revive him: "For me alone Don Quixote was born, and I for him... We two alone are as one." This identification of the author with his work was felt no less keenly by Martorell. As he says in his dedication: "And so that no one else may be blamed if errors are found in this work, I, Johanot Martorell, knight, alone wish to bear the responsibility, and no one else with me, for this work has been set down by myself alone..." If Don Quixote's Dulcinea did not exist until she took form in his (or in Cervantes') mind, or the windmill that was a giant, or the Cave of Montesinos, they have now come into existence in the mind of every reader of that novel. So may Tirant and his men, the princess, the emperor, Plaerdemavida, also come to life alongside the gentle and not so gentle folk of Cervantes, in every reader's imagination. Let me leave the reader with these words about Tirant lo Blanc by Cervantes: "Take him home and read him, and you will see that what I have said of him is true." (12) Finally, a word about this English translation which brings Martorell's work full circle, back into the English language from which he says he has translated it. My work was begun in 1976, and completed in 1982. Shortly afterward, the English translation by David Rosenthal appeared, which includes most of the "philosophical discourses, speeches", etc. that I have purposefully omitted. So my translation lay unmolested in a box during these past several years while the computer has been developing at breakneck speed, now allowing this great 15th century novel to be read, electronically, throughout the world. (What would Joanot Martorell say...?) And more "finally", thanks to the many people who have supported me on this project and on others in the past: To Walter Pattison who awakened me to the excitement and beauty of Spanish literature; to my late friend, Arturo Serrano Plaja, who made a valiant attempt to refine my taste, and who guided me throughout the years; to my many colleagues and friends at the University of Minnesota; and also to good memories of several of my colleagues at UCLA: my dear friend, the late Richard Reeve, John Crow, the late Donald Fogelquist, Julio Rodgriguez Puertolas, Enrique Rodriguez Cepeda, Carlos Otero, Paul Smith, and of course the incredibly fine man to whom I dedicate this translation, and who helped me in my darkest hours: Jose Rubia Barcia. There being so many, if I have neglected anyone in particular, I pray and know that they will be more than understanding. Vale Robert S. Rudder Claremont, California Nov. 1995 NOTES (1) Primavera de la literatura europea (Madrid: Ediciones Guadarrama, 1961). p. 237. (2) Don Quixote. Tr. Walter Starkie. (London: Macmillan, 1957), pp. 89-90. (3) Tirant lo Blanc: A Study of Its Authorship, Principal Sources and Historical Setting (N.Y.: AMC, 1966), pp. 159-60. (4) David H. Rosenthal (N.Y.: Shocken, 1984). Ray La Fontaine (New York: Peter Lange, 1993). Although Rosenthal's translation appeared in print first, the fact is that La Fontaine's more complete translation preceded it, lying in hibernation, much as my own manuscript, since 1974. (5) Madrid: Alianza, 1969. Tr. by J. F. Vidal Jove. Introduction by Mario Vargas Llosa. Also, further editions of the 1511 translation by Martin de Riquer (1947-49; 1974) and by F. Buendia (1954). (6) Henry Thomas, Spanish and Portuguese Romances of Chivalry (Cambridge: University Press, 1920), pp. 32-33. It should also be noted that El cavallero Cifar, although not in print until 1512, was probably composed at the beginning of the 14th century. Amadis de Gaula, the model for so many imitations, and not printed until 1508, was in manuscript form in the 14th century. (7) p. 277 (8) See the English translation by William Caxton: The Book of the Ordre of Chyualry. Westminster: William Caxton, 1484? And reprinted several times. For these and other medieval translations from the Spanish, the reader may wish to consult my bibliography: The Literature of Spain in English Translation. New York: Ungar, 1975. (9) See the English translation by Lady Goodenough: The Chronicle of Muntaner. London: Hakluyt Society, 1920-21. (10) After his initial words of praise ("a treasure of delight, a mine of entertainment,... the best book in the world"), Cervantes adds this puzzling phrase: "the author deserves to be praised, for he did not deliberately commit all these follies, which had they been intentional would send him to the galleys for the rest of his life." [Starkie's trans., p. 90] Here, he is apparently condemning the book, although, in the next breath, the curate recommends the book to the barber: "Take him home and read him..." And in a later chapter Cervantes speaks of "the never enough to be praised Tirante the White." So what are we to make of this apparently condemnatory phrase about the "galleys"? Scholarship has provided some ingenious theories to negate the condemnation, to wit: it is not a statement, but a question; the galleys are less a punishment than a death sentence would be; it is not Cervantes' opinion, but the curate's; the word galleys actually refers to "galley-proofs" and mean that the work should remain in print forever, etc. (See, for example, Patricia J. Boehne, The Renaissance Catalan Novel [Boston: Twayne, 1989], Antonio Torres Alcala, El realismo del Tirant lo Blanch y su influencia en el Quijote [Barcelona: Puvill, 1979?], and the studies by Martin de Riquer.) Very interesting theories, but we are no more certain of the meaning behind Cervantes' words than when we first read them: they remain a puzzle. However, the novel Tirant lo Blanc also speaks to us: Do we feel that the novel is utter nonsense and badly written, or is it moving, at times exciting, often humorous? In short, is it good literature? Through our own eyes we can make a judgement about the meaning of those apparently incongruous words of Cervantes. (11) Footnote: pp. 203-204. (12) p. 90. CHAPTER I COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK In the fertile, rich and lovely island of England there lived a most valiant knight, noble by his lineage and much more for his courage. In his great wisdom and ingenuity he had served the profession of chivalry for many years and with a great deal of honor, and his fame was widely known throughout the world. His name was Count William of Warwick. This was a very strong knight who, in his virile youth, had practiced the use of arms, following wars on sea as well as land, and he had brought many battles to a successful conclusion. The count found himself at the advanced age of fifty-five, and moved by divine inspiration he decided to withdraw from the practice of arms and make a pilgrimage to the holy land of Jerusalem. This virtuous count wanted to go, because he felt sorrow and contrition for the many deaths he had caused in his youth. That evening he told the countess, his wife, about his plans, and although she was virtuous and discreet, she became very upset at the news because she loved him so much. In the morning the count had all his servants, both men and women, come to him, and he said: "My children and most faithful servants, it is the will of His Divine Majesty that I should leave you, and the time of my return is uncertain. Since the journey will be very dangerous, I want to pay each of you now for all the good services you have rendered to me." He had a large chest full of money brought out, and to each of his servants he gave much more than he owed, so that they were all very satisfied. Then he gave the countess all his land and all his rights. And he ordered that a ring of gold be made with his and the countess's coat of arms on it, and this ring was made in such a way that it was divided into two parts. Each part was a complete ring in itself, showing half the coat of arms of each of them, and when the two halves were joined together the entire coat of arms could be seen. When all this had been done, he turned to the virtuous countess, and said kindly: "I know that you will accept my departure with love and patience, and if it is God's will, my journey will soon be over. I am leaving in your charge everything I have. And here is half of the ring I had made. I beg you dearly to hold it in my stead, and to guard it until I return." "Oh, dear!" cried the countess. "Then it's true, my lord, that you are leaving without me? At least allow me to go with you so that I can serve you. I would rather die than go on living without you. Just when I was thinking that all my misfortunes were over, I see that my unhappiness is only increasing. I'm left with only this poor son as a pledge from his father, and his sad mother must be consoled with him." She seized her small son by the hair and pulled it, and then slapped his face, saying: "Cry, my child, for your father's departure, and you will be good company to your mother." The tiny infant, who had been born only three months before, burst out crying. The count, seeing both mother and child in tears, felt deeply grieved, and he could not hold back his own tears. And for some time he could not speak, while all three of them wept. The count took his leave of her, kissing her again and again, tears running freely from his eyes. He said farewell to the other ladies, and when he left he took only one squire with him. Leaving his city of Warwick, he boarded a ship, and sailed with a good wind, and as time passed he arrived safely at Alexandria. There he disembarked and made his way to Jerusalem. When he reached Jerusalem he confessed his sins, and with great devotion he received the precious body of Jesus Christ. Then he entered the holy sepulchre of Jesus Christ and prayed there fervently and tearfully, with great contrition for his sins. After visiting all the other sanctuaries, he returned to Alexandria. Then he boarded a ship and went to Venice. When he was near Venice he gave all the money still in his possession to his squire who had served him well, and he arranged a marriage for him so that he would not want to return to England. Then he had his squire spread the news that he had died, and he arranged for merchants to write to England that Count William of Warwick had died while returning from the Holy Land of Jerusalem. When the countess heard the news, she felt deeply grieved, and went into mourning, and she arranged for the funeral rites that such a virtuous knight deserved. With the passing of time, the count returned alone to his own land, having let his hair grow down to his shoulders, while his beard, completely white, reached to his waist. He was dressed in the habit of the glorious Saint Francis, and lived from charity, and he secretly entered a devout hermitage of Our Lady which was very close to his city of Warwick. This hermitage was in a lovely spot on a high mountain, with a dense thicket of trees, and a clear running spring. The count retired to this solitary place, and lived alone to escape the materialistic world and to do penance for his sins. Living from charity, he went to his city of Warwick once a week to beg for alms. With his thick beard and long hair the people there did not recognize him, and he went to the countess, his wife, to beg. When she saw him asking for charity so humbly, she made them give him more than they gave any of the others. And he spent his poor, miserable life this way for some time. Some time later the great King of Canary was filled with anger because some pirate ships had plundered a village that belonged to him. He left his land with a large armada, and sailing with a favorable wind he reached the fertile, peaceful shores of England. In the dark of night the entire fleet entered the port of Southampton and all the Moors went ashore very quietly. When they were on land, they put their troops in order and began to attack the island. When the peace-loving king received the news, he gathered as many men as he could to put up a resistance, and went into battle with the Moors. The fighting was great, indeed: many men died, especially the Christians. Because the Moors were greater in number, the forces of the English king were destroyed. He had to retreat with his remaining men, and he took refuge in a city called Saint Thomas of Canterbury where that holy body now rests. The King of England mustered more men, and he learned that the Moors were conquering the island, killing many Christian men and dishonoring the women and young girls, making captives of them all. When this Christian king discovered that the Moors held the pass near a watercourse, he placed his forces in a passage at the hour of midnight. But he did not do it very secretly, and the Moors heard of it, and held back until it was broad daylight. Then they pressed them in a very cruel battle where many Christians died, and those whose lives were spared fled with the unfortunate king, while the Moorish king remained in the camp. Great was the misfortune of this Christian king who lost nine battles, one after another, and had to withdraw to the city of London. When the Moors learned of it they laid siege to the city. Every day there was heavy fighting until finally the poor king was forced to leave London, and he went toward the mountains, passing through the city of Warwick. When the countess heard that the king was fleeing to that city, she had food and everything necessary prepared for the night. The countess, who was a very prudent woman, began to think of how she could strengthen her city so that it would not be lost so quickly, and as soon as she saw the king she said to him: "Virtuous king, I see that your grace, and all of us on this island, are in great danger. But Sire, if Your Highness would like to remain in this city, you will find it abundant in provisions and everything necessary for war. My lord and husband, William of Warwick, who was count in this land, provided this city and his castle with arms as well as bombards, cross-bows and culverins, and many other kinds of artillery. And divine Providence, in its mercy, has given us a great abundance of fruit from the land for the last four years. So your grace may be safe here." "I am very happy", said the king, "to stay here, and I pray you, countess, to arrange things so that my army will have everything they need." The countess and two of her ladies immediately left the king, and went with the magistrates of the city through the houses, making them bring wheat and barley and everything necessary. When the king and his men saw what a great abundance there was of everything, they were very pleased. When the Moors discovered that the king had left the city of London, they pursued him until they learned that he had taken refuge in the city of Warwick. On the way the Moors attacked and took a castle called Killingworth, two leagues from where the king was. Since they had now conquered a great part of the kingdom, the Moorish king appeared with all his forces before the city of Warwick. The wretched Christian king, seeing that there was no hope, did not know what to do: he climbed to the top of a tower in the castle, and watched the huge body of Moors burning and destroying villas and castles, killing as many Christians as they could, both women and men. Those who were able to escape came running and shouting toward the city. Their terrible screams could be heard a good half league away, and it would have been better for them to die than to become captives of the infidels. As the king watched the immense suffering and destruction, he thought he would die from all the grief he felt. Unable to look any longer at the desolation, he came down from the tower and went into a small chamber where he began to sigh deeply. Tears ran from his eyes, and he lamented more gravely than any man had ever done. The stewards were outside the chamber listening to the king's agony, and when he had cried and lamented at length, he said: "Lord, Thy compassion and pity will not allow for this. Thy mercy will not allow Thy Christian people, great sinners though they may be, to be afflicted by the scourge of the Moors. Rather, defend and preserve them and let them be returned to Thy holy service so that they may serve Thee and praise Thee and return glory unto Thee." While the poor king was lamenting, he put his head down on the bed, and it seemed to him that he saw a very beautiful lady coming through the doorway to his chamber, dressed in white damask, holding a small child in her arms. Following her were many other ladies, all singing the Magnificat. When he had finished his prayer, the lady walked toward the king, and placing her hand upon his head, she said: "Oh, king, be doubtful of nothing. Be very confident that the Son and the Mother will help you in this great trial. The first man you see with a long beard who asks you for alms in the name of God, kiss him on the mouth as a sign of peace, and beg him graciously to put aside the habit, and make him captain over all the people." The poor king awoke and saw nothing. He was astonished at the dream, and he thought about it a great while, remembering everything he had seen. Then he left the chamber, and there stood all the principal knights, who told the king: "Your grace, all the Moors have set up their tents in front of the city." The king did everything possible to have the city well guarded that night. The following morning the hermit-count climbed the high mountain to gather herbs for his sustenance, and he saw the great number of Moors teeming over all the land. He left his desert habitation and went into the city. The poor old man, who had spent several days on a diet of nothing but herbs, saw that the city was in deep sorrow, and he went to the castle to beg alms from the countess. When he was inside the castle he saw the king coming from mass, and when he saw him so nearby, he sank to his knees and begged him in God's name to give him alms. The king remembered the dream and helped him up. Then he kissed him on the mouth, took hold of his hand and led him into a room. When they had sat down, the king said to him: "I beg you to help and advise us in our time of need, for I see that you are a holy man and a friend of Jesus Christ. I beg you dearly, if you love God and if you have charity in your heart, cast off the clothing you are wearing for penance, and dress yourself in the clothes of charity, which are arms. For with God's help and your command we will have a glorious victory over our enemies." When the king had finished these words, the hermit began to speak: "My lord, I am astonished that your grace is asking me, a poor, weak man, for advice and help. As Your Excellency can see, my old, weak body is in a state of decrepitude because of its many years and the harsh life I've led so long on the mountain, eating only herbs and bread. I don't have the strength to bear arms. I beg Your Excellency to allow me to decline." The king became very pained at this answer, and said: "Reverend Father, I kneel at your feet and with these tears I again beg you, if you are a steadfast Christian, to have compassion on me, a miserable king, and on all Christians. All their hope and mine is in the mercy of God and in your great virtue. Don't refuse me this." The painful tears of the king moved the hermit to pity, and his heart softened. After a brief pause while the hermit made the king rise, he said: "Out of love for you, my king, I will obey your commands and try to save you and your kingdom. And, if necessary, I will place myself in the thick of battle, old as I am, to defend Christianity and bring the haughty Mohammedan sect to its knees, with the understanding that Your Excellency will be guided by my advice." The king answered: "Reverend Father, since you grant me so much grace, I promise you, on my word as king, that I will not go one step beyond your orders." "Now, my lord," said the hermit, "when you are outside in the great hall, show a happy and very content face to the knights and all the people, and speak to them very complacently. And when you dine, eat well and enjoy yourself, and show much more happiness than you ordinarily do, so that all those who have lost hope will regain it. For a lord or a captain should never wear a sad face, no matter how great an adversity there may be, so that his people will not be discouraged. Have some Moorish garments brought to me, and you shall see what I am going to do. When I was on my way to the Holy Land of Jerusalem I stayed in Alexandria, and in Beirut they taught me the Moorish tongue, because I was there many days. In Beirut I learned to make explosives of certain materials that delay six hours before they ignite, but when they do, they could burn up the entire world, and all the water in the world would not be able to extinguish them, unless oil and pine resin is used." "It is astonishing," said the king, "that they can only be extinguished with oil or pine resin. I thought water would put out any fire in the world." "No, my lord," said the hermit. "If your grace will allow me to go to the castle gate, I will bring you a special substance, and with clear water or wine you will be able to light a torch." "In faith," said the king, "I will take great pleasure in seeing it." The hermit immediately went to the castle gate since, when he entered, he had seen quicklime there, and he picked up a little sod and came back to the king. Then he took some water, and throwing it on the quicklime he lighted it the way a straw lights a candle. The king said: "I would never have been able to believe such a thing if I had not seen it with my own eyes. Now I am certain there is nothing that men cannot do. I beg you, Reverend Father, please tell me what we need to make the explosives." "My lord," said the hermit, "I will go and buy it, because it is much better to know if the materials are good, and I have made them many times with my own hands. When they are made, Sire, I will go to the Moors' camp alone, and put the explosives near the king's tent. At the hour of midnight the explosives will ignite and all the Moors will run there to put out the fire, and your grace will be armed and waiting with all your men. When you see the huge fire, attack them with all your forces, and your lordship may be sure that ten thousand of your men will cause confusion among one hundred thousand of theirs." The hermit's words pleased the king, and he gave deep thanks for his offer, and was very happy. He immediately gave orders that everything the hermit had commanded should be carried out. The hermit, who had left the king, soon returned with the things they needed for the explosives, and he said to the king: "My lord, there is only one element we lack, but I know that the countess has it. When her husband, William of Warwick, was alive, he had a great deal of it since it can be used for many things." The king said: "Then I want both of us to go to the countess now to get it." The king sent word to the countess that he wanted to speak with her. When the countess came out of her room she saw the king and the hermit. "Countess," said the king, "by your grace and virtue, be so kind as to give me a little sulfur, the kind which causes heat and does not burn itself up, the kind that the count, your husband, put into the torches so that no matter how much the wind blew they would not go out." The countess answered: "Who told your grace that my husband, William of Warwick, could make torches like that with that kind of flame?" "Countess," said the king, "this hermit standing here." And the countess quickly went to the weapons chamber, and she brought back so much of it that the king was highly pleased. When the king had returned to the great hall where the meal was already prepared, he took the hermit by the hand and sat down at the table, making the hermit sit at his side, honoring him as he deserved. The king's courtiers were astonished at the great honor the king was bestowing upon the hermit, and the countess was even more astonished because she was accustomed to giving him alms. And she said to her ladies: "Oh, how angry I am at my great ignorance! Why did I not honor this poor hermit much more? Now I see that he must be a man who has led a very holy life." Rising from the table, the King of England gave the hermit permission to go and make the explosives. A few days later, when they were finished, the hermit went to the king and said to him: "Sire, if your grace will give me leave, I will carry out our plan. Your Excellency should have all the men get ready."' The king said that he would. In the dark of night the hermit changed into the Moorish clothing that was prepared for him. He went out through a back door of the castle very secretly, and no one saw him. Then he went into the Moors' camp. When he thought the time right, he threw the explosives into the camp, near the tent of a great captain who was a relative of the Moorish king. And when it was almost midnight the fire broke out, and it grew so great and so terrible that everyone was astonished at the enormous flames. The king and the other Moors, unarmed, hurried to where the fire was greatest in order to put it out. But instead of being extinguished, the more water they threw on it, the more brightly it burned. When the King of England saw the huge fire, he went out of the city, armed, and with the few men he still had he attacked the Moors. And they brought such great destruction to them that it was fearful, and they spared no one. When the Moorish king saw such a large fire and so many of his men dead, he mounted a horse and fled. He took shelter in a castle he had taken, named Killingworth, together with all those who had escaped the camp, and they recovered their resolve. He and all the other Moors were astonished at how they had been defeated, and they could not understand what had caused such a great disaster, because their forces were fifty times greater than those of the Christians. When the Moors fled, the Christians pillaged their camp, and day was upon them when they entered the city victoriously. After four days had passed, the Moorish king sent his emissaries with a letter challenging the King of England, and it said the following: "To you, Christian king who rules the isle of England, I, Abraim, king and lord of Canaria, say that if you wish the war between you and me to end, and the killing between your people and mine to cease, let us have a joust, king against king, under the following pacts and agreements: If I should defeat you, you will hold all England under my power and command, and you shall give me two hundred thousand pieces of gold in tribute each year. And if fortune decides that you are the conqueror, I shall return to my own land, and you will remain in yours in peace, and you and all your people will enjoy full peace and tranquility. And in addition I shall restore to you all the cities and castles that I have won and conquered by my own victorious hand. "These words are not spoken for vainglory or out of disdain for the royal crown, but so that God Who is great may give to each that share which, by his merits, he will deserve." Two great Moorish knights, whom the King of Canary was sending to the city of Warwick as envoys to the King of England, left the castle of Killingworth, and before they departed, they sent a messenger to the city to request safe conduct. When the messenger came to the gates of the city the guards told him to wait a little while, and they would return with the reply. One of the guards quickly went to the king to tell him. After the king had held a brief counsel, he told the guard to let him in. When the messenger was inside the city, the Count of Salisbury spoke to him and said: "Messenger, on behalf of His Majesty, the king, I can tell you that the envoys may come without danger and in safety, for they will not be harmed in any way." And the count gave him a silk garment and one hundred pieces of gold. The messenger departed, very content, and before the envoys came, the hermit said to the king: "My lord, let us put fear into the hearts of these Moors. Your Majesty should order two grandees to go out to the gate and receive the envoys. And let many men, very well armed, but without helmets, go with them. Have three hundred men at the gate to guard it, armed like the others. And let all the ladies and maidens who are able, old as well as young, hang banners in the windows and on the roofs, as tall as the women's chests, and each of these women should put armor on her head. When the envoys pass by they will see the coats of mail shining, and will think they are all warriors. Have the three hundred guarding the gate follow them by other streets, and let them appear in the square and on the corner. Then, after the envoys have passed by, let them do the same again and again until they reach Your Highness. And you may be sure that they will be frightened when they see so many soldiers after the battle they have lost. Seeing the great number of men, they will believe that many have come from Spain or France or Germany to help us." The king and all his council thought very highly of the hermit's words. It was decided that the Duke of Lancaster and the Count of Salisbury should receive the envoys, and that four thousand men should go with them, each wearing a garland of flowers on his head. They went a good mile out of the city to receive the envoys. Then the Duke of Bedford said: "Tell us, Father, since there are so many ceremonies to be performed for the envoys, how should they find the king, clothed or naked, armed or unarmed?" "That would be a good question," said the hermit, "if there were not so much anger behind your words. But I see the meaning of your words, and that they are intended more for malice than good. It is because I am old and a hermit that you are trying to besmear my advice and belittle me before my lord the king. Hold your tongue. If you do not, I shall put a bridle in your mouth that will make you stop at every turn." At this, the duke rose to his feet, drew his sword, and said: "If it were not because you are so old and you wear the habit of Saint Francis, I would take this sword and cut your skirts right up to the waist." Then the king rose angrily to his feet, seized the duke and took the sword out of his hand, and had him imprisoned in the tower. All the other noble lords there calmed the hermit, telling him that because of his age and the habit he wore he should be forgiving, and he was content to forgive. But the king would not, in spite of all the pleas of the hermit and the other noble lords. In the midst of these troubles, news was brought to the king that the Moorish envoys were approaching, and those who had been chosen went out quickly as they had arranged. When the envoys stood before the king, they gave him the letter, and the king commanded that it be read in everyone's presence. The hermit drew near to the king and said to him: "Your Highness, accept the challenge." Then the king said: "I agree to the battle, in accordance with the conditions your king sets down." He begged the envoys to remain there until the following day when he would give them the formal reply. He showed them to very comfortable chambers and gave them everything they needed. Then the king convoked a general council, and while it was being prepared, the hermit, along with the other lords, went to the king. He knelt at the king's feet and kissed his hands and feet, and very humbly begged him to give him the keys to the tower so that he could release the duke. The hermit pleaded so much, as did the other lords, that the king was obliged to give them to him. Then the hermit went with the others to the tower where the duke was imprisoned, and there they found a friar hearing his confession, because he was certain he would be killed. When he heard the door open he was so startled that he felt he was losing his mind, for he thought they were coming to take him out to execute him. When the hermit saw him he said: "My lord, duke, if you and I have spoken harmful words to each other, I beg you to forgive me, for I most willingly pardon you." When they had made their peace they all returned to the council where the king and all the dukes, counts and marquis were, and they read the letter from the Moorish king once more. Because the king and all the others loved and revered the hermit and they saw that he led a saintly life, and that he expressed himself well and was knowledgeable about arms, they all agreed that he should be the first to speak, and this led to the following discourse. "I will tell you my opinion, although I realize that I am not worthy to speak of such things since I know little of the use of arms. Because of the weak disposition of my lord, the king, who is young and has a weak constitution and is sickly, although he has the courage of a virtuous knight, it would not be fitting or just for him to do battle with a man as robust as the Moorish king. Instead, let the Duke of Lancaster, who is the uncle of my lord king, undertake this battle, and let our king grant to him the scepter and the royal crown so that the Moorish king will not be deceived and so that he may combat a true king." Scarcely had the hermit spoken these last words when three dukes sprang to their feet in great anger: the Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of Bedford, and the Duke of Exeter. And they began to cry loudly that they would not consent for the Duke of Lancaster to enter into battle and be made king, because each of them was more closely related to the king, and it was more just for them to do battle than the Duke of Lancaster. The king would not permit any further discussion, and he said: "It is not my pleasure that any of you should take my place in battle. Since I have accepted, I wish to carry it out alone." A baron stood up and said the following: "Sire, may Your Excellency forgive me for what I am about to say. We will never consent to what Your Highness has said. If our Heavenly Father has indeed given you the desire, he has taken from you the strength. We all know that Your Highness is not ready for such a formidable and arduous battle as this will be. Let your grace be ruled by our counsel and will. If we believed that Your Excellency were disposed for such an undertaking, we would very willingly have agreed to what Your Highness has commanded." All the other barons and knights praised what this baron had said. "My most faithful vassals and subjects," said the king, "since it is not to your liking, and you see that I am not fit to combat the Moorish king, I give you my thanks for the great love you have shown me, and I submit to your will. But it is my wish and my command that no one, under pain of death, shall be so bold as to say that he will take my place in battle, except the one I shall choose. Unto him I shall give the crown, the kingdom and the royal scepter." Then the king said: "Dukes, counts and marquis, and all the rest of my most faithful subjects, I am relinquishing my station, the scepter and the royal crown, and my title to my beloved father hermit." He removed the garments, and said: "As I relinquish these royal robes, and put them on the father hermit, in the same way I relinquish my throne and my station to him. I beg him to accept, and to do battle for me with the Moorish king." When the hermit heard the king say these words, he arose quickly because he wished to speak, and all the great lords who were there also stood and gathered so closely to the hermit that they would not let him speak, but instead removed the habit he was clothed in and made him dress in the royal robes. As the king turned over all his power to the hermit, it was duly noted in the presence of all the council and with the consent of all the barons. When the hermit king heard the pleas of all those in the council, he accepted the kingdom and the battle, and quickly asked them to bring him armor that would fit him well. They brought him many suits of armor, but of all the ones they brought him there was none he was pleased with. "In faith," said the hermit king, "nothing will stop this battle, even if I have to go dressed in only my shirt. I beg you, my lords," said the hermit king, "to be so good as to go to the countess and entreat her by her great virtue and kindness, to lend me the armor of her husband, Sir William of Warwick, which he wore when he went into battle." When the countess saw so many dukes, counts and marquis, and the entire council of the king approaching, and she heard the reason they had come, the virtuous countess gave them a suit of armor of little value. When the king saw it, he said, "This is not the one I asked for. There is another that is much better." All the barons returned once more to the countess and asked for the other armor, and the countess told them that there was no other. When the king heard the answer, he said: "My lords and my brothers, let us all go, and we shall try our luck." When they were all before the countess, the king said: "Countess, out of your great kindness and gentility, I beg you to lend me the armor of your husband, Sir William of Warwick." "Sire," said the countess, "may God take this child from me, for I have no other dear thing in the world: I have already sent the armor to you." "That is true," said the king, "but this is not what I asked for. Lend me the armor that is in the small chamber in your bedroom, covered by green and white damask." The countess knelt, and said: "Sire, by your mercy and your grace, I beg Your Majesty to tell me your name and how you came to know my lord and husband, Count William of Warwick." The king answered: "My lady, because you wish me to tell you, I will. I was in his company continually, for in the wars we were brothers in arms." The countess immediately replied: "I beg your lordship to forgive me for not doing all that I could have for Your Highness when you were a hermit. If I had known how close you were to my lord, William of Warwick, I would have honored you much more and given you more of my possessions than I did." The king was very content with the words of the countess: "Where there is no error there is no need to beg forgiveness. I only ask you, out of your great virtue and genteelness, to lend me the armor I have asked you for." The countess immediately had other armor brought to him, covered with blue brocade. When the king saw it, he said: "Countess, my lady, how well you have kept the arms of your husband! In spite of all the supplications that these lords and I have made to you, you have been unwilling to lend them to us. These are the ones which William of Warwick used in tournaments; the ones I want are hanging in the alcove, and are covered with white and green damask, with the emblem of a lion wearing a golden crown. And if my entering there would not anger you, countess, I am sure that I would find them." "Oh, wretched me!" said the countess. "It's as though you had been raised in this house! Your grace may indeed go in and look, and take everything you wish." When the king saw her willingness he thanked her, and they all went into her chamber and saw them hanging there. The king had them brought to him, and he had them repaired. The battle was arranged for the following day. In the evening the king went to the main church and stayed there all night, kneeling before the altar of the holy Mother of God, Our Lady, with all his armaments upon the altar. When it was full daylight, he very devoutly heard mass. After mass he had himself fitted with armor inside the church, and ate a partridge in order to fortify himself. Then he went out to the field. When the hermit king was in the field he saw the Moorish king with all his foot soldiers and horsemen. All the Moors climbed to the top of a hill to view the battle, and the Christians remained near the city. The hermit king held a well sharpened lance and had a small shield on his arm, along with his sword and a dagger. The Moorish king had a bow and arrow, a sword, and on his head was a helmet wrapped with a turban. When the two brave kings were in the field, they charged at each other. The Moorish king quickly shot an arrow which hit the center of the hermit king's shield, passing freely by him near his arm, and at once the Moorish king shot another which hit him in the thigh, but with the armor the hermit king was wearing the arrow could not penetrate it completely. The hermit king hurled the lance at him when they were near. The Moorish king was very skillful with his arms: when he saw the lance coming he deflected it with his bow. By this time the hermit king had drawn so near that the Moorish king could not shoot more arrows. When he was so close that he could almost touch him with his hand, the hermit king cried out in a loud voice: "If You help me, Lord, it will not matter if all the Moors in the world attack me." When the Moorish king saw him so near, and realized that he could not shoot any arrows, he felt that he had lost. After the hermit king had thrown the lance, he quickly reached for his sword, and drawing as close to the Moorish king as he could, he gave him a mighty blow on the head. But he did him little harm because of the thick turban the Moorish king wore! Then the hermit king struck him a mighty blow with his sword, cutting off his arm, and as he plunged his sword fully into his side the Moorish king fell to the ground. As quickly as he could, the hermit king cut off his head. Then he picked up his lance and stuck the head on the end of it, and rode back into the city in triumph. Imagine what rejoicing there was among the Christians, the women and the young girls, when they thought they were now released from their captivity! When the king was inside the city he had the doctors brought to him, and they ministered to his wounds. On the morning of the following day the king held his council in the bed where he lay, and it was decided that two knights would be sent as envoys to the Moors, to tell them that they wished to observe the pacts they had all agreed to and sworn to, and that they could go to their own lands in safety, with all their ships and clothing and jewelry, and that no one in the kingdom would harm them. The envoys departed, and when they were with the Moors they explained their mission to them. They were given lodging, and were asked to await the reply. The Moors told them this in order to do them great harm, for they were now very vengeful because of the death of their king. Among them a great dispute arose over whom they would make king. Some wanted Cale-ben-Cale, others wanted Aduqueperec, cousin-german of the dead king. Cale-ben-Cale was chosen king, and he immediately ordered the envoys seized, along with all who had come with them, and he had them put to death. They cut off their heads, put them inside a packsaddle, and sent them to the city on a mule. The guards who were in the city towers saw two horsemen driving the mule on. When they were near the city they abandoned the mule and galloped away. The captain of the guards saw them and ordered ten men on horseback to go and see what it was all about. When they got there they wished they had not gone out to see such a terrible thing, and they immediately went to tell the king and his entire council. When the king heard the news he was very much taken aback, and he said: "Oh, cruel infidels: you who have little faith, for you cannot give what you do not have! Now I make a solemn vow, wounded as I am, never to enter a covered building, except to hear mass at a church, until I have driven these Moors from the entire kingdom." He quickly had his clothing brought to him, and he left his bed and had the trumpets sound. The first to leave the city was the king, and he had all the men who were more than eleven years old and less than seventy summoned, and under penalty of death they all had to follow him. That day his tents were raised on the very spot where the Moors had been defeated, and the king had a great deal of artillery for war brought out. When the virtuous countess learned that the king had proclaimed such a summons, and that those who were more than eleven years old were to follow him, she was very upset, for she realized that her son was included. So she hurried to where the king was, and fell to her knees on the hard ground. Then, with a grieving voice, she began to say: "Have pity on me. I have nothing of value except this son who is so young that he cannot help you. Grant me this favor in memory of your great friendship and love for my virtuous husband. And let me remind your grace of the alms that I used to give you when you were a hermit. Please hear my supplications, and leave my son with me. His father is dead, and the only thing I have to console me is this poor son." The king saw the countess's error, and quickly replied: "I would very much like to obey you, Countess, if your petition were honorable and just. But it is well known that men must learn to use arms, and they must know the practice of war, and the gentle ways of this blessed order of chivalry. It is customary for men of honor to begin to use arms when they are very young, for they learn better at that age than at any other. And because he is now at the best age in the world to see and understand the great honors that knights achieve, I wish to keep him in my company as my own son. He must come with me, and tomorrow I shall dub him a knight so that he may imitate the virtuous actions of his father, William of Warwick." "I am called mother only by this son of mine," said the countess, "and if he dies in battle, what will become of me, for I shall have lost my husband and my son and all that I had in this miserable world?" When the countess had finished, her son began to speak: "Madam, I beg you, please do not cry for me. You know that I have now reached an age when I have to leave the protection of my mother's wings, and that I am worthy of bearing arms and going into battle to show the mettle I am made of, and who my father was. If it is God's will, He will keep me from harm and will allow me to carry out such actions that He will be pleased, and they will give consolation to my father's soul, and your grace will be made happy." When her son had gone, the countess went into the city, weeping, and many virtuous women of the city went with her, consoling her as best they could. That night the king had the camp well guarded, and he allowed no one to take off their armor. In the morning, when the sun came out, he had the trumpets sound, and they moved the camp to within half a league of where the Moors were. When the tents were set up he let the men rest. This happened after the noon hour. When the Moors learned that the Christians had come out of the city, they were astonished, because a short time before they had not dared take a step outside the city, and now they came looking for them. Some captains said this was because of the great cruelty of their king, Cale-ben-Cale, who had killed the Christian ambassadors so cruelly, and they said that they might be recruiting men from Spain or France: "That is why they are coming so near, and you can be sure that any of us they capture will be cut to shreds." One of the ambassadors who had taken the letter to convene the joust, said: "They paid us many honors, and as soon as we were in the city we saw great numbers of men in the towers, the squares, in the windows and on the rooftops. It was astonishing to see so many armed men. By Mohammed, I would guess there were two hundred thousand soldiers. And this wicked king killed their ambassadors without reason." After all the captains had heard the words of this ambassador, they talked to the other Moors who had gone into the city with him, and when they knew the truth of the situation, they killed Cale-ben-Cale and chose a new king. Nonetheless, they armed themselves for battle and went in sight of the Christians. The sun was nearly down, but they still decided to go up a nearby hill. When the hermit king saw them, he said: "In faith, they're afraid of us. That's why they've gone up to such a high place. Let everyone do what I do, and with Divine help we will have vengeance on our enemies." He took a basket in one hand, and a spade in the other, and went in front of them all. When the great lords saw the king do this, each of them did the same, and followed him. Before leaving the city, the virtuous king had procured everything necessary for the war. Around the palisade he dug a deep ditch that led to a large water hole, and they left a great entryway in the middle, through which one hundred fifty men could pass at one time. On the other side they dug another ditch that led to a high cliff. The king said: "Since we've finished, and there are only two hours left till dawn, you, Duke of Gloucester, and you, Count of Salisbury, go quickly to the countess, and ask her to give me two large barrels that belong to William of Warwick. They are full of copper spikes, and she will find them upstairs, in the weapons room." They went there quickly and begged and commanded her, on the king's behalf, so that she gave them to them, even though she was upset with the king because he had not given her son back to her. But she realized how great their needs were, and so she did it, although she could not help saying: "Lord, have mercy on me! What's going on that this king knows so much about my house? There's nothing I have that has to do with weapons or war that he doesn't know about. I don't know if he is only guessing or if he's a wizard." The barons had the barrels of spikes loaded onto carts, and took them to the camp. When they were before the king, they told him everything the countess had said, and the virtuous king burst out laughing, and he smiled and joked with them at length. Afterward he had the spikes taken to the gate, and they placed them on the ground so that when the Moors came through, they would stick into their feet. He also had many holes, like wells, dug, so that if they escaped one danger they would fall into another. And the Christians worked at this all night long. When daylight broke, the Moors began to beat drums, and they blew trumpets and pipes, and shouted their battle-cries, and with great joy they streamed down the mountain to attack the Christians. The hermit king ordered all the men to lie down on the ground, and pretend to be asleep. When they were almost within range of bombards they all got up, and gave signs of being unprepared for battle. When the Moors were inside the entryway, the king said: "Gentlemen, do not dismay, I beg you. Let's turn our backs, and pretend to run away." When the Moors saw them fleeing, they rushed forward as quickly as they could. They ran inside the entryway which, as we have mentioned, they could not pass through because the copper spikes stuck into their feet. When the virtuous hermit king saw the Moors inside the entryway he made his men slow down, like an expert in war and weaponry, and he saw the Moors stopping because of the wounds from the spikes, while others were falling into the wells that were covered by branches with dirt piled on top. Then the king began to shout with a loud voice: "Oh knights of honor, take your eyes from the city, and turn your faces to the enemies of the Christian faith. Let us attack with great courage, for this day is ours. Give them a cruel battle, and grant mercy to no one!" The king was the first to strike a blow; then the others followed. The Moors saw the Christians doing battle savagely while they were all unable to move because of their wounds, and so they were forced to die, and great destruction was wrought unto them. Those who were coming behind saw how the Christians were slaughtering the Moors, and they fled back to the castle they had come from, without offering resistance. The king pursued them, killing and beheading as many as he could catch. When the king was worn out from his wounds, he stopped for a moment and they captured a very tall Moor of enormous proportions. After the king had knighted the countess's son, he wanted him to kill that Moor. And very bravely the boy stabbed him with his sword until he killed him. When the king saw that the Moor was dead he took the boy by the hair and threw him on top of the Moor, and rubbed him hard against the man, filling his eyes and face with blood, and he made him stick his hands into the wounds, and in that way he baptized him in the blood of the Moor. He grew up very bravely, and in his time in a large part of the world there could not be found so worthy a knight. When the good king saw that the battle was won, he began to pursue the Moors, and he killed all those he caught. This was the greatest destruction and slaughter of men that took place in that time, for ninety-seven thousand Moors died in the space of ten days. Since the king could not walk well because of his wounds, they brought him a horse so he could ride. "In truth, I shall not," said the king. "All the others are going on foot, and if I went on horseback it would be very unjust." They went along slowly until they came to the castle where the Moors had barricaded themselves, and here they made camp and rested that night. In the morning, when it was broad daylight, the king ordered the trumpets blown, and all the men armed themselves. The king put on his royal tunic and went in front of all the rest, and they charged the castle. They were met by cross bows and spears and rocks that were thrown down on them from the top of the castle. And the king pressed on so hard that he went ahead alone, without anyone being able to help him. The countess's son shouted loudly: "Run, knights of honor! Let us run and help our king and lord who has placed himself in great danger!" And he took hold of a small shield that a page was carrying, and jumped into the moat to go to where the king was. The others, seeing the small boy going by, all rushed forward at the same time to get to the other side, and many knights died or were wounded. But the small boy, with the aid of Our Lord, suffered no harm. When they had all crossed over they gathered a great deal of wood, and they set fire to the door of the castle. The boy began to shout as loudly as he could, and he said: "Oh, English ladies! Come out, and regain your lost liberty: the day of your redemption has come." Three hundred nine women were inside the castle. When they heard that voice they all ran to the back door of the castle, for there was a huge fire at the other one and all the women were welcomed by the Christians, and among them were many noblewomen. When the Moors saw the great fire, and that the entire castle was burning, they wanted to surrender, but the valiant king would not permit it. Instead, he wanted them all to die by fire and the sword. And those who came running out of the castle were either quickly killed, or the spears forced them back inside. In this way twenty-two thousand Moors were killed and burned that day. The hermit king left the castle with all his men, and they went through all the kingdom to those places the Moors had taken. They did not find one Moor that they wanted to spare, and they went all the way to the port of Southampton where they found all the vessels and ships on which they had come. Afterward the king ordered that any Moor who came to the island of England, no matter what his business might be, should die without mercy. When they had retaken the entire kingdom, the king's vow was fulfilled and all the people went into the city of Warwick. When the countess learned that the king was coming she went out to welcome him with all the ladies and maidens of the city, since not one man had stayed there except the sick and wounded. When the countess was near the king, she fell to her knees, and all the other women shouted with a loud voice: "Welcome, victorious King!" The virtuous gentleman embraced them all, one by one, and took the countess's hand, and they walked along, talking, until they were inside the city. The countess thanked him profusely for all the honor he had bestowed on her son, and then she thanked all the other great lords. Having rested for a few days, the hermit king was in his chamber one day, thinking to himself. Since he had ended the war, and the entire kingdom was at peace, he decided to reveal who he was to his wife, the countess, and to all the others, so that he could return the royal scepter to the first king, and go back to his penance. He called his chamberlain, and giving him the half-ring he had divided with the countess before going to Jerusalem, he told him to speak to her and give her the ring. The chamberlain quickly went to the countess, and kneeling before her, he said: "My lady, one who has loved and continues to love you sends you this ring." The countess took the ring, and when she looked at it she turned pale. She ran into her chamber and opened a box where she kept the other part of the ring. She put the two parts together, and saw that they were one piece, revealing the family arms. She understood that it belonged to her husband, the count, and she cried out: "Tell me, sir, where is my husband, the Count of Warwick?" And she tried to find the door to leave the chamber, but in her confusion she could not. Then she fell to the floor in a faint. When the chamberlain saw what a state the countess was in, he ran to the king in fright. The king said: "My friend, what's wrong? What news do you bring me?" The chamberlain fell to his knees before him, and said: "I dearly wish you had not sent me. I don't know what special power that ring has, or if it was made by sorcery and your worship took it from the Moors, because as soon as the countess placed it on her finger she fell to the floor, dead." The king got up from his seat and quickly went to her chamber where he found her more dead than alive, with all the doctors at her side. As soon as the countess regained consciousness, and saw her husband and king, she quickly got up and knelt before him to kiss his feet and his hands. But he would not allow it, and instead he took her arm and lifted her from the floor, and embraced and kissed her many times. Then he revealed who he was to all the lords in the kingdom, and to the entire town. And all the lords and ladies came to honor the king and their new queen. When the son learned that the king was his father, he hurried to the chamber and knelt and kissed his hands and feet many times over. There were great celebrations, and after nine days four hundred carts arrived, loaded with gold and silver, jewels, and very valuable items which they had found in the Moors' possession. The king ordered the jewels, the gold, and the silver to be given to four lords: the Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of Bedford, the Count of Salisbury, and the Count of Stafford. After this had been done the king called a general council for the following day. When they were all present, the king came into the council chamber in his royal robes, the crown on his head and the scepter in his hand, and sitting down, he said: "My lord and king, Your Highness must be content with the grace that almighty God has given you, for with the help of your vassals you have recovered the entire isle of England. And so, in the presence of all these worthy lords, I return to you the kingdom, the crown, the scepter and the royal robes." He immediately removed the garments and dressed again in his habit. The king and all the barons recognized his great virtue and gentility, and gave him many thanks. The king asked him to remain in his court, and offered to make him Prince of Wales, but he excused himself, saying that he would not leave God's service for the vanities of this world. Then he left the king and those in the court, and went to his village, about a league from the city, and there he rested for a few days. When the countess learned that her husband had gone, she left the castle without saying a word to the king or to anyone, and went with her ladies and maidens to be with her husband. Within a few days the king and his people were ready to leave. Then the hermit-count told his son to go with the king, and to serve him fully. And if disagreements arose in the kingdom, in no case should he turn against his king and lord. After the king had left for London, the countess begged her husband: "My lord, let me stay with you so that I may serve you. Let us make a hermitage separated into two parts, with a church in between." So much did the countess implore him that the count was forced to obey her. The countess then wanted to go to another site that was lovely, with many trees and a beautiful, clear spring, and in the middle of that fine meadow was a pine tree of striking beauty. And everyday all the wild beasts of the forest came to drink from that clear spring. When the hermitage was finished, and the count and countess were about to go and live in it, the Count of Northumberland arrived, as an ambassador of the king, to ask them to go to London, for the king was to marry the daughter of the King of France. And if the count could not go, the countess was requested to go, for she was needed to teach the queen the customs of England. The count-hermit answered: "Ambassador, tell His Majesty, the king, that I would he very happy to serve His Excellency, but I cannot abandon the vow I have made to serve God. As for the countess, her presence there can take the place of both of us." The countess would have preferred to remain behind and serve her husband, but when she saw her husband's wishes, and realized her duty to the king, she agreed to go. The count left them with many tears and went to the hermitage. And every day, after prayer, he went underneath the beautiful tree to see the animals drink from the clear spring. CHAPTER II THE TOURNAMENT Day after day the English knights were languishing. Abandoning themselves to idleness, they spent many days in peace, tranquility, rest and enjoyment. So they would not be completely idle and fall into languor, the King of England decided that as the wedding had been arranged he would invite everyone to his court and have a display of arms. The news of the great celebration that the king was preparing was spread throughout all the Christian kingdoms. It happened that a gentleman of ancient lineage, a native of Brittany, was traveling in the company of many other gentlemen who were going to the celebration. He fell behind the others, and went to sleep on his horse, because he was so weary from the long journey he had made. His horse left the road and took a path that led him to the delightful spring of the hermit, who at this moment was finding pleasure in a book entitled Tree of Battles. As he read this book he constantly gave thanks to God, our Heavenly Father, for the singular favors he had won in this world by serving the order of chivalry. While he was at this task he saw a man coming along the plain on horseback, asleep. He stopped reading, and decided not to wake him. When the horse was in front of the spring and saw the water, it drew closer, wanting to drink, but because the reins were tied to the saddle bow, it could not. And it struggled so much that it was inevitable that the gentleman should awaken. As he opened his eyes, he found himself confronted by a hermit with a very long and completely white beard, his clothing torn, revealing a thin body. The gentleman was astonished at such a sight, but with his good sense he realized that it must be some man who led a saintly life, and who had withdrawn to that place to do penance and save his soul. He quickly dismounted and bowed deeply to him. The hermit received him cordially, and they sat down in the delightful, green meadow. The hermit began to speak: "Gentle sir, I beg you upon your courtesy and gentility to tell me your name and upon what business you have come to this lonely spot." The gentleman quickly answered: "Reverend Father, since your holiness wants to know my name, I will be very happy to tell it to you: I am called Tirant lo Blanc. My father was lord of the March of Tirania, which faces England along the sea, and my mother was daughter of the Duke of Brittany, and her name is Blanca, and so they decided to name me Tirant lo Blanc. The news has spread among all the Christian kingdoms that the King of England has called for a court to be held in the city of London, and that he has arranged a marriage with the daughter of the King of France, who is the most beautiful maiden in all Christendom and has qualities that no one else possesses. I can give you an example: While I was in the court of the King of France, in the city of Paris, last Michaelmas, the king was holding a great celebration because that day the wedding had been agreed to. The king, the queen and the infanta were all eating at the same table, and I can tell you truly, sir, that as the infanta drank red wine, it could be seen as it passed down her throat because her skin is so very fair, and everyone there was astonished. Afterward it was said that the King of England wishes to become a knight, and that he will then make knights of everyone who wishes to enter the order of chivalry. I asked kings-of-arms and heralds why the king had not been made a knight during his wars with the Moors. And I was told that it was because he had been defeated in all the battles he undertook against the Moors until the appearance of that famous knight and conqueror, Count William of Warwick, who quickly defeated the Moors and put all his kingdom at peace. They say, moreover, that on Saint John's day the queen will be in the city of London and great celebrations will be held that will last a year and a day, and so we thirty gentlemen in name and in arms have left Brittany, prepared to enter the order of chivalry. And as I came along the road, fortune decided that I would fall somewhat behind because of my horse's weariness and because of the great hardships I have endured on the long journeys I have made--for I left after the others. As I was thinking to myself I fell asleep, and my horse left the main road and brought me before your reverence." When the hermit heard the gentleman say that he was going in order to receive the order of chivalry, he heaved a deep sigh and began to think, remembering the great honor chivalry had bestowed upon him for so long. "I tell your lordship," continued Tirant, "even if there were many more dangers in it than there are, that would not stop me from receiving the order of chivalry. No matter what happens to me, I will consider my death worthwhile if I die loving and defending the order of chivalry and serving it with all my strength so that I won't be reprimanded by good knights." "My son," said the hermit, "because you so desire to receive the order, do it with renown and fame. On the day you receive it perform a show of arms so that all your relatives and friends will know that you are ready to maintain and serve the order of chivalry. Now because the hour is late and your company is going far ahead, I think you should leave: you are in a foreign land and do not know the roads, and you run the danger of becoming lost in the great forests hereabouts. I beg you to take this book and show it to my lord, the king, and to all the good knights so that they may know about the order of chivalry. And when you return, I pray you, my son, come by here and tell me who have been made new knights, and about all the celebrations and festivities that take place, so that I will know about them, and I will be very grateful to you." And he gave him the book, taking his leave at the same time. Tirant took the book with great joy, giving him many thanks and promising to return, and Tirant said, as he left: "Tell me, my lord: if the king or the other knights ask me who is sending the book, what shall I say?" The hermit answered: "If you are asked such a question, say that it was someone who has always loved and honored the order of chivalry." Tirant bowed deeply to him, mounted his horse, and went on his way. Meanwhile his companions were wondering what could have become of him and why he was delayed. They were afraid that he might have become lost in the forest, and many of them turned back to look for him. They found him on the road, reading about the chivalresque acts written down in the book, and of all the order of chivalry. When Tirant reached the town where his companions were staying, he told them about the beautiful adventure Our Lord had taken him on, and how the saintly hermit had given him that book. And they read all that night until morning when it was time to leave. They traveled a day at a time until they reached the city of London,where the king was with many knights. Many had come, both from his own kingdom and from foreign lands, and no more than thirteen days remained before the celebration of Saint John's day. When Tirant and his friends had gathered together they went to pay homage to the king, who received them very cordially. The infanta was two days journey from there in a city named Canterbury where the body of Saint Thomas of Canterbury lies. On Saint John's day the celebrations began, and that day the king was seen with the infanta, his bride. These celebrations lasted a year and a day. When the celebrations were over the king was married to the infanta of France, and all the foreigners took their leave of the king and queen and returned to their own lands. After Tirant left the city of London with his companions, he remembered the promise he had made to the hermit, and when they were near the place where he lived, he said to them: "Gentlemen, my brothers, I must go to where the hermit is." And everyone in his company begged him to let them go too, for they had a great desire to see the saintly hermit. Tirant was most content that they should, and they all set out on the road toward the hermit. At the time they arrived, the hermit was under the tree, in prayer. When he saw so many people arriving he wondered who they could be. Tirant drew closer than the others, and when he was near he dismounted, and all the rest with him, and they approached the hermit with deep humility, kneeling and paying him the honor he deserved. Tirant wished to kiss his hand, as did all the others, but he would not permit it. The hermit, very attentive and courteous, paid them great honor, embracing them all and begging them to sit on the grass near him. And they answered that he should sit down and they would all remain standing, but the valorous gentleman would not allow it and made them all sit next to him. When they were all seated, they waited for the hermit to speak. The hermit, understanding the honor they were paying him, said: "I could not possibly tell you, magnificent gentlemen, how content I am at seeing so many good people. Please tell me if you are now coming from the court of my lord, the king. I would like to know who became new knights, and about the celebrations that have taken place. And I beg you, Tirant lo Blanc, tell me the names of all these gentlemen here." And he paused. Tirant turned to his companions, for there were many of higher lineage and wealth, and he said to them: "Oh, valiant knights! I pray you to answer the questions that the reverent hermit has asked us. I have told you many times of his wisdom and holiness; and he is a father of chivalry and deserves great honor, so I beg you to speak to him." They all answered: "You speak, Tirant. Speak for us all, for the holy father met you first." "Then, since that is your pleasure," said Tirant, "and the father commands it, if I am wrong about anything, please correct me." They all said they would. Then the hermit said: "I beg you, please tell me who was judged the best of the knights and who was given the honor of this festive occasion?" "My lord," said Tirant, "many gentlemen of great authority and power came to these celebrations. There were kings, dukes, counts and marquis, nobles and knights and many gentlemen of ancient lineage; and almost all those who were not knights were given the order of chivalry. The Duke of Acquaviva put on a display of arms with great knightly spirit and many men were with him, and from among them more than sixty gentlemen were knighted. This duke jousted on foot and on horseback, and he was always victorious. The brother of the Duke of Burgundy went into battle with great courage like the virtuous knight that he is. Next the Duke of Cleve jousted, and he was highly praised. Many other gentlemen who came jousted like noble knights, and I can tell you, sir, in all truth, that more than one hundred fifty knights were killed. "And I will tell your grace something astonishing: One day a boy (It looked to me like he was no more than fourteen or fifteen years old, and everyone honored him, including the king, and they called him the high constable of England) came to the lodging of these gentlemen here and asked for me. He did not know my name, but he recognized me, and he begged me very graciously to lend him my horse and arms because the king and the countess, his mother, did not want him to joust on foot or on horseback on account of the danger. He begged me so much and with such good grace, that I could not refuse him, and I told him that I would be very pleased to give them to him. "I tell you, sir, of all the knights who took up arms, there was no one who performed as beautifully or as well as he did. The first time he went out he caught his adversary in the middle of the headpiece so that most of the lance went through him. When the knight was dead and the king heard that it was his constable who had jousted so well, he sent for him. And the constable was so frightened that he made excuses not to go, but finally he went to the king, and the king reprimanded him severely. His Excellency showed that he loved him very much, indeed, telling him that he had fought without his permission against a man of enormous strength, the Lord of Escala Rompuda. And furthermore, he told him not to dare to joust anymore without his permission." When the constable saw how severely the king was reprimanding him, he angrily said: 'Well, my lord, is it true then that even though I've received the order of chivalry, I must be held as the least of all knights because Your Majesty will not let me joust for fear that I might die? Since I am a knight I must do the works of a knight, the same as all good knights. If Your Majesty doesn't want me to face the danger of weapons, order me to go around dressed like a woman with the queen's maidens. Doesn't Your Majesty know that when my father and lord, William, Count of Warwick, held the royal scepter he conquered the Moors? And he took me by the hair and made me kill a Moor even when I was young, because he wanted to make me a conqueror, soaked with blood, and leave me that for a legacy? My lord, if I want to imitate my father in chivalry, Your Highness should not stop me. I beg Your most serene Majesty to give me leave to combat a knight tomorrow, hand to hand, to the death.' "Then the king said: "'I truly believe that this will be the best knight in the world, or he will be the worst, because his life will not last long. And by the faith I owe to chivalry, I will not allow that to happen. Since fortune has allowed you to be victorious, you should content yourself with the battle prize.' And he would not hear another word." Then the hermit said: "Tell me, since you have spoken so much about this constable, who was honored above all the knights?" Tirant was quiet,and would not reply. "Tirant, my son," said the hermit, "why don't you answer my question?" A knight named Diafebus stood up and said: "Sir, I will tell you the truth: the one judged best of all the battles was Tirant lo Blanc. He was also the first to receive the order of chivalry from the king, and he was the first to joust. On that day he was taken to a hall and given a chair made entirely of silver. Then the Archbishop of England came before him, and with the king and all the others there, he said: "'You, sir, who are receiving the order of chivalry, do you swear that you will defend ladies and maidens, widows, orphans, and even married women with all your power if they should ask your aid?' "When he had sworn the oath, two great lords, the mightiest there, took hold of his arms and led him before the king. The king laid the sword on his head and said: 'May God and my lord, Saint George, make you a good knight' And he kissed him on the mouth. "Then seven maidens came in, dressed in white, representing the seven joys of Virgin Mary, and they strapped his sword on him. Then came four knights, the most dignified to be found, representing the four evangelists, and they put spurs on him. Afterward the queen came, and she took him by one arm, and a duchess took the other, and they led him to a beautiful platform and seated him in the royal chair. Then the king sat on one side, and the queen on the other, and all the maidens and knights sat around them, below. Next a very abundant collation was brought. And this, sir, is the procedure that was held for all those who were made knights." "Tell me, if you will, about the jousts Tirant participated in." "My lord, on the eve of the appointed day, Tirant went to where the twenty-six knights were. When he was at their door he delivered a document stating that any knight who wanted to joust against him would have to battle until one of them had drawn blood twenty times, or until either of them gave up. His conditions were immediately accepted, and we returned to our lodging. The next day all the maidens came for him and took him to the list, fully dressed in his armor. The king and queen were already on the cenotaphs when Tirant came in completely covered with armor, except for his head. In his hand he held a fan that had the crucifixion of Jesus Christ painted on one side, and the figure of Our Lady painted on the other. "When Tirant was in the middle of the field he made a deep bow to the king and the queen, and then he went to each of the four corners of the list, and made the sign of the cross at each corner with the fan. He found the defender at the far end of the list, and Tirant went to the other end of the field. When everyone was quiet the king ordered them to begin. Quickly they dug in their spurs, lances in the sockets, and they clashed so fiercely that their lances flew to pieces. Afterward they turned and charged many times with many singular encounters. On their twentieth turn the defender struck the beaver of Tirant's helmet and bent it, wounding him in the neck, and if the lance had not broken our knight would be dead. He and the horse fell to the ground. Tirant quickly got up and another horse was brought to him that was better than the first, and he begged the judges to give him permission to get another lance. Tirant had a very thick lance brought to him, and the other man did the same, and they clashed with a mighty blow, and Tirant's lance passed completely through the other man so that he fell to the ground, dead. The maidens took Tirant's horse by the reins, and led him with honor back to his lodging. They removed his armor and looked at the wound on his neck, and they made the doctors come to care for him. The maidens tended to Tirant very well because they were very happy that the first knight to joust for a maiden had been the victor. "The king and all the great lords went into the palisade where the dead knight lay, and with a great procession they carried him to the Church of Saint George where they had made a chapel for those who died jousting. And in this chapel only knights could be buried. "My lord, when Tirant was well again, he gathered all his company once more, and we went to the twenty-five knights. He gave them a written document stating that he wished to fight a knight on foot and to the death, and they accepted. Tirant went into the list armed in the normal fashion, with an ax, a sword, and a dagger. When they were inside the pavilion everything necessary was prepared. The sunlight was divided so that it would not shine into one man's eyes any more than into the other's. The king came with the other assistants and they went up to the cenotaphs, while each of the knights stood armed at the gate of his pavilion, their axes in their hands. When they saw the king, they knelt to the ground on one knee, paying deep reverence to the king and queen, which showed plainly that they were very worthy knights, and all the maidens knelt on the ground and begged our Lord to give victory to their knight. "When the people were quiet, the trumpets sounded and the heralds cried out that no man or woman should dare speak, cough, or make any noise at all under penalty of losing their life. "When the announcement had been made, the two men came at each other, using their weapons so valiantly that it was impossible to know who was winning. The battle lasted a long time, and because the defender was so hard pressed he grew short of breath. Finally he reached a point where he could no longer hold up his ax, and his face showed that he would prefer to make peace rather than do battle. When Tirant saw the condition his adversary was in, he took his ax with both hands, and gave him such a blow on the helmet that he stunned him and the man could not keep his footing. Then Tirant went up to him and gave him a mighty push that knocked him to the ground. When he saw him in such a pitiful state, he removed the helmet from his head, using his dagger to cut the cords it was tied with, and he said: "'You can see, virtuous knight, that your life is in my hands, so you command me. Tell me if you want to live or die. I will have more consolation from good than from evil, so command my right hand to have mercy on you and forgive you, and not to harm you as much as it could." "'I am more hurt,' said the knight, 'by your cruel words, full of vainglory, than I would be of losing my life. I would rather die than ask forgiveness from your haughty hand.' "'My hand is accustomed to forgiving conquered men,' said Tirant, 'and not to harming them. If you wish, I will very willingly free you from all the harm I could cause you.' "'Oh, what a wonder it is,' said the knight who was lying on the ground, 'when men are victorious because of luck, or someone else's misfortune. Then they're loose with all kinds of words. I am the knight of Muntalt, reproachless, loved and feared by many, and I have always had mercy on men.' "'I want to use these things you've mentioned in your favor,' said Tirant, 'because of your great virtue and goodness. Let us go before the king, and on your knees, at my feet, you will have to ask me for mercy, and I will forgive you.' "In a great rage the knight began to speak: "'God forbid that I should commit an act that's so shameful to me or mine, or to that eminent lord of mine, Count William of Warwick, who gave me this bitter order of chivalry. Do whatever you please with me, because I would rather die well than live badly.' "When Tirant saw his ill will, he said: "'All knights who want to use arms to acquire renown and fame are cruel, and have their seat in the middle of hell.' "He pulled out a dagger and stuck the point of it in his eye, and with his other hand he gave a mighty blow to the hilt of the dagger that made it come out the other side of his head. What a valorous knight this one was, preferring death to shame and the vituperation of the other knights! "After some days it happened that their Majesties, the king and queen, were resting in a meadow near the river, dancing and enjoying themselves. A relative of the queen, named Fair Agnes, was there. She was the daughter of the Duke of Berri, and the most graceful maiden I have ever seen. My lord, on that day this Fair Agnes wore a very pretty bauble between her breasts. When the dances were over, in the presence of the king and queen and all the knights, Tirant went up to the genteel lady and kneeling, he said: "'My lady, knowing of your great worth in lineage as well as beauty, grace and wisdom, and all the other virtues that can be found in a body more angelical than human, I would like to serve you. I would consider it a great favor if you gave me the bauble you're wearing between your breasts. If you give it to me, I will accept it and wear it in your honor and service. And I swear before the altar and on the order of chivalry, to combat a knight on foot or on horseback, to the death, armed or unarmed.' "'Oh Holy Mary be with me!' said Fair Agnes. 'You want to joust to the death for such a small thing of so little value? So that you will not lose the prize of your good works and the order of chivalry, I shall willingly consent in the presence of the king and the queen. Take the bauble with your own hands.' "Tirant was very happy with the reply of Fair Agnes. Since the bauble was tied on with her dress straps, it could not be removed without untying them, and when he did, his hands could not help touching her breasts. Tirant took the bauble in his hand and kissed it. Then he fell to his knees, and said: "'I give you many thanks, my lady, for this great gift. I am happier with it than if you had given me the entire kingdom of France. And I swear to God that whoever takes the bauble from me will leave his life in my hands.' "And he put it on the crest of the cap he wore. "The next day, while the king was at mass, a French knight named Lord Vilesermes came. He was a very brave man and very experienced in weapons, and he said to Tirant: "'Knight, wherever you are from, you have been far too daring in touching the glorified body of Fair Agnes, and no knight in the world ever made such a wicked request. You must return the bauble to me willingly or by force. It is my right to possess it because since infancy I've loved, served and venerated this lady. And if you will not give it to me, your life will not last long.' "'To my way of thinking,' said Tirant, 'it would be a great offense if I gave away what was given to me freely, and what my own hands untied. In truth, I would be considered the most vile knight ever born if I did such a thing. And yet, knight, your evil tongue shows that you are far too haughty, and I will have to pull you down.' "The knight attempted to take the bauble away from him, but Tirant was ready. He pulled out a dagger he carried, and all the others lay hold of their weapons. A fight broke out, and before they could be separated twelve of the knights and gentlemen were dead. The queen, who was nearest to them and heard the noise and the loud cries the people were making, placed herself between the men to separate them. And I can give you a good account because I was wounded four times and many others were wounded too. When the king found out about it, everything had quieted down. But before three days had gone by, the French knight sent a page with a letter for Tirant, and it said the following: "'To you, Tirant lo Blanc. "'If you dare to confront the danger of weapons that are customary among knights, let us make an agreement: armed or unarmed, on foot or on horseback, dressed or naked, in whatever way you feel most comfortable, your sword and mine will fight to the death. -- Written by my hand and sealed with the secret seal of my arms. "'Lord Vilesermes.' "After Tirant had read the letter, he took the page into a room, and giving him one thousand gold coins he made him promise not to tell anyone about this. When the page had gone, Tirant went alone to see a king-of-arms, and he took him three miles away and said to him: "'King-of-arms, by the trust that has been given to you and by the oath you swore on the day you were given this office, you are bound to hold secret what I am going to tell you, and to advise me well and faithfully about the use of weapons.' "The king-of-arms, whose name was Jerusalem, answered: "'My lord, Tirant, I promise you by the office I hold and by the oath I have sworn, to keep everything you tell me secret.' "Then Tirant showed him the letter, and made him read it. When he had finished, Tirant said to him: "My good friend, Jerusalem, I will be very honored to satisfy the desire of that virtuous knight, Lord Vilesermes. But since I am young and I know nothing about the practice and custom of chivalry (for I've just turned twenty years old), and I trust your great discretion, I want your advice. And don't think that I've told you this out of cowardice or fear. I wouldn't want to be condemned by the king who has instituted certain laws about the jousts in his kingdom, or by good knights for being weak in this matter.' "The king-of-arms answered: "Oh, knight, virtuous young man, beloved by everyone! I will give you the advice you are asking me for. You, Tirant lo Blanc, can fight this knight without any reproach from the king, judges or knights, since you are the defender and he is the one who began this wickedness. Do you know when you would be at fault? If you had been the challenger. So perform like a good knight, and always show the bold spirit of a knight to the people. Go into battle quickly, and have no fear of death.' "'I feel very comforted by your advice,' said Tirant. 'Now I want to beg you earnestly, Jerusalem, by the office you hold, to be judge of the battle between Lord Vilesermes and me, and to have jurisdiction over it all so that you will bear true witness about everything that happens between him and me.' "Jerusalem said: "'I will be very happy to arrange it. But according to the requirements of our office I could not be your judge, and I will tell you why: No knight, king-of-arms or herald who gives advice can be a judge. Not even my lord, the King of England, if he is the judge of a battle, should say favorable words about anyone. And if he did he could be called an unjust judge, and that battle should not take place. But so that neither you nor he will lose the battle prize, I will find you a competent judge who will be suspect in nothing. He is a member of our office, and his name is Claros of Clarence--a man who is very knowledgeable about arms.' "'I know him well,' said Tirant, 'and I am satisfied with him if Lord Vilesermes agrees, because he is a good king-of-arms and he will give the honor to the one who earns it. I want him to be informed about everything because Lord Vilesermes sent a page to me with this letter, and if I sent him an answer in the same way it could be found out easily and the battle would not come to the conclusion that he and I want. So let us do this: let us go back to my lodgings, and I will give you a 'carte blanche' signed by my hand, and sealed with my coat of arms. And you will arrange the battle so that it's all to his advantage. Since he is the challenger and I am the defender, and he is giving me the choice of weapons, as he says in the letter, I willingly renounce the choice, and I will let him choose whatever pleases him most. I will do only what you say and order. And no matter how cruel the weapons he chooses, you will tell him that I agree: that way my glory will be even greater.' "Tirant went back to his lodging with the king-of-arms, and he immediately drew up the 'carte blanche.' That is, it was signed by his hand and sealed with his arms; and he gave it to Jerusalem, the king-of-arms. "The king-of-arms departed to arrange the battle, and he searched throughout all the king's and queen's estates. When he saw that he could not find Lord Vilesermes he went into the city and found him in a monastery of friars, where he was making confession. After he had confessed, Jerusalem called him aside and asked him to come outside the church so that they could talk, for in such a place it is not fitting to speak of criminal things. They left the church and the consecrated ground at once, and Jerusalem began to speak: "'Lord Vilesermes, I would feel very honored if I could arrange peace and harmony between you and Tirant lo Blanc. But if you do not wish to come to an agreement, here is your letter and his answer, a 'carte blanche,' sealed and signed by his hand. He commanded me, as part of my office, to come to you to arrange the battle in this way: concerning the weapons, he says that you are to be given the power to choose whatever pleases you, provided they are equal and without trickery. And the battle should take place this evening, if possible.' "'I am very satisfied,' said Lord Vilesermes, 'with Tirant. Nothing but complete virtue could be expected of him. I accept the power that you give me on his behalf to choose the weapons and the battle. It will be this way: "'It is my decision that the battle will be on foot, in shirts made with cloth from France, both of us having paper shields, and on our heads a garland of flowers, with no other clothing at all on our bodies. The offensive weapons for both of us will be Genoese knives with a cutting edge on both sides, and very sharp points. In this way I will combat him to the death. And I am astonished at you, king-of-arms, when you try to make peace out of discord. Our minds are made up to go into battle, and you talk to me of peace.' "'What I said,' said the king-of-arms, 'is part of my office: not to want the death of any honorable knight.' "'Since we agree, I accept the battle with Tirant.' "'I am happy that you are in agreement,' said the king-of-arms. 'Let us go get the weapons and everything you need before nightfall.' "They both went immediately to buy the knives, and they had them well keened, with very sharp points. Then they found cloth from France, and they quickly had the shirts cut and sewn. They made them a little long, and the sleeves cut short--up to the elbow--so that their movements in battle would not be hindered. Then they took a sheet of paper, and cut it down the middle and with each half they made a shield. Imagine what sort of defense a half sheet of paper could make! "When they had finished it all, the knight said to the king-of-arms: "'You have arranged the battle, and you are here on Tirant's behalf. But I want no one to take my side except God alone, and my own hands which are used to bathing themselves in the noble blood of war. So you take some of the weapons, and I will take the ones you've left.' "'Lord Vilesermes, I'm not here to take anyone's side. Even if you were to give me all that you have, I wouldn't defraud my honor or my office. Let's do what we have to do; otherwise, give me my leave and find someone else you trust.' "'Upon my Lord and Creator, king-of-arms, my words didn't have the meaning you're giving them. I only wanted us to go to battle, because I see nighttime coming on. Since you're our judge, arrange things quickly.' "'My lord, I'll tell you how it's going to be,' said the king-of-arms, 'I can't be a judge between you since I've advised you and Tirant, and I could be reprimanded as an unjust judge if I did. But I'll get another competent judge that both you and he can trust, whose name is Claros of Clarence. He's a king-of-arms, and he knows a great deal about war and arms. He came a short while ago with the Duke of Clarence, and he is a man who would rather die than do anything against his honor.' "'I'm satisfied with everything,' said the knight, 'as long as the matter is equal and it is secret.' "'I give you my word,' said the king-of-arms, 'not to tell this to anyone at all except to Claros of Clarence.' "'Now,' said the knight, 'take the weapons and give them to Tirant, and let him choose the ones he likes best. I will wait for you in the hermitage of Saint Mary Magdalene. So that if anyone in my company should see me, I can pretend that I'm there to pray.' "Jerusalem left and went looking everywhere for Claros of Clarence, king- of-arms. When he found him he told him everything, and the man said he was very willing to do it. But the sun had already gone down, and it was growing late now, and he did not want to endanger two knights in the dark night. Instead he would be willing to be judge the morning of the next day, when the king was at mass and everyone was resting. "Jerusalem went back to Tirant and told him how the battle was to take place and about the weapons he had chosen, and he said that he was to take whichever of the two he liked better. And in the morning while the king was at mass, the battle would take place. "'Since the battle will not take place this evening,' said Tirant, 'I don't want to have the weapons in my possession. If I should defeat or kill him I would not want people to say that I had performed some trickery on the weapons while I had them during the night, and that that was the reason I defeated him. Give them back to Lord Vilesermes, and tomorrow when the battle takes place, have him bring them.' "When Jerusalem heard Tirant speak that way, he looked into his face and said: "'Oh, virtuous knight, versed in arms! You are worthy of wearing a royal crown: I cannot believe that you will not be victorious in this battle.' "The king-of-arms left Tirant and went to the hermitage where the other knight was, and he told him that the hour was growing late, and the judge could not decide the battle well if it was not daytime, but that they had arranged it for the following day when the king would be at mass. Lord Vilesermes said that he was satisfied with that. "Early in the morning the kings-of-arms got the two knights and took them to the middle of a forest where no one would be able to see them. When they saw that they were ready, Jerusalem said: "'Knights of great virtue, this is your death, and your sepulcher. These are the weapons chosen by this knight and accepted by Tirant. Let each take whichever ones he pleases.' "And he placed them on the lovely meadow grass. "'Now,' said Claros of Clarence, 'gentlemen of great nobility and chivalry, you are in this isolated place. Expect no help from relatives or friends. You are at the point of death, so place your hope only in God and in your virtue. I want to know who you wish to serve as judge of this battle.' "'What?' said Lord Vilesermes. 'Didn't we agree that it would be you?' "'And you, Tirant, who do you want to be judge?' "'I want it to be the one Lord Vilesermes wants.' "'Since you want to have me as your judge, you must swear by the order of chivalry to obey all my commands.' "They swore that they would. After the oath, the knight said to Tirant: "'Take the weapons you like and I will go into battle with the ones you leave behind.' "'No,' said Tirant. 'You have been holding them, and they were brought here in your name. You are the challenger, so you choose first, and then I will take mine.' "And the knights stood there, arguing about ceremony; the judge picked up the weapons to put an end to the dispute. He put some of them on the right side and the others on the left. Then he picked up two straws, one of them long, and the other short. The judge said: "'Whoever gets the longest one, take the weapons on the right; and whoever gets the short one, the weapons on the left.' "When they had each picked up the weapons, they quickly took off all their clothes and put on the painful shirts that could well be called hair-cloths of sorrow. The judge made two lines on the field and he placed one of the men on one line and the other man on the other, and he ordered them not to move until he said to. They cut a tree's branches so that the judge could be on a sort of cenotaph. When everything was ready the judge went to Lord Vilesermes and said: "'I am judge by the authority you have given to me, and it is my duty to warn you and beseech you not to come to such a narrow strait as this. Remember God and don't die so desperately. As you know, the justice of our Lord does not pardon a man who brings on his own death, and he is condemned for all eternity.' "'Let's stop all the talk now,' said the knight. 'Each of us knows his worth and what he can do, both in the temporal life and in the spiritual one. Have Tirant come here to me, and it might be possible for us to come to an understanding.' "'I don't think that what you're asking is reasonable,' said the judge. 'You are equals: why should he come to you? But in any case, Jerusalem, go and ask Tirant if he wants to come and talk to this knight.' "Jerusalem went to Tirant, and asked him if he wanted to go there. Tirant answered: '"'If the judge is commanding me to go, I will, but for that knight over there I wouldn't take a step backward or forward for everything he's worth.' "Jerusalem told him how the judge was obligated to do everything possible to make peace between the knights. Then Tirant said: "'Jerusalem, tell the knight that I see no reason why I should have to go to him. If he wants something from me, let him come here.' "He took the answer to him, and then the judge said: "'All right. It seems to me that Tirant is doing what he should do. But, knight, you can go to the middle of the field, and Tirant will come there.' "So it was done that way. When they were facing each other, Lord Vilesermes said: "'Tirant, if you want to have peace with me, and if you want me to forgive you because of your youth, I'll do it--on condition that you hand over the bauble of that illustrious lady, Dona Agnes of Berri, to me, along with the knife and the paper shield so that I can show it to the ladies. Because you know very well that you're not worthy of having anything at all from such a lofty and virtuous lady as she is. Your station, lineage and condition aren't good enough even to allow you to take off her left slipper. They're not even enough to raise you to my rank; in fact, it was out of kindness that I decided to do combat with you.' "'Knight,' said Tirant, 'I'm not unaware of who you are, or what you can do. But this is not the time or place for us to discuss the merits of our lineages. I am Tirant lo Blanc: when a sword is in my hand, no king, duke, count, or marquis can deny me. That is known throughout the world. But anyone can easily find the seven capital sins in you. Let's go to battle and do what we came here for, and let's not go on with unnecessary and worthless words: if even one of my hairs fell to the ground, I wouldn't surrender it to you, much less allow you to pick it up.' "'Since you don't want to reach an agreement,' said the judge, 'do you want life or death?'" Lord Vilesermes said: "'I am very sorry about the death of this haughty young man. Let's go to battle, and let each one go back to his place.' "The judge got up on the cenotaph that had been made with branches, and he shouted: "'Go now, knights, and let each of you act like a valiant and good knight!' "They went at each other in a fury. The French knight carried his knife high, in front of his head, and Tirant held his just above his chest. When they were close to each other, the French knight struck hard at the middle of Tirant's head. Tirant parried and struck back, and he dealt him a blow on top of his ear that almost dug into his brain. The other man struck Tirant in the middle of his thigh, and the wound gaped about a handsbreadth. He quickly stabbed him again in his left arm, and the knife sunk in as far as the bone. They both fought so hard that it was dreadful. And they were so close to each other that with every swing they took they drew blood. It was a pitiful sight for anyone who saw the wounds of the two men: their shirts had become completely red from all the blood they lost. Jerusalem repeatedly asked the judge if he wanted him to make them stop fighting, and the cruel judge answered: "'Let them come to the end of their cruel days, since that's what they want.' "'I am convinced that at that very moment both of them would rather have had peace than war. But since they were very brave and very courageous knights they fought ceaselessly, without mercy. Finally Tirant saw that he was near death because of all the blood he was losing, so he drew as close to the other man as he could, and stabbed him in the left breast, straight into his heart. The other man dealt him a mighty slash to his head, causing him to lose the sight of his eyes, and he fell to the ground before the other one. And if the Frenchman had been able to hold himself up when Tirant fell, he could easily have killed him if he had wanted. But he did not have enough strength, and he immediately fell dead on the ground. "When the judge saw that the knights were lying there so still, he got down from the cenotaph, and going up to them, he said: "'Upon my word, you two have behaved like good and very honorable knights: no one could find fault with you.' "And he made the sign of the cross twice over each of them, and taking two sticks he made a cross and laid it over the two bodies. Then he said: "'I see that Tirant's eyes are still open a little, and if he isn't dead he's very near to it. Jerusalem, I charge you to stay here and guard these bodies, and I'll go to the court to give the news to the king.' "He found the king leaving mass, and in everyone's presence, he said: "'My lord, in truth, there were two most valiant knights in Your Majesty's court in the morning, and now they are so near death that there is no hope for them.' "'Who are these knights?' "'My lord,' said Claros of Clarence, 'one is Lord Vilesermes and the other is Tirant lo Blanc.' "'I am very displeased,' said the king, 'by this news. Let us go out there before we eat to see if we can help them.' "'In faith,' said Claros, 'one has already departed from this world, and I believe the other will soon join him--that is how badly they were wounded.' "When the relatives and friends of the knights heard the news they gathered up their arms and rushed as quickly as they could, on foot and on horseback, and our Lord God gave us the grace to get there before the others. We found Tirant so covered with blood that he was unrecognizable, and he had his eyes slightly open. "When the others saw their lord lying dead, they quickly ran toward our knight, wanting to take his life, and we defended him very well. We split our group into two parts, and, with our backs to each other, we kept his body between our lines. There were many more of them than of us, but every place they advanced they found their way blocked. At the same time they shot arrows and one of them struck poor Tirant, who was lying on the ground. "The high constable arrived immediately, with many men, and he separated us. Soon afterward the king came with the tournament judges. When they saw the knights, one dead and the other seemingly in the throes of death, they ordered no one to move them until they had held counsel. "While the king was in council, listening to the tale of Claros of Clarence and Jerusalem, the kings-of-arms, the queen arrived with all the ladies and maidens. When they saw them they wept for the deaths of two such singular knights. Fair Agnes turned to Tirant's relatives, and said: "'Knights who love Tirant, are you doing so little for your good friend and relative that you let him leave life like this? That's the way he'll die, lying on the cold ground, his blood pouring out. A half hour more, and he won't have a drop of blood left in his body.' "'My lady, what would you have us do?' said a knight. 'The king has commanded, under penalty of death, that no one should dare to touch them or move them from here.' "'Oh, poor me!' said Fair Agnes. 'Our Lord does not want a sinner to die, and the king does? Have a bed brought, and put him on it until the king finishes his counsel: the wind is getting into his wounds and will make him worse.' "The relatives immediately sent for a bed and a tent. While they were getting it, Tirant was continually nauseous because of the wounds and because of all the blood he was losing. When Agnes saw how much pain Tirant was in, she said: "'In all conscience, I should not be blamed by father or mother, by brothers and sisters, or other relatives, or by our lords the king and queen, because I am doing this with pure intentions.' "She removed the clothes she was wearing, which were of white velvet, and she put them on the ground, and had Tirant placed on top of the clothing. Then she begged many of her maidens to take off their clothes and lay them over Tirant. When Tirant felt the warmth of the clothes he opened his eyes wider than before. Fair Agnes sat down and took his head and put it in her lap, saying: "'Oh, poor me, Tirant! What an unlucky bauble it was that I gave you. If I had known that something like this would happen, I wouldn't have given it to you for anything in the world. I beg you, knights, bring the body of Lord Vilesermes here, next to me. Even though I did not love him while he was alive, I do want to honor him in his death.' "They quickly brought him to her, and putting his head on the left side of her lap, she said: "'Lord Vilesermes spent seven years of his life trying to win me, and this is his reward. He performed extraordinary acts of chivalry out of love for me, and he wanted to marry me. But I am of greater lineage and wealth, and I refused to consent to something that was for his pleasure and satisfaction. And now the poor knight is dead because of jealousy.' "The king came out of his council, having heard the complete story from the kings-of-arms, and he had the three archbishops, the bishops and all the clergy come in a solemn procession from the city, to honor the dead knight. Tirant's relatives had doctors and a bed and tent brought, and everything else that was needed. They found that he had eleven wounds in his body, and four of them were critical. "After Tirant had been treated and all the clergy had arrived, the king and the judges ordered the dead knight placed in the box that the dead are carried in, covered with a beautiful gold cloth that was used for knights who die in battle. Tirant went behind him, carried on a large shield. Even though his hand was useless and he could not use it or hold it up, it was decided to tie it to a stick, with the bare sword that he had killed him with in his hand. "In this fashion the clergy went first, and afterward came the dead knight with all the knights on foot. Then came the king with all the great titled lords. Then came Tirant the way I have described, with the queen following, and all the ladies and maidens. Then came the High Constable with three thousand armed men. They went to the Church of Saint George, and here they very solemnly held a requiem mass. "When the king and queen left the church with all the others, they accompanied Tirant to his lodging, and every day the king went to see Tirant until he had completely recovered. That is what was done to all the wounded. And thirty maidens were given to Tirant to serve him continually. "At the hour of vespers the king and the queen went to the Church of Saint George, and had Tirant brought there, and after vespers the king had the following proclamation read: 'As we, judges of the tournament, have been given license by the king to judge all the battles that will be held within the time established by His Majesty we state and declare: 'Lord Vilesermes died like a good knight and we declare that he is to be buried and admitted to the holy mother Church, and that the glory of the battle will be given to Tirant lo Blanc.' "When the judgement was published, the clergy sang a very beautiful litany over the knight's sepulcher, and the honors given him lasted till nearly midnight. "Afterward they took Tirant to his lodging, with the king and queen and all the others paying him great honor. And they also honored all the other victorious knights." "May you have joy and consolation from what you most love," said the hermit. "For you have told me how Tirant has been the victor over three knights he defeated." "My lord," said Diafebus, "he has done even more singular deeds that I have not yet told your grace." "I would be very pleased," said the hermit, "if you would tell me about them." "My lord, your holiness should know that two months after Tirant had gotten out of his bed and could bear arms again, something very strange happened to him. "The Prince of Wales came to the celebration with a large retinue of noblemen. His lodgings were near the city wall, and as he is a great hunter he had many greyhounds. One day the king went to his lodging with three or four knights to greet him, because when they were children they had been great friends and they were very close relatives. The prince wanted to joust, and when he saw the king he begged him to have the tournament judges come to counsel him. Tirant was returning from the city, and when he was in front of the prince's lodgings a greyhound broke its chain and got out of its cage, and it was so fierce that no one dared to go near it. "As Tirant was passing through the middle of the square he saw the greyhound running swiftly toward him to attack him. He quickly dismounted and pulled out his sword. When the greyhound saw the sword, it turned back and Tirant said: "'I don't want to lose my life or my honor for an animal.' "And he mounted his horse again. The king and the judges were standing where they could see him. The Prince of Wales said: "'In faith, my lord, I recognize that evil tempered greyhound, and since he's loose, if the knight that just went by is brave, we'll see a pretty battle between them.' "'I believe,' said the king, 'that that is Tirant lo Blanc, and since he's made it run away one time I don't think it will dare to go near him again.' "When Tirant had gone twenty steps further, the greyhound again ran at him in a rage, so Tirant had to dismount again, and he said: "'I don't know whether you're a devil or under a spell.' "He took out his sword, and ran toward it, and the greyhound ran in circles around him, but it didn't dare go near him for fear of the sword. "Now, said Tirant, 'since I see that my weapons make you afraid, I don't want anyone to say that I fought you with superior arms.' "He threw his sword behind him. The greyhound made two or three leaps, and ran as swiftly as it could. It picked up the sword with its teeth and carried it off a distance. Then it came running back at Tirant. "'Now,' said Tirant, 'I'll attack you with the same weapons you want to use against me.' "They struggled together in a fury, and bit each other mortally. "The greyhound was huge and sublime, and it made Tirant fall to the ground three times, and three times it nearly knocked him down. This struggle of theirs lasted half an hour, and the Prince of Wales commanded his men not to go near to separate them until one of them was defeated. "Poor Tirant had many bites on his legs and on his arms. Finally Tirant grabbed it around the neck with his hands and squeezed as tightly as he could, sinking his teeth into its throat with such ferocity that it fell to the ground, dead. "The king quickly came out with his judges and picked Tirant up and carried him to the prince's house, and there they had the doctors come to minister to him. "When the queen and the maidens heard about Tirant, they quickly came to see him. When the queen saw how badly he was hurt, she told him: "'Tirant, honors are won by danger and work. You get out of one bad situation, and you fall into another.' "'Most serene lady, full of all human and angelic perfection, let Your Majesty be the judge of my sin,' said Tirant.' I was not intending to bring harm to anyone when a devil in the form of a dog appeared before me with his master's consent, and decided to satisfy my desire.' "'You shouldn't be sad at all, no matter how many misfortunes befall you,' said the queen, 'for here you show your virtue all the more.' "At this moment the king and the judges came out, and they told Tirant that as they had seen the battle between him and the greyhound, and since he had thrown away his sword and the two were equal in arms, the judges were giving him the honor and the prize in battle, as if he had defeated a knight. And they commanded the kings-of-arms, heralds, and messengers to announce throughout the city the honor that was bestowed on Tirant that day. And when they took him to his lodging they gave him those honors that are given in other battles." "I am very content with everything you have told me," said the hermit. "As long as I have lived in this miserable world I have never heard of such great celebrations." When they thought it was time to go, they all took their leave of the father-hermit, each thanking the other. And from this time forward the hermit is never mentioned again. CHAPTER III SICILY Tirant and his companions journeyed until they reached the city of Nantes. When the Duke of Brittany heard that Tirant was coming with his relatives, he went out to welcome him with all the city magistrates and many knights, and they paid him the highest honor they could, for he had been the best knight of all those who had been at the festivities in England. The duke feted him, and Tirant was held in high esteem by all the people in the land. One day while Tirant was with the duke and many other knights, relaxing and talking, two knights came from the King of France. The duke asked if there was any news from the court, and they told him that the Genoese had invaded the island of Rhodes, and that the Christians there were in need of help. The news had reached the King of France, and he had lamented loudly, but did very little. Then the knights left the court of the King of France, and came to the Duke of Brittany. The duke showed compassion for the Grand Master and the religious at Rhodes, and he told everyone there that he would send ambassadors to the King of France. Then, if the king wanted to send assistance to the Grand Master of Rhodes, and if he wanted him to go as captain, he would do it very willingly and he would spend two hundred thousand crowns of his own money on it. The morning of the following day they chose four to be ambassadors: an archbishop, a bishop, a viscount, and Tirant lo Blanc. When the ambassadors were before the King of France, they explained their mission, and he told them that in four days he would give them an answer. A month went by and they still did not know what he intended to do. Finally he told them that at the moment he could not intervene in these things because he was occupied with other matters that were more important to him. The ambassadors returned with the reply. When Tirant saw that so many Moors were on Rhodes and that no one was sending help, he talked to many sailors, asking if he could do something. They told him that if he would go, he could help them very much, and that he would not have to enter the castle of Rhodes from the dock, but would be able to go in another way. Tirant bought a large ship, and had it well stocked and armed. It happened that Tirant had become a good friend of the five sons of the King of France. The youngest of them all, whose name was Philippe, was somewhat unlearned, and was considered gauche, so the king thought very little of him, and no one ever spoke about him. A gentleman who served him, knowing that Tirant had a ship and was going to Rhodes and then to Jerusalem, wanted to go there very much. So he told Philippe: "My lord, knights who want honor should not stay in their parents' home while they're young and able, especially if they are younger than their brothers, and their father ignores them. Think of that famous knight, Tirant lo Blanc: After the great honor he received in the battles he won in England, he is now preparing a large ship to go to Rhodes and to the holy land of Jerusalem. Oh, what glory it would be for you if you and I would leave here secretly, without saying a word to anyone until we were on the ship, one hundred miles out to sea! And Tirant is such a virtuous knight that he will obey you and honor you as someone from your house deserves." "My good friend, Tenebroso, I know that the advice you are giving me is good," said Philippe, "and I will be very happy if we can do it." "It seems to me," said the gentleman, "that I should go to Brittany first, to where Tirant is preparing the ship. We are such good friends that I will ask him to let me go along to the holy land of Jerusalem, and I'll ask him what things will be needed for me and two squires. After we have his decision we'll put everything we need on the ship," Philippe was very satisfied with this, and he said: "Tenebroso, while you go talk to Tirant I'll get all the money I can, and clothing and jewels," The following day the gentleman left with two squires, and Tenebroso journeyed until he came to where Tirant was. They were very happy to see each other, and Tenebroso told him the reason for his visit. Tirant was highly pleased, for he knew that Tenebroso was a very valiant gentleman and very discreet, and he valued his company. He answered him: "My lord and brother, Tenebroso, my worldly goods, myself, the ship, and everything I have are at your service." When Tenebroso heard Tirant say this, he was the happiest man in the world, and he gave many thanks to Tirant for his great gentility. He left one of his servants there to prepare a room inside the ship where they could eat and sleep, and where Philippe could stay secretly. Tenebroso set out again, riding until he was back with Philippe who was waiting for him in great anticipation. Philippe was very pleased at Tirant's answer. Tenebroso told him to get ready to leave, and Philippe said that he already had everything he needed to take. The following day Philippe went to his father, the king, and in the queen's presence he begged him to allow him to go to Paris to see the fair, which was two days' journey from there. The king told him coolly: "Do whatever you like." He kissed his hand, and then the queen's hand. They set out on their journey very early in the morning, and finally they reached the sea port. Philippe slipped into a room on the ship without letting anyone see him. When the ship had weighed anchor and they were two hundred miles out to sea, Philippe revealed his presence to Tirant. Tirant was very surprised at this, but because they were so far out to sea, they had to continue on their course toward Portugal, and they arrived at the city of Lisbon. When the King of Portugal learned that Philippe, son of the King of France, was on the ship, he sent a knight who graciously begged him to come ashore to rest from the long sea voyage. Tirant and Philippe dressed in their finery, and accompanied by many knights and gentlemen who had come with Tirant, they left the ship and went to the palace. When the king saw Philippe he embraced him and paid him great honor, and did the same to the others. They remained in the king's court ten days. When they decided to leave, the king had them fill the ship with everything they needed. From there Tirant sent a gentleman to the King of France with letters explaining what had happened to his son. When the King of France learned that his son was in such good company he was very pleased, and the queen was especially happy, because so much time had passed with them knowing nothing that they thought he was either dead or had entered some monastery. Philippe took his leave of the King of Portugal, and the ship set sail, reaching the Cape of Saint Vincent to pass through the Straits of Gibraltar. There they encountered many Moorish vessels, and when they saw the ship, all the vessels went into formation. They attacked it fiercely, and the combat lasted half a day, with many men from both sides dying. After Tirant's men had rested, they renewed the battle, and it was very fierce. Now Tirant's ship was much larger and lighter than any of those of the Moors, but it was alone, while there were fifteen of the others, large and small, and all of them carried weapons. One very able sailor on the ship, named Cataquefaras, had sailed a great deal, and he was very clever and valiant. When he saw that the situation was taking a turn for the worse, he took many ropes from the ship and made a net. He placed those ropes from stern to prow and around the mast, and he put them up so high that the men did not find their weapons hindered in any way; instead it kept them from being taken prisoner. For the missiles that the Moors launched were so many and so thick that it was a great marvel to see, and if the ship had not been covered by that net of ropes, it would have been completely filled with stones and iron bars. In that way it was protected so that no stone could pass through it; instead, when a stone hit against the ropes, it bounced into the sea. What else did this sailor do? He took up all the mattresses that he found on the ship, and he covered the forecastles and the sides of the ship, and as the missiles fell on top of the mats they could not damage the ship. And he did still more. He took boiling oil and tar, and when the ships drew alongside, they threw the oil and boiling tar with ladles, causing grave injuries to the Moors, who had to draw apart from the ship. But still they passed through the entire Straits of Gibraltar, fighting night and day. There were so many missiles, darts and spikes that the sails were pinned to the ship's mast when the Moors left them. They were very near land, and certain that the ship would run aground, stern first, near the city of Gibraltar. But the sailors were so capable that they quickly put the ship around and raised the sails. Then they passed out of the Straits and entered the great sea. Philippe, Tirant and many others were wounded in these battles. They went to a deserted island near the land of the Moors, and there they tended to their wounds and repaired the ship as well as they could. Then they sailed along the Barbary Coast where they fought many battles with Genoese and Moorish vessels until they were close to Tunis. There they decided to go to the island of Sicily to take on wheat. They went to the port of Palermo where the king and queen were, with their two sons and a very beautiful daughter named Ricomana, a very intelligent maiden of many virtues. When the ship was in port, they made a scribe disembark along with five or six men, with orders to tell no one about Philippe or Tirant, but rather to say that their ship had come from the west and was on its way to Alexandria with some pilgrims who were going to the Holy Sepulcher. When the king learned that they had come from the west he had the scribe from the ship and all the others called before His Majesty so he could have news of those lands. Before the king, they told about the great battles they had had with the Moors and Genoese in the Straits of Gibraltar, and forgetting at that moment Tirant's words, they mentioned that Philippe, son of the King of France, was there, in the company of Tirant lo Blanc. When the king heard that Philippe was on that ship, he had a great wooden bridge, covered with cloth and satin, constructed from land to the ship. And to pay him honor, the king went on board the ship with his two sons, and implored Philippe and Tirant to come on land and rest a few days from the great hardships they had endured at sea, and from their battles with the Moors. Philippe and Tirant thanked him and told him that, to please him, they would go with His Majesty. The king brought them to the city, furnished them with very nice quarters, and had them served excellent dishes and other things men need who have been at sea. Philippe, following Tirant's counsel, told the king that they would not stay in their room until they had seen the queen. And the king was very pleased. When they were upstairs in the palace, the queen, along with her daughter, the princess, received them very graciously. And when they returned to their lodgings they decided that she was everything a king's daughter should be. Afterward, everyday at mass or after eating, they were with the king and especially with the infanta, who was so pleasant to the foreigners who came and went, that everyone spoke of her great virtue. And by speaking with the infanta everyday at the king's court, Philippe grew very enamored of her, as she did of him. But Philippe was so shy when he was in her presence that he scarcely dared speak, and when she asked him questions, he did not know how to respond to some of them. Tirant quickly answered for him and said to the infanta: "Oh, my lady, what a thing love is! That Philippe! When we are in our lodgings or away from here his lips never tire of praising Your Majesty, and when you are present he is overcome with love, and finds it difficult to speak. In truth, I tell you, if I were a woman and I found someone with his genteel quality, and I knew he was of a long and good lineage, I would forget everyone else and would love only him." "Oh, Tirant," said the infanta. "Your words sound nice, but if it turns out that he is vulgar by nature, what pleasure would it be for a maiden to have everyone laugh at him. For love's sake, don't tell me such things; I would prefer a man who was prudent and discreet, rather than for him to be vulgar and avaricious." "My lady," said Tirant, "you are right, but he doesn't fit that description. He's young and of tender years, but he's old in the best sense, generous, more valiant than anyone, and very amiable and gracious. During the night he gets up and doesn't let me rest the way I would like. If I want to give him pleasure I have only to speak of Your Majesty. If this isn't love, tell me, what could it be? My lady, love someone who loves you. He is the son of a king, like you, and he loves you more than his life. If he does not talk as much as Your Grace would like, that is a virtue. Guard yourself, my lady, from those men who boldly dare to court a maiden. That kind of love is not good love: it comes and goes. And men like those are called corsairs, because they make booty of everything. My lady, give me a man who appears before his lady with great fear and shame, with his hands trembling, and who can scarcely utter a word." "Tirant," said the infanta, "because of your great friendship with Philippe, you are right to honor him so much. With your noble order of chivalry, you can do nothing but what is expected of you, and that's why I think highly of you. But don't imagine that I'm a woman who is easily convinced. I have to put my hands in up to the elbows in the sense of knowing his manners, his station and condition, and if he could bring me happiness. Although I'm happy when I see him, experience tells me that he seems vulgar and avaricious, and both of those vices are incurable." "I beg Your Highness to give me an audience, and not to be angry at what I say to you. I see ambassadors from the Pope coming to the court to arrange a marriage between Your Highness and his nephew (and some wonder if he isn't his son). And I also see ambassadors from the King of Naples, the King of Hungary, and the King of Cyprus. Although I may not have the power of the most Christian King of France, I would like to talk to your father and Your Highness about the wedding. I see that you are wise and discreet, my lady. But because of your perfection you deserve to be on the imperial throne and subject to the crown of France: it is of greater height than the Roman Empire." At this time the queen arrived and interrupted their delightful conversation. After a few moments the queen said to Tirant: "Virtuous knight, scarcely an hour ago the king and I were speaking of you and your chivalrous deeds, and the king wishes to place an undertaking in your charge that is very important to him and to me. And I regard you so highly that if you attempt it you will surely come out of it with honor. But to avoid all doubts I will put forth all the obstacles there that I can." "My lady," said Tirant, "Your Excellency speaks in such a covert manner that I don't know what to reply, unless Your Highness can give me a clearer explanation. But whatever I can do for Your Excellency, with the consent of the king, I'll do it most willingly, even if it should be to carry the cross on my back." The queen gave him many thanks. Tirant took leave of the queen and the infanta, and when he was at his lodgings he was sorry that the ship was not repaired so that he could depart immediately. Tirant saw a ship on the high seas. He wanted to have news before going to dine, and he sent an armed brigantine that left very swiftly and then returned. They told him that this ship came from Alexandria and Beirut, and that it had touched on the island of Cyprus, but that it had not been able to land at Rhodes, because there were so many Moors that held it besieged on land and sea. Many Genoese vessels were guarding the port, and the city of Rhodes was in such straits that they had no bread to eat. It had been three months now since the Grand Master or anyone in the castle or the city had eaten. They ate nothing but horse meat, and the day they could find even that was a fortunate one. They truly believed that in a few short days they would have to surrender to the Moors. When Tirant heard this news, he reflected at length. And he decided to load the ship entirely with wheat and other victuals, and embark to give aid to Rhodes. He quickly sent for merchants, and he gave them so much money that they loaded the ship with wheat, wine and salted meat. When the king learned of this he sent for Tirant, and said: "The glory of your undertaking puts all the princes of Christianity to shame who have refused to aid the master of Rhodes. I would like to go with you to Jerusalem (in disguise so that no one would recognize me). That would please me more than if you gave me a kingdom, and I would be in your debt for the rest of my life. So I beg you with great love, don't refuse this to me." When the king had finished, Tirant said: "If it should become necessary, I will treat Your Highness as my own lord, as though I had served you all my life. As for going on my ship, my lord, the ship, my possessions, and myself all belong to Your Excellency, and you may command and order everything as if it were your own." And so they agreed. When the king had seen the ship, he asked for his room to be prepared near the mast, because a ship is safer there when disaster strikes. Every day the king and Tirant discussed many things, and finally they spoke about Philippe. Tirant wanted to arrange a marriage between him and the infanta, and for him to have the dowry the king had mentioned. The king favored a union with the house of France, but he said: "Tirant, I won't make a decision about any of these things until I know what my daughter thinks. If she agrees, then I will consent to the marriage. I will be very happy to talk to the queen and to my daughter, and if they agree, the wedding will be held before we leave." The king had the queen and his daughter brought to his chambers, and he said to them: "The reason that I had you come here, my queen and my daughter, was to tell you about a journey I will be making soon. I have decided to go with Tirant to Jerusalem, and so that no one will know me I am taking along only one gentleman to serve me. And because my life and death are in the hands of God, our Heavenly Father, I would like to see you well married, my daughter. If you like the king's son who is here, and who would unite us with the greatest king in Christianity, I am certain that with Tirant's aid and counsel and Philippe's willingness, everything can be arranged satisfactorily." "It seems to me," said the infanta, "that Your Majesty knows it will be two weeks before the ship's cargo is loaded and it's ready to weigh anchor. In that time, Your Highness, with the counsel of my uncle and your brother, the Duke of Messina, you can take care of the matter, because the duke is expected here tonight or tomorrow." "You speak well, my daughter," said the king, "and what you say is reasonable." "Pardon me, Your Highness," said the infanta, "but since Your Excellency has decided to go on this saintly journey, you should hold a great celebration so that Tirant and all the men with him will be more willing to serve you when you are at sea, and besides if it reaches the ears of the King of France, he will know that Your Highness is showing consideration to his son, Philippe. Next Sunday a celebration could be held that would last three days; the tables could he set night and day, and there would always be enough food on them for everyone who wanted to attend.' "In faith, my child," said the king, "you've thought it out better than I could have, and I am very happy to do it, But I'm very busy planning my journey, and I want to leave the kingdom in such a good state that no one will note my departure, and besides there could be many problems when we are in the land of the Moors. So I would like you, my child, to plan this and be in complete charge of it ." The king immediately had the steward and the purchasers brought in, and he told them to do everything his daughter, Ricomana, commanded, and they said they would be happy to. The infanta planned everything very well, and many different dishes were chosen. Now the infanta held this celebration solely to see how Philippe would conduct himself at the table. The infanta gave instructions that on the day of the great feast the king, the queen, Philippe and she would eat together at a table above the others, and that the Duke of Messina, Tirant, and all the counts and barons and others would eat at a table below the king's. The evening before the celebration the king sent two knights to Philippe and Tirant, asking them to go with him to mass and to dinner the following day. And they humbly accepted the invitation. In the morning they dressed in their finest clothing, and all their men did the same, and then they went to the palace and paid homage to the king. The king received them very kindly, and he took Philippe's hand, as did the Duke of Messina to Tirant, and they went to the church. When the king was at his chapel, they asked his permission to accompany the queen and his daughter, and the king gave his consent. As they walked with the ladies, Philippe took the infanta's arm so that he could be closer to her, and Tirant never left Philippe's side for fear that he would do or say something foolish that would annoy the infanta. When the mass was finished and the king and all the others had gone back to the palace, the dinner was ready. The king sat in the center of the table with the queen at his side. To honor Philippe, the king had him sit at the head of the table, with the infanta facing him. Tirant wanted to remain standing in order to be near Philippe, but the king said to him: "Tirant, my brother, the Duke of Messina is waiting for you, and he doesn't want to sit down without you." "My lord," said Tirant, "if you please, tell him to take a seat, because at a feast like this it's fitting that I should serve the king's son." The infanta was impatient, and with a rather cross look on her face she said to him: "Don't bother yourself about being at Philippe's skirts all the time, Tirant. In my father, the king's house, there are enough knights to serve him so that you don't have to do it." When Tirant heard the infanta speaking so heatedly and saw that he had to leave, he put his mouth to Philippe's ear and said to him: "When water is brought to the king, and you see the infanta getting up and then kneeling and holding the vessel for him, you do what she does, and be careful not to do anything gauche." He said that he would, and Tirant left him. When they were all seated, the king's water bowel was brought, and the infanta knelt and held the laver. Philippe tried to do the same, but the king would not allow it. And the same happened with the queen. When it was the infanta's time to wash, she took Philippe's hand so that they could wash together, and Philippe courteously and with gentility, said that it was not seemly. Then he knelt and attempted to hold the dish for her, but she refused to wash until they both washed together. Then the bread was brought and placed before the king and the others, and no one touched it as they waited for the dinner to be brought. When Philippe saw the bread before him he quickly took a knife, and picking up a loaf of bread he cut through it and made twelve large pieces. When the infanta saw such a sight she could not contain her laughter. The king and everyone there, including the serving boys, made great sport of Philippe, and since the infanta was laughing too, it was inevitable that it should come to Tirant's attention, because he did not take his eyes from Philippe for a moment. Standing up, he ran from the table and said: "By heaven, Philippe must have stained his honor with some great foolishness." He went to his side at the king's table, and saw the slices of bread that Philippe had cut. When he saw that neither the king nor anyone else had touched their bread, he immediately understood the reason for the outbursts of laughter. Tirant quickly picked up the slices of bread; then he reached into his pocket, took out twelve gold ducats and put one ducat on each slice, and he had them given to the poor. When the king and the infanta saw what Tirant had done, they all stopped laughing. The king asked Tirant the meaning of what he had done. "My lord," said Tirant, "when I have finished what I must do I will tell Your Highness." Tirant gave out all the bread slices, each one with its ducat, and he put the last one to his mouth, said an Ave Maria over it, and gave it away. The queen said: "I would like very much to know about this ceremony." Tirant answered: "My lord, Your Excellency and all the others are astonished at what Philippe began and I have finished, and you've all mocked him. The reason for it, since Your Highness wants to know, is that the most Christian kings of France, because of all the blessings they've received from the immense goodness of Christ our Lord, began this tradition: Before any of their children entered the order of chivalry, they were not allowed to eat the first loaf of bread that was put in front of them at dinner until they had cut it into twelve slices, and placed a silver "real" on each one, and had given it to the poor in memory of the twelve apostles. Then, after the order of chivalry had been bestowed on them they would put a piece of gold on each slice. And even down to today everyone in the house of France continues the custom. And, my lord, that's why Philippe cut the bread and made twelve slices, one for each apostle." "Praise God," said the king, "that sort of charity is the most beautiful I've ever heard of. I'm a crowned king and I don't give as much in alms in a month." Dinner came, and the infanta told Tirant to go back and eat. Philippe saw what he had done wrong and how discreetly Tirant had remedied it, and he was very careful with the meal, and ate only as the infanta did. When they left the table, the infanta began to talk to one of her ladies whom she deeply trusted, and with a little anger mixed with love, she began to lament: "Look at what a sad state I'm in, to have this Tirant as the enemy of my desires: I can't talk alone to Philippe for even an hour. Tell me, Tirant, why do you make me so mad? You must know how nice it is to be alone with the person you love. Now, poor me, when I want to sleep I cannot, night is longer than I would like it to be, nothing that I eat tastes sweet to me--instead it's as bitter as gall. If this is life, what can death be?" And the love-struck maiden lamented, tears flowing from those eyes that had sparked many flames in Philippe's heart. While the infanta had this sad face, the king and his brother, the Duke of Messina, came into her chambers. When they were in the room the king, seeing such grief in her face, said to her: "What's wrong, my daughter? Why are you crying?" "And don't I have reason to, Sire? Your Grace is about to leave. What am I to do all alone? Who will be here to console me? How will my soul find peace? The king tenderly consoled his daughter as best he could. Then they went to the queen. The four held counsel, and the king said: "I beg you, Duke, tell me what you think of this marriage with Philippe." "Sire," said the duke, "since Your Highness and Philippe are going on this holy pilgrimage, I feel that this marriage should take place only with the consent of his father and mother." Tirant was then put in charge of writing letters to the King of France, and he explained all the details of the marriage pact, if the king would agree. The King of Sicily then prepared a brigantine to go to the mainland with the letters. At the same time, Tirant's ship was loaded with wheat and other provisions. When the brigantine was ready to depart, the king pretended he was going on it, and he had the news spread that he was going to Rome to talk to the Pope. That night Tirant had the king and Philippe brought on his ship, and when all the men were on board, Tirant went to take his leave of the princess and everyone in the court. Tirant then set sail at night, and in four days he was within sight of Rhodes. When the Genoese saw the ship coming, they thought it was one of the two they had sent to bring provisions to their camp. They could not imagine that any other ship would dare to come into the midst of as many ships as were in the port. The ship approached, and as it drew near it unfurled all its sails. This, and the shape of the ship, made the Genoese realize that it was not one of theirs, and they hurried to prepare to attack. But the ship was so close that none of their ships had time to raise their sails, and this ship swiftly sailed through all of them at full mast. However, they used lances, spikes and bombards, and all the weapons used at sea. Then Tirant ordered the helmsman and the pilot not to turn the ship, but to head the prow straight into land. And they did, at full speed. When the people in the city saw the ship beach itself, they thought it was the Genoese coming to take the city. All the men ran there and bravely attacked it. They were also being attacked by the ships at sea, and they were in dire straits until a sailor quickly took one of Tirant's flags and raised it. When the people from the city saw the flag they stopped fighting. Then one of the men told them that the ship had come to help them. Hearing that the captain of the ship was French, and that the ship was loaded with wheat for them, the people on land went to tell the Grand Master. When the Grand Master discovered that it was Tirant, he was very anxious to see him, because he had heard of his fame. He sent two knights of the Order to the ship, to ask Tirant to come on land. Tirant told them to tell the Grand Master confidentially that the King of Sicily and Philippe, son of the King of France, were on his ship and that they were going on a holy pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and to ask if they would be safe on his land. The Grand Master promised to keep their presence secret. Then the king and Philippe disembarked, in disguise, and went to the rooms that were prepared for them. Tirant then went on land, well-outfitted. When Tirant was with the Grand Master they talked at length. The Grand Master told him how the sultan was besieging them on land, day and night, and that the Genoese were doing the same by sea; that they were at the point of surrendering because of their great hunger, and they could not last much longer. They had eaten all the horses and other animals, including the cats, and it would be a wonder to find one still alive. Tirant then had many barrels of wheat brought from the ship, and he asked the Grand Master to have it distributed among all the people, and he said there was still more for the castle. They also gave them the oils and the vegetables and meat, and all the other supplies. That night Tirant and his men stood watch over the port. The Genoese ships--especially the captain's ship--were very close to land. It was nearly midnight when a sailor approached Tirant and said: "Sir, what would your grace give to someone who, tomorrow night, set fire to the ship that's so close to shore, and that they say belongs to the Genoese captain?" "If anyone could do that," said Tirant, "I would gladly give him three thousand gold crowns." "Sir," said the sailor, "if you promise me, on your word as a knight, to give them to me, I will do everything I can. And if I'm not able to do it I will become your slave." "My friend," said Tirant, "I don't want you to put any obligations on yourself: the shame you will bring if you don't do it, will be punishment enough for you. As for me, I promise you on my order of chivalry, that if you set it on fire tomorrow, I will give you everything I said I would, and more." The sailor was very satisfied because he knew he could do it, with all the skill he had both on sea and land. In the morning he prepared everything he needed. When the Grand Master had heard mass, he went to see the king, Philippe and Tirant, and they spoke at length about the war and about many things regarding the city which I will not go into so as not to be tiresome. A very old knight of the Order, who had come with the Grand Master, said: "It seems to me, gentlemen, since you have brought enough supplies to last the city several days, that my lord, the Grand Master, should make a gift for the sultan of many different kinds of foods, in order to make him lose any hope he has of taking us by hunger." All the great lords praised the old knight's advice, and the order was immediately given to send him four hundred hot loaves of bread straight from the oven, wine, honey and sugar sweetmeats, three turkeys, chickens and capons, honey, oil, and all the other things they had brought. When the sultan saw the present, he said to his men: "Damn this present and the traitor who sent it! This will bring the perdition of my honor, and will be my ruin." When it was nearly midnight, and very dark, the sailor had everything ready to set the captain's ship on fire, and he did it this way: The sailor had fixed a very strong capstan into the ground near the sea. Then he put a thick rope in a boat along with a hemp cord as thick as a man's finger. He got into the boat, and two men rowed for him. When they were so near the ship that they could hear the men on the poop deck talking, they stopped rowing. He took off all his clothes and tied a cord around his waist. Then he took a very sharp knife so that he could cut any cords he needed to, and he put it in back of him so it wouldn't bother him when he swam. He attached one end of the cord to the knife sheath, and he told the men in the boat to keep feeding him line. When everything was ready he slipped into the water, and swam until he was so close to the ship that he could hear the men on watch talking. Then he swam underwater so that no one would see him, and he reached the rudder. He looped the cord through an iron ring under the rudder, and swam underwater back to his boat. He took the end of the cord and tied it to one end of the thick rope and he held it up and greased it thoroughly. Then he took a chunk of grease for the bar, to let it slide through easily and noiselessly. Finally he gave orders to the men, and swam back to the ship and greased the bar. The men on the boat stuck an iron pin through the cord and pulled until the pin caught on the ring. And the sailor knew that the other end of the rope was in the boat. When he thought it was time, they rowed back to land. He tied one end of the rope to the capstan, and the other end was tied to a large boat, a type of whaling boat, that had been filled with firewood and candlewood, all soaked with oil so it would burn well. They set it afire, and let it catch well. Then one hundred men were set at the capstan, and they began to turn it with all their strength. And with the power from the capstan it all happened so quickly that the large boat had barely started to move when suddenly it was flush against the side of the ship. With the huge fire on it sending out enormous tongues of flame, it quickly set fire to the ship with such a fury that nothing in the world could have put it out. The men on the ship thought only of getting away in small boats. Others threw themselves into the sea to swim to the other ships, while many were burned to death because they did not have time enough to get off, and the fire caught many others sleeping. When it was daylight Tirant took three thousand crowns and gave them to the sailor, along with a silk garment lined with martens and a brocade doublet. The sailor thanked him very much and was very pleased. Then the sultan summoned his captains, both on sea and land. He told them what had happened, and also about the present the Grand Master had sent him to show how well supplied the city was with everything it needed and more. And as winter was setting in, the cold weather and rain were beginning to bother them. So they decided to raise camp and go back, but with the intention of returning another year. He quickly ordered the camp trumpets and pipes to play, and the ships to raise their sails and come near the island, because he would be there to get all the men. When Tirant saw the Moors raising camp, he armed himself, and with all his men he left the city and went to the camp. He set fire to the palisades and huts so that if they came back they would have to build them again. Then the sultan set sail and returned to his land. The lords there were well informed about the reason he was returning, and they went together to see him. They took him prisoner, and put him in a lion's den where he died horribly. Then they chose another sultan. The new sultan ordered all the Genoese ships to form a large armada with all the men who had come from Rhodes, along with many more, and he had them advance on Greece. And so it was done. And the Grand Turk was also invited, and he came with many soldiers on horseback and on foot. In the two armies were seventeen thousand Moors. And as soon as they set foot in Greece, they took over many villas and castles, and seized sixteen thousand small children, and sent them all to Turkey, to the land of the sultan, to be raised in the Mohammedan sect. And they sent many ladies and maidens into perpetual captivity. And the Island of Rhodes was freed from the power of the infidel. When the people at Cyprus knew that the sultan's armada had left the city of Famagusta, they quickly loaded many ships with wheat, oxen, sheep and other victuals, and they took it all to Rhodes because of the great hunger there. Many other places also sent supplies. And in a short time the city and the island had so much that all the elders said they had never seen or heard their ancestors tell of so great an abundance on the Island of Rhodes. A few days after the sultan had gone, two galleys arrived from Venice, loaded with wheat, and carrying pilgrims to the holy land of Jerusalem. When Tirant learned about it he went to tell the king and Philippe, and they were very happy to hear it. That night the king and Philippe and Tirant said farewell to the Grand Master and boarded the Venetian galleys with the few people who came with them, for all the others stayed at Rhodes. Diafebus, Tirant's relative, did not want to stay behind; nor did Tenebroso, so he could serve Philippe. They made such good time that in a few days they reached the port of Jaffa, and leaving there, as the weather was fair and the sea was calm, they reached Beirut with no trouble. All the pilgrims disembarked there and found good guides: there was a guide for every ten people. When they were in Jerusalem together, they stayed two weeks to visit all the holy places. Then they boarded the galleys again and raised the sails, and they had such good weather that they reached the island of Sicily in only a few days. There was great rejoicing among the Sicilians at the return of their lord, and a courier was sent to the queen to tell her of the king's arrival. The king asked about the queen's health, and about his daughter and two sons, and his brother, the duke. They answered that they were all very well, and they told him how the King of France had sent forty knights as ambassadors, with a company of gentlemen. They rested there a few days because they were very tired from the sea voyage. After they had rested, the king and all the company set off for Palermo where the queen was staying. On the day that he was to arrive, his brother, the duke, came out first, accompanied by very fine people. Then came the archbishop, with all the clergy. Then came the queen, accompanied by all the ladies of honor in the city; then, after a moment, the infanta Ricomana came with all her maidens and those of the city, very well dressed, and they were a wonderful sight to behold; then came the forty ambassadors of the King of France, wearing gold chains and dressed in garments of crimson velvet which reached to their feet. When the king had greeted the queen, and his daughter had paid him reverence, Philippe and Tirant bowed to the queen. Philippe took the infanta's arm, and they went to the palace. On the way the forty ambassadors came to pay their respects to Philippe before they did to the king, and Tirant said to Philippe: "My Lord, tell the ambassadors to go and pay reverence to the king before they speak with you." Philippe told them, and the ambassadors replied that they had been instructed by their lord, the King of France, his father, to go to the king and give him the letters they were bringing after they had paid obeisance to him. And Philippe again told them that above all they should go to the king before speaking with him. "Since Philippe wishes it," said the ambassadors, "we will do as he commands." When the king reached the palace with all the people, the ambassadors from the King of France went to pay him reverence, and they gave him the letters. The king received them very warmly, and paid them great honor. Then they went to Philippe and honored him, as was their duty, because he was the son of their own ruler. Philippe regaled them, and there was great rejoicing. After the celebration for the king's arrival was over, the ambassadors explained their mission, which had three parts. First, that the King of France was very pleased to have his son Philippe marry the infanta Ricomana, as Tirant had arranged. Second, that if the King of Sicily had a son, he would give a daughter of his to him as his wife, together with one hundred thousand crowns as a dowry. Third, that he had asked the pope, the emperor, and all the princes of Christianity to send him aid, because he had decided to march against the infidel, and all those to whom he had sent word had offered to help him. And on behalf of their lord, the King of France, they were asking him to give assistance, and if his lordship decided to send an armada he should make Philippe captain and send him too. The king's reply was that as far as the marriage was concerned he was very pleased, but as to the rest he would hold counsel. When the infanta learned that her father had consented to her marriage with Philippe, she said to herself: "If I can find some defect in Philippe that shows that he's gauche or avaricious, he will never be my husband. From now on I intend to devote every moment to discovering the truth." And while the infanta was deep in thought, a maiden in whom she had complete confidence came into her chambers, and said to her: "Tell me, my lady, what is Your Highness thinking about that makes you look so disturbed?" The infanta answered her: "I'll tell you. My father, the king, has given his consent to the ambassadors from France for the wedding, and I have a deep suspicion that Philippe is gauche, and that he may even be avaricious. And if he is, in the slightest, I wouldn't be able to stay in the same bed with him for an hour; instead I would become a nun or go into a convent. I've done everything I could to get to know him, but because of that traitor, Tirant, fortune hasn't been with me. Yes; I Pray God that I'll see him boiled and fried because that day when the bread was cut I would really have known Philippe if it hadn't been for him." When Philippe received the money his father had sent, he dressed up in elegant clothing, and he wore many jewels and gold chains and other valuable jewelry. On the day of Our Lady, in August, the king invited Philippe and all the ambassadors, and everyone who held a title in his land to dine. When the king was sitting at the table it began to rain very hard. The infanta was very pleased, and she said: "Now I can find out what I want to know." When the tables were cleared the minstrels came, and they danced a while before the king and queen. Then came the collation. The king went into his chambers to rest, but the infanta would not stop dancing for fear that Philippe would leave. When it was nearly time for vespers the skies cleared and the sun came out, and then the infanta said: "It's such a nice day, wouldn't it be a fine idea for us to go riding through the city?" Philippe quickly answered: "My lady, why would you want to ride through the city in this terrible weather? If it starts to rain again you'll get drenched." Tirant saw through the infanta's wiles, and he tugged at Philippe's coattails to make him be quiet. The infanta caught a glimpse of the signal Tirant was making, and she became very angry. She ordered the horses brought out, and they all sent for the animals. When the infanta was mounted she almost turned her back on Philippe, but kept sight of him out of the corner of her eye. And Philippe said to Tirant: "Send for another suit of clothes so that this one won't be ruined!" "Oh," said Tirant, "the clothes be damned! Don't worry about your clothing. If this suit gets dirty, there will be another one." "At least," said Philippe, "see if there aren't two pages who will carry my coattails so they won't drag along the ground." "For the son of a king," said Tirant, "you're very stingy! Hurry along now, the infanta is waiting." Then Philippe, very troubled, started out. While the infanta, who had been watching them talk, wasn't able to make out their words. So they rode through the city, and the infanta enjoyed herself immensely, seeing how the clothes of that miserly Philippe were getting wet, and how he was always looking at them. The infanta, to have more pleasure, told them to bring the falcons and they would go a little way out to the outskirts and hunt some quail. "Don't you see, my lady?" said Philippe. "This is no time for hunting. There's nothing but mud and water everywhere." "Oh, you niggardly fellow!" said the infanta. "This oaf still won't do anything that I want.' But she paid no attention to him, and went out of the city and found a peasant. She took him aside and asked him if some river or canal was not close by. The peasant answered: "My lady, straight ahead, not far from here, you'll find a large canal that will come up to a mule's groin." "That's just what I'm looking for." The infanta went ahead, and they all followed her. When they came to the water, the infanta rode through it, and Philippe stayed behind and asked Tirant if there were any servants who would hold up the tails of his clothing. "I'm tired of your prattle. Don't worry: I'll give you mine. The infanta has gone through and she's riding ahead. Hurry, and go to her side." And Tirant laughed out loud so that it would look as though Philippe had been telling him a joke. When they had gone through the water, the infanta asked Tirant what he was laughing at. "In faith, my lady," said Tirant, "I was laughing at a question Philippe has been asking me all day long, before we left Your Highness's chambers, then when we were riding, and now as we went through the water. He asked me what love is and where it comes from. The second thing he said to me is: Where does love abide? I tell you, on my word, that I don't know what love is or where it comes from, but, my lady, the true and loyal love that Philippe feels for you does not retreat from anything." "Let's go back to the city," said the infanta. As they went through the water, she watched to see if the two men were talking together again. Philippe, seeing that his clothes were already soaked, was unconcerned as they rode through the water. And the infanta was very much relieved, and believed everything Tirant had said to her. But her soul was still not entirely at ease, and she went to Tirant and said to him: "I'm in a situation where fortune holds me in its hands. I would rather renounce my life and possessions than take a husband who is gauche, vile and avaricious. And I want to tell you in all truth, Tirant, that my fortune has always been adverse. Now if I take this man for a husband, and he turns out not to please me, I would find myself having to do very desperate things, because it is my opinion that it's better to live alone than to live with a bad companion." Tirant quickly replied: "Philippe is one of the best knights in the world today. He is young, more genteel than any other man, courageous, generous and more wise than gauche. That's been his reputation wherever we've gone, among knights, duennas and maidens. Even the Moorish women who saw him, loved him and wanted to serve him. If you doubt it, look at his face, his hands, his feet, and his entire body. And if you would like to see him completely naked, I can arrange that too, my lady. I know that Your Highness loves him deeply, for he is loved by all people. You are to blame, my lady, if you don't have him by your side in a bed perfumed with benjamin, civet, and pure musk, and on the following day if you complain to me about him I will suffer whatever torment Your Highness decides." "Oh, Tirant," said the princess. "I would be very happy if I could have someone who would please me. But what use would it be if I had a statue at my side who could only give me pain and desperation?" At this moment they reached the palace and found the king in the hall, speaking with the ambassadors from France. When he saw his daughter he took her by the hand and asked where she had been. Dinner was ready, and Philippe and the ambassadors took their leave of the king and the infanta, and went to their chambers. After dinner they began to dance, and the infanta purposefully caused the dancing to continue until late at night. The king saw that it was past midnight, and he left without a word so that he would not disturb his daughter's pleasure. And as it began to rain the infanta sent word to the king, asking him to permit Philippe to remain that night, and to sleep in the palace with her brother, the infante. The king answered that that was agreeable to him. After the king had left, the dancing ended and the infante begged Philippe to stay there that night to sleep because most of the night was already past. Philippe answered that he was deeply grateful, but that he would go to his lodgings. The infanta took hold of his clothes and said: "Since it is my brother, the infante's, wish for you to stay here, this will be your lodging tonight." Tirant said: "Since they are so fond of you, stay here to give them pleasure, and I'll stay with you so that I can serve you." "That won't be necessary, Tirant," said the infanta, "because in the house of my father, my brother, the infante, and myself, there will be no lack of people to serve him." Seeing how angrily she spoke, Tirant realized that they did not want him, and he left with the others for his lodging. When they had gone, two pages came with torches and asked Philippe if it was his desire to go to sleep. And he answered that he would do whatever his lady, the infanta, and her brother commanded. They said that it was time now. Philippe bowed to the infanta and followed the pages, who led him to a room where there were two beds. The king had ordered a very special canopy made entirely of brocade, to be given to his daughter on her wedding day, and he had another placed in a room to serve as its model. When the brocade canopy was finished, the two beds were placed next to each other, and the coverlet was of the same brocade. And on it they put the sheets for the wedding, with embroidered pillows, so that it was an exceptional bed. The other bed in the same room was entirely white, and there was a great difference between the two. When Philippe saw such a luxurious bed he was astonished, and he thought it better to lie down on the other one. That evening, while dancing, he had slightly torn his stocking, and he thought that his servants would not come as soon as he would get up in the morning. The pages had been well instructed by the infanta, who was in a place where she could see very well what Philippe would do. Philippe said to one of the pages: "Please go bring me a needle and a little bit of white thread." The infanta had seen him give orders to the page but she did not know what he was asking for. Then the page went to the infanta, and she had them give him a needle with a little thread. The page took it to him, and found him pacing from one end of the room to the other, and he did not say one word to the second page who was there. When Philippe had the needle he went to a torch and opened a blister that was on his hand. The infanta immediately thought he had asked for the needle because of the blister. He put it on the bed where he had decided to sleep. Philippe then took off his clothing and sat on the bed. After the pages had removed his stockings, Philippe told them to go to sleep and to leave a torch lit for him. They did so, closing the door. Philippe got up from where he was sitting in order to get the needle and sew his stocking, and he began to look for it from one end of the bed to another. He gloomily lifted the coverlet, and he twisted and turned it so much that it fell on the floor. Then he lifted up the sheets and tore the entire bed apart without finding the needle. He thought about making up the bed again and sleeping in it; but when he saw it all undone, he said to himself: "Oh well. Won't it be better for me to sleep in the other one instead of making this one up again?" A very singular needle was that for Philippe. He lay down in the bed of rich covers. The infanta, who had seen the entire display, said to her maidens: "Upon your life, look how great the knowledge of foreigners is, especially Philippe. It was my intention to test him, as I have done other times, with these two beds. I thought that if Philippe were gauche and avaricious he would not dare sleep in a bed like this one, but instead would lie down in the other which is more plain. He has done something quite different: he has torn apart the plainest one and has thrown its covers on the floor, and he has gone to bed in the best one to show that he is the son of a king. Now I can see that Tirant is a loyal knight who has always told me the truth." And with this thought, she left to go to bed. Very early in the morning Tenebroso came to Philippe's chambers with his pages, and brought him more clothing so that he could change. When the infanta was dressed and still fastening her skirt, she sent for Tirant and with a show of great happiness she told him: "I have come to realize how special Philippe is. I have seen with my own eyes his speech and royal manners, and that he is very generous. Until now I felt very hesitant about giving my consent to this marriage, but from now on I will do everything His royal Majesty, my father, commands me." Tirant heard the infanta's words, and he was the happiest man in the world. He quickly answered: "I am very happy that Your Excellency has come to know the truth. I am going to speak with my lord, the king, immediately in order to bring the matter to a swift conclusion." Tirant took his leave of the infanta and went to the king and told him: "I see the ambassadors from France in great anguish about this wedding so I have come to Your Majesty to beg you to either have it take place, or give the ambassadors your leave so that they can return to their king. And if it will not make Your Majesty angry to have me speak with my lady, the infanta, on Your Highness' behalf, I believe that she will be inclined to do whatever Your Majesty commands." "If God gives health to my soul and my body," said the king, "that will please me. I beg you to go to her and make the request on my behalf and your own." Tirant left the king and went back to the infanta. He found her combing her hair, and he told her about the conversation he had had with the king. Then the infanta said: "My lord Tirant, I have complete confidence in your nobility and virtue, so I am putting this entire matter in your hands, and I will agree to everything. If you want it done now, I will do it." Tirant saw how willing she was, and he saw Philippe at the door, waiting to accompany the infanta to mass. He asked the infanta to have the maidens leave because he wanted to tell her other things in Philippe's presence. The infanta ordered the maidens to go, and they were very surprised to see the infanta speaking so docilely to Tirant. When all the maidens were gone, Tirant opened the door to the chamber and had Philippe enter. "My lady," said Tirant, "here is Philippe who has a greater desire to serve your ladyship than all the princesses in the world, and so I beg your grace, here on my knees, to kiss him as a sign of good faith." "Oh, Tirant!" said the infanta. "These are the words you wanted to tell me? Your face reveals what you bear in your heart. When my king and my father commands it of me, then I will do it." Tirant motioned to Philippe, who quickly took her up in his arms, and carried her to a lounge that was there, and kissed her five or six times. The infanta said: "Tirant, I placed no little trust in you. What have you made me do? I thought of you as a brother and you have put me in the hands of someone I am still unsure of--I do not know whether he will turn out to be my friend or my enemy." "Your words are cruel, my lady. How can Philippe be an enemy to Your Excellency if he loves you more than his own life, and desires to hold you in that bed where he slept this evening, completely nude, or in your chemise? You can be certain that this would be the greatest blessing in the world. So, my lady," continued Tirant, "allow Philippe, who is dying of love for you, to enjoy part of the glory that he has desired so much." "May God not permit it," said the infanta, "and may He keep me from an error like that. I would think of myself as vile if I gave my consent to such a thing." "My lady," said Tirant, "Philippe and I are here only to serve you. Let your benign grace have a little patience." And Tirant caught her hands while Philippe attempted to make use of his own resources. The infanta cried out, and the maidens came and calmed them down. When the infanta had laced up her garments, she dressed very elegantly, and Philippe and Tirant accompanied her and the queen to mass. And there, before mass, they were engaged. The following Sunday the wedding was held with great ceremony, and celebrations took place which lasted a week, with jousts, tournaments, dances, and buffoonery, night and day. In this way the infanta was entertained, and she was very pleased with Tirant, and much more with Philippe whose work was so wonderful that she never forgot it. When the wedding celebrations were over, the King of Sicily decided to lend his assistance to the King of France, and he had ten galleys and four large ships armed, and gave the men six months' wages. Tirant bought a galley, but he refused to accept wages or to associate with anyone, because he intended to act on his own. When the galleys were armed and well stocked with food, they received word that the King of France was in Aigues-Mortes with all the vessels of the King of Castile, of Aragon, Navarre and Portugal. Philippe was chosen captain, and the infante of Sicily went with him, and they found themselves in the port of Savona with ships from the pope, the emperor, and everyone who had offered their aid. They all left together and sailed until they came to the island of Corsica where they found the King of France. There they took on water, and they approached the great city of Tripoli in Libya before dawn, and no one in the entire armada knew where they were going with the exception of the king. But when they saw the king's ship turning and everyone taking up arms, they realized that that was their destination. Then Tirant, who was on his galley, went to the king's ship on a skiff. He climbed aboard with many others, and they found the king arming himself and preparing for mass. During the reading of the Gospel, Tirant knelt before the king and begged him to let him make a vow, and the king gave his consent. Tirant placed himself at the feet of the priest who was saying mass, and knelt down, and the priest took up the missal and turned it toward the king. Tirant, while kneeling, put his hands on the book and said: "By the grace of Almighty God, I belong to the order of chivalry. As a knight who wants to attain honor, I make my vow to God and all the saints in paradise, and to my lord, the Duke of Brittany, captain-general of this armada, that I will be the first to touch land and the last to return." Afterward Diafebus vowed to write his name on the gates to the city of Tripoli. Then another knight made a vow that he would go so near the wall that he would put an arrow inside the city. Another knight stood up and vowed that he would enter the city and take a Moorish maiden from her mother's side, that he would put her on the ship and give her to Philippa, the daughter of the King of France. Another knight vowed that he would place a flag on the highest tower in the city. On the king's ship there were many knights--more than four hundred fifty. And where there are many, envy and ill will are engendered, for the sin of envy has many branches. Many were moved by the desire to make Tirant break his vow, and they made preparations with boats and vessels and small galleys to be the first to reach land. There were so many Moors that when they saw such a great armada they positioned themselves near the sea to stop the Christians from reaching land. All the galleys pressed forward toward land, and they were so close that their sides nearly touched. When they were so near to land that they could throw down the ladders, all the ships turned about so the men could disembark. But Tirant ordered his galley to head in to land, prow first. When he felt the ship touch land, Tirant, who was standing, armed, on the prow, jumped into the water. The Moors saw him and ran toward him to kill him; but Diafebus and others defended him. Many armed men and many sailors leapt after him in order to go to his aid. As soon as the king's galley and the others had turned about, they lowered their ladders. But who dared disembark when they saw so many Moors? The greatest fight was where Tirant stood. Virtue, goodness, strength and wisdom were in the king and his men who, as valiant knights, climbed down the ladders, and their haste to attack the Moors was so great that many fell into the sea. When all the men were on land, they gave the Moors great battle, and many men from both sides died. As soon as the Moors attempted to take refuge in the city, many good knights went in and took five streets of the city, but they were unable to take more. All the knights fulfilled their vows on those five streets that they took, and they loaded the ships and the galleys with the great booty that they had taken. But so great was the aid that the Moors received that they could not push on. When they had to withdraw, therein lay the great danger, and many of them died. When they were all on board, Tirant remained behind, because he had not yet fulfilled his vow. His galley had now debeached, and its ladder was on land, waiting for Tirant to board. A knight who was searching for honor, and who well deserved it for his virtues, was named Ricart lo Venturos, and he remained behind with Tirant. Ricart said to Tirant: "All the men are on board or are dead. Only you and I are still here. You had the glory of being the first of the conquerors, because your feet were the first to touch this cursed land. But don't forget how I defended you many times from danger. Let me go on board the galley first, so that we can be equals in honor and fame and brotherhood, for at times a person who wants all worldly glory loses everything." "There is no time to waste on words," said Tirant. "Life or death is in your hands. I will be considered victorious if both of us die at the hand of these infidels, and I'm sure that our souls will be saved if we die with our faith firm, like good Christians, defending ourselves. So give me your hand, Ricart, and let us die like knights." The two knights were in the sea up to their chests because of the lances, darts, spears and stones that were being hurled at them. When Ricart saw that Tirant was going up to the shore to attack the Moors, he caught him by the coat and brought him back into the water, and said: "I know of no knight in the world as fearless as you are. And since I see how great your courage is, do this: Put your foot on the ladder first, and then I will be first to climb up." The king was in great anguish, afraid that those two knights would be lost. Tirant wanted to give him part of the honor, so he put his right foot on the ladder. Then Ricart went up first, and Tirant was the last of all, and so he fulfilled his vow. There was much discussion about these two knights: some said that Tirant had fulfilled his vow, and the king and many others paid him high honor. When Ricart saw that they all were honoring Tirant, he said: "If the matter is duly judged by the code of chivalry, who should the honor and glory be given to, if not to me? Tirant was a coward in battle even when fortune aided him, so the prize for this act should be given to no one but me. I am barefoot, and I will never again put shoes on my feet until His Majesty, the king, and the noble knights make a decision about this. It is well known that after all the men had retreated, Tirant and I stayed behind alone on the shore. He and I argued at length about who would be the first to go on board. When he saw that I did not want to, he put his foot on the ladder before I did. And so, my lord, may it please Your Highness to summon your sacred council, and let Your Majesty give the honor to the one it belongs to, as it rightfully and justly belongs to me. And if Your Highness does not want to judge this case, I say in the presence of everyone that I am a better knight than Tirant, and I will fight him, man to man, to the death.'" The king answered: "Ricart, no good judge can decide anything if he does not listen to all sides first, and this cannot be done without Tirant here." This conversation came to Tirant's attention, and he brought his galley alongside the king's ship. When he came aboard, the king was in his chambers, sleeping. When Ricart heard that Tirant had come, he went up to him and said: "Tirant, if you dare to say that I'm not a better knight than you are, I offer to do battle with you to the death." And he threw his gloves at him as a challenge. When Tirant saw that he wanted to fight him with so little provocation, he raised his hand and dealt him a hard blow. The noise they raised was so loud that the king had to come up with his sword in hand. When Tirant saw the king, he went up to the forecastle, and from there he defended himself, and he said to the king: "Sire, Your Majesty should punish this shameless knight who is the instigator of all evil. He has never found himself in a joust, much less seen the flash of an angry sword before his eyes, and now he wants to fight me to the death over nothing. If he defeats me he will have defeated all the chivalresque acts I have accomplished to my glory and honor. And if I am the victor I will have conquered a man who has never borne arms." After he had said these words he swung safely down to his galley on a rope. If the king had been able to put his hands on him at that moment, because he committed such an outrageous act on his ship, it would not have been surprising if he'd had his head removed from his shoulders. The king departed with the entire armada from Tripoli in Libya, and went toward Cyprus, sacking the Turkish coast and setting it red with blood and flames, and they loaded all the ships with the many riches they had taken. When they reached Cyprus they went to the city of Famagusta, took provisions of food and turned toward Tunis. There the king disembarked and they pressed the city hard in combat. Tirant and his men attacked a tower which had a deep moat at its foot, and Tirant fell into it. Ricart was heavily armed to see if he could take revenge on Tirant. When he reached the tower he saw Tirant lying in the moat. Ricart leapt into the moat, wearing all his armor, and helped Tirant get up. Then he said: "Tirant, here stands your mortal enemy who can give you death or life. God forbid that I should let you die at the hands of the Moors, when I can give you aid." And he pulled him out, for they would surely have killed him if they had found him there. When he was out, Ricart said to him: "Now you are free, Tirant. Protect yourself from death as well as you can, because you can be sure that I will do everything in my power to kill you." "Virtuous knight," said Tirant, "I have seen your great goodness and courtesy, and I know that you saved me from a cruel death. I kneel to the ground and beg your forgiveness for the way I offended you. I give you my sword so that you can take whatever vengeance you like on me." When the knight heard such humble words, he forgave him and was happy to be his friend, and from that time on they were good friends, and were inseparable in life, until death. After the king had taken and sacked the city of Tunis, Ricart would not go onto the king's ship, but went on Tirant's galley instead. When the king and the knights heard what had happened, they praised both of them because each had shown great gentility. After the King of France left the city of Tunis, they turned toward Sicily to see his daughter-in-law and to disembark in Palermo. When the King of Sicily learned of his arrival, he had a great celebration prepared for the King of France. The King of Sicily went on board his ship, and when they met they were both delighted. They went on land where the daughter-in-law was waiting, and the father-in-law and daughter-in-law met joyfully. The king gave her many presents and held her hand all day long and would not let her leave his side. And as long as the King of France remained there, each day, before the infanta arose, he would send her some expensive gift: one day brocades, another silks, gold chains, trinkets, and other jewels of great value. The King of Sicily presented the King of France with one hundred very beautiful and unique horses, which the King of France made a great show of appreciation over. And the King of Sicily had his daughter go on board the ships personally and inspect them to see how well they were stocked with food, and to supply them with everything they needed. The King of France thought highly of what his daughter-in-law was doing, and he was very pleased to see that she was a very discreet and diligent woman who was on board the ships from morning to night, and that she did not eat until they had been supplied. When the ships were filled and the horses were put on board, the King of France took his leave of the King of Sicily, the queen and the infanta, and departed, taking the Prince of Sicily with him, and when they were in France he gave him one of his daughters for a wife. The armada left the port of Palermo and turned toward Barbary, and moving along the shore line they came to Malaga, Oran and Tlemcen. They passed through the Strait of Gibraltar, then went to Ceuta, Alcazar Segur, and Tangier. As they turned along the other coast of Cadiz, Tarifa and Gibraltar, they went by Cartagena, for in those days the entire coast was in the hands of the Moors. From there they went by the islands of Ibiza and Majorca, and then they went to the port of Marseille to disembark. The king gave liberty to all the ships except the ones belonging to his son, Philippe; he wanted him to go along and see his mother, the queen. Tirant went with them, and from there he went to Brittany to see his father and mother and his relatives. After a few days, while the King of France held the wedding for his daughter and the prince of Sicily, he wanted Philippe to return to his wife. Philippe received word that the King of Sicily's other son had renounced the world, and become a friar. Philippe begged his father, the King of France, to send for Tirant to accompany him to Sicily. The king wrote letters to the Duke of Brittany and to Tirant, asking him to go with Philippe to Sicily, and asking the duke to plead with him earnestly. When Tirant saw the petitions of two such great lords, he was obliged to obey their commands, so he left Brittany and went to the court of the king. The king and queen begged him earnestly to go with Philippe; and he very graciously gave his consent. Philippe and Tirant left the court and went to Marseille where they found the galleys well stocked. They boarded them, and had such a good voyage that in a few days they reached Sicily. The king, the queen and the infanta were very happy to see them. CHAPTER IV CONSTANTINOPLE After a week, while the king was in council, he remembered a letter the emperor of Constantinople had sent him, telling about certain troubles. He summoned Tirant, and had it read in his presence, and it said the following: "We, Frederick, Emperor of the Empire of Greece by the immense and divine majesty of the sovereign and eternal God, extend health and honor to you, King of the great and abundant island of Sicily. By the pact made by our ancestors, sealed, signed and sworn by you and by me through our ambassadors: We do notify your royal personage that the sultan, the Moorish renegade, is inside our empire with a great army, and in his company is the Grand Turk. They have overpowered a large part of our realm, and we have been unable to lend assistance, for because of my old age I cannot bear arms. After the great loss we have suffered of cities, towns and castles, the dearest possession I had in this world was killed -- my first born son who was my consolation, and a guardian of the holy Catholic faith -- doing battle against the infidel, to his great honor and glory and to mine, And as a greater misfortune, he was killed by his own men. That sad, painful day was the perdition of the imperial house and of my honor. It is known to me and is common knowledge that in your court you have a valiant knight, whose name is Tirant lo Blanc; he belongs to the brotherhood of that singular order of chivalry said to be founded on that glorious saint, the father of chivalry, Saint George, on the island of England. Many singular acts worthy of great honor are told about this knight and are celebrated throughout the world, and they are the reason we ask you to beg him on your behalf and mine to come to my service, for I shall give him all my possessions he may desire. And if he will not come I pray Divine Justice to make him suffer my pain. Oh, blessed King of Sicily! As you are a crowned king, have pity on my pain so that the immense goodness of God will keep you from a similar situation, for we are all subject to the wheel of fortune, and there is no one who can detain it." When the emperor's letter was finished, and Tirant had heard it, the king said: "You should thank Almighty God, Tirant, my brother, for He has given you such perfection that your name reigns throughout the world. I place my trust in your generosity, and so I dare to beg you on behalf of the Emperor of Constantinople and myself. And if my pleas have no effect on you, at least have pity on that unfortunate emperor so that he will not lose his imperial throne." When the king had said this, Tirant replied: "If Your Majesty commands me to go serve that prosperous emperor who reigns in Greece, I will do it because of the great love I hold for Your Highness. But, Sire, I can only do as much as a man can do; that is plain to God and to the whole world. And I am even more astonished at that great emperor--who has passed over all the excellent kings, dukes, counts, and marquis in the world who are more knowledgeable and more valiant than I am in the art of chivalry--that he should pass over them for me." "Tirant," said the king, "I know very well that there are good knights in the world, and you should not be forgotten among them. If, by chance, their honor should be examined, among the emperors, kings, and expert knights, the prize, honor and glory would be given to you as the best of them all. So I beg you as a knight to go and serve the imperial state, and I advise you to do so as if you were my son." "Since Your Majesty commands and advises me to do this," said Tirant, "I will go." The king ordered all the galleys to be stocked with everything they would need. And when the king told the emperor's ambassadors that Tirant was willing to go, they were the happiest men in the world, and they heartily thanked the king. As soon as the ambassadors had reached Sicily they were ready to offer a salary to the men. They gave half a ducat each day to the crossbowmen, and a ducat to the soldiers. And since there were not enough men in Sicily, they went on to Rome and Naples, and there they found many men who accepted wages very willingly, and they also bought many horses. Tirant took his leave of the king and queen, and of Philippe and the infanta. And with all the men on board, they let a favorable wind fill the sails, and they sailed quickly over a calm sea until one morning they found themselves before the city of Constantinople. When the emperor heard that Tirant had arrived, he was happier than he had ever been, and he said that he felt as if his son had come back to life. As the eleven galleys neared shore, all the cries of happiness made the entire city resound. The emperor went up on a great cenotaph to watch the galleys come in. When Tirant learned where the emperor was, he had two large flags of the King of Sicily brought out, and one of his own. He had three knights come out in armor, each of them with a flag in his hand, and every time they passed in front of the emperor they lowered the flags until they nearly touched the water, while Tirant's touched it each time. This was a sign of greeting, and because of the emperor's dignity they humbled themselves so lowly before him. When the emperor saw this, which was something that he had never seen before, he was very pleased. When Tirant was on land he found the Count of Africa waiting for him on shore with many men, and he welcomed him with great honor. They then made their way to the platform where the emperor was. As soon as Tirant saw him he knelt to the ground, along with all his men, and when they reached the middle of the platform they bowed again. When he was six feet away he knelt and tried to kiss his foot, and the worthy lord would not permit it. He kissed his hand, and the emperor kissed him on the mouth. When they had all bowed to him, Tirant gave him the letter from the King of Sicily. After the emperor had read it in everyone's presence, he spoke to Tirant: "This is no small happiness I feel at your arrival, virtuous knight. So that everyone will know how grateful I am to you, I am bestowing on you the imperial and general captaincy over the soldiers and over justice." He offered him a rod made of solid gold, and on its enamel head was painted the coat of arms of the empire. When Tirant saw that it was the emperor's will he accepted the rod and the captaincy, and kissed his hand. The trumpets and minstrels began to play by order of the emperor, and they announced throughout the city by imperial proclamation how Tirant lo Blanc had been chosen captain by command of their lord, the emperor. After all this the emperor came down from the cenotaph to go back to the palace, and they passed by a very beautiful lodging that had been prepared for Tirant and his men. The emperor said: "Captain, since we are here, go into your chambers so that you can rest a few days from the hardships you have endured at sea." "What, my lord! Do you imagine that I would be so ill mannered as to leave you? My consolation is to accompany Your Majesty--to Hell itself, and even better, to the palace." The emperor had to laugh at what Tirant had said. And Tirant continued: "My lord, if it please Your Majesty, when we are in the palace, allow me to go and pay my respects to the empress and to your beloved daughter, the infanta." The emperor gave his consent. When they were in the palace the emperor took him by the hand and led him to the empress's chamber. They found her in the following condition: the chamber was very dark, for there was no light at all, and the emperor said: "My lady, here is our captain who has come to pay you his respects." She replied in a very weak voice: "Very well. He is welcome." Tirant said: "My lady, it is by faith that I must believe that the one speaking to me is the empress." "Captain," said the emperor, "whoever holds the captaincy of the Greek Empire has the power to open windows, and to look everyone in the face, to remove the mourning they bear for a husband, father, son or brother." Tirant asked for a lighted torch to be brought, and it was done immediately. When the light was cast on the room the captain discovered a pavilion entirely in black. He went up to it, opened it, and saw a woman dressed in coarse cloth with a large black veil over her head that covered her entirely, down to her feet. Tirant removed the veil from her head so that her face was uncovered, and when he saw her face he knelt to the ground and kissed her foot and then her hand. She held a rosary in her hand, made of gold and enamel; she kissed it and then had the captain kiss it. Then he saw a bed with black curtains. The infanta was reclining on the bed, dressed in a black satin skirt and covered with a velvet garment of the same color. A woman and a maiden were sitting at her feet on the bed. The maiden was the daughter of the Duke of Macedonia, and the woman was called Widow Repose, and she had nursed the infanta with her own milk. In the back of the room he saw one hundred seventy women and maidens, all with the empress and the infanta Carmesina. Tirant approached the bed, made a deep bow to the infanta, and kissed her hand. Then he opened the windows. And it seemed as though all the women were coming out of a long period of captivity: they had been plunged into darkness a long while because of the death of the emperor's son. Tirant said: "My lord, speaking by your leave I will tell Your Highness and the empress my idea. I see that the people in this notable city are very sad and troubled for two reasons. The first is because of the loss of the prince, your son. Your Majesty should not be troubled, for he died in the service of God, upholding the holy Catholic faith. Instead you should praise and give thanks to the immense goodness of God, our Lord, because He gave him to you and it was His wish to take him from you for His own good, and He has placed him in the glory of paradise. The second reason they are sad is because all the Moors are so nearby that they are afraid of losing their possessions and their lives, and as a lesser evil that they will become captives of the infidel. That is why Your Highness and the empress must show smiling faces to everyone who sees you: to console them in their grief so that they will gather courage to fight against the enemy." "The captain's advice is good," said the emperor. "It is my wish and my command that men as well as women shed their mourning immediately." While the emperor was talking, Tirant's ears were attentive to what he was saying, but his eyes were contemplating the great beauty of Carmesina. As the windows had been closed it was very warm, so her blouse was partly open, exposing her breasts like two apples from the garden of Eden. They were like crystal and allowed Tirant's eyes to gain entrance, and they remained prisoners of this free person forever, until death separated them. The emperor took his daughter Carmesina by the hand and led her from the room. The captain took the empress's arm, and they went into the other room which was very nicely decorated and completely covered with works of art depicting the following love-stories: Floris and Blanchfleur, Thisbe and Pyramus, Aeneas and Dido, Tristram and Isolde, Queen Guinevere and Lancelot, and many more whose loves were displayed in very subtle and artistic paintings. And Tirant said to Ricart: "I never thought there could be as many wondrous things on this earth as I am seeing." By this he meant, more than anything, the great beauty of the princess. But Ricart did not understand him. Tirant took his leave of the others and went to his chambers. He entered a bedroom and put his head on a pillow at one end of the bed. It was not long before someone came to ask him if he wished to dine. Tirant said he did not, and that he had a headache. He was wounded by that passion that traps many. Diafebus, seeing that he was not coming out, went into the room and said: "Captain, please, tell me what's the matter. I'll be glad to help you if I can." "My cousin," said Tirant, "the only thing wrong is that the sea air has left me with ardor." "Oh, captain! Are you going to keep things hidden from me? I have been the archive of all your good and bad fortune, and now are you keeping secrets from me? Tell me, I beg you. Don't hide anything from me." "Don't torment me even more," said Tirant. "I have never felt a worse illness than I do now." He turned over from shame, not daring to look Diafebus in the face, and no other words could come out of his mouth except: "I am in love." As he said this, tears flowed from his eyes. When Diafebus saw how ashamed Tirant was he understood why, because Tirant had always reprimanded all of his kinsmen and all his friends on the subject of love. And as Diafebus thought of the remedies for this illness, he said: "Although you may think that it is difficult and strange to be subjugated by the yoke of love, you may be sure that no one can resist it. And so, my captain, the more intelligent a man is, the more he should hide his thoughts, and not reveal the pain and anguish that are attacking his mind." When Tirant saw the good advice that Diafebus was giving him, he got up, feeling ashamed, and they went in to dinner, which was excellent, because the emperor had planned it. But Tirant could not eat. The others thought he was still feeling the ill effects of the sea. And because of his great passion, Tirant left the table and went into his room, sighing and ashamed of the confusion that was overcoming him. Diafebus took another knight, and they went to the palace, not to see the emperor but to see the ladies. The emperor, who was sitting near a window, saw them passing by, and sent word for them to come up. Diafebus and the other knight went up to the emperor's rooms, and found him with all the ladies. The emperor asked what had become of their captain, and Diafebus told him that he felt a little ill. When he heard it he was very concerned, and told his doctors to go at once to see him. When they returned, the doctors told the emperor that his illness had only been caused by the change of air. The magnanimous emperor begged Diafebus to tell him about all the celebrations that had taken place in England with the marriage of the king to the daughter of the King of France, and about all the knights who had jousted, and which ones had been victorious in the field. "My lord," said Diafebus, "I would be very grateful if Your Majesty would excuse me from telling about these things. I wouldn't want Your Highness to think that because I'm a relative of Tirant I would favor him. I will tell you what truly happened. And as proof, I have all the acts signed by the king, and the judges of the camp, and by many dukes, counts and marquis, kings-of-arms, and heralds." The emperor begged him to have them brought immediately. Diafebus sent for them and told the emperor extensively about all the celebrations, and he did the same about the jousts. Afterward they read the acts and they saw that Tirant had been the best of all the knights. The emperor was very pleased, and his daughter Carmesina even more so, as were all the ladies who were listening very attentively to all the magnificent chivalresque acts of Tirant. Afterward they wanted to know about the wedding of the princess of Sicily and the liberating of the Grand Master of Rhodes. When everything had been explained the emperor held counsel, as he usually did for a half hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. Diafebus wanted to go with him, but the valiant lord would not permit it and told him: "It is a well known fact that young knights have a greater desire to be with the ladies." He left, and Diafebus stayed behind, and they spoke of many things. Princess Carmesina begged her mother, the empress, to let them go to another room where they could enjoy themselves, since they had been inside a long while in mourning for her brother. The empress said: "My child, you may go wherever you please." They all went to a marvelous hall built completely with brick-work, done artfully and with delicate craftsmanship. When the princess was in the hall, she drew apart from the others with Diafebus, and they began to talk about Tirant. When Diafebus saw that she was speaking of Tirant with such interest, he quickly said: "Take everything that I say as a loyal servant, and keep it in the most secret part of your heart: It was only the fame of Your Highness that brought Tirant here to see you and serve you. Don't imagine, Your Highness, that we have come at the request of the valiant King of Sicily, or because of the letters your father, the emperor, sent to the King of Sicily. And Your Highness should not imagine that we have come to test ourselves in the exercise of arms, or because of the beauty of the land, or to see the imperial palaces. Your Highness, the reason for our coming was none other than the desire to see you and to serve Your Majesty. And if wars and battles take place, it will all be to win your love and admiration." "Oh, wretched me," said the princess. "What are you saying to me? Shall I grow vain, thinking that all of you have come because of love of me, and not for the love of my father?" "In faith," said Diafebus, "on that I could swear that Tirant, our brother and lord, begged us to come with him to this land to see the daughter of the emperor, whom he desired to see more than anything in the world. And the first time his eyes rested on Your Highness he was so overcome by the vision of Your Excellency that he took to his bed." When Diafebus said these things to the princess she became withdrawn and remained deep in thought, and could not speak. She was half beside herself, her angelic face blushing, for feminine fragility had so overtaken her that she could not utter a word. At that instant the emperor arrived and called Diafebus, and they spoke of many things until the emperor wished to dine. Diafebus excused himself, approached the princess, and asked Her Majesty if she would like to command him to do anything. "Yes," she said, "take these embraces of mine and keep them for yourself, and give part of them to Tirant." Diafebus drew near to her and did what she commanded. When Tirant heard that Diafebus had gone to the palace and was talking to the princess, he wanted very much for him to come back so that he could have news of his lady. When he came into the room, Tirant got up from the bed and said: "My good brother, what news do you bring me of the lady who has captured my heart?" When Diafebus saw Tirant's great love, he embraced him on behalf of his lady, and told him their entire conversation. Then Tirant was happier than if he had been given a kingdom, and he recuperated so well that he ate well and was happy, and longed for morning to come so he could go and see her. After Diafebus had left the princess, she remained lost in thought, and she had to leave her father's side and go into her chambers. The daughter of the Duke of Macedonia was named Stephanie. She was a young lady whom the princess loved deeply, because they had been raised together from the time they were very small, and they were both the same age. When she saw that the princess had gone into her chambers, she left the table and followed her. When they were together the princess told her everything Diafebus had said to her, and about the great passion she felt from Tirant's love. "I tell you that I have been more pleased by the vision of this man than all the men I have ever seen in the whole world. He is tall, of excellent disposition, and he shows his great spirit by his manners, and the words that come out of his mouth are delightful. I think he is more courteous and agreeable than anyone I have ever known. Who wouldn't love a man like that? And to think that he came here more out of love for me than for my father's sake! Truly, my heart is inclined to obey all his commands, and the signs indicate that he will be my life and my salvation." Stephanie said: "My lady, from among those who are good, choose the best. Knowing his extraordinary feats of chivalry, there is no lady or maiden in the world who would not love him and obey his every wish." While they were engaged in this delightful conversation, the other maidens came in, along with Widow Repose, who was very concerned with Carmesina since she had suckled her. She asked them what they were discussing, and the princess said: "We were talking about what that knight was saying--about the great celebrations and honors that were given in England to all the foreigners who were there." And they spent the night speaking of these and other things so that the princess slept neither a little nor a great deal. The following day Tirant put on a cloak of gold braid, and in his hand he carried the gold captain's stick. All the rest of his countrymen dressed in brocades and silks, and they all went to the palace. When the emperor heard that his captain had come, he told them to let him enter. As he came in the emperor was dressing and the princess was combing his hair. Then she brought him water to wash his hands, as she did every day. The princess was dressed in a skirt of gold thread. When the emperor had finished dressing he said to Tirant: "Tell me, captain, what was the illness you were suffering from yesterday?" "Your Majesty, my affliction was brought about entirely by the ardor of the sea, for the winds of these lands are finer than are those of the west." The princess replied before the emperor could speak: "Sire, that ardor does no harm to foreigners if they behave as they should; instead it brings them health and a long life." As she spoke these words she looked steadfastly at Tirant, smiling at him so that he could see she had understood him. The emperor and the captain left the chamber together, talking as they went, and the princess took Diafebus' hand, and holding him back, she said: "After what you told me yesterday I have not slept all night long." "My lady, what can I tell you? We've had our share as well. But I am very happy that you understood Tirant." "How could you think," said the princess, "that Greek women are of less worth than the French? In this land all women understand your Latin, no matter how obscurely you speak." "That is why," said Diafebus, "we are more content having conversations with intelligent people." "As far as conversations go," said the princess, "you will soon see the truth, and you'll see if we understand your wiles." The princess ordered Stephanie to bring other maidens to keep Diafebus company, and many young ladies quickly appeared. When the princess saw him well engaged, she went back into her chamber to finish dressing. Meanwhile Tirant accompanied the emperor to the great church of Saint Sophia, and then left him there saying prayers, and returned to the palace to be with the empress and Carmesina. When he was in the great hall he found his cousin Diafebus there, surrounded by many maidens, and telling them about the love between Philippe and the daughter of the King of Sicily. Diafebus was so accustomed to being in the company of maidens, that it seemed as though he had been raised with them from birth. When they saw Tirant come in they all stood up and welcomed him; then they made him sit with them, and they talked of many things. Then the empress came out, and she took Tirant aside and asked him about his illness. Tirant told her that he was much better now. It was not long before the princess came out. Tirant took the empress's arm because, as captain, he held precedence over the others. There were many counts and marquis there, men of high position, and they went to the princess to take her arm, and she said: "I want no one at my side except my brother Diafebus." They all left her, and he took her arm. But God knows that Tirant would much rather have been near the princess than near the empress. As they went to the church, Diafebus told the princess: "Look, Your Highness, how spirits attract." The infanta said: "Why do you say that?" "My lady," said Diafebus, "because Your Excellency has on a sequined dress, embroidered with large pearls, and the sentimental heart of Tirant brings what it needs. Oh, how fortunate I would feel if I could place that cloak over this dress!" As they were very near the empress, he pulled Tirant's cloak. When he felt his cloak being tugged, he stopped, and Diafebus placed the cloak over the princess's dress, and said: 'My lady, now the stone is in its place." "Oh, wretched me!" said the princess. "Have you gone mad, or have you lost your senses?" Are you so shameless that you say these things in front of so many people?" "No, my lady," said Diafebus. "No one hears or notices or sees anything, and I could say the Pater Noster backward and no one would understand me." "You must," said the princess, "have learned about honor in school, where they read that famous poet, Ovid, who speaks of true love in all his books. If you knew what tree the fruits of love and honor are plucked from, and if you knew the customs of this land, you would be a very fortunate man." As she was saying this they reached the church. The empress went behind the curtain, but the princess did not want to go in, saying that it was very hot. The truth was that she did not go in so that she could observe Tirant at her pleasure. He went near the altar where there were many dukes and counts, and they all gave him the honor of being first because of his station. He said mass on his knees, and when the princess saw him kneeling on the ground, she took one of the brocade pillows that had been placed there for her, and gave it to one of the maidens to give to Tirant. The emperor saw his daughter performing that courteous act, and he was very pleased. When Tirant saw the pillow that the maiden was giving him to kneel on, he stood up and then, with his cap in his hand, he bowed deeply on one knee to the princess. Do not imagine that during the entire mass the princess could finish saying her Hours as she looked at Tirant and all his men dressed in the French fashion. When Tirant had gazed at the striking beauty of the princess, he let his mind play over all the ladies and maidens he could remember seeing, and he thought to himself that he had never seen or hoped to see anyone as well endowed by nature as she, for in lineage, in beauty, in grace, in wealth, along with infinite wisdom, she seemed more angelic than human. When mass was finished they returned to the palace, and Tirant took his leave of the emperor and of the ladies, and went to his quarters with his men. As they reached their quarters he went into his chamber and fell upon the bed, thinking of the princess's great beauty. And her beautiful features only served to make him feel worse: so that while he had felt one pain before, he now felt one hundred. Diafebus went into the chamber, and when he saw him with such a sad face he said: "My captain, you are the most extraordinary knight I have ever seen in my life. Anyone else would hold a great celebration for all the joy they had when they saw their lady. And the flattery and honor she paid you--more than to all the great lords there. And then she presented the brocade pillow to you with such grace and love in everyone's presence. Here, when you should feel like the most fortunate man in the world, you seem to have lost all reason." When Tirant heard Diafebus' comforting words he said in a mournful voice: "The reason my heart is grieving is that I am in love, and I don't know if my love will be returned. This is what torments me most, and makes my heart colder than ice. I have no hope of gaining my desire, because fortune always opposes those who are in love." When Diafebus saw how tormented Tirant was, he would not let him continue, and he said: "If you keep on behaving that way, infamy will follow you the rest of your life. And if this should reach the emperor's ears, God forbid, what would happen to you and the rest of us? He would say that you fell in love with his daughter the day you arrived in order to bring shame to his entire realm, the crown and the empire. So, my captain, use your discretion, and don't let anyone guess you're in love." Tirant listened to the wise words of Diafebus, and he was very glad to have the advice of his good friend and relative. He thought for a moment, and then got out of bed and went to the hall to join his men who had been surprised at Tirant's discourteous behavior. After they had eaten he begged Diafebus to go to the palace and give the infanta some very singular Hours he had, from Paris, which had solid gold covers and were very delicately decorated. They also had an ingenious lock so that when the key was removed no one could see where it opened. Diafebus wrapped the Hours and gave them to a page to carry. When Diafebus was in the palace he found the emperor in the ladies' chamber, and following Tirant's instructions, he told him: "Your Majesty, your captain begs your permission to go see the Moorish camp within a few days. And he also sends Your Highness these Hours. If you don't care for them, he says they should be given to one of the infanta's maidens." As soon as the emperor saw them he was astonished at their uniqueness. "This," said the emperor, "can only belong to a maiden of the royal family." He gave them to his daughter, Carmesina. She was very happy because the Hours were so beautiful, and also because they were Tirant's, and she stood up and said: "Sire, would Your Majesty approve if we sent for the captain and the minstrels, and had a small party? The mourning and this sadness have lasted such a long time." "My dearest daughter, don't you know that I have no other consolation in this world except you and Isabel, the Queen of Hungary who, for my sins, is absent from my sight? And since my son died I have no other worldly good but you. All the happiness you can have will bring me peace in my old age." The infanta quickly sent a page for Tirant and had Diafebus sit next to her. When Tirant received his lady's command he left his quarters and went to the emperor, who asked him to dance with his daughter, Carmesina. The dancing lasted nearly till evening when the emperor wanted to dine. Then Tirant returned to his lodging very happily, because he had danced continuously with the infanta and she had said many delightful things to him. The following day the emperor held a great banquet for Tirant. All the dukes, counts and marquis ate at the table with him, the emperor and his daughter. The rest ate at other tables. When the meal was over there was dancing. After they had danced for a while came the collation. Then the emperor had them mount their horses so he could show Tirant the entire city. Afterward the emperor called for a general council, and he told his daughter to be there because many times he had said to her: "My daughter, why don't you come to the council often so that you will know how it is conducted? After I die you will need to know how to rule your land." The princess went, both to see how the council was run and to hear Tirant talk. And when everyone was seated at the council, the emperor spoke to Tirant. "I beg you, captain, to prepare for battle with our enemies, the Genoese. We have received news that Genoese ships, coming from Tuscany and Lombardy, have reached the port of Aulis, filled with soldiers, horses and provisions. Our own ships have reached the island of Euboea, and I believe they will soon be here." Tirant took off his cap and said: "Command me to go against the Genoese whenever you wish, Your Majesty. I am ready." "I'll tell you what you must do for now," said the emperor. "Go to where my judgment seat is. I want you to sit on it, listen to the cases brought before you and judge them with mercy." One of the members of the council named Montsalvat stood up and said: "Sire, Your Majesty should take a closer look at these matters, for there are three obstacles. First, the Duke of Macedonia should not be deprived of his rights: he has the captaincy, and it is his privilege since he is closer to the throne. Second, it should not be given to a foreigner who has no official position in the empire. Third, before the soldiers leave here they should make a pilgrimage, bearing gifts to the island where Paris stole Helen, for that is how the Greeks were victorious over the Trojans in ancient times." The emperor could not tolerate the knight's foolish words, and he said very angrily: "If it were not for the respect I have for our Heavenly Father I would have you beheaded. It would fit all your merits, and it would be a sacrifice to God and an example to this world, because you are a wicked Christian. It is my command that Tirant, who is our captain now, be above all our captains: he deserves it because of his virtue and shining chivalry. The Duke of Macedonia, who is cowardly and inept at war, never knew how to win a battle. The person I designate will be captain, and anyone who contradicts him will receive my punishment in such a way that they will be remembered throughout the world." The emperor stood up, and would not hear another word from anyone. He had a proclamation read throughout the city that anyone having a complaint against anyone else should go to the hall of justice the following day and from that day forward, and justice would be meted out. The following day the captain sat on the imperial judgment seat, and heard everyone with a complaint, and made judgments on them all. For from the time the Grand Turk and the Moorish sultan had come into the empire no justice at all had been given. Two weeks after Tirant came, all the emperor's ships arrived, carrying men, wheat and horses. Before the arrival of the ships the emperor presented the captain with eighty-three large and beautiful horses, and many suits of armor. Tirant had Diafebus come up first so he could choose from the weapons and horses. Then Ricart made his choice, and finally all the others, while Tirant took nothing for himself. Tirant was deeply in love with the princess, and his suffering increased daily. His love was so great that when he was with her he did not dare talk to her about anything concerning love. And the day for his departure was drawing near, for they were waiting only for the horses to recover from the hardships they had endured at sea. The discreet princess knew about Tirant's love. She sent a page to ask Tirant to be at the palace at noon because that was the time when all the others would be resting. When Tirant received his lady's command, he was the happiest man in the world. He immediately sent for Diafebus, to give him the news, and to tell him that she wanted only the two of them to go. Diafebus said: "Captain, I am very pleased at this beginning, even though I don't know what the end will bring." At the appointed hour the two knights went up to the palace and quietly entered the princess's chamber, hoping to have victory. When she saw them she was very happy. She stood up and took Tirant's hand, and made him sit next to her. Then Diafebus took Stephanie by one arm and Widow Repose by the other, and led them aside so they would not hear what the princess was saying to Tirant. The princess smiled and softly said: "Since you are a foreigner I would not want you to come to any harm unknowingly. I know you came to this land at the bidding of the King of Sicily, because he had confidence in your merits. But he could not tell you of the danger that might befall you, because he did not know about it." Tirant answered: "So that you will not think me ungrateful for what you are telling me, I kiss your hands and feet, and I promise to do everything Your Highness commands me." Tirant begged her to give him her hand so he could kiss it, but she would not. Then he insisted several times, and when he saw that she still would not, he called Widow Repose and Stephanie. To satisfy the captain they begged her to allow him to kiss her hand. She did it this way: not wanting to let him kiss the back of her hand, she opened it so he would kiss the palm. Because kissing the palm is a sign of love, and kissing the back of the hand is a sign of dominance. Then the princess said to him: "Blessed knight, may merciful God keep you from the hands of that ravenous lion, the Duke of Macedonia: he is a cruel and envious man, and very knowledgeable about treachery. He is infamous for the fact that he has only killed people wickedly. It is well known that he killed that valiant knight, my brother. When my brother was fighting courageously against the enemy, he came up behind him and cut the straps of his helmet so that his head would be uncovered, and he was killed by the Moors. A great traitor like him should be feared. And so, virtuous knight, I advise you, when you are in battle, be wary of him. Don't trust him even while you are eating or sleeping." It happened one day at dinner time that Tirant found the empress and the princess still at the table. He came into the hall and served the empress and her daughter as steward and cup-bearer, since this was his privilege as captain. When Tirant saw that the meal was nearly over, he asked the empress to clear up a matter he was uncertain about. The empress answered that if she could she would do it very gladly. "Tell me, my lady," said Tirant, "for a knight, which is most honorable, to die well or to die badly, since he must die?" And he said not a word more. The princess said: "Holy Mother of God! What a question to ask my mother. Everyone knows it's better to die well than to die badly." Then Tirant struck the table with his clenched fist and muttered, "So be it," so softly that they could barely hear him. Without another word he got up and went to his lodgings. And everyone was left astonished at Tirant's behavior. The following day the princess was feeling very upset by what Tirant had said. In the morning, while the emperor was at mass with all the ladies, Tirant went into the church for prayer, and he told the emperor: "Sire, the galleys are ready to go to Cyprus to bring back provisions. Does Your Majesty want them to leave?" The emperor said: "I wish they were one hundred miles out to sea right now!" Tirant quickly went to the port to give the order for them to set sail. When the princess saw Tirant leaving, she called Diafebus and asked him to give Tirant the message that after he had eaten he should come to see her immediately, because she wanted very much to talk to him, and that later they would dance. When Tirant heard the news he considered at once what it might mean. He had the most beautiful mirror bought that could be found, and put it inside his sleeve. When he thought it was about time, they went to the palace and found the emperor talking to his daughter. The emperor saw them coming and sent for his minstrels, and they danced for a good while. After watching them for a time the emperor withdrew to his chambers. The princess immediately stopped dancing, and taking Tirant by the hand they sat at a window. The princess said: "Virtuous knight, I have great pity for you, seeing how disturbed you are. Tell me, I beg you, what is troubling you." "My lady, since Your Highness is forcing me to tell you, I can only say that I am in love." He said nothing more, and lowered his eyes. "Tell me, Tirant," said the princess, "who is the lady that is causing you so much pain? If I can help you in any way, I will be very glad to." Tirant put his hand in his sleeve, drew out the mirror, and said: "My lady, the face you will see here can bring me life or death." The princess quickly took the mirror, and with hurried steps she went into her chamber, thinking she would find a portrait of some woman in the mirror. But she saw only her own face. Then she was astonished that a lady could be courted in this way, without words. While she was happily reflecting on what Tirant had done, Widow Repose and Stephanie came in. They found the princess sitting with the mirror in her hands, and they said to her: "My lady, where did you get such a pretty mirror?" The princess told them about the way Tirant had declared his love for her, and she said she had never heard of it being done before: "Not even in all the story books I've read have I ever found such a graceful declaration. How knowledgeable these foreigners are!" Widow Repose answered: "Tell me, my lady, should Your Highness be paying as much attention as you are to a servant your father has taken into his house nearly out of charity, and who was thrown out by that famous king of Sicily, along with other foreigners wearing gold and silk clothes they've borrowed? Do you want to lose your good reputation for a man like him?" The princess was very upset by what the Widow had said, and she went into her chambers nearly crying. Stephanie went with her, telling her not to be so upset, and consoling her as best she could. "Isn't it terrible?" said the princess. "Here I am, scolded by the very mistress who nursed me! What if she had seen me doing something really bad? I believe she would have sent out a crier to advertise it in the court and to the entire city. I trust God that her wicked, dishonest, cursing tongue will have the punishment it deserves." "It's normal," said Stephanie, "for maidens in the court to be loved and courted, and for them to have three kinds of love: virtuous, profitable and vicious. The first one, which is virtuous, is when some grandee loves a maiden, and she feels very honored when others know that he dances, jousts, or goes into battle for her love. The second is profitable, and it is when some gentleman or knight of ancient and virtuous lineage loves a maiden and sways her to him with gifts. The third is vicious, when the maiden loves the gentleman or knight for her own pleasure, and he is generous in words that give her life for a year, but if they go too far they can end in a heavily curtained bed among perfumed sheets where she can spend an entire winter's night. This last kind of love seems much better to me than the others." When the princess heard Stephanie say such witty things, she began to smile and most of her melancholy left her. While they were talking the empress asked where her daughter was, since she had not seen her for a long time. She went out into the hall and met the empress who asked her why her eyes were red. "My lady," said the princess, "all day long today I've had a headache." She made her sit on her knees, and kissed her at length. The following day Tirant said to Diafebus: "My brother, go to the palace, I beg you, and talk to the princess. See if you can find out how she felt about the mirror." Diafebus went at once and met the emperor going to mass. When it was over Diafebus went up to the princess, and she asked him what had become of Tirant. "My lady," said Diafebus, "he left his lodging to go sit in the judgment seat." "If you only know," said the princess, "the trick he played on me! He declared his love for me with a mirror. Just let me see him and I'll tell him a few things he won't like " "Oh my good lady!" said Diafebus. "Tirant brought a flaming log and found no wood to burn here." "Yes," said the princess, "but the log has gotten wet. However, here in this palace you'll find a bigger and better one that gives much more warmth than the one you're talking about. It's a log called Loyalty, and it's very tender and dry, and it gives happiness to anyone who can warm themselves by it." "My lady, let us do this," said Diafebus. "If it pleases Your Highness, let us take some of yours which is good and dry, and some of ours which is wet and moist, and let us make a shape in your likeness and Tirant's " "No," said the princess, "it isn't a good idea to make two opposites into one." And they joked in this way until they had returned to her chamber. Then Diafebus took his leave and went back to his lodgings where he told Tirant everything he and the princess had said. After they had eaten Tirant knew that the emperor must be asleep, so he and Diafebus went to the palace. Through a window Stephanie saw them coming, and she quickly went to tell the princess: "My lady, our knights are coming now." The princess came out of the chamber. When Tirant saw his lady, he made a deep bow before her. The princess returned his greeting with a less pleasant expression than usual. Tirant was not very happy at the lady's expression, and in a low voice, he said: "Lady, full of perfection, I beg Your Excellency to tell me what you are thinking. I don't believe I have seen Your Highness behave this way for many days." "My behavior," said the princess, "cannot please God, and much less the world, but I will tell you the reason, and your lack of knowledge and goodness will be revealed. What will people say about you when they hear of this? That the emperor's daughter, who is in such a lofty position, has been courted by his captain whom he loved deeply and trusted. You have not kept the honor and reverence you are obligated to have for me. Instead you have acted with bad faith and dishonest love." She got up to go back into her chambers. When Tirant saw that she was leaving he caught up to her, took hold of her shawl, and begged her to listen to him. Stephanie and Diafebus pleaded with her so much that she sat down again, and Tirant said: "If there was any fault, you must forgive me, for love has absolute control over me. Doesn't Your Highness remember the day when the empress was present and I asked if it was better to die well or to die badly? And Your Majesty answered that it was better to die well than badly. I knew that if I did not let you know of my suffering, one night they would find me dead in the corner of my room, and if I did tell you, I would come to the point where I am now. And so, on my knees, I ask only that after my death your angelic hands dress me, and that you write letters on my tomb that say this: Here Lies Tirant lo Blanc Who Died of Great Love." His eyes became a sea of tears, and sighing painfully he got up from the princess's feet, and left the chamber to go to his lodging. When the princess saw him leaving so disconsolately, she began to cry uncontrollably, and she sighed and sobbed so that none of her maidens could console her. Then she said: "Come here, my faithful maiden, you know how to have pity on my torment. Poor me, what shall I do? I think he is going to kill himself. That's what he told me, and his heart is so lofty and noble that he will do it. Have pity on me, my Stephanie; go run to Tirant and beg him for me not to do anything, for I am very displeased at what he told me." The princess was crying helplessly while she said this. To carry out her lady's wishes, Stephanie took a maiden with her and went to Tirant's lodging, which was very near the palace. She went to his room and found him taking off a brocade cloak, with Diafebus at his side, consoling him. When Stephanie saw him in his doublet she thought he had taken off his clothes to place his body in the grave. Stephanie threw herself at Tirant's feet as if he were her real lord, and she said to him: "My lord, Tirant, what are you trying to do to yourself? Her Majesty was saying all that just to tease you, I swear it." She was silent and said no more. When Tirant saw Stephanie kneeling down, he at once knelt beside her. He did this because she was a maiden who served the emperor's daughter, and even more because she was the emperor's niece, daughter of the Duke of Macedonia, the greatest duke in all Greece. Tirant replied: "Death does not bother me when I think I'll be dying for such a lady. By dying I will come back to life in glorious fame, for people will say that Tirant lo Blanc died of love for the most beautiful and virtuous lady in the world. So, my lady, I beg you to go away and leave me with my pain." The princess was in undescribable anguish when she saw that Stephanie was not coming back with news of Tirant. Not being able to endure it, she called one of her maidens, named Plaerdemavida. She took a veil and put it over her head so she would not be recognized, and went down the stairs to the garden. With the garden door open, she went to the house where Tirant was, without being seen by anyone. When she saw Tirant and Stephanie on their knees, talking, she knelt down too and said: "I beg you, Tirant, if my tongue said things that offended you, do not keep them in your heart. I want you to forget everything I told you in anger, and I beg your forgiveness." When Tirant saw his lady speaking with so much love, he was the happiest man in the world. Stephanie said "Since peace has been made, my lady, I promised him that Your Highness would let him kiss your hair." "I will be very happy," said the princess, "to have him kiss my eyes and my forehead if he promises me, upon his word as a knight, not to do anything untoward." Tirant promised very willingly, and swore it, and their sadness turned into great happiness and contentment. The princess, accompanied by Tirant and Diafebus, quickly went to the garden. The princess told Plaerdemavida to have all the other maidens come, and in a short time they were all in the garden, and Widow Repose with them. She had seen all the moves and suffered deeply because of the princess, and with her own involvement in the matter she had even more to think about. The emperor soon saw Tirant and his daughter in the garden. He went down to the garden and said to Tirant: "Captain, I sent for you at your lodging, but they didn't find you there. I'm glad to see you here." "My lord," said Tirant, "I asked for Your Majesty, but they told me Your Highness was sleeping. So that I wouldn't awaken you I came here with these knights to dance or practice some sport." "What a black, evil sport we have!" said the emperor. "We must hold a council: it is very important." He gave the order for the council bell to be rung. When everyone in the imperial council was together, the emperor had the emissary come forward, and said that everyone should know the bad news because it was not something that could be kept secret. Then he ordered the emissary to explain his mission. Making a humble bow he said: "Most excellent lord, last Thursday night, fourteen thousand men came on foot and concealed themselves in a large meadow. Because of all the water there the grass grew very tall, and no one could see them. When the sun rose we saw horses and Turkish horsemen who must have numbered, in all, one thousand four hundred, more or less, together in a part of the water. The Duke of Macedonia, a very haughty man of little intelligence as his actions show, had the trumpets blow so that everyone would mount their horses. The constable and the others, who know more about war than he does, protested and told him not to leave. But no matter what they said he would not obey anyone. He went up to the river with all his men, and he ordered them to cross, both those on horseback and those on foot. The water came up to the horses' cinches and there were even places where they had to swim. "Near the enemy's side there was a bank that the horses had great difficulty in climbing, and the enemy met them there. At the slightest advance that the soldiers or their horses made, they quickly fell into the water and were not able to get up, and they were all swept down river. If the duke had only gone one mile upstream all his men would have been able to get across without getting wet. The enemy drew back a little so that the men would come across, and they pretended to retreat to a small hill there, and the duke used all his forces to try to take them. When the men in ambush saw the Greeks fighting so boldly, they came out furiously and fell into the thick of the Christians, spilling their blood. The duke could not take the fierce battle any longer and he secretly fled without doing much harm to the enemy. And those who were able to escape went with him. "After their victory the Moors laid siege to the city. The Grand Turk himself came, along with the Moorish sultan and all the kings that had come to aid them, and all the dukes, counts and marquis of Italy and Lombardy who were mercenaries. As soon as the sultan heard the news he gave himself the title of Emperor of Greece, and said he would not lift the siege until he had taken the duke and all those with him prisoner, and that he would then come here to attack this city. I can tell you, Sire, that the duke has provisions for only one month, a month and a half at most. So, my lord, Your Majesty must look into what we should do about all this." Tirant said: "Tell me, knight, upon your honor, how many men were lost in battle?" The knight answered: "Captain, it is known that of the men killed in battle, those who were drowned and those taken prisoner, we've lost eleven thousand seven hundred twenty-two men." The emperor said: "Captain, I beg you to do whatever has to be done, out of reverence for God and love of me, so that you can leave in fifteen or twenty days with all your men to help those miserable people." "Oh, Sire!" said Tirant. "How can Your Majesty say that we won't have left in twenty days? In that time the enemy could attack the city, and they are so powerful that they could invade it." Tirant again asked the emissary how many men there might be in the enemy's forces. The emissary answered: "In faith, there are many Turks and they are very skillful in warfare, and are cruel, ferocious men. In our opinion and according to what some prisoners say, they number more than eight hundred thousand." "My feeling," said Tirant, "is that a royal proclamation should be read throughout the city. All those who have hired themselves out, and those who want to, should go to the Imperial House to receive their payment, and they should all be ready to leave in six days." The emperor thought that was good advice, and he thanked Tirant. As soon as the proclamation was read, all the grandees outside the city were notified and they were all soon there with their horses rested. And those who had come from Sicily were ready. The bad news of the losses that had been sustained ran throughout the city, and many of the townsfolk, both men and women, gathered in the market square. Some were crying for their brothers, others for their sons, some for their friends and relatives, and still others for the destruction of the empire. Most of the empire was lost, and the hope of the emperor and those around him was placed only in God. They were afraid there would be great starvation and thirst because of the enemy's victory, and that the city would be burned, and they could imagine themselves in captivity and miserable slavery. Two of the empire's barons told the emperor that he should send his daughter Carmesina to Hungary to be with her sister. When Tirant heard these words, his face turned pale as death. All the maidens and even the emperor noticed, and he asked Tirant what had made his color change so much. "Sire," said Tirant, "I've had a bad stomachache all day today." The emperor had his doctors come immediately to give him some medicine. When the emperor saw that Tirant was all right, he turned to Carmesina and said to her: "My daughter, what do you think of the things the council has said about you? In my opinion, it would be a good idea, because if the empire and all its people were lost, you would be safe." The discreet lady answered her father, saying: "Oh, merciful father! Your Highness should not allow me to be separated from you. I prefer to die near Your Majesty and in my own land than to be wealthy and living a life of pain and sorrow in a foreign land." When the emperor heard such discreet and loving words from his daughter he was very pleased. On the morning of the following day the banners were blessed with a great procession and celebration. All the men armed themselves and mounted their horses to depart. When the emperor saw all the men outside he called the captain from his window and told him not to leave. He wanted to talk to him, and he had some letters for him to give to the Duke of Macedonia and a few others. As soon as the foot soldiers and those on horseback were outside the city, Tirant returned and went upstairs to the emperor's chambers. He found him in his chamber with the secretary, writing, and did not want to disturb him. When the princess saw Tirant, she called to him and said: "Captain, I see that you are ready to leave. I pray that God will give you an honorable victory." Tirant knelt before her and thanked her for her words. And he kissed her hand as a token of good luck. Then the princess said: "Is there anything you would like from me, Tirant, before you leave? Tell me if there is, for I will grant you whatever you wish." "My lady," said Tirant, "I would only like Your Highness to do me the favor of giving me this blouse you are wearing, because it is closest to your precious skin. And I would like to take it off with my own hands." "Holy Mary, protect me!" said the princess. "What are you telling me? I'll be very happy to give you my blouse, my jewels, my clothes, and everything I have. But it would not be right for your hands to touch me where no one else has ever touched." She quickly went to her room, and took off the blouse and put on another. She went out to the great hall where she found Tirant joking with the maidens. She took him aside and gave him the blouse, kissing it many times to make him more content. Tirant took it very happily and went to his lodging. And he told the maidens: "If the emperor calls me, tell him I'll be right back, that I've gone to arm myself so that I can leave quickly." When Tirant was at his lodging he finished arming himself, and he found Diafebus and Ricart there. They had come back to put on the coats of arms that had been made, of metal plates. Then the three knights went to take their leave of the emperor and of all the ladies. When they went upstairs they found the emperor waiting for the captain to come, because he wanted to dine with him. When the emperor saw Tirant, he said: "Captain, what coat of arms is this that you're wearing?" "My lord," said Tirant, "if you knew what was in it, you would be astonished." "I would like very much to know about it," said the emperor. "Its force," said Tirant, "is to do well. When I left my land a maiden gave it to me, and she is the most beautiful maiden in the world. I'm not speaking in offense of the princess here, or of the other ladies of honor." The emperor said: "It is true that no good feat of arms was ever accomplished unless it was for love." "I promise you," said Tirant, "on my word as a knight, that in my first battle I will make friends and enemies marvel at it." The emperor sat down to eat, as did the empress and her daughter, and the captain sat beside her. And he had the two knights sit at another table with all the ladies and maidens. Then they all ate with great pleasure, and especially Tirant who shared a plate with his lady. CHAPTER V THE BATTLEFIELD Tirant then took his leave of all the ladies and the others there. When the three knights were outside the city they gave their chargers to the pages and mounted other horses. Within a short time they reached the soldiers. Each knight went to his squadron, and Tirant went from one squadron to another, directing them constantly to stay in order. That day they traveled five leagues. They set up their tents in a beautiful meadow where there was water. After they had eaten, Tirant had two thousand pikesmen keep watch until midnight, and he sent men along the road to see if they heard soldiers or anything else. Tirant kept watch over the camp, moving from place to place. At the hour of midnight he had two thousand other pikesmen take the place of those on watch, and he would not let them have pages, but made them all arm as if they were going into battle at any moment. When Tirant was in a war he never took off his clothes except to change his shirt. Every morning, two hours before sunrise, he had the trumpets blow for the men to saddle their horses and to hold mass. Then the entire camp would arm themselves and quickly mount. At dawn they would all be ready to leave. They kept up this routine until they were a league and a half from the enemy, in a city named Pelidas, which was in danger daily of surrendering to the powerful Turks. When they found out that soldiers were coming to their aid they were very happy, and they opened the gates to the city. The captain did not want to go in during the day so they would not be seen, but he did not do it secretly enough to avoid being heard. And the first to be notified that soldiers had gone into the city of Pelidas was the Grand Turk, but he did not know how many there were. The Grand Turk went at once to tell the Moorish sultan, who sent four men toward the city of Pelidas as spies to find out what they could about the men who had gone in. The next day Tirant took a man with him who knew the countryside very well, and they rode out as secretly as they could, and drew near the camp by back roads. From a hill they could see both the city and the camp. The Moorish sultan was at one end, and the Grand Turk at the other. They recognized him by the large, painted tents they saw. When they had looked the situation over very carefully, they returned to the city. On the way back they saw the Moorish guards. When they were back in the city and had dismounted, Tirant went to the square where he found most of the townspeople, and he told them: "Come here, my brothers. We have just been spying on the enemy camp, and on our way back we saw four of the camp guards. For each guard you bring to me alive I'll give you five hundred ducats, and if you bring his head I'll give you three hundred. How many of you want to go?" Seven men who knew the land well volunteered immediately. They left at night so no one would see them, and when they had traveled a good distance one of them said: "Why don't we go to the spring near here, and cover ourselves with branches? The Moors are certain to come here to drink around noon with all this heat, and that way they'll fall into our hands." They agreed to do that, and they kept a very close watch from their hiding place. When the sun came out they saw the Moors on top of the hill. As the sun grew hotter they became thirsty and went to the spring for water. When they arrived one of the Christians who was hidden said: "Let's not move until they have drunk and are full of water: that way they won't be able to run very fast." And that is what they did. When the Moors had drunk and eaten their fill the Christians fell upon them with loud cries, and immediately caught three of them. One tried to escape. When they saw that they could not catch him they shot at him with a crossbow. The arrow pierced his side, and he fell to the ground. They cut off his head and stuck it to the point of a lance. Then they tied the hands of the others and took them to their captain. When Tirant saw them he was very pleased, and he took the three Moors and had them closely guarded. Tirant had ordered everyone to eat early that day, and to saddle the horses and arm themselves so they would be ready to leave. He had all the men go out of the city in order, both the foot soldiers and those riding horses. Behind them came three thousand men with the mares. When they were near the Moors' camp he had all the soldiers go to one side so the mares could pass by without the other horses sensing them. When the mares were at the entrance to the camp all the foot soldiers went in with them, and they divided into two groups: one went toward the Moorish sultan and the other toward the Grand Turk. Then the camp horses noticed the mares: some got loose, others broke their halters, and others tore out the stakes that held them fast. You should have seen the horses running loose through the camp: some here, some there, and all of them after the mares. When this melee had gone on for a good while and the entire camp was in confusion because of the horses, Tirant came and fell on part of it with half his men. Then the Duke of Pera and his men attacked the other side, calling on that glorious knight, Saint George. Finally the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk and their men fled to the mountain while the others went to the plain. Tirant pursued them relentlessly, and he and his men killed everyone they caught, giving quarter to no one. All those who went to the mountain reached it safely, and those who went to the plain were either killed or taken prisoner. They pursued them for three leagues, and those heading for the mountain (where the road was shorter) came to a river with a wooden bridge where they could cross safely. When the sultan and some of his men had crossed over and they saw the Christians close behind, they broke the bridge in the middle. Then those who had not yet crossed were lost while those who had already crossed the bridge were safe. The Duke of Macedonia heard of Tirant's victory, and how none of the enemy were left except those who were badly wounded and could not flee. So he and his men went out and sacked the camp, and they found large amounts of gold and silver, clothing, weapons and many jewels. When they had taken everything, they put their booty in the town. The duke left soldiers to guard it, and he gave orders that if Tirant or any of his men came, they should not be allowed inside. When they had put away everything they had stolen, the duke took the route to the plain, and he and his men were astonished at all the dead bodies they saw. The guards at the camp told the captain that armed men were approaching quickly. Tirant had all his soldiers mount their horses, and he prepared for battle, thinking that the enemy had regrouped in the villages that belonged to them. They went out to meet them, and when they were near they recognized each other. Tirant took the helmet off his head and gave it to a page, and all the other captains did the same. When they were close to the duke, Tirant dismounted and walked up to him, paying him great honor. The duke did not move at all except to put his hand on his head without saying a word. This made all the others very angry, and none of them would dismount for him. Tirant remounted his horse and tried many times to talk to him, but the duke scarcely uttered a word. But all the other knights and gentlemen paid great honor to the dukes and to Tirant. Then they rode together until they were near the tents. Tirant said to the duke: "Sir, if your lordship would like to stay in that meadow where there are very beautiful trees and you would be near the river, I'll have the men who are there move to another place." The duke answered: "I don't want to be near you. I prefer to go to a place farther away." "You can do that," said Tirant, "but I said what I did out of kindness, thinking that you deserved it." The duke would not listen to him, and turned his horse about without a word. He set up his tents a mile upriver. After he dismounted Tirant sent three of his knights to the duke, and when they were there they said to him: "Sir, our captain has sent us to your lordship to ask if you would like to eat with him. He knows that your lordship will have better food here, but you can have his more quickly, because all you have to do is wash your hands and sit down to eat." "Oh, what a bother for nothing!" said the duke. "Tell him that I don't want to." And he turned his back to them very haughtily. When the emissaries had mounted their horses to go, the duke told them: "Tell Tirant that if he wants to come and eat with me, I would prefer that to eating with him." "Sir," said Diafebus, "if there is no fire lit in your entire camp, what could you offer him? You couldn't give him anything but food for chickens and drink for oxen." The duke answered angrily: "I can give him chickens, capons, partridge and pheasant." The knights refused to listen to him anymore, and they wheeled about. After they had gone, a knight said to the duke: "You didn't understand, sir, what that knight said to you. He told you that you would serve his captain food for chickens and drink for oxen. Do you know what he meant by that? Food for chickens is grain, and what oxen drink is water." "On my father's grave!" said the duke. "You're right. I didn't understand. Those foreigners are very haughty. If I had understood him I would have made him leave with his hands on his head." When Tirant heard what the reply was, he sat down to dine with the dukes, counts and marquis who were already there. The morning of the following day the captain had a large and beautiful tent raised, with a bell on top. That tent was only for mass and council meetings, and he had it set up in a meadow between the duke's camp and his own. When the time came to say mass, Tirant courteously sent word to the duke to see if he would like to come to mass. The duke haughtily answered no, but the other grandees came very happily. After mass they held council, and it was decided that the Marquis of Saint George, the Count of Acquaviva, and two barons should go to the Duke of Macedonia as ambassadors. When they were with him the Marquis of Saint George said: "Duke, you should not be surprised to see us: our captain and the illustrious dukes, counts and marquis have sent us here. We want you to give us a share of the treasure you took from the enemy camp." And he said no more. "How overjoyed I am," said the duke, "to hear idiotic words from such ignorant people! How could you think I would do such a thing when we have been battling day and night with sweat and blood against our enemy?" The ambassadors got back on their horses, and in the camp they found the captain and the grandees holding a meeting in the council tent. Then the marquis told them about the duke's reply, and he said: "Let us all mount our horses: an insult like this can't be forgotten!" The marquis quickly left the tent and armed himself, as did all the others. When the captain saw the disturbance in his camp, he was very upset and he immediately had a proclamation made that no one, under penalty of death, should mount their horses. Then he went up and down, seizing the knights, and he begged the dukes and marquis not to do this, because if they became involved in a quarrel, the Turks they had taken prisoner would fall upon them. When the disturbance had subsided, Tirant ordered them to go to the battle site, and take the clothing from all the dead bodies they found and to keep it. Some of the knights asked why, and he told them that at some time they might be able to use it. As the Moors were being defeated in battle and were fleeing, Diafebus thought about how to bring renown and fame to Tirant, in the present and the future. He went to him and asked him for the captain's ring. Tirant removed his glove, took off the ring and gave it to him. Diafebus halted for a moment even though the others were pressing forward, and he stopped one of his squires who was a good and faithful man, and gave him the ring. He instructed him about everything he was to say to the emperor and to Carmesina, and then to all the others. To carry out his master's order, the squire wheeled his horse about, dug in his spurs and galloped away without stopping until he was in Constantinople. When he stood before the emperor, he knelt and said: "My lord, I have good news. Give me my reward." After the emperor promised to do so, Pyramus gave him the ring, and told him all about the battle, and how they had conquered the Turks--which had been like a miracle. The following day the sultan sent three ambassadors to Tirant. They put a sheet of paper on a stick and held it up as a signal for safe-conduct. When they were inside the tent the ambassadors were welcomed by the captain and all the others, and they gave the sultan's letter to Tirant. He had it read in everyone's presence, and it said the following: "I, Armini, great sultan of Babylonia, and lord of three empires. Glorious Tirant lo Blanc, Captain of the Greeks and defender of the Christian faith, we salute you. And we declare to you, by counsel and deliberation of the Grand Turk and the five kings here under my power and command, with another ten who are in my own land, that if you ask me for a lasting peace or a treaty of six months, we will offer you our "white face" to show our honesty and the six months of peace, out of reverence for all powerful God, in the old manner. Written in our camp on the eastern shore on the second day of the moon and of the birth of our holy prophet Mohammed, etc." After the letter had been read, Tirant told the ambassadors to explain their embassy. One of the ambassadors, Abdalla Salomon, stood up, bowed, and said: "We have been sent to you, Tirant lo Blanc, captain of the Greek people, as representatives of the magnanimous and glorious lords, the Grand Turk and the sultan. After the great number of deaths you brought to our soldiers, you imprisoned a small child, the brother in law of our sovereign lord, the great sultan, his wife's brother, along with many other virtuous knights. We beg of you, on behalf of the thing you love most in this world, to give us the child. If you will not do this for love, ask a ransom for him, in silver or gold, and it will be granted." Tirant replied: "Since you hold up to me the thing I love most in the world, and you ask for a prisoner, I'll give him to you and forty more along with him. As for the other part of your embassy, I'll hold a meeting with my men, and then I will give you an answer." Tirant summoned his constables and told them to go with the ambassadors to select forty-one prisoners for release. Then Tirant addressed all the great lords there: "Illustrious princes and lords. We've seen the request of the sultan and the Turk. Do you think we should grant them the truce they are asking for?" First the Duke of Macedonia spoke: "Most egregious and noble lords. This is more my business than it is the rest of yours because I am closer to the imperial crown. It's my advice and my demand that we grant them the six-month truce they're asking for, and even longer if they wish, and even peace if they want it, whether the emperor likes it or not." The Duke of Pera couldn't stand to hear anything more from the Duke of Macedonia--for they were at odds with each other because each of them wanted to take the princess as his wife--and he said: "Gentlemen, it seems to me that for His Majesty the emperor's benefit, and for the well being of the entire empire and the republic, we shouldn't offer them peace or a truce." Many felt they should accept a truce, but most agreed with the Duke of Pera. Then Tirant said: "Since His high Majesty, the emperor has given me the right to speak in his place, I tell your lordships that I don't think it would help anyone to have a truce with these evil people. All their blood that's been spilled is because of your might, and that's the reason they're asking for peace or for a six- month truce. Because during that time, gentlemen, you know that they'll be waiting for the Genoese ships to bring foot soldiers and cavalry. And in that time they would fill this land with such great numbers of men that afterward all the power of Christianity wouldn't be enough to throw them out." The Duke of Macedonia spoke up and said: "Tirant, if you don't want to have a truce, I do, and I'll make one. And I advise everyone to make it with me." "Duke," said Tirant, "don't make disorder out of what the emperor has ordered. If you try to do that, I'll have you seized and taken to His Majesty, the emperor." Then the duke stood up, his eyes moist, and he left the tent and went to his camp, and Tirant and his men went to their own. Next to a spring of very fresh water that ran beside their camp, Tirant set up a canopy, with many tables placed around the crystalline spring. Tirant had the ambassadors served at one table, and the prisoners that had been released to them at a lower table on the left; all the dukes and lords, low on the right. And they were served splendidly with chickens and capons, pheasant, rice and couscous, and many other dishes and very fine wines. The ambassadors were very pleased, seeing how Tirant had the dukes and himself served with such ceremony. Then they all went to the council tent, and Tirant gave them the following reply: "You tell the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk that I will in no way give them peace now unless they face Mecca and swear in the presence of all the good knights that in six months they and all their men will leave the empire and will return the lands of the empire that they have occupied." Then Ambassador Abdalla Salomon stood up and said: "Since you don't want to give us peace, wait for the fifteenth day of the moon. For on that day such a multitude of Moorish soldiers will come here that the earth will not be able to hold them up." After they had departed Tirant ordered Diafebus to go to Constantinople that night with many soldiers, on foot and on horseback, and all the prisoners. When Diafebus reached the city, the emperor and all the others acknowledged Tirant as the victor, and all the knights were praised, and the victory was celebrated with great joy. Diafebus delivered four thousand three hundred prisoners to the emperor on Tirant's behalf so that the Greeks would see his virtue and great generosity. The emperor had them taken and carefully guarded. The following day the emperor took fifteen ducats for each prisoner from his treasury, and delivered them to Diafebus to give to Tirant. When the princess knew that Diafebus was free from his duties she sent word to him to come to her chambers. There was nothing Diafebus wanted more than to be able to talk to her and to Stephanie with whom he was very much in love. When the princess saw him she quickly said to him: "My good brother, what news do you bring me from that virtuous knight who holds my heart captive? When will the time come that I can see him and have him near me without being afraid? You know that I want to see him more than anything in the world." Diafebus answered: "Your Excellency's loving words would have turned that famous knight's sadness to joy if he had heard them, and would lift his spirit to the highest heaven." The princess was very pleased by what Diafebus said about Tirant. Then Stephanie said: "You've spoken, and now it's my turn. Please listen to what I have to say. Tell me, my lady, who but Tirant is worthy of wearing the crown of an emperor? Who else but Tirant deserves to be your husband? Why didn't God make me the emperor's daughter? Why didn't he make you Stephanie and me Carmesina? I can assure you that I wouldn't refuse him anything. If he lifted up my skirt I would lift up my blouse for him, and I would satisfy him in every way I could. If Your Highness takes some foreign king, how do you know that he won't give you a life of pain? And if you want someone from this land, I'll talk against my father. Because with his rank he should be your husband, but when you want to play, he'll be snoring; and when you want to talk he'll be asleep. If you take the Duke of Pera, why he's not even your age. This is what Your Highness needs: Someone who knows how to keep you and your whole empire from danger. Who else can defend and increase it the way he is doing? He's the one who will make you run all around your bedroom, sometimes completely naked and other times in your nightshirt." The princess laughed, delighted at what Stephanie was saying. Diafebus said: "Lady Stephanie, by your nobility, tell me the truth: if it were Tirant's good fortune for the princess to take him as a husband, who would you take?" "My lord Diafebus," said Stephanie, I can assure you that if fortune had the princess become Tirant's wife, I would take his nearest blood relative." "If it were by blood line, it would have to be me, especially because I am as obedient to your grace as Tirant has been to the princess who, with her beauty and dignity, deserves to rule the world. So please accept me as steward of your chamber, and kiss me as a token of faith." "It would be neither honest or just," said Stephanie, "for me to grant you anything without the command of my lady who has raised me from an early age, especially in Her Majesty's presence." Diafebus knelt on the floor, and with his hands pressed together begged the princess, devoutly and with humility, as if she were a saint in paradise, to permit him to kiss her. But for all his pleading, she would not give him permission. Stephanie said: "Oh, hardened and cruel heart! Your Majesty never wants to lean toward mercy no matter how much you are begged. I will never be happy until I see Tirant with my own eyes." "Oh, brother Diafebus!" said the princess. "Don't ask me for unjust things now." While they were saying these pleasant words, the emperor sent for Diafebus to have him go quickly back to the camp. The guards then came from their watch at sea and told the emperor that five large ships were coming from the east. The emperor, afraid that they were Genoese, stopped Diafebus from going that day, and had many men board their own ships and galleys in port. When the other ships approached, the emperor learned that they had been sent by the Grand Master of Rhodes, with soldiers on board. The good prior leapt down to the land along with many knights of the white cross. Diafebus was at the port, near the sea, waiting for them. When they met they recognized each other, and Diafebus paid them great honor. Together they went to the great palace of the emperor, and found him seated on his throne. Bowing, the prior of Saint John said: "Your Excellency, knowing that the greatest of all knights, Tirant lo Blanc, is in the service of Your Majesty as captain-general of all the empire, the Grand Master of Rhodes has sent two thousand paid soldiers, on foot and on horseback, to serve Your Highness for the space of fifteen months." The emperor was very happy at their arrival. After they had rested for four days they left with Diafebus for the camp. When they were five leagues away, they learned that Tirant had gone forward to take a well- defended plaza, and they heard the loud pounding of bombards. When Tirant saw a part of the wall broken, he dismounted and gave battle on foot, and he went so near the wall that a large rock was thrown at his head, and he was felled. His men struggled to pull him out of the moat, and at this moment Diafebus and the prior came to the villa. The Turks, inside, were terrified when they saw so many men coming, and they lost all hope. After Ricart had taken Tirant to safety, he again attacked the villa mightily, and they broke through by sheer force. The Turks, far from any hope of victory, fell into a rage and prepared to die fighting. But as the Christians took the villa, they killed every Turk they saw without mercy, and so they were all given the terrible knife. The Prior of Saint John arrived in time for the attack on the villa, and his men shared in the booty, and this indicated to them that they would be victorious. They went to the cot where Tirant was lying, and explained to him everything the Master had commanded them. Tirant thanked them and the Grand Master for the noble help they were bringing. But he said these words very wearily: he could barely speak because of the great pain he felt in his head. The doctors came, and they took sheep's heads and cooked them in wine, and applied this to Tirant's head with cloths. And the following morning he was well. For a few days the men in the field rested. When the moon was in its fifteenth day, the Turks came just as the ambassador had said they would. They came up next to a bridge, with their encampment remaining on one side, and Tirant's camp on the other side, the bridge being broken in the middle. When all the men were together, they numbered two hundred seventy battalions. When they were all ready, they had the bombards set in place. The following day their firing was so loud and came so often that Tirant found it necessary to shift his encampment to the top of a hill, very close to the river, where there were springs of pure water and large expanses of meadowland. At times all the bombards fired together. And although it was a very clear day, the sky grew dark, for they had more than six hundred bombards, both small and large, despite the fact that they had lost so many when they were defeated. When Tirant's men so saw many of them, they were frightened at the large number of men on horseback and on foot. There were many who wished they were one hundred leagues from there. When the sultan saw that he could not cross the river to engage the Christians in battle, he quickly had the bridge repaired. When Tirant saw them repairing the bridge, he took four of his men a league distant to a large stone bridge, and at each end of the bridge there was rocky ground and a castle. When the sultan had conquered all that land, he saw that bridge, but Lord Malvei, the gentleman who was lord of the two castles, would never make a pact with him, no matter how much he promised. For he never wanted to deny or be ungrateful to God or to his natural lord--the emperor. Instead, from those castles at the bridge, they often waged war against the villas and cities the Turks had taken. As a result, the sultan was forced to make a wooden bridge so that his men could cross over to carry out the conquest of the empire. When Tirant reached the castle, he spoke with the knight whose name was Malvei and who had a very valiant son. The father occupied one castle, and his son the other. They each had thirty horsemen, and with the war they had become very wealthy. The son, whose name was Hippolytus, became a great friend of Tirant and almost never left his side. The father and son begged Tirant to grant him the honor of chivalry, and he did so. Then Tirant had many trees in the woods cut down, the driest they could find. They measured the width of the river and they made beams, nailing them together with heavy spikes, and they made them so long that they reached across the river. And they put those beams underneath the stone bridge, and from one beam to another they nailed heavy joists, and over the joists they nailed wooden slabs. It was smooth from one end to the other, and it was well caulked with pitch. When this raft was finished, they put a chain at each end and attached it to the stone bridge. And they covered it well with green branches in order to hide it. When the Turks had finished repairing their bridge, the men began to cross it on foot, little by little. But they readied the bombards so that, if the Christians came, they could defend the bridge and the soldiers who had already gone across. When Tirant saw the Turkish soldiers crossing, the men in his camp were very disheartened, but he encouraged them and raised their spirits. He had the trumpets blown so that everyone would mount their horses, and they shifted their camp near the stone bridge. When the Turks saw Tirant's camp being raised, they assumed that they were fleeing out of fear, and they went across more enthusiastically. When the sultan and the Grand Turk had gone across with all their armies, their battalions in order, one after the other, they made their way toward the Christians. When Tirant saw that they were near, he crossed over the stone bridge and waited for them. The Moors, seeing them on the other side, quickly returned to their wooden bridge. When they had crossed it, they made their way upriver to meet him and wage battle. And Tirant, when he saw them near, raised camp and went back to the other side. This went on for three days. The Turks held council, and the King of Egypt said: "Give me one hundred thousand soldiers and I'll go to one side of the river, and all of you can stay on the other side, and at the same time that I engage them in battle, as quickly as you can, you must come to my aid. This way, we will be victorious." All the captains and nobles praised the wise words of the King of Egypt, but the sultan answered: "It's foolish to say that you will take them on with one hundred thousand men, even though they have even fewer. You take half our men, and I will take the other half. And whoever engages them first will do so, and if the other half will bravely help us, we will have true glory and honor." And the discussion ended. The kings took one half of the men, and the sultan took the other half and crossed the bridge. When Tirant saw how their forces were divided, with the river in between, he said: "This is exactly what I wanted." He raised his encampment that was on the side of the kings and had all the tents and carts placed inside the two castles with all the pages. And Tirant held his men back until nightfall. And before the sun had passed the columns of Hercules, Tirant crossed the bridge to the side where he had first been, and he had the foot soldiers climb a hill that was in line with the head of the bridge. When the foot soldiers were up, he had the men with weapons also go up, one squadron behind the other. The sultan, who was on that side, seeing that almost all the men had gone up the side of the hill to give battle, and that there were only four squadrons remaining, went swiftly toward them and attacked them, making them flee up the hill, and sixty Christians were killed. Tirant retreated, battling all the time, and night fell. The Turks came down to the foot of the hill and set up their tents. When Tirant went up the hill, he found all the knights and nobles absolutely disconsolate. They were running here and there, crying and moaning, with sad, woeful countenances. When Tirant saw them acting that way, he called them all together and said: "I only want to tell you that if you will put your effort into this, with the aid of Our Lord and His Holy Mother, Our Lady, I will make you victorious over your enemies within three hours." Nearly all were consoled by the captain's words, except for the Duke of Macedonia who, before the battles were finished, sent a squire of his with instructions about what he should tell the emperor. When he reached the city, he dismounted and left his horse, indicating that he had fled the battle-site and that he had tears in his eyes. When he was in the palace, he found many people there, and he said: "Where is that poor man they call the emperor?" When he was informed that Albi, the Duke of Macedonia's squire, had arrived, the emperor quickly came out of his chambers. When Albi saw the emperor he fell to the ground, pulling his hair and lowering his eyes and face, and he said mournfully: "It has been your will to degrade your captains and vassals, and to honor foreigners of ill repute, men who are known for no deeds, and who wear shoddy tunics. Oh, Emperor! You are lost and so are all your people, for it has been your wish to take away the succession of the empire from that famous and illustrious nobleman, the Duke of Macedonia, to give it to a vile foreigner who has led himself and all the men in the camp to their destruction, and has run away, and we don't know where he is. This is what the person who was the emperor deserved! For the Moors have them trapped on a small hill, and they have no bread or wine, or even water for the horses. By now they must all be dead. I am going to leave with my great pain, and you, who were the emperor, must remain with your own." "Oh, woe is me!" cried the emperor. And he went into his chambers and fell upon his bed, lamenting. The princess approached her father to comfort him, but there was no one to console the empress and the other maidens. Rumors of the bad news ran throughout the city, and everyone broke into loud wailing for the friends and relatives they believed had been killed. Let us leave them to their weeping and see what is happening to Tirant. Having bolstered his men's spirits with his words, they were very optimistic, trusting the great judgement of the captain. Tirant left the encampment at the top well guarded, and took a man with him and went down the back side of the mountain without being seen. When he was at the bottom, he left his armor under a tree, and cautiously stole up to the castle of Lord Malvei. He picked up two stones, one in each hand, and just as they had agreed, he signaled by hitting them together. When Lord Malvei heard the signal, he opened the gates of the bridge. Tirant went in, and found everything that had been prepared. First he had a great deal of oil and tar poured into a wooden bucket, along with pitch and quicklime and other things that would help make a fire, and he gathered a good deal of dry wood, and he had it all spread on top of the wooden raft he had made, and tied two long ropes to each of the chains of the raft. The two men got into a small fishing boat, and each of them held one of the ropes. When the raft was untied, the current carried it downriver, and whenever it would become stuck on one side of the river one of the men would pull on a rope to free it. Tirant told them not to light the fire until they were near the bridge. When the Turks saw such huge flames in the river, they believed they were lost, and the sultan and all his men abandoned their camp. Fleeing as quickly as they could, they ran toward the wooden bridge. As the sultan had a good horse, he first waited until the fire reached the bridge, and then he went across, and many men followed him. And if the two men had followed the captain's orders and waited to light the fire, all would have been killed or taken prisoner. In their rush to cross to the other side, many Moors and their horses fell into the water. The fire was so great that the entire bridge quickly burned down. And twenty-two thousand or more men were unable to cross the bridge. When Tirant observed the fire going down the river, he cautiously worked his way back to his troops. He found nearly all of them mounted, wanting to get their enemies' booty. But Tirant would not allow it, telling them: "We would gain no honor now. Tomorrow we will have the honor and the booty." In spite of all that had happened, Tirant had a very tight watch set that night, saying: "Not all of them could have gotten across. In their desperation, couldn't they fall on us?" When the clear day broke and the sun appeared on our horizon, the captain had the trumpets blown, and everyone mounted. They had the carts and the pages brought out, and all the men went back down to their former camp, and from there they saw what was left of the enemy. Diafebus, seeing the pitiful state of the Turks, took the ring from Tirant's hand, and Tirant said to him: "Cousin, what are you doing?" Diafebus said: "I want to send Pyramus to the emperor. They haven't had word from us for so long!" "I beg you, cousin," said Tirant, "send word to him that we need flour and supplies before we run out." Pyramus left. When he reached the city of Constantinople, he saw everyone looking very sad and oppressed, and all the women were crying. He went into the palace, and it was worse: their faces were scratched, their clothing torn. Of all those who saw him, no one said a word to him. When he spoke to anyone, they would not answer. He thought the emperor must have died, or the empress, or their daughter. He went further inside, into a hall, and recognized the emperor's chamberlain, and he ran to him, laughing. The chamberlain said: "With all your unbridled happiness, how dare you come to the emperor's chamber?" "Friend," said Pyramus, "don't be angry with me: I don't know what is making everyone sad here. Let me talk to the emperor, and if he is sad, I will make him happy." Without saying another word, the chamberlain went into the empress's chamber where he found the emperor with his daughter and the maidens, the windows closed and all of them in mourning. The chamberlain said: "Sire, one of those reprobate traitors with that reprobate knight, Tirant lo Blanc, is at the door. His name is Pyramus, and I am certain he has fled the battle with his lord. He says he wants to talk to Your Majesty." The emperor said: "Tell him to get out of here, and to leave my lands. And if I find him or any of his master's men, I will have them thrown down from the highest tower in the palace." And as the emperor spoke these words, imagine how the pain in the princess's heart grew twofold. For no matter how much harm Tirant might have done, she could not completely forget him. After the chamberlain told Pyramus about the emperor's response, Pyramus said: "In faith, I will not leave. For my lord Tirant has committed no treachery, nor have any of his men. If the emperor will not listen to me, tell the princess to come out here to the chamber door, and I will tell her things that will make her very happy." The chamberlain told the emperor what Pyramus had said. Then the emperor told Carmesina to go out and talk to him, but that she was not to let him come inside the chamber. When the princess came out to the hall with such a sad face, Pyramus knelt and kissed her hand, and then he began to speak: "My most excellent lady, I am startled by the great change I see in Your Majesty, in everyone in the palace and in the entire city. I'm very astonished because I don't know what has caused this, and no one I've asked has been willing to tell me. If His Majesty, the emperor, doesn't want that famous knight, Tirant lo Blanc, to be his captain, tell me, and we will quickly leave the empire." When the distressed princess had listened to Pyramus words, with tears in her eyes she told him everything the duke's squire had said. When Pyramus heard such wickedness, he put his hands to his head and answered: "My lady, have the ones who brought you such news, and caused the emperor so much pain, put into prison. And arrest me if the truth isn't that Tirant has been victorious and caused the sultan to flee, and burned down the bridge, and has more than twenty thousand of the enemy trapped near the river. If all this isn't true, let them cut me to pieces. And as greater proof, here is the captain's seal that Tirant gave me." When the princess heard such glorious news, she quickly ran into the chamber where her father was, and told him everything Pyramus had said. The poor emperor, with all the excessive happiness he felt, fainted and fell from his chair. The doctors were summoned, and they restored him to consciousness. He had Pyramus brought in, and as soon as he heard the news from his lips, he had all the bells in the city rung, and everyone went to the church, and there they gave praise and thanks to God, Our Lord, and to His Holy Mother, for the victory that had been achieved. When they returned to the palace, the emperor had the duke's squire imprisoned. Then Pyramus begged him to have the ships leave quickly with provisions for the encampment. The following day Pyramus left with many words of praise for Tirant and for many others. When this emissary returned with the news, Tirant was amazed at what the Duke of Macedonia had done. The day Pyramus left, the Turks, having lost all hope, realized that they could not carry on the battle. So to choose the lesser of two evils, they decided to let themselves be taken prisoner. Luckily, the wise Moor, Abdalla Salomon, was still with them, and they decided to send him as ambassador to Tirant once more. He put a rag on the end of a lance, and when Tirant saw it, he answered immediately. Abdalla Salomon went up to Tirant's camp, presented himself, and very humbly said: "If your lordship, magnanimous captain, would do us the grace of sparing our lives, you would be regarded as glorious among your enemies. I beg you to act with all the virtue you have in you." The captain had the Moor and all who were with him come into his tent, and he fed them. And they certainly needed it. Then the captain met with all the great lords, and they agreed with what Tirant said to them. He had Ambassador Abdalla summoned, and gave him the following reply: "I don't think it will be very long before I'll give the sultan and all the others a fitting punishment, but so that they will see that I don't wish to harm them as much as I could, I'll be satisfied if they will bring all their offensive and defensive weapons to the middle of that meadow. And I don't want them all brought together, but one hundred at a time, and then they can bring the horses. That's the way I want it done." The ambassador took his leave of the captain, and went back and did everything Tirant had ordered. When all the weapons had been laid down, the captain had them all brought to the camp, and then all the horses were brought up. The Turks were very pleased that he didn't have them all killed, because they thought that even if they were held captive, they could be ransomed. Tirant had them come, unarmed, to the foot of the mountain, and there he gave them food in abundance while his men kept them guarded. Then Tirant went down to them and seized the Christian dukes, counts and knights among them, and he had them come with him up to his camp. He made them go into a tent, and they were well-served with everything necessary for human sustenance. But many were not pleased that the captain was paying them so much honor when they did not deserve it, for they had come to help Moors against Christians. And when Tirant's men said so to their faces, they recognized their error, and stopped eating. Tirant held the prisoners this way until the ships arrived. Two days later the ships came loaded with provisions. After they had unloaded everything, the captain consulted with the others, and they decided to transfer all the prisoners to the ships and have them taken to the emperor. The High Constable was put in charge of them, and they set out. The constable had the sails raised, and with a favorable wind they reached the port of Constantinople in only a few days. The emperor and all the ladies were at the windows, watching the vessels as they approached. The constable had the prisoners disembark, and he took them to the palace. The constable went up to where the emperor was, and kissed his hands and feet. And delivering the good wishes of the captain, he presented the prisoners. The magnanimous lord received them very happily, and indicated how pleased he was with the captain. And placing the prisoners under heavy guard, the emperor had the constable go into this chambers where the empress and the princess were. He asked him about everything at the encampment, and the constable told him, adding: "Tonight or tomorrow, Diafebus will be here, with the noblemen that he is bringing as prisoner." "What!" said the emperor. "Are there still more?" And his happiness grew greater than ever. The following day Diafebus entered the center of the city with his prisoners, while his trumpets and tambourines played. The emperor and all the people were astonished at the great multitude of prisoners. When they were at the square in front of the palace, the emperor was at a window. Diafebus bowed deeply to him, and quickly went up to his chambers to kiss his hand, and then did the same to the empress and the princess. After he had embraced all the ladies, he turned back to the emperor and gave him the good wishes Tirant had sent. When the emperor had spoken at length with Diafebus, he had the prisoners placed in the strongest towers they had. When Diafebus had the opportunity, he went to the princess's chamber and found her with all the maidens. When the princess saw him, she got up to go to him. Diafebus hurried toward her, and knelt and kissed her hand, saying: "This kiss is from someone whom Your Highness has condemned to a stronger prison than the one that the prisoners I have brought are in." As the maidens approached, he could say nothing further for fear that they might hear him. But she took him by the hand and they went to a window- seat. Then the princess summoned Stephanie, and Diafebus said: "Your Highness should not forget such a noble knight, and the lack of liberty he has had since the moment he saw you." Smiling, the princess answered: "Oh Diafebus, my brother! I receive your words as the vassal of your lord, and I return his wishes just as strongly, and even more so." As they were speaking, the emperor came in and saw Diafebus deeply involved in conversation with his daughter, and he said: "Upon my father's bones, what a wonderful sight to see how these maidens like to hear of the exploits of these good knights." And he told his daughter to leave the room and go out to the main plaza in the market-place. Diafebus went with the emperor; then he came back to escort the empress and the princess. When they were in the market-place they saw a large cenotaph that the emperor had made, entirely covered with cloth of gold and silk. When all the ladies had been seated, the emperor commanded that all the prisoners be brought out, and they were ordered to sit on the ground, Moors as well as Christians. Then the people were silenced, and the following proclamation was read: "We, Frederick, by divine grace Emperor of the Greek Empire of Constantinople. So that it may be known and made manifest to the whole world how these wicked knights and unfaithful Christians have accepted payment from the infidel, and taking up arms have united with them in waging war against Christianity. They are deserving of great punishment, and of being removed from the order of chivalry and disinherited by the nobility from which they are descended. So that it may be a punishment for them and an example for all others, we pronounce them traitors to all Christians here present. And we sentence them to be dealt with as all such traitors against God and the world." When the sentence had been read, twelve knights came out dressed in long robes and hoods, and the emperor dressed in a similar fashion. Then they had the men rise from the ground, and they were brought up to the cenotaph where they were armed and then degraded as is done with evil knights, and then they were returned to prison. Then the emperor said: "Let there be justice, and let us show mercy to no one." The Duke of Macedonia's squire was brought out with a large chain around his neck. And he was condemned to die, hanging upside down, for all the anguish he had caused. When Diafebus saw the squire, he hurried to the emperor and knelt at his feet, begging him not to have the squire killed so that wicked people could not say that it was done because he had spoken badly about his captain. When the princess saw that Diafebus' words were futile, she too came and knelt at the emperor's feet to beg him. And when that proved futile, the empress and all the maidens came to plead for his life as well. The emperor said: "Who has ever seen a death sentence revoked that has been handed down by the general council? I have never done it, nor will I do it now." The princess caught his hands, pretending to kiss them, and she stealthily removed the ring from his finger without his noticing it, and said to him: "It is not Your Majesty's custom to be so cruel as to sentence anyone to die with such pain." The emperor said: "My child, change his death sentence as you wish." The princess handed the ring to Diafebus, and he rode swiftly to where they were holding the execution, and gave the ring to the constable. The squire was already on the ladder, about to be executed, and Diafebus grabbed him and took him to his lodging. When Diafebus left to go to the palace, the squire quickly ran to the monastery of San Francisco where he became a friar. The next day, the emperor sent all the Turks who had not been ransomed to other places to be sold: Venice, Sicily, Rome and Italy. Those that could not be sold were traded for arms, horses or food. When it came time for the constable and Diafebus to leave, the emperor took as much gold from his treasury as he had received from the ransom of the prisoners, and sent it along with them for the captain. The day before they were to leave, Diafebus discovered that the emperor had retired, and he went to the princess's chamber. The first one he met there was Stephanie, and he bowed deeply on one knee and said: "Gentle lady, I would consider myself the most fortunate man alive if you would accept me as your closest servant. I love you above all the ladies in the world." At that moment the emperor's chamberlain came in and told him that the emperor wished to speak with him. Diafebus begged Stephanie to wait for him there, and said that he would return as quickly as he could. When the emperor saw Diafebus, he told him that he and the constable were to leave before nightfall. Diafebus returned to the chamber and found his lady deep in thought and with tears in her eyes, because she knew that the emperor summoned him only to tell him that he must leave. Diafebus, seeing her so disconsolate, tried to show her that it was hurting him even more to leave. While they were consoling each other this way, the princess came into the chamber from the treasure tower, wearing a blouse and a skirt of white damask, her hair falling down to her shoulders because it was so warm. When she saw Diafebus she tried to turn back, but Diafebus blocked her way. "Shall I tell you something?" said the princess. "I don't care what happens in your presence. You are like a brother to me." Plaerdemavida spoke up: "My lady, can Your Highness see Stephanie's face? It looks like she's been blowing on a fire: her face is as red as a rose in May. I can't imagine that Diafebus' hands were idle while we were in the tower. We should have known he'd be here! She was here with the thing she loves most. I tell you, if I had a lover, I'd play with him too, the way both of you do. But I'm a barren woman, and I have no one to love. Lord Diafebus, do you know who I love with all my heart? Hippolytus--Tirant's page. And if he were a knight, I'd love him even more." "I promise you," said Diafebus, "that in the next battle I take part in, he will be made a knight." And they joked this way for a long while. Then the princess said: "Do you know something, Diafebus? When I turn around and look everywhere in the palace and I don't see Tirant, I feel as though I'm dying. I want you to take him all my good wishes, and along with them--wrapped up so that no one will see them--half the load of gold a horse can carry so that he may spend it as he wishes. And when it is gone, I will give him even more. I don't want him or his men to lack for anything. Also, an aunt of mine left me a county called Sant Angel in her will. I want Tirant to have it, and for him to be named the Count of Sant Angel. So if it becomes known that I love Tirant, at least they will say that I am in love with a count." Diafebus was astonished when he heard the princess uttering words filled with so much love, and he said: "I don't feel capable of thanking you for the honor you are bestowing on Tirant. So I beg you, on behalf of that famous knight and then on behalf of all of us of his lineage, allow me to kiss your hands and feet." Stephanie was so bursting with love that she could not contain herself any longer, and she said: "I'm envious of what Your Excellency is doing for that glorious knight, Tirant. And since I must imitate Your Highness, allow me to give everything I have to Diafebus here." And she got up and went into her chamber. There she wrote out a document that she placed in her bosom, and then she went back out to the princess. Meanwhile, Diafebus had been pressing the princess to allow him to kiss her. But the princess would not give her consent. Then Diafebus said: "Oh, how blind I've been! I would have given my life a hundred times to do some service for Your Majesty. And Your Highness will not allow me the pleasure of even a small part of the fruit! From now on, find yourself another brother and servant to be at your side. And don't imagine for a minute that I'll say anything to Tirant on your behalf, and even less that I'll take him the money. As soon as I reach camp, I'll take my leave of him and go back to my own country. But someday you'll be sorry I left." Just then the emperor came into the chamber and told Diafebus that he should get ready to leave that same evening. "Sire," said Diafebus, "I've just come from our lodging, and everyone is ready to leave." The emperor then brought him out of the chamber and led him through the palace, reminding both him and the constable of what they were to do. "Oh, poor me!" said the princess. "Look how angry Diafebus was! I don't think he'll want to do anything for me now. Stephanie, beg him for my love not to be angry." "I certainly will," said Stephanie. Plaerdemavida spoke up: "Oh what a strange one you are, my lady. At a time when we're at war, you don't know how to hold the friendship of these knights. They put themselves in danger to defend Your Highness and the entire empire, and you raise a ruckus over a kiss! What's wrong with kissing? In France it doesn't mean anything more than a handshake. If he wanted to kiss you, you should have let him. And you should have done the same even if he had wanted to put his hand under your skirts, when there are times of great need like we have now. Later on, when we have peace, then you can make virtue out of vice. Good woman, good woman, how deceived you are!" Stephanie had already left, so the princess went to her room and begged her to go and bring back Diafebus: "Now I'm afraid he really will leave just the way he said he would. And if he goes away, it won't be surprising if Tirant leaves too. And even if he doesn't, because of his love for me, many others will go too. And then, just when we thought we were winning, we would lose." "Don't make things so hard," said Plaerdemavida. "Don't send anyone else, Your Highness. It would be better if you went yourself on the pretext of seeing the emperor. Then talk to him, and his anger will disappear quickly." The princess hurried to her father and found him talking. When he had finished, she took Diafebus aside and pleaded with him not to be angry with her. Diafebus replied: "Madam, it has to be one of two things: either kiss or leave. If you give me what I'm asking for, then you can command me to do anything, just or unjust, and I will do it." "Since you won't wait for the one who holds my heart captive," said the princess, "kiss, kiss." Diafebus knelt on the hard floor and kissed her hand. Then he went over to Stephanie and kissed her three times on the lips for the Holy Trinity. Stephanie said: "Since at your great insistence, and by command of my lady, I have kissed you, I give you my permission to take possession of me, but only from the waist up." Diafebus was not slow to follow her request. He immediately put his hands on her breasts, touching her nipples and everything else that he could. His hands then found the document, and thinking it was a letter from a rival suitor, he stopped cold, almost losing his senses. "Read what is written there," said Stephanie, "and lose your suspicions." The princess took the document from Diafebus' hand and read it: "I, Stephanie of Macedonia, daughter of the illustrious Prince Robert, Duke of Macedonia, promise you, Diafebus of Muntalt, to take you as my husband and lord. And looking toward our marriage, I bring you the duchy of Macedonia with all the rights belonging thereto. In testimony of which I sign and seal my name in my own blood. "Stephanie of Macedonia." This Stephanie was not the Duke's daughter. Her father was a glorious prince, and a very worthy and wealthy knight. He was the emperor's first cousin, and this was his only child. When he died, he left the duchy to her, stating in his will that it was to be given to her when she was thirteen years old. In order to have more children, her mother had then married the Count of Albi, and he had taken the title of Duke of Macedonia. By now this maiden was fourteen years old. When night fell and they were all ready to leave, Diafebus, happier than we can say, took his leave of the emperor and all the ladies, and especially of Stephanie, begging her to think of him while he was away. And she kissed him many times, in front of the princess and Plaerdemavida. When they were back again with Tirant, he was very glad to see them. Diafebus and the constable gave him the money the emperor had sent. By now the Turks were desperate, and they cursed the world and fortune that had brought them so much pain. By their calculations they had lost, between the dead and those taken prisoner, more than one hundred thousand men. In their anger they held counsel to decide how they might kill Tirant. It was decided that the King of Egypt should kill him, because he was more skilled at arms than any of the others. The following day he called a council of all the great kings, dukes, counts, and all the Christians, and they gathered in the middle of a large meadow. When they were all there, the King of Egypt said: "If you want me to challenge him to a battle to the death, he is a very spirited knight and he will not be able to refuse. Then, when he's here, we'll fight. If you see me getting the better of him, leave us alone, and I will kill him. But if he is beating me, shoot him down with an arrow. In either case, he will die and so will everyone who comes with him." They were all pleased by what the king said. When the council was over, the King of Egypt went into his tent and prepared to write a letter. Now the sultan had a servant who had been born a Christian in the city of Famagosta, and who had been taken prisoner at sea when he was very young. And with his youth and lack of discretion, they had made him become a Moor. When he grew older, he realized that the Christian law was better than the Mohammedan sect, and he decided to go back to the Christian faith. He did it the following way. He prepared his arms and a good horse, and set out for the bridge of stone were Lord Malvei was. When he was an arrow shot away, he put his headdress on the tip of his lance, asking for safety. When the men in the castle saw that it was only one man, they offered him safety. But when the Moor was near, an archer who knew nothing about the guarantee of safety, shot an arrow that wounded the horse. Lord Malvei was very upset, and he promised the Moor that if the horse died they would give him a better one. The Moor told him how he had come there to become a Christian, and that he wanted to talk to the great captain. They agreed that he should return the following day and that Lord Malvei would advise Tirant. The Moor was very pleased, and went back to the camp. The sultan asked him where he had been and how his horse had been wounded. The Moor replied: "Sir, I was bored here, so I went over to the bridge. I saw a Christian on horseback and rode toward him. When I was close to him, he shot an arrow at me. I spurred my horse on and caught up to him and knocked him to the ground. Then I dismounted and prepared to kill him. On his knees he begged my forgiveness. So I pardoned him and we became good friends. And he has promised to tell me everything that is happening in the Christian camp." "This is excellent news to me!" said the sultan. "Go back tomorrow and find out if they intend to fight more, or if they are going back to the city of Constantinople." The next day the Moor took one of the sultan's best horses and rode to the bridge, where he was taken inside the castle. Tirant soon arrived and paid reverence to Lord Malvei and his son, and then embraced Lady Malvei, and gave honor to the Moor. The Moor told him that he wanted to become a Christian and to serve him. They went to the church, and there he was baptized with the name Cipres of Paterno. Then he said: "Sir, now that I have been baptized a true Christian, I wish to live and die in this holy faith. I will stay here if you like, or I will go back to the camp and tell you what is happening every day. No one in all our camp knows what is going on better than I, because all the council meetings are held in the sultan's tent, and I am a member of the council." Tirant begged him to go back, and to advise Lord Malvei as often as he could about the Turk's plans. He agreed, and said: "I beg you, captain, let me have some sort of sweetmeats so I can give them to the sultan. For he likes to eat these things, and with this as an excuse, I'll be able to come and go easily, and he won't suspect me." The Lord of Malvei said: "I can give them to you." And he had dates and sweetmeats brought in a box, and gave them to Cipres de Paterno. When he had returned, the sultan asked him for news about the Christians. He replied that his friend had told him that they did not intend to leave. "Until your lordship changes your camp site. And sir, I was given these dates and sweetmeats." The sultan was very pleased at what he had brought, and had him go often. So he went and told Lord Malvei everything he knew, and Lord Malvei kept Tirant informed. Cipres of Paterno swore never again to serve the sultan. When the King of Egypt had the letter of battle drawn up, he ordered a messenger to take it to Tirant, the captain of the Greek army. It said the following: "From Abenamar, by the will of God, King of Egypt, to you, Tirant lo Blanc, captain of the Greek army. "I challenge you to battle, man to man, on foot or on horseback whichever you desire to your own advantage, before a competent judge. We will do combat until one of us is dead, so that I may present your head to my lady. If you wish to answer this letter, give your reply to Egypt, my messenger, and that will suffice to show your agreement, and to bring our battle to the end that I desire. "Written in our camp on the eastern shore, the first day of this moon, and signed. "King of Egypt" After Tirant held counsel in his tent, he answered the King of Egypt's letter in the following way: "I vow to God and my lady, and to the honor of chivalry, that twenty days into August, four days before or after, I will be on the eastern shore, before your camp, with all the power to do battle if you should wish it. Written by my hand and sealed with my coat of arms in the camp called Transimeno. The fifth of August. "Tirant lo Blanc." Here the book returns to the emperor who wanted very much to have news of the camp. He saw seven sailing ships approaching, and when they had docked he learned that they came from Sicily, and that they were bringing four thousand soldiers and many horses which the King of Sicily was sending. The reason for this I shall now relate. As we have said previously, the eldest son of the King of Sicily was in France, married to the daughter of the King of France. He was virtuous and discreet, and his father-in-law would not allow him to leave the court because of his great love for him. It happened then that this son fell ill, and died. When his father, the King of Sicily, learned of his death he was very sad. The other son who had become a friar, did not want to leave the religious life to be king after the death of his father. The king was very upset when he saw that his son would not obey him, and he fell sick to his bed. Realizing that he was dying, he put his soul and his kingdom in order, and in his will he named his daughter, Philippe's wife, to be his successor. When Philippe found himself king, remembering Tirant's help and honor, he decided to go to his aid with the greatest forces he could muster. But his wife, the queen, and everyone in his kingdom pleaded with him not to go that year, because the queen was with child. Seeing their great opposition, he decided to stay. He sent in his place, as captain, the Duke of Messina, with five thousand soldiers on foot and on horseback. Because of her dealings with Tirant, the queen sent him two thousand soldiers and made the Lord of Pantanalea their captain. When the soldiers had been given lodging, the emperor said: "I have decided to go to the camp to make peace between the Duke of Macedonia and our captain. If I don't, they'll kill each other some day. Since this sort of thing has happened twice already, we have to guard against a third time. If I get the Duke of Macedonia in my hands, I swear I'll cut off his head." Then the emperor ordered all his men to prepare to leave. "What, my lord!" said the empress. "Are you going with so few men?" The emperor replied: "These barons from Sicily are here, and they'll go with me." All the emperor's servants quickly made ready. The following night, while the princess was asleep, Stephanie came to her bed. She woke her and said: "My lady, I dreamt that I saw Diafebus, and that he told me: 'Stephanie, my love, Tirant and I are so fortunate to have you here! Just being able to see you makes us sure we'll defeat the Turks.' So, my lady, when I woke up I came here to tell Your Highness that, if you wish, we can quickly satisfy your desires. And they'll know first hand how great our love is: we will go to them when they can't come to us." The princess said: "Give me my chemise, and don't say another word." She quickly dressed, and then she went to the emperor's chambers. He had not yet gotten up, and she told him: "My lord, the maidens are afraid, hearing about the war, and especially about the battles. So, Your Majesty, please don't refuse me a favor. You should grant it to me for two reasons: First, Your Majesty should not go anywhere without me because of your age, for I love you more than anyone, and if Your Majesty got sick I could serve you and be at your bedside, because I know your nature better than anyone. The second reason is that it's nature's course that whoever is born first should die first, although sometimes we see the contrary. And if I go with Your Majesty I could see and know about war, and in case the need should arise in the future I would not be afraid." At first the emperor tried to dissuade her, but when she insisted, he said: "My daughter, since you want it so much, I'll give my consent." On the day they left, the princess dressed in a skirt with gold braid, and armed herself in a coat of mail she had had made for her. She mounted a large white horse, and with a staff in her hand she went as captain over her people. In her company were sixty of the most beautiful and elegant maidens in the entire court. She made Stephanie the commander, while the Duke of Pera's daughter, Saladria, had the position of marshal. Comtesina was lord constable, and Plaerdemavida carried the emblem. Eliseu carried the large banner, Widow Repose was usher of the chamber, and each of the others had their own office. And this is how they rode until they reached Tirant's tent. When the emperor was situated in the camp tents, he sent word to Lord Malvei, asking him to come talk with him. As soon as he received the request, he quickly went to pay homage to the emperor. He told him all about Tirant and the virtuous acts that he did every day, and the princess was very pleased to hear the praises of Tirant. Lord Malvei asked him if he would like to stay at his castle, because he would be very safe there. So he went, while all the Sicilian barons set up their tents near the river. Lord Malvei covertly sent one of his men to the Valley of Espinosa to tell the captain that the emperor had come with his daughter and with the barons of Sicily. Tirant kept it secret until the following day so that no one would leave with the excuse of going to see the emperor or their relatives. He told only Diafebus in great secrecy. When it was midnight, or very near it, everyone mounted their horses. He had the foot soldiers go first, with Diafebus as their captain, and with 400 lancers, their horses completely decorated. Tirant earnestly charged Diafebus to stay behind some rocks about a league from the enemy camp, and for him and his men not to show themselves even if they saw that the battle was lost. Even if he saw that they were killing him, they were not to come out to help. Still not satisfied, he made him swear not to move until he gave the command. Each division put their men in order. Tirant did the following: All the horses were put in a row so that not one head was in front of another. And everyone was in order except the Duke of Macedonia who refused to obey any of the captain's orders. The emperor's flags were in the middle. The Duke of Sinop was at the end of one wing, and the Duke of Pera was at the other end. Meanwhile the captain went up and down the line urging the men to keep in order, for if they did, with the help of Our Lord he would make them victorious that day. When the sultan saw the Christians preparing for battle, he quickly put all his forces in order: All the men with lances were put in front; next came the archers and crossbowmen; then the Christians that the Grand Turk had hired to fight for him, on horses which were nicely covered and with large plumes, and they were more than fifteen paces behind the crossbowmen. The Turks were last of all, and they had more than four hundred bombards. They thought that with the bombards they would kill more than seven hundred men. When all the men were in place the King of Egypt sent a messenger to Tirant to thank him for keeping his promise, and to tell him that he would kill him or take him prisoner on that day. He said Tirant would taste the point of his lance very soon, and he would see how bitter it tasted. Tirant answered that he would be very happy to see how it tasted because he had so much sugar that he would not notice any bitter taste at all, but that that day he would engage him in battle, and he would spill his blood. Tirant again urged his men on. He took away their fear, and gave them hopes of having a glorious victory. The Turks shot one bombard, and the blast went wide without touching anyone. Tirant had a small axe tied to his arm with a silk cord, and in his hand he held a small banner, and he signaled with it. The Duke of Pera, who commanded one wing, turned his men toward the flags in a very slow and orderly way, so that their backs were to the enemy. At the other end of the wing was the Duke of Sinop, and he held his men steady. When the men under the Duke of Pera had turned and were in order again, Tirant signaled with the small banner, and the men under the Duke of Sinop turned around in the same orderly way. Then they were all facing the mountain, where Diafebus was, with their backs to the enemy. They spurred their horses forward at a gallop, always in a very orderly way, with none of the horses going ahead of the others, When the Turks saw them going back, they began to shout: "They're running away! They're running away!" The foot soldiers threw away their shields, others their lances, and others their crossbows, to run after their Christian enemies. The men on horseback threw off the coverings so that their horses could run more swiftly. From time to time Tirant turned and saw all the men coming, wave after wave, in confusion, and so he was unconcerned about anything except for his troops to continue moving in a very orderly way. And the Moors with good horses came close enough to throw their lances at their backs. When the emperor, who was up in the tower, saw his men fleeing, he believed that the battle was lost. All that night the maidens did not take off their clothes, and prayed earnestly, begging the Conqueror of Battles and His Holy Mother to give the Christians victory. When Tirant saw the foot soldiers falling far behind, and that they had passed the place where Diafebus was, Tirant raised the banner he was carrying and they all stopped. Then each squadron drew a stone's throw apart from the one next to it. When the Turks saw them stop, they realized they had been tricked. Tirant ordered the Duke of Pera to attack first, and he charged into the enemy. When Tirant saw the enemy coming with reinforcements, he had the Marquis of Saint George lead an attack, then the Duke of Sinopoli. And so many men were killed that it was an astonishing sight to see. Tirant saw that half his men had been involved in the attacks, and they were still winning. Then, in the melee, he saw the King of Cappadocia killing many Christians (He recognized him by his coat of arms: a gold lion with a banner), and he took a lance and spurred toward him. When the king saw him coming he did not turn his back, but waited for him in anticipation. And when they met, it was with such force that both they and their horses fell to the ground. They both got up bravely, and slashed at each other with their swords. But so many men were fighting aground them that they could not fight well. Then the Turks helped their king mount again. Pyramus went in front of the king so Tirant could mount, and the others surrounded him, defending him until the squadron of Count Plegamans could attack. This squadron came to where the captain was, and they helped him mount behind Lord Agramunt who took him out of the thick of battle. Since many horses had lost their riders and were running loose, they caught one and gave it to their captain, and he quickly went back into the fray. The captain commanded all the squadrons to attack, some on the right and some on the left. Then they saw helmets falling to the ground, and many knights from both sides were being killed or wounded. It was a startling sight to see. Tirant attacked too, first in one place, then in another. And he did not fight in only one place, but in many, helping wherever he was needed. The King of Egypt was able to see Tirant fighting very bravely. He drew apart from the battle, and the Kings of Cappadocia and Africa came out with him. The King of Egypt asked them to leave the others and try to kill only Tirant. And with this accord they returned to the battle. While Tirant was fighting, the Duke of Macedonia came up behind Tirant, and plunged his sword into his neck, under the helmet. Hippolytus and Pyramus saw it, and cried: "You traitor! Why are you trying to kill one of the best knights in the world?" The three kings had lances, and they worked their way forward until they saw Tirant. They galloped toward him, but only the King of Egypt and the King of Cappadocia were able to reach him. The clash was so great that both Tirant and his horse fell to the ground. The horse had seven wounds. The King of Africa attacked the Duke of Macedonia who was fighting near Tirant, and the king plunged his lance into the duke's chest with such force that it came out the other side, and that is how he paid for his wickedness. Tirant was on the ground with his horse lying on his leg, and he could barely get up. But with a great effort he stood up, and the beaver fell from his helmet, for a lance hit him there, and another hit his left vambrace. If it had not been for his own soldiers then, he would have been killed. The King of Egypt saw him on the ground, and quickly tried to dismount. When his leg was on the saddlebow Lord Agramunt plunged a lance into his thigh, and it came out the other side. The wound left him in great pain, and he fell to the ground. When Tirant saw him stretched out on the ground like that he ran toward him, but with all the men fighting he could not reach him. The king stood up again and picked up a lance that he found lying on the ground, and he made his way forward until he was able to hurl his lance at Tirant. Tirant was hit in the cheek, and since he had no beaver, four of his teeth were knocked out, and he lost a great deal of blood, but that did not stop him, and he continued to fight. Hippolytus saw him on foot, wounded, and he made his way to him. Then he dismounted as quickly as he could, and said: "My lord, take my horse, I beg you." Tirant was fighting at one end of the wing, moving away from the thick of battle little by little. He mounted, and said to Hippolytus: "What will you do?" Hippolytus answered: "Sir, save yourself. Even if they kill me, my love for you is such that I will consider it worthwhile." Tirant turned back to the fighting, looking to see if he could find the King of Egypt, but because of his painful wound the king had left the battle. When Tirant saw that he could not find him, he fought the others. It was much later, while he was still fighting, that he encountered the King of Cappadocia. When this king saw him he went out to meet him, and with his sword he slightly cut the hand that held the axe. Then Tirant drew so near to him that he struck him on the head with his axe, and caved in his helmet, and the king fell to the ground, half dead. Tirant quickly dismounted, and cut the straps of his helmet. A knight came up and cried out: "My lord, do not kill the king. Since he is mortally wounded and is near death, be merciful and give him the short time he has left to live. You have done enough by defeating him." Tirant said: "What moved you to want mercy on our enemy who has done everything possible to kill me? Now is the time only for cruelty." And he removed the helmet and cut off his head. Tirant's axe stood out from all the others, for it was red, dripping blood from the men he had killed. The ground was covered with dead men, and was completely red from all the blood that had been spilled. Tirant mounted his horse again, and when the Turks saw their king killed, they fell upon him in great numbers, trying to kill him. Tirant was badly wounded, and was again knocked from his horse. He quickly stood up, not at all overcome by the fall or frightened because of his wounds. He went into the thick of the fray on foot, fighting to help his men, and he again mounted his horse. This was a harsh and terrible battle, and by now it was nearly time for vespers. Diafebus was cursing Tirant for putting him there, and he said: "He always wants the honors for himself, and he won't share them with anyone else. He's left me here as though I weren't good for anything. But by God, I want part of the honor. Let's go!" he said. "Let's go into battle without being afraid of any danger." He and his men came out from their concealment and they attacked very boldly. The Turks saw so many men coming out (when they had thought there were no more), and they became very dejected. The sultan left the battle because he was slightly wounded, and he said to his men: "I see that our forces are losing. I think it's better for us to flee than to die." When Tirant saw the sultan and his men fleeing with their banners he rode after them and killed many of them. This battle lasted from daybreak until three hours after noon. There were so many Moors that the Christians grew weary from killing them. The captain and most of his men reached the city that formerly belonged to the Marquis of Saint George. It had been lost to the King of Egypt, and he kept it well supplied. When the King of Egypt saw that the battle was lost, he had fled with the others, and he felt so much pain from the wound in his thigh that he had to leave the sultan and his men, and stop there. When Tirant arrived it was nearly dark. They stayed in camp until the following day. That evening they all had their wounds attended to, and many died during the night. But on that eastern shore there had never been such a harsh and deadly battle: many women became widows, and many young maidens lost their fathers, but they were filled with the hope of being set free from slavery. The following day Tirant had the men take up arms, and they attacked the city, but the Turks defended themselves very well, for they had very good men inside. After four unsuccessful attacks, the Marquis of Saint George rode around the entire city and came to the Jewish quarter. There he called out to a Jew named Jacob. When the Jew heard the marquis' voice, he realized it was his lord, and he ran to open the gate for him. The marquis and his men quickly rode into the city, and they took half of it before the King of Egypt or the other Moors knew what had happened. The marquis sent word to Tirant to stop fighting and to come in through the Jewish quarter because the city had already been taken. When Tirant and his men came in through that gate, he found that the marquis' forces had already defeated all the Turks, and that he had the King of Egypt trapped in a thicket of trees where he was continuing to fight, wounded as he was. When the marquis had captured the king, he sent word to the captain to come and behead his enemy, the King of Egypt. The captain replied that he would never kill a man who was being held prisoner. Whereupon the marquis seized the king by the hair, and slit his throat with a knife. Even though Tirant was victorious that day, he would allow no celebrations to take place. He only said in everyone's presence: "If Diafebus had done what I ordered him to, I would have killed the sultan and taken prisoner all the great dukes who were there, and I would be lord of the entire empire." Getting back to the emperor, the great pain he felt when he thought Tirant had lost the battle was changed into relief because Lord Malvei sent one of his men on horseback for news of the battle. He returned with the news of what had happened, and how the captain had gone after the fleeing Turks. A few moments later the emperor mounted his horse to go with the barons of Sicily, and the princess wanted to go with him. When they were in the Moorish camp they found all the tents with all the wealth inside, and the men wanted to loot them, but the emperor would not allow it. Instead he had the Lord of Pantanalea and Lord Malvei hold all the booty for safekeeping until the men who had conquered the camp were notified. While the emperor was in the Moors' camp, the princess saw a little black boy at a distance. She rode toward him and quickly dismounted and went into the tent where the little black boy had gone to hide. Grabbing him by the hair, she took him out to the emperor and said: "Now I can boast in front of our captain about how I have been a valiant lady-knight, who went boldly into the enemy camp, and took a Turk prisoner." The emperor and all the others were very amused at his daughter's wit. Diafebus saw that Tirant was angry with him, and so he did not dare show himself out of shame. When the emperor heard of the glorious battle from others but not from Diafebus, he told the princess: "Since I've had no news from Diafebus, I fear that he may be dead." When Stephanie heard this, she burst into tears. On their return to the castle of Malvei, she sent a man to find out what had happened to Diafebus, along with a letter that said: "My love for you demands that I have news from you. For I have heard that you may be dead. So I beg you, my lord, to come here quickly. And if something has happened to you, I want to die with you." When Diafebus saw this letter from his lady, he was overjoyed. He took the letter to Tirant's room. When Tirant had read it, he sent for the messenger and asked him about the emperor and the virtuous princess. The messenger told him everything that had happened in the camp, and how the princess had gone armed into the Moors' tents and had captured a black, and that she was holding him under guard. "To show him to your lordship, as soon as she can see you." Tirant was very pleased, and he ordered Diafebus to go to His Majesty, the emperor. And Diafebus rode off very quickly. When he reached the castle of Malvei, he went directly to the emperor. The entire castle heard that Diafebus had come, and the maidens quickly went to see him--especially Stephanie. They found him in the emperor's chamber, talking about the battle. The emperor asked how many men were killed, and Diafebus said: "I don't know the number of Turks who are dead, but from here to the city of Saint George you can't travel on the main road: it's too full of corpses. But of our forces I can give you an exact account, because the captain has had all their bodies gathered and buried. We found the Duke of Macedonia dead from a lance wound, and the Duke of Babylonia, the Marquis of Ferrara, and the Marquis of Guast, Count Plegamans. These are the main ones. There are also many other knights who were killed, among them the High Constable. In all, one thousand two hundred thirty-four men died." The emperor was very pleased with Tirant's accomplishments, and did not know how to reward him. Diafebus remained there, pretending he was ill, and the emperor had him taken care of as well as he would have his own daughter. Tirant stayed in the camp, guarding it well. Meanwhile the sultan and all those who had escaped with him went into the city of Bellpuig. The sultan remained there, feeling safe, but for two weeks he kept to his room, crying over the battle they had lost, and lamenting the death of the King of Cappadocia. But he still knew nothing of the death of the King of Egypt and he was anxious to hear any news. Cipres of Paterno said to him: "Sir, does your lordship want me to go? If I can talk to my friend, I'll know everything there is to know." The sultan begged him very much, in front of all who were there, to go. Under his jubbah Cipres wore a tunic of white damask that Tirant had given him with the cross of Saint George embroidered on it. When he was on the road and the Moors couldn't see him, he took off the jubbah and sat on it while he rode. When the Christian spies along the road saw him, they thought he was one of their own, and they did not stop him. In the city, he asked where the captain's lodgings were. The captain was very glad to see him, and asked what news there was. "Sir," said Cipres of Paterno, "they've found 103,700 men missing from their ranks, who have either been killed or taken prisoner. If you had pursued them, you would have taken them all, for their horses were too tired to go on. They had to stop halfway along the road to Bellpuig and spend the night: many were wounded, many were fatigued, and many died that night since there were no doctors to attend them: the cold entered their wounds, and there they died." "Do you have any other news?" "Yes, sir," said Cipres of Paterno. "Seven ships have come from Turkey, loaded with wheat, barley and other foods. And they say for a certainty that the Grand Caramany is on them with fifty thousand soldiers and horsemen, and that he's bringing his daughter to give her as a wife to the sultan, and that in his company is the King of Upper India." "Have they unloaded those seven ships yet?" asked Tirant. "No, sir," said Cipres. "The wind has been against them, and they haven't been able to make port." They spoke of many other things, and after Cipres of Paterno had returned to the sultan, he told him about the death of the King of Egypt. And there was great wailing among the Moors, for he was much loved. Tirant took a man with him who knew the land well, and which secret roads they could travel by to avoid difficulties. When they were in sight of the sea, they saw the city of Bellpuig at the top of a high mountain, and the ships, their sails turning to and fro in the wind, unable to make port. Tirant returned quickly, and learned that the emperor, along with all the barons from Sicily, had gone out to conquer the many villas and castles nearby. Then he and the Duke of Pera left with a party of soldiers, and he left the rest with the Marquis of Saint George as their captain. When Tirant was near the castle of Malvei, he learned that the princess had remained inside with her maidens, and with Diafebus as their protector. So he sent Hippolytus inside with a message. When Hippolytus was before the princess, he knelt and kissed her hand and said: "Your Majesty, my lord sends me to beg Your Highness to give him safe- conduct so that he may come and go from here freely." The princess replied, "Oh, new knight. Doesn't the good captain know that we are all under his captaincy and in his care?" Then Hippolytus stood and embraced all the maidens. And don't think that Plaerdemavida was displeased to see Hippolytus. Meanwhile the princess took pen and ink, and wrote: "With my own hand I sign this document. I will in no way limit your freedom to come and go as you wish. September 7, in the Castle of Malvei." When he had the document in hand, Tirant quickly went up to the castle where he found the princess in a great hall. She took the Duke of Pera by one hand, and Tirant by the other, and sat between them. And they spoke of many things. They talked about how the emperor had been taking villas and castles, and they decided to go and help the emperor in the morning. And the princess said: "If you go to where the emperor is, I'm going too." And she had them bring out her prisoner, saying: "Do you think that when I've been in hard- fought battles the way you have, I don't know how to take prisoners from among our cruel enemies?" And saying these things, they went in to dine. But the princess ate very little, for she could not keep her eyes off Tirant. The duke began to talk to the lady of the castle and to Widow Repose, telling them about the battles they had won under Tirant's leadership. And Widow Repose's love of Tirant grew even stronger, but she was afraid to show it. While they were talking Plaerdemavida came up, and sitting at Tirant's feet, she said: "My lord and captain, no one loves you as I do. I feel compassion for you, for none of these ladies has told you to lay down your weapons. In faith, that shirt you are wearing is well trampled. I saw it being put on and taken off, well-perfumed, and now I see it all torn and smelling of iron and steel." The princess said: "Give me that hand that has not had mercy on the deaths of the Moorish Kings, our enemies." Stephanie took his hand and placed it in the princess's lap. When she saw it on her knees, she bent over and kissed it. Tirant said: "If Your Highness would give me leave to kiss your hands whenever I wished, oh how fortunate I'd be. And I would be even more so if I could kiss your feet and your legs." The princess took his hands again, and said: "From now on, Captain, I want your hands to do as they will with me: that is your right." She quickly got up because they had spent the greater part of the night there. And so that the duke and the others would have no reason to gossip, they went with her to her room where she bid them all a good night. And the duke and Tirant slept in the same bed. The following morning the trumpets blew, and they all armed themselves and mounted their horses. The princess wanted to go with them, and they rode until they found the emperor, who was attacking a well fortified city. With Tirant's men helping, they entered the villa and killed and made prisoner of many. The following day the emperor held council to decide where they should attack next. The captain spoke, and said: "Sire, it would be better if Your Highness would go with the barons of Sicily back to the palace with all the prisoners we've taken. The Duke and I will take charge of guarding and conquering the nearby cities and villas. And Your Majesty can send us the supplies we need." When they were back in the castle, the emperor summoned Tirant, and then had the princess and the other maidens come, and he said: "Captain, since fortune has been so contrary to our High Constable, the Count of Bitinua, who is dead, who do you think we should choose as our next constable?" Tirant knelt and said: "My lord, if Your Majesty would be pleased to give the office of High Constable to Diafebus, I would consider it a great favor." "I will do as you wish," said the emperor. "Because of my affection for you, and because of his many merits, from this moment on, I grant to Diafebus the office of High Constable. And to you I give the County of Sant Angel, which I take from my daughter and bestow upon you. Tomorrow I will have a celebration where you will take the title of count." Tirant replied: "Sire, I give you infinite thanks for doing me such a great honor, but I will accept it only if I can give the title in turn to Diafebus, my closest relative." "It makes no difference to me what you do with it afterward, as long as I have offered it and you have accepted it." Then Tirant knelt and kissed the emperor's hands and feet for his honor. The morning of the next day the emperor wanted mass held in the middle of a meadow, and he wanted Diafebus between himself and his daughter. After mass the emperor put the ring on Diafebus' hand and kissed him on the mouth. Then all the trumpets began to peal very loudly, and a king- of-arms cried out in a loud voice: "This is the most eminent and virtuous knight, Count of Sant Angel and High Constable of the Greek Empire." Afterward the dances and festivities began, and all day long the princess did nothing but dance with the High Constable. When it was time to eat the emperor had the High Constable sit at his right, and the duke sat on his left, while the princess sat to the right of the constable. Tirant acted as steward since he was giving the celebration. The ladies ate at other tables, and the barons and knights ate at their right. Next were all the soldiers. And that day all the prisoners ate at tables to honor the celebration. Tirant even had the horses eating barley mixed with bread. When the dinner was half finished, Tirant summoned the kings-of-arms and heralds, and gave them a thousand ducats. And all the trumpets were pealing, and they came before the emperor's table and cried out, "Largesse, largesse!" After the meal the repast was held with many sugared dainties. Then they all rode, armed and holding the constable's banners, jousting before the emperor. They held a beautiful display of arms without getting hurt. And they went like this up to the place where the sultan usually held camp, and came back very happily. When they thought it was time to have the evening meal, they held the festivities in that same place, and they were very well served with many varied dishes. During the entire meal, as Tirant was serving it, he seemed very sad. The princess had him come over to her, and she whispered in his ear: "Tell me, Tirant, why are you so sad? Your face shows that something is wrong. Tell me, what it is, please!" "My lady, I have so many troubles that they could not be counted. My life is worth nothing. Your Highness is leaving tomorrow, and I will be left behind in great sadness, knowing that I will not see you." "It is only right," said the princess, "that anyone who causes misfortune should suffer for it. You are the one who brought it on: You advised the emperor to go back to the city with all the prisoners. I've never seen such bad advice given by any man who was in love. But if you would like me to pretend I am sick for two or three weeks, I will do it because of my love for you, and I'm sure the emperor will wait because of his love for me." "But what will we do," said Tirant, "with all these prisoners we have here? I can't find any way to relieve my pain. Sometimes I feel like taking poison, or dying a sudden death, to escape this anguish." "Don't do any such thing, Tirant," said the princess. "Go talk to Stephanie, and see if she can do something to help that won't be difficult for me, and will bring you relief." Tirant quickly went to Stephanie and told her his troubles. And they, and the constable, agreed that when everybody was resting and the maidens were asleep, the two men would come to the chamber and there they would decide what they could do to give release to their passion. When it was night, and time for everyone in the castle to be asleep, the maidens had gone to bed. All the ladies were sleeping with Widow Repose; there were only five sleeping in the room they had to pass through. The princess and Stephanie were in their chamber, and when Plaerdemavida saw that the princess did not want to go to sleep, and then she heard her putting perfume on, she quickly thought that there was going to be a night of merry-making. When the time came, Stephanie picked up a lighted candlestick in one hand, and went to the bed where the five maidens were sleeping, and she looked at them all, one at a time, to see if they were asleep. Plaerdemavida wanted to see and hear everything that would happen, and she tried to stay awake. And when Stephanie came with the candlestick, she closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping. When Stephanie saw that all the ladies were asleep, she quietly opened the door so that no one would hear her, and she found the two knights already waiting at the door more devoutly than the Jews await the Messiah. As they came in, she put out the light and took the constable's hand. She led the way, with Tirant following the constable, until they came to the door of the chamber where the princess was waiting for them, alone. When Tirant saw how beautifully she was dressed, he bowed deeply to her, and with one knee on the ground, he kissed her hands many times, and they exchanged amorous words. Later, when they felt that it was time for them to go, they said goodnight and went back to their room. Who could sleep that night, some because of love, and others because of pain. As soon as it was light everyone got up, because the emperor had to leave that day. When Plaerdemavida was up she went to the princess's chamber and found her dressing. Stephanie was sitting on the floor, not yet finished dressing, because her hands would not help her tie on her hat, and her eyes were half closed so that she could scarcely see. "Holy Mary, help me!" said Plaerdemavida. "Tell me, Stephanie, what kind of behavior is this. What's wrong with you? I'll go get the doctors so they can bring you back to health." "That's not necessary," said Stephanie. "My illness won't last long. It's only a headache. The air from the river last night made me ill." "Be careful about what you're saying," said Plaerdemavida. "I'm afraid you may die. And if you die, your death will be criminal. Be careful about pain in your heels, I've heard doctors say about us women that pain comes to our heels first, then our feet, then it comes up to our knees, and our thighs, and sometimes it goes into our secret place. There it brings us a great deal of pain, and it goes up to our head from there. And don't think that this sickness comes often, as the great philosopher Galen says--a very wise doctor, for it only comes once in a lifetime. Even though it's an incurable illness, it is never deadly, and there are many treatments if a person wants to try them. What I'm telling you is true, and you shouldn't be astonished that I know about sickness. If you show me your tongue I'll be able to tell you what your illness is." Stephanie stuck out her tongue. When Plaerdemavida had seen it she said to her: "I would swear by everything my father taught me that you lost blood last night." Stephanie quickly answered: "You're right. I had a nosebleed." "I don't know if it came out of your nose or your heel," said Plaerdemavida, "but you've lost blood. And my lady, if Your Majesty would like, I'll tell you a dream I had last night, as long as Your Highness will promise me that if I say something that annoys you, you'll forgive me." The princess was delighted by what Plaerdemavida had said, and laughing, she told her to say whatever she liked, that she forgave her. And Plaerdemavida began to tell about her dream. "I'll tell Your Majesty everything I dreamed. As I was asleep in a side chamber with four maidens, I saw Stephanie come in with a lighted candle so that it wouldn't shine too brightly, and she came up to our bed and saw us all sleeping. The truth is that I was half asleep: I don't know if I was asleep or awake. In my dream I saw how Stephanie opened the chamber door very quietly so that she wouldn't make any noise, and she found my lord Tirant and the constable there, waiting. They were dressed in their doublets, with cloaks and swords, and they wore woolen stockings on their feet so they wouldn't make any noise when they walked. When they came in, she put out the light, and went in front, holding the constable's hand. After him came your knight. She was like a blindman's guide, and she put them in your chamber. Your Highness was all perfumed, dressed and not naked. Tirant held you in his arms and carried you around the room, kissing you over and over again, and Your Highness was saying, 'Stop it, Tirant, stop it!' And he put you on a bed. And Plaerdemavida went up the bed and said, 'Oh, in the bed! If only the people who knew you before could see you now!' And it seemed to me that I got out of bed in my chemise and went up to that hole in the door, and that I watched everything you were doing." The princess laughed, and said: "Was there more to your dream?" "Holy Mary, yes!" said Plaerdemavida. "Let me go on, and I'll tell you the whole thing. My lady, you said, 'Tirant, I let you come here so you could have a little rest, because of the great affection I feel for you.' And Tirant wasn't sure he would do what you told him. And you said: 'Don't refuse me what I'm asking of you, because my chastity that I've kept can pride itself on being free of all sin.' 'I felt sure,' said Tirant, 'that you would be in agreement with my wishes without being afraid of any future danger, but since Your Highness is displeased, I will do whatever Your Majesty desires.' And you made him swear that he would not anger you in any way: 'And even if you wanted to, the anguish you would give me would be enormous--I would curse you all the days of my life, for when virginity is lost it cannot be regained.' I dreamed that you and he said all these things to each other. Then, in my vision, I saw how he kissed you again and again and untied the cord over your bosom, and that he quickly kissed your breasts. After he had spent some time kissing you he tried to put his hands under your skirts, and you, my good lady, would not permit it. And I think that if you had allowed it his oath would have been in danger. Your Highness said to him, 'The time will come when what you want so much will be given to you, and my virginity, intact, will be yours.' Then he put his face next to yours, and with his arms around your neck, and yours around his, like vines on a tree, he received your loving kisses. Later, still dreaming, I saw how Stephanie was on that bed, and it seemed to me that her legs were turning white, and she said many times, 'Oh, my lord, you're hurting me! Have a little pity on me; don't kill me.' And Tirant was saying to her, 'Stephanie, why do you want to put your honor in jeopardy by screaming so loudly? Don't you know that walls sometimes have ears?' And she grabbed the sheet and stuffed it in her mouth and bit down on it with her teeth so she wouldn't scream. But after a short while she couldn't help giving out a loud shriek and saying, 'Poor me, what shall I do? The pain is making me scream. From what I can see you've decided to kill me.' "Then the constable closed her mouth. When I heard that sweet moan I cursed my misfortune because I wasn't the third one with my Hippolytus. The more I thought about it, the more it grieved me, and it seems to me that I took a little water, and washed my heart, my breasts, and my stomach to take away pain. And as my soul looked through the hole I saw how, after a second, Stephanie held out her arms and gave up, in surrender. But still she said: 'Go away, you cruel, unloving man. You have no pity or mercy on maidens until you've taken away their chastity. Oh, you faithless man! If I decided not to forgive you, what punishment would you deserve? And all the while I'm complaining about you, the more I love you.' "She called to the princess and Tirant, and showing them the shirt, she said: 'Love must make amends for this blood of mine.' She said this with tears in her eyes. After all this, when day was approaching, Your Majesty and Tirant consoled her as well as you could. Then, when the roosters started to crow again, Your Highness begged Tirant to go so that you would not be seen by anyone in the castle. And Tirant begged Your Highness to release him from his oath so that he could achieve the glorious triumph that he desired, as his cousin had done. Your Highness refused, and you were victorious in the battle. When they had gone I woke up. I didn't see a thing, not Hippolytus or anyone else, but I began to think that it might really have happened, because I found my breasts and my belly wet with water. My pain increased so much that I began to toss and turn in bed like a sick man who is about to die. So I decided to love Hippolytus with all my heart, and pass my life in pain, just as Stephanie is doing. Shall I keep my eyes closed with no one coming to give me relief? Love has disturbed my feelings so much that I'll die if Hippolytus doesn't come to my aid. If I could at least spend my life sleeping! By heaven, it's a trial to wake up when you're having a good dream." The other maidens had gotten up, and they came into the chamber to help their lady dress. After mass the emperor left with the barons of Sicily, and the Duke of Pera, and all the prisoners. Tirant and the constable accompanied them a good league. The emperor told them to go back, and since he had told them once already, they had to do it. After Tirant had taken his leave of the emperor and the barons, he approached the princess and asked if Her Majesty wanted something. The princess lifted the veil she wore in front of her face and her eyes could not help shedding tears, and she could say nothing but: "Perhaps..." And she could say no more because the words would not come, and everything was sobs and sighs of farewell. She let the veil fall completely over her face so that her sadness would not reach the ears of the emperor or the rest of the people. No one could remember anything ever having happened to any knight like what happened to Tirant who, after he had said farewell to the princess, fell off the horse he was riding. As soon as he had fallen he got up and raised his hand toward the horse, saying that it was the one that was hurt. The emperor and many others saw it and ran to him. And he pretended to be looking at the horse's hoof. The emperor said to him: "How did you happen to fall?" And Tirant told him: "My lord, I thought my horse was hurt, and I started getting down to see what was wrong with it, and the stirrup broke. But it's nothing to be surprised at, my lord, to see a man fall: a horse has four feet and it falls down: all the more reason for a man to fall since he has only two." He quickly mounted again, and each went his way. Tirant came to the castle of the Lord of Malvei. He ordered the constable and half of the men, both those on horse and on foot, to go to the camp and guard it. "I'll go," said Tirant, "to the port where the ships are, and have them unloaded. And if I see that there isn't enough I'll send them to the city again, or to Rhodes." By night Tirant was in the port, and he found the ships almost unloaded. The ships' masters and the sailors were very happy at the captain's visit, and they told him that the seven Genoese ships had sailed into the port of Bellpuig. "We have all been very cautious because we were afraid they would come here and attack us." Tirant said: "That shows they are afraid of you, since they haven't dared to attack. Shall we make them more afraid than they already are?" They took a fishing boat and armed it. And they sent it out to see how many men there could be, more or less, on the ships, and how many vessels were in port. That night he had all the wheat unloaded. By morning the spy-boat returned with the news that there were seven large ships, and that they had unloaded all the horses; that all the men were on land, and that now they had begun to unload the wheat and other food. "By the Lord who sustains the whole world," said Tirant, "I will do everything I can, since they've taken off the horses, to eat of their wheat." He quickly had the ships prepared, and many soldiers and bowmen boarded them. Tirant struck out to sea that night. It was no more than thirty miles from one port to another. When day broke, clear and beautiful, the men on land saw Tirant's five ships, and thinking that they were part of those coming with the Grand Caramany they paid no attention to them at all. As the ships came into port each of them attacked another ship, and many men jumped aboard the others. Then they attacked the two remaining ships, and since few men were aboard they took them all with very little trouble and without anyone being killed. Then they brought back all the ships loaded with wheat and barley, salted oxen and wine from Cyprus. I can assure you that in the Christian camp it was very helpful and timely since, because of all the fighting, they had no wheat or meat unless it came to them by sea. Tirant gave the wheat to the Lord of Malvei; all the rest he had transported to the camp at the city of Saint George. When Tirant returned from the attack he spoke to the Turks who had been made his prisoners on the ship, and asked them for news about Turkey. They told him that it was true that the Grand Caramany was coming with a great armada, along with the King of Upper India, and that the Caramany was bringing his daughter, who was a maiden of great beauty, to give to the sultan for his wife. "And he is bringing many maidens with him, of high station, and the betrothed of the Great Turk's son is with them." One of the Turks said: "When we docked at the port they told us that a devil of a Frenchman was here as captain of the Greeks and that he is winning all their battles, and they say he is called Tirant. In faith, he may do all those great things they say he does, but his name is ugly and vile because Tirant means a robber of goods, or more properly, a thief. And believe me, his actions will do justice to his name. Because according to a letter that the King of Egypt wrote, he didn't dare fight him man to man, and it also said that he was in love with the emperor's daughter. When he's won the battles, he'll get the emperor's daughter pregnant, and then the wife, and then he'll kill the emperor. That's the way the French are: they're evil people! And then you'll see that, if the Turks and the Christians let him live long, he'll make himself emperor." "Upon my word," said Tirant, "you have spoken the truth: these French are very evil people. And he'll do even worse than you've said, because he's a real thief, and he travels the roads to rob. And you'll certainly see him get the emperor's daughter pregnant, and he'll take the throne, and afterward who will stop him from raping all the maidens?" "By heaven," said the sailor, "I see that you know him well, and you know about the treachery he's done and that he will do." Hippolytus was standing there, and he drew his sword to cut off the man's head, but Tirant got up quickly and took the sword away from him. And Tirant, continuing to speak badly of himself, made him talk more. The sailor said: "I swear by the water I was baptized with that if I could catch that traitor, Tirant, the way I've caught many others, I'd have him hanged from the highest mast on the entire ship." Tirant laughed, and was very amused by what the sailor said. If it had been someone else instead of Tirant, they would have dealt severely with him, or would have hanged him. But Tirant took a silk jacket and thirty ducats and gave them to him, and as soon as they were on land, he freed him. Imagine how the poor sailor must have felt when he discovered that it was Tirant! He knelt, and begged his forgiveness. And Tirant very willingly forgave him. The following day the barons from Sicily came to the camp. When they were at the castle of Malvei they saw many carts carrying bombards to the port. They were told that the captain was at the port, and they went there, knowing that he wanted to go to sea. They begged him to allow them to go along. The captain was glad to, precisely because they were from the islands, and they knew how to sail. He gave orders to his captains and had many men go on board the ships, both soldiers and crossbowmen. Although the ships were not very large, they were armed with good men, and they were well supplied. Other ships were loaded with wheat, horses, and as many men as they could carry. Soon they saw a galley with sails unfurled and oars driving it on, and they quickly realized that enemy ships were approaching. The captain had all the men go on board, and they carried the bombards and everything they needed on board. When it was nearly vespers the ships could be seen from the port. Then the captain's ship moved out in front of all the others. When the Turks saw it they shouted with joy, saying that that ship would soon be theirs. The Grand Caramany had his daughter and all the other women come out on deck so they could see the ship they would capture. A few minutes later the Lord of Pantanalea's ship moved out, and then the Duke of Messina's ship. And the Turks' and Genoese's shouts of joy grew louder. The Grand Caramany said to his daughter: "Choose one of the ships you see. I'll give it to you; I want it to be yours." She asked for the first one she had seen, and it was promised to her. Then Lord Agramunt's ship came out, then Hippolytus's, and they all came out, in order, one at a time. The good Prior of Saint John came out last because he was captain of the rear guard. When he came out it was nearly dark of night. When the Genoese saw the twelve large ships, they were astonished, wondering where they had come from. Afterward came all the whaling ships, and all the ship's boats; then the fishing boats. The boats that had no mast raised a long staff or an oar, and fastened it down tightly, and at the top of the staff they put a light inside a lantern. The captain's ship first raised a lamp at the stern. Then all the other vessels, large and small, did the same, following the captain's orders, and when all the lights were lit there were seventy-four. The enemy saw all the lights, and thinking every light was a large ship, they said: "This must be the armada of the Grand Master of Rhodes, and the armada of the King of Sicily. When they heard we were here they must have gotten together this great armada to try to destroy us." So they decided to flee and go back to Turkey. When morning came Tirant did not see any of the vessels, except the Grand Caramany's ship. When it was nearly noon he reached the ship, and they went into battle. The Turks threw quicklime at them to blind them. Then they hurled boiling oil with iron ladles. Both sides threw boiling pitch at each other, and they did not stop day or night. Many men on both ships died, and there were so many broken lances, shields, darts, arrows and spears that the dead bodies thrown in the sea could not sink. Now let us leave them fighting, and see what the other barons and knights are doing. The eleven ships did not see the captain's ship because he had put out his light. But they sighted ten ships within reach of a bombard, and they pulled alongside. Hippolytus did not want to draw close to any of them; instead he sailed windward and observed the battle. He saw that Lord Pantanalea's ship was being defeated, and that so many Turks had climbed on board that they outnumbered the Christians. Then Hippolytus attacked the enemy ship, and since most of the Turks were now on the other ship and had taken everything except the poop castle, Hippolytus and his men went on board the Turks' ship, and all the dead and wounded Turks and Genoese they found, they threw into the sea. Then they assisted Lord Pantanalea, and their help was like a dose of medicine. Hippolytus consoled them, urging them to take heart, and he removed fear from the fearful, and gave them all courage and new hope. Soon he left, and went back to his ship to help those who most needed his aid. When Lord Pantanalea saw that there was no one left on the Turk's ship, he divided his men between the two ships, and he set sail in pursuit of the ships that were fleeing, and was the first to reach them. He attacked one ship, and while they were in combat another ship arrived. It surrendered immediately, so that he had three ships. The eleven ships did the same to the two galleys so that they took fourteen ships, and there were two that they made beach themselves. The others escaped. Now let us see what Tirant is doing, for I can still see them in battle. They began fighting at noon and continued all night long until the following day. They fought twenty-seven times, and Tirant, alone and without help, fearlessly attacked time after time. "I will take you," said Tirant, "or I will die trying." During the fighting Tirant was wounded in the arm by a spear. Then, when he tried to climb the forecastle an arrow struck him in the thigh. The Turks well needed to wound him, for in great desperation three Turks leaped inside the forecastle, but they were no sooner inside than they were thrown into the water. When the Grand Caramany saw that his men were losing badly, he had a case full of money, jewelry and clothing brought up. He had his daughter dressed in a jubbah with gold brocade, and he tied a golden silk rope around her neck. He had the case full of jewelry and all their riches tied to the other end of the rope, and he threw his daughter and the case into the sea. Then he threw all the other maidens on board into the waters. Then he and the King of Upper India went into the daughter's chamber, leaving the ship entirely deserted. They lay their heads on the bed, and covering themselves, they awaited their death. When the ship was completely taken, Tirant, wounded as he was, went on board and asked for the Grand Caramany. "Captain," said one of the gentlemen from the captain's ship, "he's hiding below decks with his head covered, waiting to be killed. And the King of Upper India is with him." "The king is here?" asked the captain. "Yes, sir. Both of them are here." "Have them come up," said the captain. "I want to talk to them." And the gentleman carried out the captain's order. But the Grand Caramany refused to go, saying that he preferred to die in his daughter's chamber instead of on deck. "No," said the king. "Let us go up and die like men." But he wouldn't go until the gentleman had to use a little force with him. Tirant honored them like kings because he was such a humane knight. He had them sit while he stood, but with the wound in his thigh he could not remain standing long, so he had to sit down. And very kindly, he said: "Your cruelty has been very great, and the most cruel death would not be enough for what you deserve--and especially you, Grand Caramany, for you have killed your daughter and other Moorish women so cruelly and with such inhumanity. They would have fallen into the hands of a man who would have given them their freedom. And although you are not worthy of forgiveness, the emperor is such a man that he will spare your lives." And he said no more. The Grand Caramany replied: "You say I killed my daughter. I don't have to answer for that to you or to anybody. I would rather see her dead than dishonored by you or any of your men. And I don't want anyone enjoying my jewelry or my treasure. And don't think you're going to sway my heart, because I'm ready to throw my body into the bitter sea or give it up to the earth before I would do anything you told me to." Instead of answering the Grand Caramany, Tirant politely asked them to go on board his ship, and they had to do it in spite of themselves. When the captain had them inside, he divided up the few men he had left between the two ships, and they set sail. He unplugged the ship's scuppers, and such a gush of blood came pouring out that it seemed as though the ship was full of it. On the Turk's ship there wasn't a living soul except for the two kings. And on the captain's ship, out of four hundred eight men, only fifty-four survived, and sixteen of those were wounded. CHAPTER VI A TRUCE As Tirant came near the port of Transimeno they saw the whaling ships that had been with the Turkish armada quickly entering the port of Bellpuig, shouting out the bad news about the capture of the kings, and the loss of the armada and all its men. When Tirant reached port, he found many of his ships there, and many of the enemy's that had been captured. After Tirant had been there for two days, all his men had returned except Hippolytus. Earlier, when Hippolytus had not been able to find his captain, he thought Tirant must have gone toward Turkey, so he ordered his pilot to set that course. While not finding the captain, he did see a new ship from the armada. When he followed the ship, it fled and stopped at an island that was nearly unpopulated. The wind was against it, and the men abandoned ship and made land by boat. When Hippolytus drew alongside, he captured the ship that was empty of men but full of riches, and took possession of it. When the captain saw that everyone was there except Hippolytus, he sent out three ships to search for him. And they found him coming back with his prize. When the captain got news of it, and saw that he was returning with such great honor, he was very content. This Hippolytus turned out to be a very valiant knight, generous and courageous. And he accomplished singular acts in his life because he tried to imitate his master and lord. When Lord Malvei learned that Tirant had come back triumphant and victorious, he was very glad, and he rode out to meet him. But before going, he sent one messenger to the emperor and another to the camp, and then everyone rejoiced. On hearing the news, the emperor had all the bells in the city rung, and there were great celebrations. When Lord Malvei found Tirant, he advised him to go to the emperor as soon as he could. And there was nothing Tirant wanted more, because he wanted to see the princess. He assembled all the men who had been with him, and they set sail. When they were in sight of the city of Constantinople, the emperor was told that their captain was coming with the entire armada, and the ships were already in sight. The emperor quickly had a wooden bridge constructed that extended thirty paces out over the water, entirely covered with rich satin cloths. And he had a cenotaph placed in the center of the marketplace, covered with brocade and silk, for himself, the empress, the princess and all the maidens. And from the cenotaph to the end of the bridge where they would disembark, he had cloth of red velvet put down so that the captain would step on silk instead of on the ground. (And when it was over, whoever managed to take a piece of silk was able to keep it, and many hands were wounded with swords and knives as they tried to cut a piece of silk.) As the ships came into port, the captain's ship drew alongside the wooden bridge, and he came out with the Grand Caramany on his right, the King of Upper India on his left, and all the barons in front. They were met by all the townspeople, and led in a great procession to the marketplace where the emperor and all the ladies were. When Tirant was up on the cenotaph with the emperor, he knelt and kissed his hand, and he told the Grand Caramany to kiss his hand. But the Caramany answered that he would not; then Tirant immediately dealt him such a hard blow to the head with his gauntlet that the Caramany was forced to put his head to the ground, and Tirant said to him: "Dog, you son of a dog, now you're going to kiss his feet and his hand whether you want to or not." "I won't do it of my own free will, or even by force," said the Grand Caramany. "And if you and I were in a different place, I'd show you what it means to come close to a king. You still don't know how far my power extends. But I swear to you by our holy prophet, Mohammed, and by this beard, that if I ever get my freedom back, I'll make you kiss the feet of one of my blacks." And he said no more. But his companion, the other king, so that he would not be dealt the blow too, knelt on the hard ground and kissed his hand and foot. Then the emperor had them seized and placed under a stiff guard inside an iron cell. The emperor and all the ladies came down from the cenotaph, and they went to the great church of Saint Sophia. Tirant took the empress by the arm and escorted her, and she said to him: "Captain, you are the most glorious man in the world. If only you had come to the kingdom of Germany in my time, when my father was emperor of Rome, in those days when I was wooed by a thousand suitors. If I had seen you, out of the thousand I would have chosen you. But now that I am old and belong to another, my hope comes along too late." The princess heard all these things, and when they got to the palace, she said to Tirant: "That old mother of mine is pitying herself, and she would like to play too. She thinks that if you had come in her day, she would be worthy of your love." Then the emperor came out and asked the captain about his wounds. Tirant answered that they felt a little feverish: "And I think the sea voyage has made my fever rise." The emperor ordered the doctors to take him to his quarters. When they had treated him they told him to stay in bed so that his arm would not be permanently injured. Tirant followed the doctors' advice, and the emperor visited him every day, and told the empress and his daughter to visit him twice a day, in the morning and in the afternoon. Widow Repose, moved more by love than mercy, served him continually. Now let us go back and see how the Turks are dealing with the Christians who stayed in the camp. After they heard of the cruel battle between the captain and the Grand Turk, they often came to the city of Saint George and killed or captured many Christians. They made many forays, engaging them in a cruel war, so that very few survived if they fell into their hands. How the Christians suffered when they thought about Tirant not being there, and that they would have to go out and fight without him. Not even wise Diafebus or Lord Agramunt could save their lives by placing themselves in the most dangerous positions during the battles. And they all cried out for Tirant as if he were a saint. They never felt safe, but were terrified of the Turks, because the great courage they had had during their victories when Tirant had been there, was lost now that he was gone. And they offered a special prayer to Our Lord to help Tirant, for they felt that all their hope lay with him. At this time, in the palace, the doctors were coming to Tirant's room. The empress had finished her hours, and she and the princess and other ladies went to Tirant and asked the doctors when they would allow Tirant to come to the palace. "My lady," answered the doctors, "he'll be able to walk in three or four days." When the princess was back in her chamber, a sweetness came into her heart because of her great love for Tirant, and she fell to the floor in a swoon. When the maidens saw her lying on the floor they raised such a cry that it reached the emperor's ears, and he came running, thinking the world was about to collapse around him. He saw his daughter sprawled on the ground as though dead, and he threw himself over her, crying piteously. The mother had placed her daughter's head in her lap, and was crying and wailing so that the entire palace heard her, and her face and clothing were bathed in tears. Word was quickly sent to the doctors who were in Tirant's lodging. A gentleman came who told them, in secret: "Come quickly. The princess is in such a state that you'll be lucky to find her still alive!" The doctors hurried to the princess's chamber. Tirant sensed that something had happened to the princess because of the outcry the men and women were making. He got up quickly, sick as he was, and went to the princess's chambers, where he found her conscious and lying in bed. He learned that the doctors had used all their efforts to bring back her health. When the emperor saw that his daughter had recovered, he went to his rooms with the empress, and the doctors went with him because they saw that he was exhausted from what had happened to his daughter. Tirant went into the chamber, nearly out of his mind, and when he saw the princess lying on the bed, he said, pitifully: "I have never felt greater pain than now, when I thought I might lose the greatest treasure I had in the world. I heard shouts, and as soon as I thought of Your Majesty I said to myself, 'If something is wrong with her, she'll let me know.' But I've come myself to see what Your Highness' illness is. The princess quickly replied: "Tirant, my lord, you alone were the cause of my illness: it was brought on by the thought of your love. Love already has more power over me than I would like. I beg you to go see the emperor so that he won't know that you came to see me before you did him." She put her head under the covers, and told Tirant to put his there too. Then she told him: "Kiss my breasts to bring me consolation and to give you peace." And he did it very willingly. After he had kissed her breasts, he kissed her eyes and her face. Then Tirant left, very content. When he was in the emperor's chambers, and the doctors saw him, they reprimanded him soundly because he had gotten out of bed without their consent. Tirant answered: "Even if it cost me my life, I wouldn't refrain from coming to see His Majesty, the emperor, for anything in the world. When I saw you leaving my side so quickly, I could only suppose that he was in some great difficulty." Meanwhile, the men in Tirant's camp were desperate because of his illness, and they had no hope for victory without him. The sultan sent ambassadors to the camp to deal with Tirant. When they arrived the captain was not there, and they were disappointed. They sent a message to the emperor, and he told them to come and see him, for they would be allowed to come and go safely. So they went to the emperor, and he welcomed them very graciously. He honored them highly because the King of Armenia was with them as an ambassador, and he was the brother of the Grand Caramany. Abdalla Salomon, who was more knowledgeable than the others, was asked to speak, and he said: "My lord, we are sent to Your Majesty by that feared and most excellent and great lord of the Mohammedan sect, the great Sultan of Babylonia, and also by the Grand Turk and Lord of the Indies, and the other kings in his camp. We come before Your perfect Majesty for three things (not counting the first, which is to know about your health, life, honor and condition). The first is: a three month truce will be given to you, on land and sea, if you would like it. The second: knowing that this virtuous captain of the Christians has captured that powerful lord, the Grand Caramany, with his mighty sword, and the King of Upper India who was with him, if you would like to give him to us, we will pay three times his weight in gold as ransom. And we will give you one and a half times the weight of the King of Upper India. Let us come to the third item: If Your Excellency would like a treaty of peace (with no iniquity or ill will; but only peace and love), he will think of you as a father, and you can think of him as a son. And as a token of that peace you would give him your daughter, Carmesina, as his wife--under this condition: if a son is born to them he will have to be raised in the sect of our holy prophet, Mohammed; and if a daughter is born, she will be given to the mother to live under Christian law. He will live under his law, and the princess under hers. In this way we can put an end to all our misfortunes, and as a reward for such a marriage he will give you all the cities, towns and castles that he has taken in your empire. In addition, he will make a lasting peace with you and your people. And he will defend you against anyone who tries to harm you." The emperor held counsel, and then invited all the ambassadors in. He told them that out of love and consideration for the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk, he would sign the three month peace treaty, but about the other things he would reserve judgment. One day, while Tirant was in the princess's chamber, with many other maidens there, he said: "Oh, Tirant! Why are you hesitant about dying when you see the father in alliance with his council against his daughter? To think that so much beauty, virtue and grace, along with greatness of lineage, will be subject to a Moorish enemy of God and our holy law, and it will be destroyed and fall into decay!" The princess quickly answered: "How could you think that I would subject myself to a Moor, or that I would stoop to be a friend of a Moorish dog? They have as many wives as they like and not one of them is really a wife, because they can leave them whenever they wish. Forget all those thoughts, virtuous knight, and trust your Carmesina. She will defend all your rights just as you have defended hers. And you can command me in everything you wish, as if you were my lord." Another day Tirant was going to the princess's chamber and he met Plaerdemavida. He asked her what the princess was doing, and she answered: "Oh, you saint! Why do you want to know what my lady is doing? If you had come earlier you would have found her in bed. And if you had seen her the way I've seen her, your soul would be in paradise. The more a person sees what he loves, the more he wants it. That's why I think it's more delightful to see something than to imagine it. Come in if you'd like: you'll find her dressed in her skirt. I want to talk to you about my own desire: Why doesn't my Hippolytus come with you? It's hard to think that I hurt inside when today's pleasure shouldn't be put off for later." "Maiden," said Tirant, "I beg you to tell me in all truth if the empress or anyone else I should fear is inside." "I wouldn't tell you one thing if it were something else," said Plaerdemavida. "It would be bad for both of us: You for going in, and me for letting you go. I know that the princess doesn't want your love for her to go unrewarded. And since I know how much you hunger for your heart's desire, I want to help you." Then Tirant went into the chamber and found the princess combing her hair. When she turned and saw him she said: "Who gave you the right to come in here? You shouldn't come into my room without my permission: if the emperor knew about this he could charge you with disloyalty. I beg you to leave: my breast is trembling in fear." Tirant paid no attention to the princess's words, but took her in his arms and kissed her again and again on her breasts, her eyes and her mouth. When the maidens saw Tirant playing with their lady that way they were silent, but when they saw Tirant putting his hand under her skirt they came to her aid. While they were frolicking this way the empress was coming to her daughter's chamber to see what she was doing, and with their games they did not hear her until she was at the chamber door. Tirant quickly lay on the floor and they spread clothes over him. Then the princess sat on top of him, and began combing her hair. The empress sat down at her side, nearly on Tirant's head. Only God knows how shamefully afraid Tirant was then! He was in anguish while they talked about the celebrations they were planning, until a maiden came with the Hours. Then the empress got up and withdrew to one side of the room to say the Hours. The princess was afraid the empress might see him, and did not dare move. When the princess had finished combing her hair, she put her hand under the clothes and combed Tirant's hair, and from time to time he kissed her hand and took the comb away. All the maidens went in front of the empress, and then Tirant got up quietly and left with the comb the princess had given him. When he was outside the room, thinking he was safe and that no one had seen him, he saw the emperor and a chamberlain coming directly to the princess's chamber. When Tirant saw them passing through the great hall he panicked and quickly went back into the princess's chamber and said to her: "My lady, help me. The emperor is coming." "Oh!" said the princess. "We get out of one bad situation, and then go into one that's even worse. I told you what would happen, but you're always coming at the worst times." She quickly had the maidens stand in front of the empress again, and they quietly led him to another chamber. There they put mattresses on top of him so that if the emperor came in, as he often did, he would not see him. When the emperor came into the chamber he found his daughter combing her hair. He stayed there until she had finished and the empress had said her Hours, and all the maidens were dressed. When the princess was at the chamber door she asked where her gloves were. Then she said: "Oh, I put them in a place none of you knows about." She and her maidens went back inside the chamber where Tirant was, and took off all the mattresses covering him. Then he jumped up and caught the princess in his arms, dancing around the room with her and kissing her again and again. "Oh, how beautiful you are! I have never seen a maiden as perfect as you. Your Majesty is so superior to all women in knowledge and discretion that I'm not surprised the Moorish sultan would want to have you in his arms." "Appearances are deceiving," said the princess. "I'm not as perfect as you say I am. That light shining in your eyes is love. Kiss me and let me go; the emperor is waiting for me." Tirant could not answer her because the maidens were holding onto his hands so he could not muss her hair with his playing around. When he saw her leaving, and that he could not touch her with his hands, he stretched out his leg and put it under her skirt so that his shoe touched her where it should not, and he put his leg between her thighs. Then the princess ran out of his chamber to be with the emperor, and Widow Repose took Tirant out through the garden door. When Tirant was in his own lodging he took off his shoes and stockings. Then he had the stocking and shoe that had touched the princess embroidered with pearls, diamonds and rubies worth more than twenty-five thousand ducats. On the day of the joust he wore the shoe and stocking, and everyone who saw it was amazed at the fine jewels, for a shoe like that had never been seen before. And on that foot he wore no armor, but only on the left foot. As a crest for his helmet, he wore four golden rods, the Holy Grail. And upon that was the comb the princess had given him, with a motto that read: "There is no virtue but that which exists in her." Everyday Tirant was in the court, talking and taking his ease with the emperor and much more so with the ladies. And he changed clothes every day, but he always wore the same stocking. One day the princess said to him in a mocking tone: "Tell me, Tirant this custom you have of wearing an embroidered stocking on one foot but not on the other, is it something they do in France or in some other place?" This was the day the festival had ended, and they were on their way to Pera. And the princess said these words with Stephanie and Widow Repose close by. "What, my lady! Doesn't Your Majesty know what this custom means? Doesn't Your Excellency remember that day when the empress came in and I was hidden with your maiden's clothing on top of me, and the empress nearly sat on my head? Afterward your father came in, and you hid me in the little chamber under the mattresses, and when they were gone, while I was playing with Your Highness, since I couldn't reach you with my hands, my foot had to take their place, and I put my leg between your thighs, and my foot touched higher up, where my soul wishes to find its happiness." "Oh, Tirant!" said the princess. "I remember very well what you told me that day, and my body still bears the marks. But the day will come when, just as you have one leg embroidered today, you will be able to embroider both of them, and you may place them where you will, at your pleasure." When Tirant heard her saying these words so full of love, he quickly dismounted from his horse, saying that his gloves had fallen, and he kissed her leg above her skirt, and said: "The place were grace was granted should be kissed." As soon as they reached the city of Pera, and when they were about to don their armor, they saw nine galleys approaching land. The emperor would not allow the tournament to begin until they found out where the galleys were from. The galleys put into port in less than an hour, and they turned out to be French. Their captain was a cousin of Tirant. He had been a page to the king, and the king had made him Viscount of Branches. This viscount had decided to come and help his cousin in his battles against the infidel, and he and other nobles had come, along with five thousand French archers that the King of France had given to them. And each of the archers had a page and a squire. And when the galleys had docked at Sicily, the king there had given them many horses. The emperor postponed the tournament for the following day. Then eight hundred knights with gold spurs came out to the grounds, and no one was allowed to participate if he had not been dubbed a knight and unless he wore silk or brocade or gold trappings. The Duke of Pera was captain of half the men, and Tirant commanded the other half. So that each would know who the other was, they had small flags attached to their helmets, some green and others white. Tirant had ten knights enter the field of battle, and the duke ten others, and they began to fight very well. Then twenty entered, then thirty, and they began to mix together. Each of them did as well as he possibly could in using his weapons. Tirant kept an eye on his men, and when he saw that they were not doing well, he entered the fray with his lance poised, and he went against another knight so ferociously that he thrust his lance completely through him and it came out the other side. Then he drew his sword and dealt terrible blows all around so that he seemed like a ravenous lion, and all the onlookers were amazed at his great strength and spirit. The emperor was very satisfied at this singular display of arms. When it had gone on for nearly three hours, the emperor came down from the cenotaph, mounted a horse and quickly rode into the fray to separate the men, because he saw that tempers were rising, and many were wounded. After all the knights had disarmed themselves, they went to the palace. There they talked about their singular display of arms, and the foreigners said they had never seen such valiant men. The sultan's ambassadors, who had seen them, were filled with wonder. That night the emperor returned with his men and all the ladies to the city of Constantinople. The following day, after mass, they all went to the market place which was as nicely decorated as it had been the first day. When the sultan's ambassadors arrived, and everyone was present, the emperor gave them this reply: "Nothing brings greater anguish than to have His Majesty hear abominable words that offend God and the world. I pray that His immense goodness will not permit me to do things against His holy catholic faith, like giving my daughter as wife to a man who is outside our law. For all the treasure that the Grand Caramany and the King of Upper India could pay, they cannot have their liberty unless they restore all my empire to me." When they had heard these words the ambassadors stood up and took their leave, and went back to the sultan. After the celebration was over and the ambassadors had gone, the emperor held war councils many times. Tirant fostered his romance, and was very insistent about staying near the princess because he saw that the end of the truce was approaching. The emperor indicated that he wanted the captain to be in camp to take charge of the men, and the captain showed that he was attending to the men going with him so that they would be ready, since he was very eager to confront the Turks. Tirant pleaded insistently with the princess to give him the satisfaction he wanted. The princess saw how great Tirant's passion was, and she said: "Tirant, I know full well what you want, but my reputation is spotless. Tell me, what gave you the hope of being in my bed? Just to imagine it is great infamy. If I gave in to you, I couldn't hope that it would not be known. What could I use to excuse my transgression? I beg you, Tirant, my lord, do not rob me lightly of my tender virginity." And she would say no more. Tirant was rather stunned by the princess's words which showed how little she loved him. For he thought he had progressed in his love affair, and now he found it was entirely the opposite. While they were talking the emperor came into the chamber, and took his daughter Carmesina by the hand. They went upstairs together to the treasure-tower to take out money and give it to Tirant so that he would go to the camp. When they had gone Tirant was left with the maidens. He thought about what the princess had said to him, and he realized that Widow Repose had overheard his secret, and everything he had said to her. Tirant decided to see if he could win the Widow over with promises, and with warm and tender words he said: "I believe I have been offended by my lady. I want to do great services for the princess so that she will see that I am worthy of her love. Although Stephanie already has many possessions and great wealth, I would like to give her even more. I would give Widow Repose a duke or count or marquis for a husband, and as many possessions as would make her happy. And I would like to do the same for Plaerdemavida and all the other ladies." Stephanie thanked Tirant for herself and for all the other women. Widow Repose said to Stephanie: "You thank him for yourself. I know how to thank him on my own." And, smiling, she turned to Tirant and said: "Thank you very much for your thoughtfulness. But I want no other husband, no matter how great a lord he is, except the one I adore day and night. He has not killed me yet, but he has given me reason to die. I won't say any more about that because this isn't the time or place." When Widow Repose finished, Plaerdemavida said: "My lord and captain, don't you know that repentance follows sin? You've come to my lady's rooms, and found them like a tomb, since you can find no mercy in them. Please don't lose hope, I beg you. Rome wasn't built in a day. Are you discouraged because of some trifle my lady said to you? When you're in a hard-fought battle, you're like a lion, and you always come out victorious, and yet are you afraid of a lone woman who, with our help, you'll conquer? Do you remember that pleasant night in the castle of Malvei when I was dreaming? You saw how mercifully you dealt with that situation. I'm only trying to tell you that we'll all help you in this affair. And I know what the solution is: you have to mix in a little force, because your fear--which comes from ignorance--stops you from using it. It's a terrible thing for maidens to have to say those awful words: 'I like it.' I'll work as hard as I can for you in this affair, I promise you. And I think that as a just reward--very inferior to my work--I deserve to have your grace help with the love of my Hippolytus. But I'm more than a little afraid, because I can see where his wayward steps are taking him, and I don't like the way he's going at all. I'm afraid of the danger he'll place himself in, because he is a very good swordsman, and he strikes not at the legs but at the head. And he knows much more than I have shown him." Tirant brightened up a little at Plaerdemavida's jokes, and he stood up to tell her: "Maiden, it looks to me as though, instead of hiding your advances toward Hippolytus, you don't care who knows about them." "What do I care if everybody knows?" said Plaerdemavida. "You men think that just because we're maidens we won't dare to say anything. It's your nature to be good at first, and then bad afterward. You're like the ocean: when someone starts to go in the water it seems soft, and then later, when he's all the way in, it's a torrent. That's the way love begins: at first you're soft, and later on you're harsh and terrible." While they were talking, the emperor came in. He took Tirant by the hand and led him out of the room, and they talked at great length about the war. When it was time to eat, Tirant and his men went to their quarters. That night, when the princess wanted to go to bed, Widow Repose said to her: "My lady, if Your Majesty knew about the things Tirant said to us ladies, you would be amazed. He took me aside and told me things about Your Excellency that I am loathe to repeat, because his words show how little he cares for you." Widow Repose's words had a great effect on the princess. Without letting her say another word, she put her cloak back on, and they went into a tiny chamber where no one could overhear them. First the Widow told her what Tirant had said to all the ladies, and how he wanted to arrange honorable marriages for them all. Then, with great wickedness and deceit, the evil Widow gave vent to her malice: "Tirant is a cruel man. He doesn't have the good sense of the others, but he is more shameless and daring. If Your Highness knew what he says about you, you would never be able to love him." "Tell me at once," said the princess, "and don't make me suffer so." "He spoke to me secretly," said Widow Repose, "and he made me swear on the Gospel that I wouldn't say a word to anyone. But since you are my mistress, and I would be going against the loyalty I owe you, any oath I've made is worthless. First, he told me that Stephanie and Plaerdemavida are in alliance with him so that, with your consent or by force, he will possess Your Majesty. And if you don't do it of your own free will, he'll plunge his sword through your neck and kill you cruelly, and then he will do the same thing to your father. He will steal all your treasure and they'll get on their ships and go back to their land. And with the treasure they carry off, the clothing and jewels, they'll find maidens there who are much more beautiful than Your Highness, for he says that you don't look any better than a serving girl and that you are completely shameless: that you'll give it to anyone who wants it. Watch out for your virtue, my lady. You can see what that mad traitor thinks of Your Highness! And that faithless man says even more: that he didn't come to this land to fight, and that he has been hurt too many times because of his misfortune of knowing you and your father. Do you think, my lady, that that way of talking is proper for knights? Look at what he thinks of the honor of Your Excellency and the emperor, who have granted him so many benefits and honors. Anyone who says things like that should burn in flames! Do you know what other things he says? That he doesn't love any woman alive, unless it's for her wealth. He says many other wicked things too. I remember he told me that if he ever had another night like that one in Malvei, even if he made you a thousand promises, he wouldn't keep any of them. With your consent or by force, he would take you, and then he would say to you, 'You evil woman, I don't thank you, now that I've had my pleasure.' Oh, my lady, my heart cries blood when I think of all the terrible things he said about Your Highness! That's why, my lady, I want to give you some advice even though you haven't asked me for it. There's no one who has more compassion for you than I have. I cradled you in my arms and fed you from my own breast, and Your Highness has hidden from me to entertain that wicked Tirant. You've had more faith in Stephanie and Plaerdemavida than in me: and they have betrayed you and sold you. Oh, poor you! How they've defamed you, and they'll do it even more from now on! Keep away from friendships like those since you know the truth, because what I tell you is the Gospel itself. You must swear that you'll never tell a soul about these things I've told Your Majesty. I'm afraid that if that traitor, Tirant, hears about it, he'll have me killed and then he'll leave. So, my lady, make pretenses, and break off your friendship with him little by little, because if Your Highness suddenly stopped seeing him, he would think that I told you. And those two ladies deserve to be whipped. Don't you see how big Stephanie's belly is? I'm astonished that the emperor hasn't noticed it. And the same will happen to Plaerdemavida." The princess was very upset. With tears flowing from her eyes, she began to lament angrily: "Oh, God! Where is Your justice? How is it that fire does not descend from heaven to turn that cruel, ungrateful Tirant into ashes? He was the first knight that I considered my master. I thought he would bring an end to all my troubles, and now I see everything turned around. Oh, who would ever have thought that words like these could come from the mouth of such a virtuous knight? What have I done to him, to make him want the deaths of my father and my mother and their miserable daughter? Oh, Tirant! What happened to the love we shared? What crime did I commit for you to think me vile and abominable? Did you really say that you love no lady or maiden unless it's for her wealth, and that you want to take my virginity by force? Oh, if I wanted to be cruel, before the sun came up your chamber would be full of blood; yours and the blood of all your men." And she said no more. But hearing the call for matins, she added: "Widow, let's go to bed, even though I'll get little sleep tonight with the great hate I have for Tirant--the one I used to love so much." The Widow answered: "My lady, I beg you, please. Don't say a word about this to anyone. Who knows what might happen?" "Don't worry," said the princess. "I'll protect you." When they were in their chamber, Stephanie saw them come in, and said: "It looks to me, my lady, as though you've had a great deal of pleasure listening to the Widow--you've been with her so long. I'd like to know what you're thinking about." The princess climbed into bed without answering, and began to cry bitterly. When the Widow had gone, Stephanie asked her why she was crying. The princess told her: "Stephanie, let me be, and take care that this doesn't happen to you." Stephanie was surprised at this, not knowing what it could mean. She did not reply, but drew close to her as she usually did. All that night the princess could not sleep a wink and cried and lamented continually. In the morning she got up, ill, because of her lack of sleep. Nonetheless, she forced herself to go to mass. When Tirant learned of her condition, and when Stephanie told him about her tears and crying all night long, he was very surprised, and wondered what he had done. Going up to the princess, he said: "If Your Excellency would like to tell me what is wrong, I would be very pleased." Tirant could say no more because of the great emotion that he felt, and the princess softly began to say the following words: "I will spend the rest of my life hiding the cause of my grief. And don't think that it doesn't cost me a great deal of effort to keep such terrible pain hidden." She could say no more because the doctors came, along with the empress. Tirant took his leave to go to his lodgings, immersed in thought about what the princess had told him, and he felt distressed. He could not eat, and did not want to leave his chamber until the constable went to the palace and spoke at length with Stephanie and Plaerdemavida. He told them what great anguish Tirant was in because of what the princess had said to him. "How can we help him," said Stephanie, "if everything I mend by day the Widow tears apart at night? If it weren't for the Widow, I would have had him in her chambers, not once, but a hundred times, like it or not, the way I did that night in the castle of Malvei." As they finished talking, they went into the princess's chamber. She was deeply involved in conversation with Widow Repose, and Stephanie could not talk to her. The emperor, knowing that the constable was there, thought that Tirant must be there too. So he had them summoned, and as they had to hold counsel, the emperor said: "Let us go to Carmesina's chambers, and we will see how she is, because she has not felt well all day long." The constable went first, then came the emperor and Tirant, and then everyone in the council who wished to go. They found the princess playing cards with the Widow, withdrawn to a corner of the chamber. The emperor sat at her side, asking about her illness, and she quickly answered him: "Sire, as soon as I see Your Majesty, my illness suddenly disappears." Then she turned her eyes on Tirant and smiled. The emperor was very happy at Carmesina's words, and much more so when he saw her in such a good mood. They spoke of many things, and the princess answered everything Tirant said to her, because Widow Repose had advised her to be nice to Tirant. What the Widow wanted was not for Tirant to return to his country, but to lose hope of having the princess, and for him to love the Widow instead. That is why she spoke so wickedly to the princess. When it was nearly night, the emperor and all his men went to their chambers, and the next day the emperor expressed his regret that all the men had to leave for the camp. Tirant and his men got ready as quickly as they could. While Stephanie was talking with the princess that evening, she gave her the news about Tirant, and the princess quickly said to her: "Be quiet, Stephanie. Don't make me any angrier. All those who make appearances of love are not made exactly of gold." Stephanie tried to talk but she would not let her. So two or three days went by, and the princess showed a smiling face to everyone, including Tirant, because she knew that soon they would have to leave. And to the emperor she said: "Sire, here is Tirant, your virtuous captain, who will shortly do to the sultan what he did to the Caramany and the King of Upper India, or what he did to the King of Egypt. If everyone in the world went into battle, he would certainly be the only one to win honor and lasting fame. And that is worthy of a singular prize, for he is a great warrior, and he has gone into battle with true courage." The emperor said: "Virtuous captain, I thank you for all the honors you have brought me, and I beg you to do the same from now on, or better, for this is the hope I place in you." When Tirant heard so many superfluous words, and saw that the princess had brought them on, almost in mockery, he could utter only: "Perhaps." Tirant wanted to go to his chambers, and he went down a staircase, into a room where he found the High Constable, Stephanie and Plaerdemavida in animated conversation. Tirant went to them and said: "My sisters, what are you talking about?" "My lord," answered Stephanie, "about how little love the princess is showing your lordship when you are about to leave. Now, more than ever, she should be showering you with love. Then, my lord, we talked about what will happen to me if you go away. Because the empress said to me last night, 'Stephanie, you are in love.' I blushed and shamefully lowered my eyes. That was a sign of assent, since I was silent, because at first I didn't know what love was, except for that night at Malvei. And if you leave there will be little good fortune and a miserable gift of love for me except for all the pain I'll have for company. Oh, poor me! That's the way I will be punished--because of your wrongdoing." "My lady," said Tirant, "didn't I tell you that the day we left I would beg the emperor, in the presence of the empress and the princess, to give his consent to this marriage? The constable will be here, and then we will hold your wedding." "And how will I get along," said Stephanie, "when you aren't here? There won't be any celebration or dancing or festivities at all without your lordship here." "Who wants festivities at a wedding if there weren't any at the engagement?" said Tirant, "Leave the partying and merrymaking for the bed." While they were talking, the emperor came down with Carmesina. Tirant thought that this was a good time to tell the emperor. So he went over to the emperor, and in Carmesina's presence he sank to one knee, and humbly began the following plea: "With deep humility I beg Your Majesty, and the empress, and the princess, to hold the marriage of the maiden Stephanie of Macedonia to my singular brother, the Count of Sant Angel and the High Constable of Your Highness, because marriages like these are a union of the deepest kind of love." The emperor replied: "I am going to delegate my power to my daughter here so that she can ask her mother's consent." And he left without another word, while the princess stayed behind with them. When Stephanie saw that the emperor had gone so quickly, she assumed that he did not approve of the marriage, and she left the princess, Tirant, the constable and Plaerdemavida, and went into a chamber alone and began to cry. Tirant took the princess's arm, and went with the constable and Plaerdemavida to the empress's chambers. There Tirant and the princess asked the empress to give her consent to this marriage, since the emperor had agreed, and she answered that she would be very happy to. They immediately called all the court to Stephanie's betrothal. They all gathered in the great hall, along with a cardinal who had been summoned to marry them. Then they sent word for the bride to come, and they found her still crying because she had heard no news until they came looking for her and told her that the emperor and all the others were waiting for her. The betrothal was celebrated with dances and a sumptuous feast. The emperor wanted the wedding to take place the following day so that Tirant's departure would not be delayed, and so it was done. Great celebrations were held with jousts and dances and gaiety. And everyone was happy except poor, miserable Tirant. The night of the wedding, Plaerdemavida caught five little kittens and put them by the window where the bride was sleeping, and they meowed all night long. After Plaerdemavida had put the cats there she went to the emperor's chambers and said to him: "My lord, come to the bride's chamber quickly: the constable must have hurt her terribly because I heard some loud cries. I am really afraid that he may have killed your dear niece, or at least hurt her badly; and since Your Majesty is such a close relative of hers it's you who should go to her side." Plaerdemavida's words were so amusing that the emperor dressed again and the two of them went to the door of the bridal chamber and listened. When Plaerdemavida saw that they were not talking, she quickly called out: "My lady, my bride, how is it that you aren't crying out or talking now? It must be because in that battle your pain (That pain that reaches down to your heels, and won't let you shout that delightful 'Oh!') and your even greater haste are over. It's a great pleasure, if you listen to what the maidens say. Since you're so quiet, that's a sign that you've finished the meal, bone and all. It will be bad for you if you don't do it again. The emperor is right here, listening for you to cry out because he's afraid you might be hurt." The emperor told her to be quiet, and not to say he was there. "I certainly will not," said Plaerdemavida. "I want them to know that you're here." Then the bride began to cry out and to say that he was hurting her and for him to be still, and Plaerdemavida said: "My lord, everything the bride is saying is a lie. Her words don't come from the heart. They sound false to me, and they're not to my liking." The emperor could not contain his laughter at Plaerdemavida's delicious remarks. Then, when the bride heard them laughing so hard she said: "Who put those wretched cats out there? Put them somewhere else, I beg you: they won't let me sleep." Plaerdemavida replied: "That I certainly won't do. Didn't you know that I can get live kittens out of a dead cat?" "Oh, what a lively young lady!" said the emperor. "How my heart is warmed by the things you say. I swear to you by the Almighty that if I didn't already have a wife I would have no other girl but you." The empress had gone to the emperor's chamber and found the door closed, and no one was there but a page who told her that the emperor was at the door of the bridal chamber. Then she went there and found him with four maidens. Plaerdemavida saw the empress coming, and before anyone could talk she said: "Hope to die quickly, my lady: listen to what my lord the emperor said to me--that if he didn't already have a wife he would have no one but me. And since you're in my way, fall down dead right now--as quickly as you can." "Oh, you wicked child!" said the empress. "Is that the sort of thing you say to me?" And turning to the emperor: "And you, you blessed saint, what do you want another wife for? To give her taps instead of thrusts? Don't you know that no lady or maiden ever died from being tapped?" And, joking, they went back to their chambers happily, and the empress and the maidens returned to theirs. The next day, in the morning, everyone was happy, and they highly honored the constable and the bride. They took them to the main church where they heard mass with great honor. When they had read the scripture the preacher mounted the pulpit and gave a solemn sermon. When the sermon and the mass were finished, they had the constable put on the clothing of the duchy of Macedonia, and they displayed the flags of that duchy. On his head they put a crown made entirely of fine silver, and they crowned Stephanie in the same way. When these things were finished they left the church, riding through the city with flags flying in the wind. The emperor, with all the ladies and all the grandees, dukes, counts and marquis, and many others on horseback, rode around the entire city. Afterward they all went outside the city to a beautiful meadow where there was a shining spring called Holy Spring. After the flags were blessed, they baptized the duke and duchess of the kingdom of Macedonia by pouring perfumed water on their heads. The duke went to the Holy Spring, and the emperor took water from the spring and baptized him again, giving him the title of Duke of Macedonia. Then the trumpets sounded, and the heralds shouted: "This is the illustrious Duke of Macedonia, of the great lineage of Rocasalada." At that moment three hundred knights with golden spurs came, and they all made a deep bow to the emperor, and paid great honor to the Duke of Macedonia. And from this moment on he was no longer called Constable. These three hundred knights separated into two groups, and each knight took the most beautiful lady or the one that was most to his liking. They held them with the reins of the horses they were riding on. And each of them, in order, rode forward: first those of highest station and lineage, and then those who wished to joust. And when they met, one would tell the other to give up the lady they had, or he would have to joust with him, and the one who broke the other's lance first would take his lady. While the knights were engaged in these games, the emperor went to the city of Pera where the celebration was prepared. It was already past noon, and the knights had not yet returned, so the emperor went to the top of a high tower. He had a great horn blown that could be heard more than a league away, and when the knights heard the horn, they all set out on the road to Pera. Then three hundred other knights came out, dressed in the same color of garments, and they blocked the road. A very singular display of arms took place there which greatly pleased the emperor. All the ladies and maidens who had been taken prisoner fled to the city and left the knights. The combat between the knights lasted more than two hours as the emperor did not want to stop it, and when they had broken all their lances they fought with swords. The emperor called for the trumpets to sound, and they all separated, each group to a different side. When the knights were separated, each sought out his lady, and they could not find them. Then they began to say that the other knights had taken them prisoner, and each of them complained to the empress and the princess about the ladies they had lost. They answered that they knew nothing, and that they believed the other knights had them hidden. Then these knights, very furious, raised their swords and spurred toward the others, and they began to fight again. When it had gone on for a good spell, they saw the ladies on the palace walls. A trumpet sounded, and they all gathered together and attacked the palace mightily, and the women defended it. But the men outside broke in by force of their arms. When they were inside the great patio they divided into two groups, and taking a king-of-arms, they sent him to the knights who had come most recently, demanding that they leave, for they were each there to get back their lady, along with the ones they had won. They answered that they would not leave for anything in the world. They wanted their share of what was due to them, as they had placed themselves in such grave danger of death. After this, they held combat on foot inside the palace, and it was a delicious sight to see, for some were falling here and others there. Others delivered marvelous blows with their axes, and whoever lost his axe could not fight again, nor could anyone whose body or hand touched the floor. They fought in such a way that it became a fight of ten against ten, and then it was beautiful to see. Finally the emperor had them separated, and then they were all disarmed in the great hall, and there they dined. When it was a half hour before sunset they began to dance, and they held a long and pretty dance. They took the princess and all the ladies, and dancing, they went to the city of Constantinople. After the meal Tirant gathered all those of his lineage, thirty-five knights and gentlemen who had come with him or the Viscount of Branches. They went to kiss the foot and hand of the emperor, thanking him for the great kindness he had done them in giving his beautiful niece to Diafebus for his bride. And after they had all thanked him, the emperor smiled and said: "Because of the great virtue I see in you, Tirant, I love you deeply. And I would not want anyone to marry a relative of mine if he were not of the lineage of Rocasalada. I would have begged you to take Stephanie, my niece, as your wife, along with the duchy of Macedonia, so that you would be more united with the crown of the Empire of Greece, and I would have given you many other things. At the time that I offered it, you did not want to be a count; instead you gave it to your relative. And now I would have given you the duchy, along with a lady who is a relative of mine, and you did not want that either. I don't know what you're waiting for! If you want me to give you my empire, don't count on it: I need it." Tirant replied: "The greatest glory I could have is to leave an inheritance to my relatives and friends. As an inheritance of my own I want nothing more than a horse and arms, so Your Highness will have to work a great deal to make me rich." The old emperor was pleased by Tirant's words. Turning to his daughter, the emperor said: "I have never known a knight with as much virtue as Tirant. If God gives me life I will see him crowned a king." CHAPTER VII IN THE PRINCESS'S BED After the celebrations were over, Diafebus, the Duke of Macedonia, lived in the emperor's palace. The following day the duke invited all those of his lineage, Rocasalada, to dine. While the guests were eating, the emperor told his daughter to go to the duchess' chamber since all the foreigners from Brittany were there. "The duke is attempting to pay them honor, and celebrations like this are useless if there are no maidens present." The princess replied: "My lord, I will obey Your Majesty's command." Accompanied by many ladies and maidens she started toward the duchess' chamber. With great malice Widow Repose went up to her, and said: "Oh, my lady! Why does Your Highness want to go where these foreigners are? Do you want to disturb their dinner? When they see Your Excellency no one will dare eat in your presence. You and your father want to honor them and give them pleasure, and yet you do them great harm. For all of them would prefer to see the wing of a partridge than all the maidens in the world. Your Highness should not act so freely, going to such a place, since you are the emperor's daughter. Think highly of yourself if you want to be well thought of by other people. It's a bad sign when I see Your Excellency always with that fool, Tirant." "Don't I have to obey what my father, the emperor, orders me to do?" said the princess. "I don't think anyone would blame me for obeying my father's command." But she went back to her own chamber without visiting the duchess. When everyone had eaten, Plaerdemavida decided to see Tirant and talk to the duchess. Seeing Tirant sitting there, deep in thought, she went over to him, and to console him she said: "Captain, my lord, my soul suffers deeply when it sees you so sad and lost in thought. Tell me, your grace, how I can help, for I will not fail you even if my life were in the balance." Tirant was very grateful to her. The duchess approached them, and asked Plaerdemavida why the princess had not come. Plaerdemavida answered that Widow Repose was the cause, for she had scolded her at length. And she would not tell what the Widow had said about Tirant so that he would not explode in anger. "I wish," said Tirant, "that she were a man. Then I could repay her for all the wicked things she says." "Would you like to do it properly?" asked Plaerdemavida. "Let's leave the wickedness aside and get right down to business; the remedies will come later. I'm well aware that we won't accomplish anything if we don't mix in a little force, so I'll tell you what I think. Her Highness told me to prepare a bath for her the day after tomorrow. So when everyone is eating I'll take you into the chamber where she takes her bath in such a way that no one will see you. When she comes out of the bath and goes to sleep I'll be able to place you by her side in the bed. And just as you are serious and skillful on the battlefield you must be the same way in bed. This is the quickest road for getting what you want. If you know a better one, speak up, don't hold your tongue." The duchess said: "Let me talk to her first, and I'll see what sort of answer she gives. Your idea will have to be the last thing we do to get what we want." Tirant spoke: "I wouldn't want to do anything that would offend my lady. What good would it do me to have my desire with Her Highness if it's against her will? I would rather undergo a cruel death than make Her Majesty angry in any way, or do anything against her wishes." "In God's faith, I don't like what I'm hearing from you," said Plaerdemavida. "If the desire to love exists in you, you won't run away from the narrow path I'm offering you. My experience speaks for itself, and it desires to serve you and bring you all the good I can--even more than I can. But I see that you're going off in a strange direction. You want to go down a dead-end street. From now on you go find someone else to take care of your problem. I don't want to have anything more to do with it." "Maiden," said Tirant, "I beg you, please, don't be angry. Let's put our minds together and do what's best. If you fail me in this, there's nothing left for me to do but go off, hopeless, like a madman." "Not even the angels," said Plaerdemavida, "could give you better advice than I have." They decided that the duchess should go to the princess's chamber to see if it was possible for him to talk to her. When they got there they found her in her room, combing her hair. Then the duchess thought up some youthful mischief: she went into a room that the princess would have to pass through when she came out of her chamber. She lay down at the foot of the bed and leaned on her elbow, very dejected. When the princess heard that she was there, she sent word for her to come into the chamber, but the duchess did not want to go. And Plaerdemavida, who had contrived it all this way, told her: "Leave her alone. She can't come. She's very sick and I don't know what's wrong with her. She's very sad." When the princess had combed her hair, she came out of the chamber and saw the duchess with a very sad face. She went over to her and said: "Oh, my dear sister! What's wrong? Please, I beg you, tell me quickly, for I feel very bad about your illness, and if I can help you in any way, I will." "I'll tell Your Highness what hurts me, for I am prepared to lose my life in this matter. It's impossible for me to go back on the promise I made, by your command, to Tirant in the castle of Malvei. So, my lady, I beg Your Excellency not to allow me to remain a perjurer or for you to be the cause of my downfall, for I will have to be on bad terms with the duke and with Tirant." As the duchess said this, tears flowed from her eyes. The painful tears of the duchess moved the princess to pity, and she forgot much of the anger she felt for Tirant. With a humble voice she answered tenderly: "Duchess, you have to realize that I am just as sad as you are. But, my lady and sister, don't grieve any longer, for you know that I love you more than anyone in the world, and I will behave from now on as God wills. Since you want me to talk to Tirant, I will, out of love for you, even though I have little desire to do anything for him. If you knew how he treats me and all the things he's said about me, you would be astonished. I'll put up with him because of the great danger we're in, and because we all need him. But I swear to you by this blessed day that if it weren't for that I would never allow him in my presence again. Who would think that such ingratitude could exist in such a virtuous knight." The duchess replied with the following words: "My lady, I am astonished that Your Highness could believe that a knight as noble and virtuous as Tirant could have said even one word to offend Your Majesty. If his ears had heard anything spoken against you, he would have killed everyone including himself. So don't even think, Your Highness, that Tirant is the way he's been described to you. Some miserable person has led you to believe a false story, and is trying to destroy the reputation of the best knight in all the world." Plaerdemavida stepped in and said: "My lady, take that vice of having bad thoughts about Tirant out of your head, for if anyone in the world deserves merit, it's Tirant. Who is the half-wit who could make Your Majesty believe that a knight exists who can even compare to him in glory, honor and virtue? There is no one (unless they wanted to lie) who could say (unless it's with great wickedness) that Tirant would say anything but good things about Your Excellency. Forget what wicked people say, and love the one you should love, for it will be to your great glory to possess such a virtuous knight. Love one who loves you, my lady, and leave the wicked talk to that devil, Widow Repose. She's the one who's causing all this trouble, and I trust God that it will all fall back on her. I have only one hope in this world: to see her whipped through the streets of the city, naked, with cow entrails hanging down her shoulders, her eyes and her face." "Be quiet," said the princess. "You just think Widow Repose is telling me all this, but she's not. I'm the one who can see all the terrible things that could happen. But in spite of it all, I'll do whatever you tell me." "If you listen to my advice," said Plaerdemavida, "I'll tell you to do only things that will bring you honor." And so they left. The duchess went back to her chambers and found Tirant there, and she told him everything that had happened. Tirant, very happy, went to the great hall where the emperor, the princess and the empress were, with all the ladies, and they danced there for a good while. And the princess continually entertained Tirant. After the dancing was over, when the princess withdrew to dine, Widow Repose approached her. With no one around to hear, she said: "It hurts me to see how much love permits, and I curse the day you were born. For many people constantly turn their eyes to Your Majesty, and then to me, and they say to me three times: 'Oh, Widow! Oh, Widow Repose! How can you allow a man who is a foreigner to carry off Carmesina's virginity?' Just imagine if someone who hears words like those doesn't have the right to grieve and to despair of their life? How could you think, my lady, that such a thing could be done without bishops and archbishops knowing of it? I'm only telling you all this, my lady, to bring it to mind again, for I've already told you about it several times." She decided to say no more, and waited to see what the princess would say. The princess was brimming with emotion at this moment, but she had no time to reply to the poisonous words of the wicked Widow because the emperor was at his table, waiting for the princess, and he had sent word for her to come twice already. The princess said: "Madam Widow, to be able to give an answer to everything you have told me would be a delicious meal for me." She left the chamber, and when the duchess, who was waiting to find out if Tirant could go to her that night, saw her come out so agitated and flushed, she did not dare say a word to her. But when Plaerdemavida saw her in that state too, and also saw the Widow following behind, she said to her: "Oh, my lady, I've always noticed that when the sky turns red it's the sign of a storm." "Shut up, you madwoman," said the princess. "You're always spouting nonsense." You can imagine how the princess must have appeared, for when the emperor saw her he asked her why she looked that way, and if anyone had made her angry. The princess answered: "No, my lord. Since I left Your Majesty's side I've been lying down in my bed, because my heart has been in pain. But thanks to Our Heavenly Father I have found a cure for my ache." The emperor commanded the doctors to oversee her diet, and they ordered pheasant for dinner, which is gentle meat for the heart. The duchess sat at her side, not to eat, but to be able to talk to her and to tell her that Tirant was waiting for her in his chamber with good news. When the meal was over, the duchess leaned toward her and whispered: "What is open has the seal of truth, and what is done secretly, as the Widow does, shows evil. A vassal cannot deceive his master, and since the Widow is my vassal, I want her death, for her actions deserve great punishment." "My duchess," said the princess, "I love you very much, and I will do as much for you as one can reasonably do for her sister--even more. Leave Widow Repose alone, because even though she's your vassal, she's not to blame for anything." The duchess said: "Give me an answer to that matter of Tirant: Do you want him to come tonight? I'm sure that's what he's hoping for so anxiously. Don't tell me no, upon your life." "I'll be very happy for him to come this evening," said the princess. "I'll wait for him here and we shall dance, and if he wishes to tell me anything, I'll listen to him." "Oh, my dear girl," said the duchess. "Now you want to change the game on me. I'm only telling you that if you want that virtuous man, Tirant (without whom you can gain neither blessings or honor) to come see you, the same way he did that pleasant night in the castle of Malvei-- let's see if you can catch my meaning now!" "I can't think at all when you mention Tirant's name to me," said the princess. "You may certainly tell Tirant that I beg him, as a knight full of faith and virtue, to stop tempting my soul which has been crying tears of blood for many days. But after he comes here it will be I who will consent, and in a greater way than he imagines." "Oh, my lady!" said the duchess. "If Your Excellency wishes to do battle with Tirant, place yourself in his arms again with the same fear you felt that night at Malvei, with the promises and oaths you swore to him." "Shall I tell you something, my sister and my lady?" said the princess. "I want to keep my reputation and my honor as I value my life. And this I intend to do with God's help." The duchess left very angrily, and when she saw Tirant she told him about her lady's bad disposition. Tirant's anguish increased to an even greater degree than usual. When the emperor had dined, knowing that Tirant was in the duke's chamber, he sent for him and said to the princess: "Send for the minstrels so that the knights can enjoy themselves. The time for their departure has been set." "No," said the princess. "I feel more like going to bed than dancing." She immediately took leave of her father and withdrew to her chamber so that she would not have to talk to Tirant. Widow Repose, who had heard her say these words, was very satisfied with what she had done. Plaerdemavida went to the duchess' chamber and said to Tirant: "Captain, put no hope in this lady as long as Widow Repose is around her. They've already withdrawn to her chamber, and are speaking together about your affairs. You'll never get your way with her unless you do what I'm going to tell you: Tomorrow she'll take her bath, and I will be so clever that at night I'll put you in her bed. You'll find her completely naked. Do what I'm telling you, for I know she'll never say a word. Where the duchess used to sleep, I've taken her place now that she's no longer there. Since this is the case, let me take care of it." "Maiden," said Tirant, "I am extremely grateful to you for all your gentility, and for what you are telling me, but there is one thing you should know about me: I wouldn't use force against a lady or maiden for anything in the world, even if it should cost me the crown of the Empire of Greece, or of Rome, or of the entire Kingdom of Earth. I prefer to go through the pain and trial of pleading with her, for I am completely convinced that she was created in Paradise. Her gracefulness shows that she is more angelic than human." He said no more. Plaerdemavida, showing her anger to Tirant, said: "Tirant, Tirant, you will never be brave or feared in battle if you don't mix a little bit of force in when you love a lady or a maiden. Since you have a good and genteel hope, and you love a maiden valiantly, go into her room and throw yourself down on her bed when she's naked or in her nightshirt, and wound her boldly, because among friends no towel is necessary. And if you don't do it, I won't be your ally any longer, for I know many knights who have deserved honor, glory and fame from their ladies because they had their hands ready and valiant. Oh Lord, how wonderful to have a tender maiden, about fourteen years old and completely naked, in your arms! Oh Lord, how wonderful to be in her bed, kissing her all the while! Oh Lord, how wonderful if she's of royal blood! Oh Lord, how wonderful to have an emperor as her father! Oh Lord, how wonderful to have her rich and generous, and free of all infamy!... Now what I want most of all is for you to do what I tell you." By this time most of the night was gone and they wanted to lock up the palace, so Tirant had to leave. When he had said goodnight to the duchess and was already going out, Plaerdemavida said: "Captain, my lord, I wouldn't be able to find anyone who would do as much for me: Go to sleep, and don't come back from the other side." Tirant burst out laughing and said to her: "You have such an angelic nature, you're always giving good advice." And so they went their separate ways. That night Tirant thought about everything the maiden had said to him. The next morning the emperor sent for the captain, and he immediately went and found him dressing, and the princess had come to wait on him. She was wearing a brocade skirt, with no cloth covering her breasts, and her hair, loosened somewhat, almost reached to the ground. When Tirant approached the emperor he was astonished to see as much perfection in a human body as he saw in her then. The emperor said to him: "Captain, in God's name, I beg you to do everything possible so that you can leave with your men soon." Tirant was so impressed by the vision of this striking lady that he was stupefied and could not speak. After some time had passed he recovered and said: "I was thinking about the Turks when I saw Your Majesty, so I didn't hear you. Your Highness, tell me what you want me to do, I beg you." The emperor was surprised to see him so distracted, but since he had understood so little he thought that that must be the case, for he had seemed entranced for half an hour. The emperor repeated what he had said, and Tirant answered: "My lord, Your Majesty should know that the crier is running throughout the city, telling everyone that the departure is set for Monday, and today is Friday. So we will be leaving very soon, my lord, and nearly everyone is already prepared." Tirant stood behind the emperor so that he would not see him, and covering his face with his hands, he looked at the princess. She and the other maidens laughed out loud while Plaerdemavida stood in front of the emperor, and taking the emperor's arm, she turned him toward her and said: "If you have done anything noteworthy it's because of Tirant, who conquered the Grand Turk and made him lose the false and terrible madness he had about ruling the entire Greek empire. He also intended to conquer the old emperor here with pretty words, and instead the Turkish kings and the sultan desperately ran for safety to the great fortress in the city of Bellpuig. And not at their leisure, but swept along by the fear that took control of their feet. He has won renown by his own virtue, and if I had the royal scepter and were lord of the Greek empire, and if Carmesina had come from my body, I know very well whose wife I would make her. But all of us girls are foolish like this: we want nothing but honor, position, and dignity, and as a result many of us come to a bad end. What good would it do for me to belong to the line of David if I lost what I had for lack of a good man? And you, my lord, try to save your soul, since you've spared your body in battles in the past, and don't even think about giving any other husband to your daughter but... Do I have to say it? I won't... I must: the virtuous Tirant. Take this consolation while you're alive, and don't expect it to be done after your blessed days are over, because the things that nature wills and that are ordered by God must be consented to. That way you'll have glory in this world and paradise in the next." Then she turned to the princess, and said: "You who are of such lofty blood, take a husband soon--very soon. If your father won't give you one, I will, and I'll give you none other than Tirant. For it's a wonderful thing to have both a husband and a knight, whoever can have one. This man is greater than all the others in prowess. If you don't think so, Your Majesty, look at the disorder of your empire and the point it had reached before Tirant came to this land." "Please be quiet, girl," said Tirant, "and don't say such outlandish things about me." "Go on out to your battles," said Plaerdemavida, "and let me be." The emperor answered: "By the bones of my father, the emperor Albert, you are the most extraordinary maiden in the world, but the further you go, the more I like you. And now, as a present, I'm going to give you fifty thousand ducats." She knelt to the ground and kissed his hand. The princess was very disturbed by what she had said, and Tirant was somewhat embarrassed. When the emperor had finished dressing he went to mass. As they came out from mass Tirant had an opportunity to talk to the princess, and he said to her: "Anyone who makes a promise puts himself in debt." "The promise," said the princess, "was not made in the presence of a notary." Plaerdemavida, who was standing nearby, heard the princess's reply, and quickly said to her: "Let's have none of that: a promise to fulfill love doesn't require any witnesses, and even less a notary. What a miserable state we'd be in if we had to have it in writing every time! There wouldn't be enough paper in the world! Do you know how it's done? In the dark and without witnesses, because the lodging is never missed." "Oh, this madwoman!" said the princess. "Do you always have to talk to me about the same thing?" No matter how much Tirant spoke to her, no matter how he pleaded, she would do nothing for him. When they were in the chambers, the emperor called Carmesina and said to her: "Tell me, my daughter, those things Plaerdemavida said--where do they come from?" "I'm sure I don't know, my lord," said the princess. "I never spoke of such a thing to her. But this madwoman is impertinent and she says anything that comes into her head." "She's no madwoman," said the emperor. "In fact, she's the most sensible maiden in my court. She's a good girl, and she always gives good advice. Haven't you noticed when you've come to the council chambers that when you make her talk she is always very discreet? Would you like to have our captain for your husband?" The princess blushed shamefully, and could not utter a word. After a moment, when she had recovered, she said: "My lord, when your captain has finished conquering the Moors, then I will do whatever Your Majesty commands me." Tirant went to the duchess' chamber, and sent for Plaerdemavida. When she was there, he said: "Oh, genteel lady! I don't know what help you can give me: My soul is in discord with my body, and unless you can cure my illness I don't care whether I live or die." "I'll do it tonight," said Plaerdemavida, "if you do as I say." "Command me, maiden," said Tirant, "and may God increase your honor. The things you said when the emperor was here, about the princess and me: who told you to say them?" "You, and my lady, and the emperor too: You're all thinking the same thing," said Plaerdemavida. "When he asked me, I gave him even better reasons why you're worthy of having the princess as a wife. To what better man could she be given than to you? And he agrees with everything that I say. I'll tell you why, in strict confidence: He's in love with me, and he would pull up my chemise if I'd let him. He's sworn to me on the Bible that if the empress was dying, he would take me as a wife in a minute. And he told me: 'As a sign of our pact, let's kiss; this kiss will be very little, but it's better to have something than nothing.' And I answered him: 'Now that you are old, you're a lecher. When you were young, were you virtuous?' Only a few hours ago he gave me this string of fat pearls, and now he's with his daughter, asking her if she wants you for a husband. Do you know why I said that to him? Because if you go to her chamber at night and it's your bad fortune to cause a commotion, and they try to charge me with something, I'll have an alibi. I'll say: 'My lord, I already told Your Majesty. The princess ordered me to let him in.' And that way no one will be able to say anything. So that you can see my good will and how much I want to help and honor your grace, when the emperor is dining, come to me. I promise to put you in my lady's bed, and in the refreshing night you'll see how solace comes to those who are in love." While they were talking, the emperor, knowing that Tirant was in the duchess' chamber, sent for him, and interrupted their conversation. When Tirant held counsel with the emperor, they spoke at length about war and what things would be needed, and at that time they were all dressed in readiness for battle. When the dark shadows of night had fallen, Tirant came to the duchess' chamber, and while the emperor was with the ladies, Plaerdemavida went into the chamber very happily, took Tirant by the hand and led him away. He was dressed in a jacket of red satin, with a cloak over his shoulders and a sword in his hand. Plaerdemavida put him in the chamber. A large box was there with a hole she had made so he could breathe. The bath had been prepared, and it stood in front of the box. After the ladies had eaten, they danced with the gallant knights. When they saw that Tirant was not there they stopped dancing, and the emperor retired to his chamber while the ladies departed, and left the princess alone with her ladies-in-waiting in her chamber where Tirant was. Plaerdemavida opened the box under the pretext of taking out a sheet of delicate linen for the bath, and she left it slightly open, putting clothing on top so that none of the other women would see him. The princess began to take off her clothes, and Plaerdemavida prepared her seat which had been placed directly in front so that Tirant could see her clearly. When she was completely naked Plaerdemavida brought a lighted candle to give pleasure to Tirant, and looking at all of her body and everything that was in view, she said: "In faith, my lady, if Tirant were here and could touch you with his hands the way I am, I believe he would prefer that to being made ruler of the kingdom of France." "Don't believe it," said the princess. "He would rather be king than touch me the way you are." "Oh, my lord Tirant! Where are you now? Why aren't you standing here, nearby, so that you can see and touch the thing you love most in this world and in the world beyond? Look, my lord Tirant, here are the locks of my princess; I kiss them in your name, for you are the best of all knights in the world. Here are her eyes and her mouth: I kiss them for you. Here are her crystalline breasts: I hold one in each hand, and I kiss them for you. See how small, how firm, how white and smooth they are. Look Tirant, here is her belly, her thighs and her secret place. Oh, wretched me, if I were a man I would want to spend my last days here. Oh, Tirant! Where are you now? Why don't you come to me when I call you so tenderly? Only the hands of Tirant are worthy to touch where I am touching, and no one else, because this is a morsel that there is no one who would not like to choke on." Tirant was watching all this, and could not have been more pleased by the fine wit of Plaerdemavida's comments, and he felt sorely tempted to come out of the box. When they had been there some time, joking, the princess stepped into the bath and told Plaerdemavida to remove her clothes and join her. "I will, under one condition." "What's that?" asked the princess. Plaerdemavida answered: "That you consent to have Tirant in your bed for one hour while you're in it." "Hush! You're mad!" said the princess. "If you please, my lady, tell me what you would say if Tirant came here one night without any of us knowing it?" "What else could I tell him," said the princess, "but beg him to leave, and if he wouldn't go, I would keep quiet rather than be defamed." "In faith, my lady," said Plaerdemavida, "that's what I would do too." While they were saying these things, Widow Repose came in, and the princess begged her to join her in the bath. The Widow removed all her clothing except her red stockings and a linen hat on her head; and although she was very pretty and well endowed, the red stockings and the hat on her head made her so ugly that she looked like a devil, and it is true that any lady or maiden you see in that sort of attire will look very ugly to you no matter how genteel she may be. When the bath was finished they brought the repast to the princess, which was a pair of partridges, and then a dozen eggs with sugar and cinnamon. Afterward she lay down in her bed to sleep. The Widow went to her chamber with the other ladies except for two who slept in the chamber. When they were all asleep, Plaerdemavida got up from the bed and she led Tirant from the box in her nightshirt, and made him take off all his clothing, quietly, so that no one would hear him. And Tirant's heart, hands and feet were trembling. "What's this?" said Plaerdemavida. "There's not a man in the world who is valiant with weapons, but who isn't afraid when he's with women. In battle there's not a man alive you're afraid of, and here you tremble at the sight of one lone maiden. Don't worry, I'll be with you the whole time. I won't leave your side." "By the faith I owe our Heavenly Father, I would be happier to joust ten knights to the death than commit an act like this." The maiden took him by the hand, and he followed her, trembling, and said: "Maiden, all my fear is really shame, because of the extreme good will that I desire for my lady. I would much rather go back than continue on when I think that Her Majesty knows nothing about any of this. When she sees what's happening she will be completely frightened, and I would rather die than offend Her Majesty." Plaerdemavida was very angry with Tirant's words, and she said: "Oh, you faint-hearted knight. Does a maiden frighten you so much that you're afraid to go near her? Oh, unlucky captain. Do you have so little courage that you dare say such words to me? Pluck up your courage. When the emperor comes, what story will you invent to tell him? I'll have you discovered, and God and the whole world will know that you have spoken ill, and let me remind you that this time you'll lose your honor and your fame. Do what I tell you and I'll give you a secure life and have you wearing the crown of the Greek Empire, because the time has come when I can tell you only one thing: to go quickly and take those steps that will lead you to the princess." Seeing the frankness in Plaerdemavida's words, Tirant said: "Let's go on without delay, I beg you, and let me see that glorified body. And since there's no light I'll see her only with the eyes of the imagination." "I've used great ingenuity to bring you here," said Plaerdemavida, "so conduct yourself in a proper way." And she let go his hand. Tirant discovered that Plaerdemavida had left him, and he did not know where she was because there was no light in the room. She made him wait half an hour, barefoot, and in his shirt-sleeves. He called to her as softly as he could, and she heard him perfectly well but did not answer. When Plaerdemavida saw that she had made him grow quite cold, she had pity on him, and going up to him she said: "That's the way people who aren't in love are punished. How could you imagine that any lady or maiden of high or low station, wouldn't want to be loved? Anyone who can go in by honest or secret roads, by night or by day, through a window, a door or a roof, is thought of highly. I wouldn't be unhappy if Hippolytus would do it to me. And I wouldn't be upset if he would take me by the hair, and drag me through the room, with my consent or without it, and make me be quiet, and I would let him do anything he wanted. I would rather know that he's a man. In other things you should honor, love and serve her; but when you're alone in a room with her, that's no time to be polite." "In faith, maiden," said Tirant, "you've pointed out my defects to me better than any confessor could, no matter how great a teacher of theology he might be. Take me to my lady's bed quickly, I beg you." Plaerdemavida took him there, and made him lie down beside the princess. The head of the bed did not touch the wall, and when Tirant was lying down, the maiden told him to be still and not to move until she said so. Then she stood at the end of the bed, and she put her head between Tirant and the princess, facing the princess. Because the sleeves of her blouse bothered her, she rolled them up, and taking Tirant's hand, she placed it on the princess' breasts, and he touched her nipples, and her belly, and below. The princess awoke, and said: "My heaven, what a bother you are! Can't you let me sleep?" Plaerdemavida, with her head on the pillow, said: "Oh! You're a very difficult lady to take. You've just come out of the bath, and your skin is so smooth and nice that it makes me feel good just to touch it." "Touch all you like," said the princess, "but don't put your hand so far down." "Go back to sleep," said Plaerdemavida, "and let me touch this body that's mine, because I'm here in Tirant's place. Oh, Tirant, you traitor! Where are you? If you had your hand where I have mine, wouldn't you be unhappy!" Tirant had his hand on the princess' belly, and Plaerdemavida had her hand on Tirant's head, and when she saw that the princess was asleep, she loosened her grip, and then Tirant touched at will, and when she was about to wake up, the girl squeezed Tirant's head, and he stopped. They spent more than an hour at this play, and he did not cease touching her. When Plaerdemavida saw that she was deep in sleep she removed her hand completely from Tirant, and he carefully tried to accomplish his desire. But the princess began to wake up, and half asleep, she said: "But what are you doing, you wretched girl? Can't you let me sleep? Have you gone mad, trying to do what's against your nature?" It was not long until she knew that it was more than a woman, and she refused to surrender to him and began to cry out. Plaerdemavida covered her mouth and whispered in her ear so that none of the other girls would hear her: "Hush, my lady, you don't want to be dishonored. I'm terribly afraid that the empress will hear you. Be quiet: this is your knight who is ready to die for you." "Oh, you wicked girl!" said the princess. "You've had no fear of me or shame of the world. Without my consent you've put me in a very bad situation and defamed me." "What's done is done, my lady," said Plaerdemavida. "It seems to me that being quiet is the only solution for you and me: it's the safest thing, and what's best in this case." Tirant softly pleaded with her as well as he could. She found herself in a difficult situation, because love was conquering her on the one hand, and fear on the other, but since fear was stronger than love, she decided to be still and she said nothing. When the princess first screamed, Widow Repose heard her, and she was fully aware that the cause of that scream had been Plaerdemavida, and that Tirant must be with her. And she thought that if Tirant was seducing the princess, she couldn't accomplish her own desire with him. Now everyone was silent and the princess was not saying a thing, but instead was defending herself with graceful words so that the pleasant battle would not come to an end. The Widow sat bolt upright in her bed and cried out: "My daughter, what's wrong?" She woke up all the girls, shrieking loudly and making so much noise that the empress heard it. They all got up, some entirely naked and others in their nightshirts, and quickly ran to the door of the bedchamber which they found closed fast, and they cried out for a light. At the very moment that they were pounding on the door and calling for light, Plaerdemavida seized Tirant by the hair, and pulled him from the place where he would have liked to end his life. She led him to a small chamber and made him jump to a rooftop there. Then she gave him a hemp rope so that he could drop down to the garden and from there could open the gate. She had it very well prepared so that when he came he could leave by another door before daybreak. But the disturbance and the cries of the Widow and the girls were so loud that she could not let him out the way she had planned, and she was forced to let him out by the roof. So, giving him the long rope, she quickly turned and closed the window and then went back to her lady. Tirant turned around and tied the rope securely, and in his haste to leave without being seen or heard, he did not watch carefully to see whether or not the rope reached the ground. He let himself slide down the rope which hung more than thirty-five feet from the ground. He had to let go because his arms could not hold the weight of his body, and he hit the ground so hard that he broke his leg. Let us leave Tirant stretched out on the ground, unable to move. When Plaerdemavida returned, they brought the light, and all the women came in with the empress who immediately asked what the disturbance was and why she had cried out. "Madam," said the princess, "a huge rat jumped up on my bed and ran over my face, and I was so frightened that I screamed. He scratched my face with his claws, and if he had gotten my eye, you can imagine what damage he would have done!" Now that scratch had been made by Plaerdemavida when she covered her mouth so she would not scream. The emperor had gotten up, and he entered the princess's chamber with his sword in his hand, and hearing about the rat, he looked through all the rooms. But the maiden had been discreet: When the empress came in and was talking to her daughter, she jumped out onto the roof and quickly removed the rope. She heard Tirant moaning, and immediately realized that he had fallen, and she went back to the chamber without saying a word. There was so much noise throughout the palace, between the guards and the palace officials, that it was a wonder to hear and to behold; and if the Turks had entered the city the disturbance would not have been any greater. The emperor, who was a very discreet man, suspected that this had to be more than a rat, and he even looked into the coffers. Then he had all the windows opened, so that if the maiden had not been quick about removing the rope he would have found it. When the duke and duchess, who knew what was going on, heard all the noise, they thought Tirant had been discovered. Imagine how the duke must have felt, thinking that Tirant was in such a difficult situation, and that he must have been killed or imprisoned. He quickly armed himself to help Tirant since he had his weapons there, and he said: "Today I'll lose my entire kingdom because Tirant is in such a bad situation." "And look at me," said the duchess. "I don't have enough strength in my hands to put on my blouse." When the duke was armed he left his room to see what was happening, and to find out where Tirant was. And as he was going out he saw the emperor returning to his chamber. The duke asked him: "What is it, Sire? What's the cause of this disturbance?" The emperor answered: "Those foolish maidens who aren't afraid of anything. According to what they say, a rat climbed over my daughter's face, and she says it left a scratch on her cheek. Go back to sleep, you're not needed here." The duke went back to his room and told the duchess, and they were both very relieved that nothing had happened to Tirant. Then the duke said: "For the love of Our Lady, I went out of here in such a state that if the emperor had imprisoned Tirant I would have killed him and everyone who came to his aid, and then Tirant or I would have been emperor." "But it's best that it turned out as it did," said the duchess. She quickly got up and went to the princess's chamber. When Plaerdemavida saw her, she said: "My lady, please, I beg you, stay here, and don't let anyone speak badly of Tirant. I'll go and see how he is." When she was out on the roof she did not dare speak for fear that someone would hear her, and she heard him moaning loudly, and saying: "I can feel myself descending toward the dark and gloomy palaces. And since I cannot restore my miserable life with all my sighs, I'm content to die, because life without you, dear princess, is completely unbearable. Oh Lord and eternal God! You who are all merciful, grant me the grace of dying in the arms of that most virtuous princess, so that my soul may be more content in the next world." At this moment Hippolytus knew nothing about Tirant's actions, but he was aware of the great uproar in the palace that was spreading throughout the city. Seeing that Tirant was inside the palace and that he had told everyone he was sleeping in the duke's chamber that night, and with the viscount and Hippolytus knowing about his love for the princess, they had all the men take up arms. Lord Agramunt said: "I can only think that Tirant must have done some mischief in the princess's chamber, and news of it has reached the emperor, and all of us will take part in the wedding along with him. So we must prepare ourselves quickly to help him if we have to. Because in all the nights he's slept here nothing unusual has happened, and as soon as he's outside you see what a great outcry there is in the palace." Hippolytus said: "While you're arming yourself I'll go to the palace gate to see what's happening." "Hurry," said the others. When they were all outside, the viscount followed Hippolytus. "My lord," said Hippolytus, "you go to the main gate and I'll go to the one in the garden. Whoever discovers what is really happening--what all this noise is about--will go and tell the other one." The viscount said he thought that was a good idea. When Hippolytus was at the gate to the garden, thinking he would find it locked, he stood, listening, and he heard a mournful voice crying. It sounded like a woman's voice, and he said to himself: "I would much rather hear Tirant than this woman's voice, whoever she is." He stood, looking to see if he could scale the wall. When he saw that it was impossible, he went back to the gate with an easy heart, thinking it must be a woman. "Let her wail, whoever she is--lady or maiden," said Hippolytus, "for this has nothing to do with my lord Tirant." He left and went to the plaza where he found the viscount and others who wanted to know what had caused the disturbance. But by now the cries had subsided a great deal, and the disturbance had been quelled. Then Hippolytus explained to the viscount how he had been at the garden gate and had not been able to go in, and that he had heard what seemed to be a woman's voice moaning, and he did not know who it was, but that he thought the woman was the cause of all the outcry. "If it please you, let's go there," said the viscount, "and if she's a lady or a maiden who needs help, let's give it to her if we can, because it's our obligation under the 'laws of chivalry.'" They went to the garden gate, and heard the loud laments coming from inside the garden, but they could not understand what was being said or recognize the voice: with all the pain she was in, her voice was altered. The viscount said: "Let's break down the gate. It's night, and no one will know we did it." But the gate was unlocked, because during the night, not imagining that so much harm would be done, Plaerdemavida had left it that way so that Tirant could open it easily whenever he liked. And they both pushed against the gate with all their might, and it flew open easily. The viscount went in first and walked toward the voice which sounded so strange. The viscount said: "Whoever you are, I beg you in God's name, tell me if you're an errant spirit or a mortal body who needs help." Tirant thought it must be the emperor and his men, and so that he would not be recognized, and they would leave, he disguised his voice, even though the pain he was in had already disguised it, and he said: "In my time I was a baptized Christian, and I am condemned to wander because of my sins. I am an invisible spirit, and if you see me, the reason will be that I am taking on form. The evil spirits here are stripping off my flesh and my bones and throwing them in the air piece by piece. Oh, what a cruel torture I am suffering. If you come any closer to me, you will share in my pain." They were very frightened when they heard these words, and they made the sign of the cross and recited the Gospel of Saint John. The viscount spoke so loudly that Tirant heard him: "Hippolytus, do you think we should go to our chambers and get all our armed men and some holy water, and then come back here to see what this is?" "No," said Hippolytus, "we don't need to go back to our chambers for anything. We both have the sign of the cross on our swords: let me go there." When Tirant heard the viscount call Hippolytus' name, he said: "If you are Hippolytus, a native of France, come to me and have no fear." Then Hippolytus took out his sword, and holding the handle in front of him, he made the sign of the cross and said: "As a true Christian, I fully believe in the articles of the Catholic faith, and everything that the holy Roman church teaches: in this holy faith I want to live and die." He went closer in great fear, but the viscount was even more afraid, and did not dare to approach. And in a soft voice Tirant called to him and said: "Come closer. I am Tirant." At that he became even more frightened, and was ready to go back. Tirant saw this, and raising his voice he said: "Oh, what a cowardly knight you are!" Hippolytus recognized him when he spoke, and ran up to him and said: "Oh, my lord, is it you? What misfortune brought you here?" "Don't be worried, and don't say anything," said Tirant. "But who is that with you? If he's of the lineage of Brittany, have him come here." "Yes, my lord," said Hippolytus. "It's the viscount." He called him, and when the viscount saw Tirant he was amazed at the adventure and at everything he had said to them during the time they had not recognized him. "Let's not waste words," said Tirant. "Hurry and take me away from here." Together they lifted him in their arms and took him out of the garden and closed the gate. Then they carried him to his lodging and lay him under the portico. "I'm in more pain than I've ever felt before," said Tirant. "Of all the times I've been wounded and near death, my body has never felt so much pain. I'll need to have doctors without the emperor knowing about it." "My lord," said Hippolytus, "may I give you some advice? You are so badly hurt that it can't be kept hidden, especially with the disturbance in the palace. Mount your horse if you can, my lord, and let's go to the palaces of Bellestar where your horses are. We'll make everyone think that your horse fell on you and broke your leg " The viscount answered: "It's true, my cousin and lord, Hippolytus is right. Otherwise the emperor will certainly hear about it. I would be happy if, after you're cured and we've accomplished our aims, we returned to our lands." "My lord viscount," said Tirant, "this is no time to talk about these things, but you, Hippolytus, have them bring the animals here secretly, and bring the horse with the smoothest gait." Let us return to the princess. Plaerdemavida stayed out on the roof until she saw them carry Tirant away. Then she went into the room where the princess was with the duchess and all the ladies. The empress was astonished that there should be such a great uproar in the palace over a rat, and sitting on her bed she said: "Do you know the best thing for us to do, ladies? Since the palace is calmed down again, let's go back to sleep." The princess called Plaerdemavida and whispered to her, asking where Tirant was. "My lady, he's gone," said Plaerdemavida, "and he's in great pain." But she did not dare tell her that he had a broken leg, or what he had said. She was very pleased that they had not seen or found him. The empress got up, and Widow Repose said: "It would be a good idea, my lady, to tell your daughter to sleep with you, so that if the rat came back it wouldn't frighten her even more." The empress answered: "What the Widow says is true. Come, my child: you will sleep better with me than by yourself." "No, my lady. Let Your Excellency go on: the duchess and I will sleep together. Don't spend a bad night on my account." The empress said: "Come with me. I'm getting cold standing here." "My lady, since you insist," said the princess, "you go on, and I'll come soon." The empress left, telling her to come right away. The princess turned to the Widow and said angrily: "Now I know how much you're to blame. Who gave you the right to tell my mother that I should go and sleep with her, and to deprive me of my pleasure? From what I can see, you don't live by virtue, but by envy and malice." The Widow replied "I'll tell you what I've done wrong. I honored and loved you more than you liked: that's how I'm to blame. Do you imagine, my lady, that I have no feelings for Tirant, and that I didn't see him letting himself down by the rope, and it breaking, and him falling so hard I think he broke his legs and his ribs?..." She began to cry miserably, and threw herself to the ground, and pulled her hair, saying: "The best of all knights is dead!" When the princess heard these words, she said three times: "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" And she fell to the floor in a faint. She had cried out the name of Jesus so loudly that the empress, who was in her chamber, asleep in her bed, heard it. She quickly got up and hurried to her daughter's chamber. She found her there, unconscious, and nothing helped to revive her. The emperor had to get up, and all the doctors came. But still the princess did not regain consciousness, and three hours passed before she did. The emperor asked how his daughter had come to such a state. They told him: "My lord, she saw another tiny rat, and because her imagination was dwelling on the one she had seen on her bed, when she saw this one she suffered a terrible shock." "Oh, old emperor, sad and embittered! In my last days must I suffer so much pain? Oh, cruel death! Why don't you come to me when I want you so?" When he had said this he lost consciousness and fell in a faint beside his daughter. The cries and shouts were so great throughout the whole palace that it was astonishing to see and hear the laments the people were making: and this disturbance was greater than the first. Tirant, standing before the portico waiting for the animals to be brought, heard such loud cries that he thought the sky was falling in. He quickly mounted, full of pain and anguish, and the pain grew as he became fearful that the princess might have come to some harm. Hippolytus took a cloth and wrapped his leg so that the cold would not get into it. So, as best they could, they rode to the gates of the city. The guards recognized Tirant and asked him where he was going at this hour. He answered that he was going to Bellestar to look after his horses because he would soon be leaving for the camp. The gates were quickly opened for him and Tirant went on his way. When they had ridden half a league, Tirant said: "I am deeply afraid that the emperor has done the princess some harm because of me. I want to go back and help her in case she needs me." The viscount said "In faith, you're in fine condition to help her!" "My dear viscount," said Tirant, "I feel no pain now! You know that a greater injury makes a lesser one diminish. I beg you, please, let's go back to the city so that we can help her in case she needs us." "You've lost your mind," said the viscount. "You want to go back to the city so that the emperor will find out what you've done. We'll be doing well enough if we can keep this from the people so that they won't blame you for it. You can be certain that if you go back you won't escape injury or death if things are the way you say they are." "Since I'm the cause of all the trouble," said Tirant, "is it unreasonable for me to have the punishment? I'll consider my death worthwhile if I die for such a virtuous lady." "God help me," said the viscount, "I won't let you go back even if I have to use force. Isn't the duke there, and if he hears something that puts the princess in danger or dishonors her, won't he go and help her? Now you see what sad love-affairs lead to. Let's not stay here any longer. The more time we lose, the worse it is for you." "Since you don't want to let me go back," said Tirant, "do me a favor. You go, and if anyone harms her, kill them all and show mercy to no one." Tirant begged the viscount so much that he had to return to the city, and as he turned back he said softly so that Tirant didn't hear, but so Hippolytus could understand: "By Heaven, I wish I didn't have to concern myself with any lady or maiden, but only arrange for the doctors to come." Tirant went on ahead with Hippolytus. CHAPTER VIII THE BETROTHAL When the viscount was at the gates of the city, the guards would not let him in until he said that the captain had fallen from his horse and he was in a hurry to summon the doctors. He couldn't find them as quickly as he wanted because they were all with the emperor and his daughter. When they had taken care of the emperor they took everything they needed for Tirant, and they did not dare tell the emperor that his captain was injured. But the viscount did everything he could to see the princess, so that he could tell Tirant how she was. When she had regained consciousness, she opened her eyes and said: "Is the one who holds my soul captive dead? Tell me quickly, I beg you. Because if he's dead, I want to die with him " The empress, who was upset by all the anguish she felt for her daughter, could not understand her, and she asked what she had said. The duchess was holding her on her knees, and she answered the empress: "My lady, the princess is asking if the rat is dead." The princess, her eyes closed, again said: "I didn't say that. I asked if the one who is my hope is dead." The duchess answered in a loud voice: "He's not dead: they never caught him." And turning to the empress, she said: "She's delirious. This illness has the effect of turning the wisest people into madmen who don't know what they're saying." Her delirium subsided, and two doctors went with the viscount and the duke. When the princess found out, she cried: "Oh, my lord Tirant! Father of chivalry! Now the lineage of Rocasalada has fallen, and the house of Brittany has lost so much. You are dead! Dead! For anyone who has fallen from as great a height as you cannot hope to live long. Why couldn't I have suffered the harm, since I was the cause, and you would find yourself free from these dangers?" The duchess was very agitated, both because of the princess's illness and Tirant's injury. She did not want to say anything more for fear of the maidens who were nearby. The doctors left quickly without saying anything to the emperor so that he would not have a relapse, because his constitution was very delicate. When the doctors reached Tirant they found him lying on a bed in great pain. They looked at his leg and found it completely broken, the bones protruding from the flesh. With their ministrations Tirant fainted three times, and each time they had to revive him. The doctors treated him as best they could the first time and said that under no circumstances should he be moved from his bed, because his life was in danger. Then they went back to the palace. The emperor asked them where they had been, since he had not seen them at mealtime. One of them answered: "My lord, your captain has been injured, and we went to Bellestar to minister to him." The emperor said; "And how was he hurt?" "My lord," said the doctor, "they say that early this morning he left the city to go to where his horses are so that Monday morning everyone would be ready to leave. He was riding a Sicilian horse and, galloping along the road, he fell in a trench and hurt his leg." "Holy Virgin Mary," said the emperor. "Tirant has no lack of troubles. I want to go see him immediately." When the doctors heard the emperor's decision--that he wanted to leave--they detained him for a day so that he would have time to recover. The emperor saw that the doctors advised against it, so he decided to stay. He went to the princess's chambers to ask about her illness and to explain what had happened to Tirant. What grief the princess felt in her heart! But she did not dare show it for fear of her father, and her own pain seemed as nothing when she thought of Tirant's suffering. The emperor stayed with his daughter until dinnertime. The following day, seeing the doctors pass by from a window and knowing that they were going to see Tirant, he called to them to wait. Then he mounted and went with them and saw their second treatment. From what he saw he understood at once that Tirant would not be able to go to the encampment for a long time. When they had finished their treatment, the emperor said: "I can't begin to tell you how much grief I feel. As soon as I heard about your injury I knew how great my misfortune was, because I had placed all my hope in your leadership. I had envisioned the blood of those cruel enemies of mine and of the holy Catholic faith being shed by the strength of your arm, and the blow of your sword. But now, when they hear that you are not there, they will be afraid of no one and will overrun my entire empire." Tirant weakly said: "My lord, you don't need my sword and my leadership. In your empire you have courageous knights who can take on the enemy right now. But it only seems right to me, since you are pressing me so much, that I should go to the camp. My lord, I will be ready to go on the day we had set." When the emperor heard him say that, he was very happy, and he took his leave and returned to the city. When the empress saw him she said: "My lord, tell us the truth about our captain. How is he? Is he near death, or is there hope for him?" In the presence of the princess and the maidens the emperor said to the empress: "My lady, I don't think he's in danger of dying, but there is no doubt that he's in a bad way. The bones in his leg are sticking out through the skin, and it's a terrible sight to see. But he says he will be ready to leave Monday." "Holy Mother of Jesus!" said the princess. "What is Your Majesty trying to do? You want a man who is so badly hurt that he's at death's door to go to the encampment and end his days while he's on the road? How could he help the soldiers? Do you want to put his life and the entire empire in danger too? No, my lord; that's no way to fight these battles. It's better to have him alive than dead, because with him living all your enemies will be afraid, and once he's dead they won't be afraid of anything." The emperor went into the council chamber where they were waiting for him, and they all agreed from what he had seen of Tirant that he should not be moved. After the emperor had left Bellestar, where Tirant was, Tirant immediately ordered a box made so that he could be carried in it. When it was Sunday evening and the duke and all the others had gone back to the city, and without anyone knowing of it except Hippolytus, Tirant ordered the viscount and Lord Agramunt not to disturb him until they were ready to depart. They had not an inkling that Tirant would commit such an act of folly as to leave. Tirant gave one doctor a large amount of money to go with him, but the other doctor ordered him not to move and would not go along. Tirant had them put him in the box, and using shafts to carry it on their shoulders, they left for the encampment. Before he left he ordered them to tell everyone who came from the city that since he had not been able to sleep at night he was resting. Some who came to see him went back, and others stayed, waiting for him to awaken. When it was noon the Duke of Macedonia who was a close relative, as was the viscount, wanted to go inside. Saying that anyone who was wounded should not sleep so much, they forced their way in and discovered that he was gone. They quickly mounted their horses and rode after him, and they sent word to the emperor, telling how his captain had obeyed his command, and cursing the emperor and all of his kind. When the emperor heard the news, he said: "By the living God, he carries out his promises!" When the duke and the viscount overtook him and learned that he had passed out on the road five times, they reprimanded the doctor and Hippolytus, and said they cared nothing for him. "And you, Hippolytus," said the duke, "of our lineage of Rocasalada and of the kindred of Brittany, to allow our master and lord to leave! The day his life ends we will all be lost and no one will ever hear of us again. You deserve the worst sort of reprimand. If I had no fear of God or felt no sense of worldly shame, I'd do worse to you with this sword than Cain did to Abel: You miserable knight! Get away from me, or upon my word of honor you'll get the punishment you deserve." And turning to the doctor he gave vent to his anger. "I lose all patience when I think of the outrageous act of this doctor who put the light of Rocasalada in mortal danger." And the duke rode furiously at the doctor, his sword raised, while the doctor attempted to flee to save his miserable skin, but it gained him nothing because when he reached him he brought the sword down on his head so hard that it split in half, down to his shoulders, and his brains flew out. When the emperor received news of the death of such a singular doctor he quickly rode to Tirant, and found him in a hermitage where the duke had put him: there he was being given everything he needed. When the emperor saw Tirant's condition he took great pity and had all his doctors come there to see how his leg was. The doctors found it much worse and they told him that if he had gone one league further, either he would have died or had to have his leg cut off. All the barons in the empire came to see him. The emperor held council there and they decided that since Tirant could not go, all the men should leave the next day. Tirant said: "My lord, I think Your Majesty should give two months' wages to all the men, and since they will only serve one and a half months, everyone will be happy, and they'll put up a better fight." The emperor answered that he would do it immediately, and he said: "This evening I've received letters from the Marquis of Saint George in our camp, telling me that great numbers of Moors have come. It says here that the King of Jerusalem, who is a cousin of the Grand Caramany has come, and with him are his wife and children and some sixty thousand soldiers from the land of Enedast, a very fertile and abundant province. As soon as a male child is born there, he is raised with great care. When he is ten years old they teach him to ride and to fence. Then they teach him to fight, and throw a lance. And last, they teach him how to butcher, so that he will get used to cutting up meat and will not be afraid of spilling blood. This makes them cruel, and when they are in battle and capture Christians, they quarter them and haven't the slightest feeling of pity about flesh or blood. The King of Lower India has come here, and they say he is the brother of the prisoner from Upper India; he is a very rich man and he's bringing forty-five thousand soldiers with him. Another king, called Menador, has come with thirty-seven thousand soldiers. The King of Damascus has come with fifty-five thousand. King Veruntament has come with forty-two thousand. And many others have come with them." Tirant replied: "Let them come, my lord. I have so much faith in the divine mercy of Our Lord and in His most Holy Mother, Our lady, that, even if there were twice as many as there are, with the help of the singular knights Your Majesty has, we would be victorious over them." When they had finished their conversation, the emperor commended Tirant to God, and ordered the doctors to leave him alone and to allow him to depart. The princess was very upset by Tirant's injury. When it was Monday, all the soldiers were ready to leave. The Duke of Pera and the Duke of Macedonia were in charge of leading all the men. When they reached the camp of the Marquis of Saint George, the others were very happy to see them. Tirant stayed in the hermitage, waiting for the doctors to give him permission to go into the city. Lord Agramunt who never wanted to leave him alone, remained with him, for he said that he had left his country only for love of him, and that he would not leave him while he was injured. Hippolytus stayed in his company, and went to the city every day for whatever he needed, but especially to bring news about the princess to Tirant. And when they wanted to make him eat or do other things the doctors prescribed, they would say it was for the princess, and he would do it immediately. After this had happened to Tirant, the princess often reprimanded Plaerdemavida for what she had done, and wanted to shut her up in a dark room to have her do penance there; but she defended herself with choice words, or with jokes, saying: "What will your father say if he finds out? Do you know what I'll tell him? That it was you who told me what to do, and that Tirant has stolen your virginity. Your father wants me to be your stepmother, and I can assure you that when I am I'll punish you. When that valiant knight, Tirant, comes again, you won't cry out the way you did the last time. Instead you'll be quiet, and you won't move." The princess became very angry, and told her to shut her mouth. "Since you're speaking to me so harshly, my lady, I want to leave Your Highness' service, and I'm going to go back to my father, the count." She immediately left the chambers and gathered up all her clothing and jewels. Leaving the Widow of Montsant, who was in the court, in charge, and without saying a word to anyone, she mounted a horse and with five squires she rode to where Tirant was. When the princess discovered that Plaerdemavida had gone, she was very upset and wanted her to return. She sent men in all directions to make her come back. Plaerdemavida rode by back roads to the hermitage where Tirant was, and when he saw her he forgot his pain. When Plaerdemavida went up to him and saw how much his appearance had changed, she would not hold back her tears. And with a weak voice she said: "Oh, I am the most miserable person in the world! I am so sorry when I think of your injury, because I am to blame for all the harm that has come to the best knight in the world. I can only ask you for mercy." With a sigh Tirant said: "Virtuous maiden, there is no reason at all for you to ask my forgiveness: you're not to blame for anything, and even if you were, I would pardon you not just once but a thousand times, because I know how much affection you've always had for me. I won't say another word about this because I want to know what the princess has been doing while I've been gone. I'm sure Her Highness's love has grown weak, and she probably doesn't want to see me again." Plaerdemavida, with a smile, told him she was very happy to do him such a service, and in a soft voice she said: "After you left there was so much shouting and such a tumult in the palace that the emperor got out of bed. He went looking through all the rooms furiously, with a sword in his hand, saying whether it was a mouse or a man he would kill it without mercy. The empress went back to her chambers to sleep. The love-sick Widow went to the princess with her own wickedness, because she is related to the old witch who brings only harm to those who love her. With a false expression of compassion on her face she told her: 'My lady, I saw Tirant lower himself by a rope, and half-way down it broke; and he fell from such a height that he was smashed to pieces.' And she began to wail very loudly. When the princess heard the news she could say only, 'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,' three times, and immediately her spirit left her. I don't know where it went or on what business, because she was senseless for three hours. All the doctors came, but they couldn't revive her, and at that moment the emperor thought he was losing everything that nature and fortune had given him. And the tumult and cries in the palace were even greater than they had been the first time." Then she told him everything she and the princess had said to each other. "All her anger is feigned. She can't make up her mind about how to behave the first time she sees you: Whether or not to show that she is bothered by your injury. Because she says that if she smiles at you, you'll want to come back every day, and if she doesn't, you will be angry with her." Tirant replied: "What crime does Her Highness say that I've committed besides loving her? Her Majesty would do me a great favor if she would just grant me a visit. I believe that then most of her anger would disappear." Plaerdemavida answered: "My lord, do me a favor. Write her a letter, and I'll work with her so that she'll give you an answer. That way you'll be able to know what she is thinking." As they were talking, the men that the princess had sent in search of Plaerdemavida entered the chamber. When they saw her they told her what the princess had ordered them to do. Plaerdemavida answered: "Tell my lady that she can't force me to serve her. I want to go to my parents' home." "If I had found you someplace else," said the knight, "I would have forced you to go back. But I don't imagine the captain will be happy if the princess's will isn't carried out, and as a virtuous knight he will take care of the situation." "Don't doubt for a minute," said Tirant, "that my lady will be served in every way. This maiden will quickly go with you." Tirant had ink and paper brought, and with the great pain he felt in his leg he could not write as well as he wanted to, but in spite of his injury he wrote the following words of love: "Who knows the great perfection that I see in Your Majesty, and in no one else? The fear I have of not having Your Highness' love makes me feel twice as much pain, because if I lost Your Majesty I would lose everything. You must know that in you all perfection is contained. My petition is based on that moment when you heard about my injury and said, 'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!'--which has moved me deeply." When Plaerdemavida had left Tirant, and the princess knew that she was coming, she ran to the landing of the stairs and said to her: "Oh, my beloved sister! What made you so angry that you wanted to leave me?" "Why, my lady!" said Plaerdemavida: "Your Excellency swept me from your mind and didn't want to see me again." The princess took her by the hand, and led her to her bedchambers. She turned to the men who had brought her, and thanked them. When they were inside the chambers the princess said: "Don't you know, Plaerdemavida, that disagreements between parents and their children often reach heights of anger, and that the same thing happens between brothers or sisters? Even if you and I had words, that's no reason for you to be angry with me. You know very well that I love you more than all the maidens in the world, and you know all my secrets as you do my heart." "Your Majesty spins very fine words," said Plaerdemavida, "but your actions are bad. You want to believe Widow Repose and all her wickedness, and you won't listen to me or anyone else. She was the cause of all this trouble. I remember that night when my lord Tirant broke his leg and Your Highness fainted: there was nothing but tears and anguish. But the Widow was the only one who was glad. Your Excellency has many virtues, but you lack patience." "Let's stop talking about these things now," said the princess. "Tell me about Tirant: How is he? When can I see him? The happiness he brings me makes me think about him more than I would like to." "Since the time he left you, all the memories of Your Excellency make him sigh and grieve. You can be sure that no one deserves you as much as Tirant does. And he sends you this letter." The princess took it very happily, and when she had read it she decided to write an answer: "I tried to beg you several times not to steal my chastity; and if my words did not move you to pity, my tears should have. But you brought so much pain to your princess. The sound of my last words was carried to the ears of Widow Repose, and the empress came. I don't know how it was that I said, 'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,' and I threw myself in the duchess' lap because I hated life..." When she had finished her answer she gave it to Hippolytus. When Hippolytus returned to Tirant, he gave him the letter. Tirant was very pleased to get it. He had paper and ink brought to him, and despite his injury he wrote the following letter: "Now is the time when all things are at rest, except I who am awake, thinking of Your Highness and how you have forgotten about all the years I have been in love with you. But I give thanks to God for allowing me to know a maiden who is so full of perfection. And I see full well that no one but myself deserves Your Majesty's beauty. If you feel that I am worthy of reply, I am prepared to obey everything Your Excellency commands me." When Tirant had finished writing the letter he gave it to Hippolytus and begged him to give it to the princess in Plaerdemavida's presence, and to get a reply if possible. Hippolytus gave the letter to the princess as he had been commanded, and the princess took it, very pleased. As the empress came to see her daughter at that moment, she could not read it immediately. But when she saw that the empress was engaged in conversation with Hippolytus, asking him about Tirant's injury, and him answering her, the princess got up from where she had been sitting and went into her chamber with Plaerdemavida to read the letter. After they had spoken at length about Tirant's illness, the empress said to Hippolytus: "Your face looks quite altered, Hippolytus, thin and discolored. The illness of such a valiant knight as Tirant must bring grief to all his relatives. I have been suffering greatly too. At night I wake up, filled with anxiety. Then, after I remember his injury, I go back to sleep." Hippolytus quickly answered: "If I were near a lady, and found myself in her bed, I wouldn't let her have as much rest as Your Majesty gets, no matter how deeply she slept. But it doesn't surprise me in Your Majesty: you sleep alone, and no one says a word to you. That's what is making my face so thin, not Tirant's illness. Everyday I ask Our Lord with all my heart to take away these painful thoughts that I keep having. Only those who know what love is have a real knowledge of what suffering means." The empress presumed that Hippolytus must be in love and that all the sadness in his face was nothing but the passion of love. She thought also that since Plaerdemavida had said many times that she loved Hippolytus, she must be the one he was troubled about. And the empress unhesitatingly asked Hippolytus who the lady was that was causing him so much grief. "Tell me, who is bringing you so much sadness?" "My bitter misfortune," said Hippolytus. "And here, where I am, don't let Your Majesty think that my life is in less danger than Tirant's." "In case you should tell me," said the empress, "I would keep it to myself always." "Who would dare reveal his grief," said Hippolytus, "to a lady of such excellence?" "There is no one," said the empress, "who should not listen to what another wants to say. And the loftier one's position, the more humbly he should listen." "My lady," said Hippolytus, "since you want to know: love, it's love that I have, and it's not clothing that I can remove." "I'm not lacking in knowledge," said the empress, "about what you're saying. You say you're in love, and I ask you: With whom?" "I don't have my five senses," said Hippolytus, "to tell you." "Oh, man of little understanding" said the empress. "Why don't you say what it is that's making you suffer?" "There are four things," said Hippolytus, "that surpass all others in excellence, and the fifth is the knowledge of truth. It is Your Majesty whom the heavens have foretold that I should love all the days of my life..." Having said this he did not dare raise his face again, and he said nothing more. As he was leaving, the empress called him, but because of his shame he did not dare turn around. Hippolytus thought to himself that if she asked him why he didn't stop he would say he did not hear her. He went to his room thinking that he had spoken wrongly and acted even worse, and he was deeply repentant of what he had said. The empress stood there, thinking about what Hippolytus had told her. When Hippolytus knew that the empress had gone back to her chambers, he felt both ashamed and frightened at how daring he had been. He wished he were already gone so that he would not have to face the empress again. But he had to return to the palace for the princess's reply. He went into her chambers and found her on Plaerdemavida's knees, with other maidens who felt affection for Tirant. Hippolytus begged her for a reply to the letter he had brought. The princess said to Hippolytus: "Since the messenger is faithful, I beg you to excuse me from writing my reply. You may tell him that I will make arrangements with the emperor for us to go and see him one day this week, and if it pleases the Divine Being he will soon he well again, and we will be excused from this task." Hippolytus answered: "My lady, your heart shows that you have no compassion. From all the harm you have caused him you could tell him just this little bit of good news that he hopes to hear from you." The princess replied: "Since I don't want to show my lack of knowledge, I will keep quiet, but your over-loose tongue ought to be answered. Plaerdemavida, pull out three hairs from my head, and give them to Hippolytus so that he will give them to my master, Tirant. And tell him, since I cannot write to him, to take the hairs as his answer." "God help me if I'll take them," said Hippolytus, "unless you tell me what they mean and why there are three of them and not four, or ten instead of twenty. For God's sake, my lady! Does Your Highness think we are following the old customs when these niceties were the rule? Back then a maiden who had a love-sick swain, and who was in love with him, would give him a bouquet of perfumed flowers or a hair or two from her head, and the poor fellow considered himself very fortunate. I know very well that my lord Tirant would like to take hold of you in bed, naked or in your nightgown, and he wouldn't care a jot if your bed wasn't perfumed. But if Your Majesty is going to give me three hairs to take to Tirant, well, I'm not used to carrying things like that: send them with someone else, and let Your Excellency tell me with what hope they've come out of your head.'' "I'll be glad to tell you," said the princess. "One hair stands for the great love I've always had for him above all people in the world, and it was so much that I forgot my father and my mother, and if you press me, I nearly forgot God; and I wanted to offer him my body along with everything I own. The second one stands for all the grief he is causing me. The third one means that I know well how little he loves me. Now you know completely what the hairs mean, and with your wickedness you won't take them with you." She took them out of his hands, and very angrily tore them apart and threw them on the ground, and tears burst from her eyes and ran down her breasts. When Hippolytus saw that the princess had become angry over such a slight matter, he said with a humble expression: "It's true that you were held in your mother's chamber, but you were not violated. Tell me, my lady, how can you blame Tirant for having attempted such a singular act? Who could condemn him to any punishment? If he is lost, more than ten thousand soldiers will be lost, and they will be sorely needed to bring the war to a successful conclusion. Look how many men the King of Sicily has at the service of Your Highness; and the Grand-Master of Rhodes, the Viscount of Branches--how many men he's brought. Well, if Tirant weren't here, none of those men would stay. Then you'll see if Widow Repose will fight the battles for you and your father." To help Hippolytus in Tirant's favor, Plaerdemavida said: "It would have been better for me if I had never known of Your Majesty's existence. You don't love the person who deserves it as you should. How can I serve you with a willing spirit if I see such ingratitude in you? If Your Excellency could feel that glory that many maidens have experienced, if God would grant that I might show you the glory that lovers feel in this life, and the pleasure it brings with it, then you would be worthy of being among the privileged ones who have loved well, and you would be deserving of eternal praises in this life. But Your Excellency is like a person who smells the odor of meat but does not taste it. If Your Highness would taste its sweetness and the pleasure it brings in this instance, when you died you would rise again in glorious renown. But my lady, since I see that you don't love my lord Tirant, there's no reason for you to love any of his men. There will come a time when you will cry over him and his friends, and you'll tear your eyes from your face, and curse the day and night for the rest of your life. I know that the day Tirant can ride again, seeing Your Highness' great unhappiness he will go back to his country, and all the others will follow him because of the affection they have for him. You will be left all alone as you deserve, and the entire empire will be lost. And when you're dead and you appear before the judgment seat of your Lord, He will ask for an account of your life with words like these: "'It was by My command that man was made in My image, and from man's rib a female companion was made. And, moreover, I said: Increase and multiply and fill the earth. Carmesina, I have taken your brother from you so that you would be at the head of the empire. Now tell me, what account do you give to me concerning that which I encharged to you? Have you left behind sons to defend the Catholic faith and increase the numbers of Christians?' What are you going to answer?" said Plaerdemavida. "Oh, my lady, you will not be able to give a good reply! I'll tell you what your reply will be: 'Oh Lord, full of mercy and pity! You Who are so merciful, forgive me!' And the guardian angel will make you say these words: 'It is true, Lord, that I loved a knight who was very virtuous in arms, whom Your Holy Majesty sent to us to rescue Your Christian people from the hands of the infidel. I loved him and I held him in great devotion, and I wanted him for a husband, as my beloved. And I had a maiden in my service whose name was Plaerdemavida, who always gave me good advice and I did not want to accept it. She put him in my bed one night and, like a fool, I cried out. And when I realized what was happening I stopped shouting, and was quiet. A widow who heard me scream began to cry out and woke up the entire palace, so a great deal of anguish and pain followed because of my fear. Later they begged me to give in to the knight, but I never would.' And they'll have to leave you in hell along with Widow Repose. And when I leave this life there will be a great celebration in paradise, and they will give me a seat in the eternal glory of the Highest, and as an obedient daughter I will be crowned with the other saints." The emperor entered the room without anyone seeing him. He stayed near his daughter for a little while, and then he took Hippolytus by the hand, and they spoke of the war and of the captain's illness. As they were talking they passed through a room where the empress was, and at that moment Hippolytus would have liked to have been a day's journey away. When she saw him she smiled and looked at him fondly. Then she got up from where she was sitting and approached the emperor, and the three of them stood, talking of many things. They dwelt especially on the cruel misfortune in which their son departed from this miserable world in the flower of his youth, and the empress began to cry. Many old knights who formed part of the council entered the chamber, and they consoled the empress. Then they told Hippolytus of the great valor the emperor had shown when they brought him the news that his son had died. The good man, on hearing of the death of his son, had answered the cardinal and the others who brought him the news: "Be assured that what you are telling me is nothing new, because I bore him to die. It is the law of nature to receive life, and to relinquish it when it is asked of us." The emperor withdrew to one side of the chamber to speak with some of his council, and Hippolytus remained with the empress. When she saw that he was silent she thought it must be because he felt embarrassed. And she said: "Although I can't speak to you in as fine a manner as I would like, you will understand it much better than my lips could express it. I beg you to tell me who made you say what you did. Tell me if it came from your master Tirant, so that if I decided to love you he could make better use of the power that he wants. I'm dying to know." Hippolytus quickly replied, lowering his voice: "I'll tell you everything. I was with the emperor, and we came into these chambers, and when I saw Your Majesty I nearly fell to the ground. I was afraid the emperor would notice, because at that moment fear and shame were battling within me. Afterward I sighed, and I saw that Your Highness was laughing pleasantly at my sigh. My lady, I beg you not to make me say anything further, but command me to do anything dangerous, and Your Majesty will see how steadfast Hippolytus is. As for what Your Majesty said about Tirant, I swear to you that neither Tirant nor my confessor (which is even worse) knew any such thing about me." "Hippolytus, you must tell me your thoughts openly. Love doesn't recognize nobility, lineage or equality; it doesn't differentiate between people in high and low positions. You can be sure that no matter how criminal your words were, I wouldn't tell them to the emperor or to anyone else on earth." Hippolytus plucked up his courage, and in a whisper, he said: "Because of my great attraction for you, my lady, I often wanted to reveal my deep love for Your Majesty. But fear stopped me from telling you my feelings until now, since you are the most excellent of all things excellent. But if love makes me speak indiscreetly, you must suffer it patiently, and must punish me with tender words. Tell me, I beg you, how I must behave in your honor." The empress replied: "You've given my heart many worries and cares. I'm wondering what has given you hope of having me since the distance between our ages is so great. If it became known, what would they say about me? That I've fallen in love with my grandson. Any maiden would be overjoyed to be loved by you. But I would rather someone else had your love, without any crime or infamy, than for me to perish because of love." The empress could say no more since the emperor had gotten up from where he was sitting. He went over to the empress and took her by the hand, and they went in to dine. That night Hippolytus could not talk to the princess, but he spoke with Plaerdemavida, and she said to him: "What were you talking to the empress about for so long? You two are always together." "It's nothing," said Hippolytus. "She was just asking about our captain." Early the next day, Hippolytus left without a reply from the princess. When Tirant saw him, he said: "It's been five days since I've seen you." "My lord," said Hippolytus, "the emperor made me stay there, and so did the princess, and while we were out walking we talked about you. Everyone intends to come see you. That's why the princess decided not to give you any answer, because her visit will be so soon." Tirant said: "That is very good news." He had the doctors come, and begged them to take him to the city since he was feeling so well. "I can tell you, truly, that I'll get better in one day in the city than I could here in ten. Do you know why? I was born and raised near the sea, and sea air is very healthy for me." All the doctors agreed, and two of them went to tell the emperor. The emperor then rode to where the captain was, and Tirant was taken to the city in four days in a bier carried on the shoulders of four men. When he was in his chambers, the empress and all her ladies went to see him. They were very happy that he was feeling better, and all the ladies from the palace as well as the city often visited him. But the empress, who was warned by one of her maidens she trusted much more than the others, seldom left her daughter alone when she was in Tirant's room, and so they had little time to talk about their love. In the meantime Plaerdemavida came every day, trying to find a way for the battle to come to a conclusion. Let us stop talking about Tirant now, and return to the encampment. When the truce ended, the war began, cruel and savage, for the Turks knew about Tirant's injury. Every day they came near the city of Saint George where the camp was, and every day there were fierce battles, and many men from both sides were killed. Each day the emperor wrote to them to tell them how Tirant was, and to encourage them. He told them that Tirant was getting out of bed now to strengthen his leg and to help him recover. They all felt comforted, especially the Duke of Macedonia, who loved him dearly. Tirant was getting better daily, and he could walk through his chambers with the aid of a staff. Almost every day the ladies came to see him and keep him company, and the princess entertained him. And do not think that Tirant wanted to be healed very soon; this was because of the lovely sight that he had daily of the princess. He had few thoughts about going to war; instead it was his wish to fulfill his desire with his lady, and as for the war--let someone go there who wanted to. As the emperor and the empress were in Tirant's room, he could not talk to the princess without being overheard by the empress. So he called Hippolytus and quietly said to him: "Go outside and then come back in shortly and go to the empress's side. Start talking to her about whatever you think will please her most, and I will see if I can talk to the princess about my love for her." Hippolytus returned as he had agreed, and went to the empress, and quietly said to her: "I always want to be near Your Excellency. This is because I love you so much, and I beg you to grant me a boon that will increase my honor and my fame. If I am loved by Your Majesty, then there will be no one more fortunate than I." And he said no more. The empress replied: "Your great virtue is making me go beyond the bounds of chastity. If you swear to me by all that is holy that you will say nothing of this to the emperor or to anyone, you will have everything you like. In the still of night wait for me quietly on the roof near my chamber. And if you come, have no doubts, for I love you dearly, and I will not be late unless death itself stands in my way." Hippolytus tried to tell her about one thing he was afraid of, and the empress told him that to think of every possible danger was a sign of weakness in spirit. "Do what I tell you, and don't worry about another thing now." Hippolytus answered: "My lady, I will be happy to do everything Your Majesty commands me." When they had finished their conversation the empress left Tirant's lodgings with all the other ladies. And when they were in the palace, the empress said: "Let us go visit the emperor." When they were together with him they conversed pleasantly. Afterward the empress stood up, feeling the anguish of her new love, and she said to Carmesina: "Stay here with these maidens and keep your father company." The empress then went to her chambers and told her maidens to have the stewards come, as she wanted to change the satin curtains and put up others fringed in silk, saying: "The emperor told me that he would like to come here, and I want to entertain him a little since he has not come for a long time." She quickly had the entire chamber furnished with linens of silk brocade. Then she had the chamber and the bed sprinkled with perfume. After they had eaten, the empress retired, saying she had a headache, and in everyone's presence a maiden named Eliseu said to her: "My lady, does Your Highness want me to call the doctors to help minister to you?" "Do as you like," said the empress, "but summon them in such a way that the emperor does not find out, so that he will have no excuse for not coming tonight," The doctors came quickly and took her pulse, and they found it very rapid, because she hoped to do battle with a young knight, and she was fearful. The doctors said: "My lady, Your Majesty should take a few sweetened hemp-seeds with a glass of malmsey: that will help your headache and make you sleep." "As far as sleeping is concerned, I don't think I'll do much of that with my illness. The way I'm feeling I'll probably be tossing and turning all over the bed." "My lady," said the doctors, "if that happens to Your Majesty, send for us right away. Or if you wish we'll stand watch at the door to your chamber or there inside so that we can look at your face from time to time. And we'll do this all night long." "I won't accept that offer right now," said the empress. "I want the whole bed to myself, and I don't want any of you looking at my face. The illness I have won't stand for anybody to be watching." The doctors left. When they were at the door they told her not to forget the comfits and to moisten them well with malmsey. The empress was so obedient that she ate a large box of them. Then she had her bed sprinkled with perfume, and she had civet put on the sheets and pillows. When this was done and she was perfumed, she told her maidens to go to sleep and to close the door to their chamber. In the empress's chamber there was a sitting room where she always went to dress, and in the sitting room was a door that opened out to the roof where Hippolytus was. When she got out of bed Eliseu heard her and quickly got up, thinking something was wrong, and when she was in the chamber she said: "Why did Your Highness get out of bed? Are you feeling worse?" "No," said the empress. "I'm fine, but I forgot to say the devout prayer that I always pray every night." Eliseu said: "My lady, would you be so kind as to tell it to me?" "I'll be happy to," said the empress. "This is it: At night, at the first star you see, you must kneel down on the ground and say three 'Our Fathers' and three 'Hail Marys' in reverence to the three Kings of the Orient, that just as they were guided and guarded while they were watching and sleeping, and when they were in the hands of King Herod, that they will give you grace to be free from infancy and so that all your affairs will be prosperous and increase in all that is good. Now don't disturb me in my devotions." The maiden went to her bed and the empress went into the sitting room. When she saw that the maiden was in bed she put a dress of green velvet lined with sable on over her chemise. Then she opened the door to the roof and saw Hippolytus crouched down so that no one would see him. That made her very pleased as she thought that her honor would be safe. When Hippolytus saw her, he got up quickly and went to her. He knelt on the ground and kissed her hands and tried to kiss her feet. But the worthy lady would not permit it, and instead kissed him again and again on the mouth. She then took his hand and showed him great love and told him to come to her chamber. Hippolytus said: "My lady, Your Majesty must excuse me, but I will not go to your chamber until my desire has a taste of its future glory." And he took her in his arms, and laid her on the floor, and there they enjoyed the climax of their love. Afterward they went into the sitting room very happily. Hippolytus, with great joy, gave her true peace, and with a happy spirit and loving expression, he said: "If I dared to say what glory I feel at this moment with the great perfection I've found in Your Majesty, I don't believe my tongue would have enough power to express it." The empress, smiling, replied: "Although my mind finds itself tormented, I will not complain about you, or even less about God or myself, because I have been able to win you." "My lady," said Hippolytus, "now is not the time for words. Let us go to bed, and there we will speak of other matters that will increase your delight, and will be of great consolation to me." After he had said this, Hippolytus quickly stood naked. Then he went to the genteel lady and removed the clothing she had on so that she was left in her chemise. And whoever saw her in this way would recognize that she was like a maiden, and that she possessed as much beauty as can be found in this world. Her daughter, Carmesina, resembled her in many ways, but not in all, for this lady's beauty, in her time, surpassed that of her daughter. The young gallant took her by the arm and placed her on the bed, and there they remained, talking and sporting as lovers do. When half the night had passed, the lady heaved a deep sigh. "Why is Your Majesty sighing" said Hippolytus. "Is it because I did not satisfy you?" "It is quite the opposite," said the empress. "The feelings I have toward you have increased even more. At first I thought of you as a good man, and now I find you much better and more valiant. The reason for my sighing has been only that I am grieved because they will hold you as a heretic." "What, my lady!" said Hippolytus. "Why should I be considered a heretic?" "Because," said the empress, "you have fallen in love with your mother." "'My lady,"' said Hippolytus, "no one knows how worthy you are but me." The two lovers spoke of these things and of many others, with all the delights and sweet words that two people in love enjoy. They did not sleep the whole night through, and morning was nearly upon them. The empress had spoken the truth when she told the doctors that she would sleep very little that night. Now, tired from staying awake, they slept, for the new day had arrived. When the day was fully upon them the maiden Eliseu, who was completely dressed by now, entered the empress's chambers to ask her how she was, and if she wanted anything. When she approached the bed she saw a man lying at the side of the empress, her arm under the gallant's head, and his mouth to her breast. "Oh, Holy Mary help me!" said Eliseo. "Who is this traitor who has deceived my lady?" She was tempted to cry out, loudly: "Kill the traitor who, by cunning and deception, has entered this chamber to possess the delights of this bed!" Then she thought that no one would be so bold as to enter there against the empress's will. She tried as hard as she could to see who it was, but it was impossible because he had his head hidden. She was afraid that the other maidens might enter the chamber to wait on the empress as they usually did, so Eliseu went in to where they were sleeping, and said to them: "My lady bids you not to leave the room so that you will not make any noise, because sleep has not yet satisfied her eyes." After half an hour had passed the doctors came to see how the empress was. The maiden went to the door and said the lady was resting because during the night she had been a little ill. "We will stay here," said the doctors, "until Her Majesty awakens. That is the emperor's command." The maiden did not know how to remedy the situation, nor whether she should awaken her or not. She was filled with indecision until the emperor knocked on the chamber door. The maiden, upset, and without sufficient patience or discretion, went anxiously to the bed and cried out, softly: "Wake up, my lady, wake up! Death is approaching! Your poor husband is knocking at the door and he knows that you have offended him. Who is this cruel man who lies at your side and brings so much grief? Is he an unknown king? I pray to God Almighty that I will see him with a crown of fire on his head. If he is a duke I hope to see him end his days in prison. If he is a marquis, I hope to see his hands and feet eaten. If he is a count, he should die by evil weapons. If he is a viscount, may a Turk's sword slice him through from his head down to his navel. And if he is a knight, sailing at the sea's will, may he end his days in the deep." When the empress found herself awakened by such an evil noise, which was worse than a trumpet, she lay motionless, unable to utter a word. Hippolytus did not understand the maiden's words, but he did understand her tone of voice. And so that no one would recognize him, he put his head under the blanket. When he saw what great anguish his lady was in he put his arm around her and made her duck under the blanket, asking her why she was so frightened. "Oh, my son!" said the empress. "Get up: the emperor is at the door, and your life and mine are in God's hands at this very moment. And if I cannot speak to you, or you to me, forgive me with all your heart, as I do you, because now I see that this day has been the beginning and the end of all happiness and delight, and the final hour of your life and mine." When Hippolytus heard the empress saying these words, he began to feel very sorry for himself, because he had never been in a situation like this before. Young as he was, he joined the empress, serving her up tears instead of advice and aid. But he begged the maiden to bring him the sword that was in the sitting room, and plucking up his courage, he said: "Here I shall become a martyr before Your Majesty, and deliver up my spirit." At that instant the empress heard no noise whatsoever, and she said to Hippolytus: "Go hide in that sitting room, my son. I will delay them, and you can escape with your life." "I wouldn't abandon Your Majesty even if they gave me the whole Greek Empire four times over. I will give my life and everything I have before I leave Your Highness, and I beg you to kiss me as a token of faith," said Hippolytus. When the empress heard these words her pain increased, and with the increase of pain she felt her love increasing. As she heard no noise at all she went to the chamber door to see if she could hear soldiers or some other bad sign. Through a small crack in the door she saw the emperor and the doctors discussing her illness, and she realized that there was no danger. She ran back to Hippolytus and pulling his ears, she kissed him hard. Then she said: "My son, by the great love I have for you I beg you to go into that sitting room until I can make up an excuse for the emperor and the doctors." "My lady," said Hippolytus, "in all things I will be more obedient to you than if you had bought me as a captive, but don't ask me to leave here, because I don't know if they will harm you." "Don't worry," said the empress. "It's not what Eliseu told me, at all. There would be a great uproar in the palace if it were." Hippolytus quickly went into the sitting room, and the empress got back into her bed and had the doors to the chamber opened. The emperor and the doctors went to her bed and asked about her illness and how she had spent the night. The empress answered that her headache and the pain in her stomach had not let her sleep all night long, and she had not been able to rest until the stars in the sky had disappeared. "Then, since I could no longer stay awake, I slept, and now I feel much happier than before. And I believe that if that pleasant dream had lasted longer, I would feel even better. But in this world a person cannot be completely happy: with the painful awakening this maiden has given me, my spirit is in more anguish than I can say. If I could go back to the way I was, it would be a great consolation to me. I could touch and hold in my arms the things I love and have loved most in this world." The emperor said: "Tell me, my lady, what was it that you held in your arms?" The empress answered: "My lord, the greatest blessing that I have ever had in the world. I fell asleep, and soon it seemed to me that I was up on the roof in my chemise, saying the prayer that I always pray to the three Kings of the Orient. And when I had finished the blessed prayer, I heard a voice telling me: 'Do not go, for in this place you will possess the grace you are asking for.' And soon I saw my beloved son coming toward me, accompanied by many gentlemen, all dressed in white, and they held Hippolytus by the hand. Surrounding me, the two of them caught up my hands and kissed them, and they wanted to kiss my feet, but I would not let them. And as we sat on the roof we exchanged many words which gave me great delight, and they were so many and so delicious that they will always remain in my heart. Afterward we entered the chamber, and I held him by the hand. My son and I got into bed, and I put my right arm around his shoulders, and his mouth kissed my breasts. I have never had such a pleasant sleep. And my son said to me, 'My lady, since you cannot have me in this miserable world, take my brother Hippolytus as your son, for I love him as much as I love Carmesina.' And when he said these words he was lying beside me, and Hippolytus was obediently kneeling in the middle of the chamber. I asked him where his room was, and he told me that he was among the martyred knights in paradise, because he had died in battle against the infidel. And I could not ask him more because Eliseu woke me up with a sound more strident than a trumpet." "Didn't I say," said the emperor, "that all her talk was only about her son?" "Oh, my lord," said the empress, "it has hurt no one more than me. I held him in this arm; his pleasant mouth was touching my breasts; and the dreams you have in the morning often come true. I think he still may not have left. I would like to try to go back to sleep to see if he will talk to me again." "I beg you," said the emperor, "put this madness out of your head, and get up out of bed." "I beg you, my lord," said the empress, "for my health and pleasure, let me rest a little. My eyes are clouded from lack of sleep." "My lord," said the doctors, "it would be better if Your Majesty would leave and we let her sleep, because if we take this pleasure from her it would not be surprising if her illness got much worse." The emperor left, and so did all the maidens in the chamber except Eliseu. When the doors were closed the empress had Hippolytus come back in, and she said to the maiden: "Since fortune has permitted you to know about this matter, I command you to serve Hippolytus, even more than myself, with all your heart. Stay in that sitting room until we have slept a little. I shall favor you more highly than all the others, and I will marry you to a man of higher station than the others. Afterward Hippolytus will give you so many of his possessions that you will be very satisfied." "Heaven help me," said Eliseu, "but I have no desire to serve Hippolytus, and even less to love and honor him, but since Your Majesty commands me, I'll do it. Otherwise I wouldn't stoop to the floor to pick up a needle for him. I tell you, since the time I saw him lying next to Your Majesty, I have never felt more ill will for any man in the world than I feel for him. I would like to see a lion eat up his eyes, his face, and all the rest of him!" Hippolytus answered: "Maiden, I never meant to make you angry. I want to love you and do more for you than for all the other maidens in the world." "Do it for the others," said Eliseu, "but don't bother with me. I don't want anything that belongs to you." And she quickly went into the sitting room, and began to cry. The two lovers stayed in bed so long that it was nearly time for Vespers when they got up, and they found the maiden still crying. When she saw them coming into the sitting room she stopped her wailing, and the empress consoled her and begged her not to say anything about what Hippolytus had done. "My lady," said the maiden, "Your Majesty needn't worry about me. I would die before I'd tell anybody anything without your command. As for the second thing, have no fear: I will serve Hippolytus in every way I can, out of consideration for Your Majesty." The empress was satisfied, and she left Hippolytus in the sitting room and went back to her bed. Then she commanded the chamber doors to be opened. Soon her daughter was there, along with all the maidens, the emperor and the doctors. And again she told them about her pleasant dream. The meal was served, and the empress ate like someone who was tired from walking a long distance. The maiden was diligent in serving Hippolytus, and she gave him some pheasants to eat. And when he did not want to eat, she begged him on behalf of her lady. Hippolytus spoke to her and joked, but she would not answer him unless it was something to do with her service. Here was the empress, not moving from her bed until the following day when the emperor had already eaten lunch. After she had dressed she went to chapel to hear mass, and there was a great dispute among the priests as to whether they should read the scriptures, because it was already past noon. Hippolytus remained in the sitting room with this pleasure for a week. When the lady saw that he was quite exhausted, she asked him to leave, telling him to return to her chamber another day after he had rested, and he could take her as he pleased. And from a box where she kept her jewelry the empress took out a gold chain, and put it around his neck, saying: "Pray God that I may live, Hippolytus, because I will be surprised if I don't put a crown on your head before many years have passed. Now, for love of me, wear this. Since it will be in view you will remember someone who loves you as much as she does her own life." Hippolytus knelt to the ground, thanked her, and kissed her hand and her mouth and said: "My lady, how could Your Majesty deprive yourself of such an exquisite jewel to give it to me? If it were mine I would give it to Your Highness where it would be put to better use. I beg you to keep it." The empress answered: "Hippolytus, never refuse what your lover gives you." "Then, my lady, how will you command my life? What do you want me to do?" "I beg you to leave. I am terribly afraid that tomorrow the emperor may enter this sitting room and find you here. Go now, and let this fear of mine pass. There will be other days when you can return." Let us leave these endearments of hers for Hippolytus now, and return to Tirant to see how his love is doing. When his leg was mended he often went to the palace without anyone's help. His only obstacle was that the doctors would not let him go as often as he would have liked. The emperor often asked them how many days it would be before he would be entirely well so that he could leave for battle. They told him that he would soon be well enough to ride. When Tirant knew how much the emperor wanted him to go, he felt great anguish because he could not have his desire or at least some contact with the princess. The passion that the Widow carried inside had not been revealed until that time. But when she learned from the emperor that Tirant would be leaving soon, she thought that she might be able to persuade him to take her along to the camp with the excuse that she would serve him there. And if this was impossible, her diabolical plans were to spread a seed throughout the court called discord. She went to the princess and said: "Did you know, my lady, that Tirant told me as we were leaving mass that he wanted to talk to me. I told him that I would be glad to talk to him if I could have Your Majesty's permission. I think he realizes that he will be leaving soon, and he wants to see if he can commit some treachery against Your Highness. He is thinking to himself: If he can do it, well and good, and if he can't, then when he's gone he'll forget all about you. He told me the other day that that's the way he is, and he laughed as though he had said something wonderful." "Then let's do this," said the princess. "You go talk to him, and we'll see if there is some treachery in his heart. Your advice is good: I should be careful with him." "But, my lady," said the Widow, "if I'm to find out what's really in his heart, you must not leave this room until I come back." The Widow went out, called a page and told him: "Tell Tirant that the princess is here, in this chamber, and is very anxious to talk to him." The page quickly went to tell him. When Tirant heard that his lady had asked him to come, he did not wait for anyone to go with him. The Widow was watching carefully to see when he would come, and as soon as she saw him she pretended to be coming out of the princess's chamber at that very moment, and she went up to him and said: "Unfortunately, the empress just took the princess to her chambers, and they are talking right now. I asked her to send for you because just as Jesus Christ enlightened his disciples, so you spread light to everyone whenever you are in the palace, and as soon as you leave we feel sad. The princess told me to come and keep you company until the empress is gone. So let's sit down until Her Highness comes: I don't want you to hurt your leg on my account." They sat in the drawing room, and Tirant said: "Calling to mind, my lady, what you just said to me, the consolation you feel when you see me, I thank you very much for saying that. Take this chain as proof of my affection, I beg you, so that when you look at it you'll think of me, because I want to do a great deal for you." The Widow answered: "There's no one who doesn't know how you hurt your leg, but because of their situation they don't want to offend you or make you angry, and because of the war they hide their feelings and pretend not to know anything. If they were certain there would be peace, Carmesina would be the first to throw you into everlasting and bitter grief. Are you so blind that you can't see the dishonest things that are plotted and carried out in this palace? It all seems so vile and abominable to me that I won't agree to any of it. That's why they don't like me. I know for a fact that you're not highly regarded the way you should be. Tell me, wouldn't it be better for you to love a woman who was expert in the art of loving, and very honest, even if she weren't a virgin? She would follow you across the sea and over land, in war and in peace. She would serve you in your tents both night and day, and would never think of anything but how to please you." "Tell me, my lady," said Tirant, "who is the woman who would perform such remarkable services for me?" "Oh, wretched me!" said the Widow. "Why are you trying to make me suffer more than I already do? Haven't I said enough? Don't pretend that you don't understand what's so clear. I've tried to find a time when we wouldn't be interrupted by anyone to reveal my pain to you. It seems to me that I've made my intention known to you very clearly, and the knight who is so graciously offered such a gift can feel very fortunate." Tirant did not hesitate to reply: "To satisfy you, I'll answer your kind words. It makes me angry that I can't do what you are asking because your words are filled with so much love. But my free will is captive, and even if I wanted to, my five senses would not allow it." "Everything I've told you was only to test your patience, and to show you, Lord Tirant, how much I want to serve you. I think you should be aware of all the things you don't know. I don't want you to be deceived by the princess's actions: she no longer has any honor, and she has none of her father's or her mother's honor either. She could have satisfied her appetites honestly with a valiant and virtuous knight like you, or with many others who are in love with her, but the sky, the earth, the sea and the sands abominate the sin she has committed (and still commits daily). Only Our Lord would permit such an abominable crime of adultery without punishing her! If you knew what I know you would spit in her face. But why should I try to exaggerate such an ugly crime with unnecessary words? She has become involved with Lauseta--that's his name. He's a black slave, a Moorish gardener who takes care of the orchard. And don't think, your grace, that all these things I've told you are simply fables, because I'll let you see it with your own eyes. She has made me live with this enormous pain for a long time. How many kinds of herbs have I gone to pick, and then placed them inside her to destroy the fetus in her infamous stomach! Oh wretch, the poor thing was punished because of my sin! And its body wasn't buried, but instead made its trip down the river. What else could I do so that the grandchild would not be seen by the emperor, its grandfather? She has the pleasure, if it can be called that, and I have the blame." Tirant, with all the melancholy he felt, said: "Widow, your words have gone straight to my miserable heart. They hurt me more deeply than I have ever been hurt before. I beg you, virtuous lady, show me the cause of my pain, because otherwise I couldn't believe words that sound so unreasonable. It seems impossible that such a celestial person would freely place her beauty in the hands of a black savage." Then he was silent. Widow Repose was very worried because Tirant did not fully believe her false words. During this conversation the emperor came into the chamber, and when he saw Tirant, he took him by the hand, and they both went into a room to talk about the war. The Widow was left alone, and she began to say to herself: "Since Tirant did not believe me, this deception I have planned won't succeed. But I'll make him give in to me, even if I have to sell my soul to the devil to do it." Furious, she swept into the princess's chamber. Then, feigning laughter, she showed her the gold chain Tirant had given her, and she said: "You'd be astonished, my lady, if you knew his latest whim. He wants to bring a galley here, and carry you off to his land by force." And she continued to invent stories almost in mockery. When the princess saw that she was mocking Tirant, she became inwardly very angry, and she left and went to her sitting room. She began to think a great deal about Tirant and how deeply she loved him, and of the gifts that he gave to her ladies because of her. The thought of how much she loved him made her reflect deeply, and brought her bitter pain. After thinking for a long time, she dressed and went out to the hall to talk to Tirant, because she knew that he would soon have to leave for the field of battle. Widow Repose waited for Tirant, and said to him: "My captain, I would like to have your word that you will not tell the princess, even in jest, what I said to you. Before twenty-four hours have gone by I will let you see it with your own eyes." "Widow," said Tirant, "I will be very happy if you show me. And so that you will have complete confidence in me, I promise by the blessed Saint George, in whose name I hold the honor of chivalry, not to tell a soul." As the emperor turned he saw the Widow, and said to her: "Go quickly and tell the empress and my daughter to go to the orchard right away. I'll be waiting for them there." Soon all the ladies were with the emperor, and they talked about many things, including how the emperor had sent the order to the camp for two thousand lancers to come and accompany the captain. When the princess heard the news she became very agitated, and pretending that she had a headache, she said: "I will not deprive myself just because the captain is here; I'll let my hair down even though he's present." Then she let down all her hair, allowing it to hang loose--and it was the most beautiful hair any maiden ever had. When Tirant saw it in all its splendor he was astonished, and his love doubled in strength. The princess was dressed that day in a skirt of white damask. At that moment her hands were struggling with the cord of her skirt, and she seemed to be in great anguish as she walked alone through the orchard. The emperor tried to question her about her illness, and asked if she wanted the doctors to come. She answered no, that: "My illness requires neither doctors nor medicine." At this moment Widow Repose got up from where she was sitting, and taking a companion and two squires along as her escorts, she went to a painter's house and told him: "Since the festival of Corpus Christi is near, I would like to put on a play. You're the best painter in the world: Could you make a mask of flesh color according to my instructions? It should be over a fine, black skin that would look like Lauseta, the gardener of our orchard. It should have hair on its face, some white and some black, and I'll put gloves on my hands so that I will appear entirely black." "Madam," answered the painter, "that can be done, but I have a great deal of work right now. However, if you pay me well, I'll put aside all my other work so that I can serve you." The Widow reached into her purse and gave him thirty ducats in gold so that he would do a good job. And he made it with the exact shape and features of Lauseta. When the princess had strolled through the garden at length, she saw Lauseta pruning an orange tree, because it was his job to work in the garden, and she went up to him to talk to him. The Widow, who had returned by now, was watching Tirant, and she made a sign to him so that he would notice that his lady was talking to the Negro, Lauseta. Tirant turned around (for he was at the emperor's side), and saw the princess speaking animatedly with the black gardener, and he said to himself: "Oh, that wicked Widow! She's still trying to make me believe that what she told me is the truth! No matter what she says or does, no one can tell me that the princess would do such a terrible thing, and nothing in the world will make me believe it unless I see it with my own eyes." At that moment the emperor called a maiden and said to her: "Come here, Praxidis,"--for that was her name. "Go over to my daughter and ask her to call the captain and tell him that she wants him to leave for the camp soon. Often young knights will do more for ladies than they will for themselves." The princess replied that she would, since His Majesty had asked her to. After she had spent a while talking with Lauseta about the orange trees and the myrtles, she went back to strolling through the garden. When she was near the emperor she called to Tirant and told him that she was tired, and she asked him to take her arm so they could walk through the garden together. God knows how happy Tirant felt when the princess said this to him. And when they were some distance from the others, Tirant said: "I have only you in my thoughts now, and I spend day and night thinking of you. If fortune would like to have a little pity on me, let it allow me to have only a part of my desire, because then I will become the most glorious knight who ever lived. All I need is a little hope from Your Excellency." The virtuous lady kept her pain secret, and replied: "Tirant, my lord, harbor no doubt whatsoever about what I tell you, because even if I have occasionally been cruel with you, I don't want you to think I have not always been with you in spirit. I have always loved you and looked on you as a god, and I can tell you that as my age increases so does my love. And now the time has come when you can know fully whether I love you, for I want to give you the prize of your love. And I beg you, please, to guard my honor as you do your own life." Tirant's heart was filled with happiness when he saw that this lofty lady had shown her great love for him, and that he was on the path of possessing the crown of the Empire of Greece. He felt that he could conquer the entire world, and he wanted to tell his cousin Diafebus, the Duke of Macedonia, about it, because he thought everyone would feel just as delighted as he did. And as a greater pledge, he took out a reliquary he carried, and he made the princess place her hands there, asking her to declare that she would marry him, and she very happily swore it. Then Tirant said: "My lady, I make the same oath to be faithful and true to you and never to forget you for anyone else in the world." When all this had been done, Tirant knelt down on the ground to kiss her hands because he was more afraid of offending her than of a saint. The princess said: "To keep my honor and my reputation I am holding back what you most desire. After your great victory, we will take that sweet, delicious fruit of love which is plucked in matrimony, and you will wear the crown of the Empire of Greece." In a trembling voice, Tirant said: "I am so anxious to have what I desire most in the world that every hour I wait seems like a thousand years. I would like to change that future time to the present." The princess, with a kind face, quickly answered: "I cannot completely resist your entreaties without offending you. But shame and fear hold me back, telling me to keep myself from losing what I will never be able to recover. I beg you, let us leave this conversation so the emperor will not begin to wonder about me. You talk to Plaerdemavida, and whatever you decide I will agree to." They kissed many times without anyone seeing them, because the orange trees were between them and the emperor, and protected them from everyone's view. When they returned to the emperor, the princess saw him deep in thought and said to him: "My lord, what are you thinking about?" The emperor answered: "My daughter, I want to hold a celebration tomorrow in Tirant's honor. For every battle he has won on land and on sea, I want that many flags placed in our Church of Santa Sofia, and for every castle, villa and city he has conquered, I want that many standards placed around the high altar with Tirant's coat of arms. For he has brought this empire so many benefits, showing himself to be truly a lover of the public good and a conqueror of the world." The emperor sent for all those in his council and told them what he wanted, and they all praised him, saying it would be a very good thing to do. When they had made their calculations they found that in four and one half years he had conquered three hundred seventy-two villas, cities and castles. When the emperor held his council and Tirant found out that he was discussing these things, he did not want to be present, and he went to his chambers. On leaving the orchard, Tirant said to Hippolytus: "Tell Plaerdemavida to go out to the great hall. I have to talk to her." Hippolytus took the message, and she quickly went there. Tirant embraced her, and smiling, he took her hand. When they had sat down by a window he said: "I have been with Her Highness and we have exchanged many words of love, and she promised to do whatever you and I decided. I was to tell you all my concerns, and tonight I would speak with Her Majesty. We held hands and solemnly swore that as long as she and I should live I would be her servant, husband and lord, and I would have a resting place of perpetual glory and delight in her chambers, in her bed." Plaerdemavida listened to Tirant. She thought for a moment, and then said: "I was not born among the lower classes in Rome. My mother was born in that city, and my ancestors were noble citizens of Rome. Tirant, lord of the world, why did you speak to me so timidly? Is your grace unaware of what you have in me? My heart, my body, my will and all my thoughts have no other purpose in this world than to serve your grace. I won't say anything more to you because a knight who is waiting to go into battle shouldn't be worn out by words. But when the emperor is dining I'll go to your rooms and give you news that will please you very much." Then Tirant kissed her eyes and her face with great joy. He left her, and Plaerdemavida went back to the garden where she found the princess with the emperor. The emperor went into the upper chambers, and Plaerdemavida and the princess entertained themselves and decided what time Tirant should come. The princess told her everything that she had said and done with Tirant, and Plaerdemavida was very glad to see how happy her lady was. The hour arrived when the emperor was to dine, and Tirant did not forget to go to the palace quickly. He met Plaerdemavida coming down the stairs to his quarters. She told him how it was to be done, and what time he should come. Then they went back the way they had come. After everyone in the palace had retired and was asleep, the princess got up from her bed, and the only ones with her were Plaerdemavida and another named Lady Montblanc who knew all about the affair. The princess put on a dress that the emperor had ordered made for her wedding. Neither he nor anyone else had ever seen it, and it was the most beautiful dress anyone had ever seen at that time. Her gown was of crimson satin embroidered with pearls. Her mantle was lined with ermine, and on her head she wore a stunning imperial crown. Plaerdemavida and Lady Montblanc took lighted torches in their hands, and waited for Tirant to come. When the clock struck eleven (which was the hour that he was awaiting so anxiously), he quickly went to the garden gate. Climbing the stairs to the sitting room, he found Lady Montblanc with the lighted torch, and as soon as she saw him she knelt before him and said: "Of knights, the best, and the most beloved in the world by a beautiful lady." And Tirant replied: "Maiden, may your wishes be fulfilled." They both went up to the sitting room and waited there until Plaerdemavida came in, happier and more content than Paris was when he carried off Helen. They went into one chamber while the princess was coming in from another door, and they met very happily, and Tirant knelt on the ground, and she did likewise. They remained like this for some time. Then they kissed, and their kiss was so delicious that one could have walked a mile while they had their lips pressed together. Plaerdemavida saw the danger in their dilatoriness, and went up to them and said: "I declare you good and loyal lovers, but I will not leave this battlefield until you are lying in bed together. And I won't deem you a knight if you make peace before spilling blood." They stood up, and the princess took the crown from her head and placed it on Tirant's head. Then she fell to her knees and said: "Oh Lord God, Jesus Christ, all powerful and merciful, Who, having pity on mankind, came down from heaven to earth and took on human form in the virgin womb of the most Holy Virgin Mary, Your Mother and Our Lady, and Who died on the tree of the true cross to redeem the sins of mankind, and came back to life on the third day by Your own power, in a glorified body, true God and true man! May it please Your most Holy Majesty to allow my lord Tirant to possess this crown, with the title and reign over all the Empire of Greece, after the death of my father, inasmuch as Your divine goodness has granted him the grace to have retaken it and freed it from the infidel. And may this be done in honor, praise and glory of Your most Holy Majesty and of Your most Holy Mother, and for the benefit of the holy Catholic faith." When she had finished her prayer, the princess got up and took some scales that the emperor used for weighing gold coins, and she said: "My lord Tirant, good fortune has decided that on this day I will submit to your power of my own free will, and without my mother's and father's consent, or that of the people of Greece. Here I hold some scales of perfection: on the right side is love, honor and chastity; on the other side is shame, infamy and grief. Choose which of these pleases you most, Tirant." As one who always wished to serve honor, Tirant took the scale on the right hand side, and said: "Before I was given news of Your Majesty I had heard of your virtues, which as I now know would be too many to mention. For Your Highness practices virtue continually and has such great beauty that it is far greater than that of all other ladies in the world." Then, holding up the scale on the right, he said: "I place love and honor above the crown and the scale with all the firmness that it has. And I beg you dearly to speak no more of this. Rather, with true will, let our marriage take place." The princess answered: "You have embraced the scale of love and honor. Now I beg you to preserve my chastity, and for the present do not violate it. Otherwise, what will the emperor say, and my mother, and the entire country who think of me as a saint? What will they say of me? There will be no one who can trust Carmesina. And when you are gone away, if I am offended by anyone, who will I go to for help? A brother or a husband? And if I become with child, what counsel could I take?" Tirant could no longer withstand the tears of the princess, and, smiling, he replied: "My lady, I have been waiting so long to see you in your nightgown or completely naked on a bed. I don't want your crown or your kingdom. But give me all my rights which belong to me, as our Holy Mother Church commands with the following words: 'If a maiden gives herself in true matrimony, he who is able but does not have copulation after marriage is in mortal sin.' As for me, my lady, if you love my body you should love my soul too, and Your Majesty should not willfully cause me to sin. You know very well that if a man goes into battle while he's in mortal sin, God will not come to his aid." And as he was saying these words Tirant was not slow about removing her clothing: he unfastened her skirt while he kissed her again and again, saying: "Every hour that we're not in bed is like a year to me. Since God has given me such a treasure, I don't want to lose it." Plaerdemavida exclaimed: "Oh, my lord! Why wait until you are in bed? Do it on top of her clothes so that they can be a more certain witness. We'll close our eyes and say that we saw nothing. If you wait for Her Highness to take off her clothes you'll have to wait until morning. Afterward Our Heavenly Father could punish you as a knight unworthy of love. Heaven help you if you should fail at a time like this. Seeing that you were such a polite lover, Our Heavenly Father wouldn't want to give you a morsel like this again, nor would He have anything to give you. There's no man in the world who wouldn't swallow it, even if he knew for a certainty that he would choke to death." The princess answered: "Be quiet, you enemy of all goodness! I would never have thought, Plaerdemavida, that you could be so cruel. Up to today I've always thought of you as a mother or a sister, but now you are like a stepmother because of the reprehensible advice you're giving about me." At this point Tirant had finished removing her clothing, and he took her in his arms and placed her on the bed. When the princess saw herself in such a situation, and that Tirant, who had taken off his clothes, was at her side working with the artillery to penetrate the castle, she saw that she could not defend it by the strength of her arms. She thought that perhaps with feminine arms she could resist him, and with her eyes pouring forth tears she began to lament: "You are trying to keep me from loving you. You want to use your absolute power over me and make me very angry. Tirant, open the eyes of your understanding, and look at the misfortune that awaits you, and when you recognize it, give way to reason, and restrain your lustful appetite." The princess made all these and other laments with her eyes pouring forth tears. Tirant saw all the tears and the discreet words of his lady, and he decided to make her content that night and to follow her will. Although all night long the two lovers slept very little, but rather played and found amusement now near the head of the bed and now near its foot, caressing each other continually, both of them very content. When it was nearly daybreak and the people in the palace were beginning to stir, the princess said: "For my own satisfaction I would that the day had not come so quickly, and it would be my pleasure if this delight could last a year, or never end. Arise, Tirant, lord of the Empire of Greece, for tomorrow, or whenever it pleases you, you may return to the same place." Tirant got up very reluctantly, and said: "I shall do what you command, but I fear that my desire will never be satisfied, and my thoughts are very restless." So that no one should see or hear him, he left full of passion and anguish, kissing her wildly at the moment of their parting. When he was gone Plaerdemavida was so distraught that she could bear no more. The princess sent for her and had Lady Montblanc summoned, and both knew what had taken place between her and Tirant. "God help me!" said Plaerdemavida. "Your Highness had the pleasure and Tirant the delight, and I the sin. But it grieves me so much that there was no consummation that I feel I shall die from anger. Bring that skinny, spineless knight to me, and you'll see what I say to him! I shall never again do anything for him; instead I will try to stand in his way whenever I can." "In faith," said Lady Montblanc, "he has shown great virtue as the most valiant and courteous knight he is, for he has wished to forego his pleasure rather than anger my mistress." They spoke of this at length until it was bright daylight and the emperor sent word to the empress and to his daughter that all the ladies should dress in their finery, and then they should all come to the festivities being held for Tirant. He also sent word to all the knights and ladies of the city so that they would go to the palace. God knows well that in that instance the princess would have liked more to sleep than to leave her chambers. But for love of Tirant and so that the celebration could take place, she left her bed and dressed very beautifully, and they went out from the great hall where they found the emperor with all his retinue of nobles and knights and ladies of the city. When the procession was ready, they went through the city with the two hundred seventy-two flags in front, until they came to the church. Tirant went up to the princess, and she received him warmly, but she could only say: "Tirant, my lord, all that I have is yours." Tirant did not dare answer her because the empress and the others were near. The mass was begun with great solemnity. On administering the holy water they set up one flag; after confession another was put in place; then, at psalm or scripture reading they put up another one. Finally, when the mass was over, all the flags were in place. Tirant did not want to sit in his usual place, or even next to the emperor. Instead he went into a chapel with his Hours in his hand, and from there he could see the princess very well. In truth, Tirant said very few Hours at that mass. I could not tell you about the princess, but as long as the holy service lasted she did not take her eyes from Tirant. CHAPTER IX WIDOW REPOSE After the service was over and everyone had eaten, there was dancing in the square. While they were dancing the princess went to the palace, to her chamber, to change clothes, and she had them close the door. When she was in her tunic she went up to the treasure tower with two maidens. There the three of them weighed out a load of ducats. The princess gave them to Plaerdemavida to carry to Tirant's rooms. When she had dressed again she went back to where the emperor was. She went up to him and to Tirant who was nearby. She whispered in Tirant's ear so that the emperor would not hear: "Your hands have caressed me so much that there is no part of my body that does not remember your touch." Tirant answered: "It is very fortunate for me that my hands have learned something new." The emperor said: "What are you two talking about so secretly." "My lord," said the princess, "I was asking Tirant if there would be jousts at this celebration. He told me there would not, and that they were waiting to hold them against the Turks." "That is the best news I could possibly hear," said the emperor. "Do you feel well enough to be able to leave?" "Yes, by the Holy Virgin!" said Tirant. "When the celebration is over, I will take the doctors with me, and I'll be able to go." They spoke of other things until Plaerdemavida came and signaled from a distance. When the emperor began to talk to other people Tirant quietly went to Plaerdemavida to ask her what she wanted. She answered: "It is only logical that you've lost the prize of all your efforts so many times, my lord, with your neglect and lack of persistence. You don't deserve to be rewarded any further since you're satisfied with what you have, and you've lost it through your own fault. As far as I'm concerned, I don't want to be involved in your love affairs any longer. You don't need me--you need Widow Repose: she'll give you what you deserve. I'm not bound to do anything more for you: you are the most disloyal, unworthy knight who was ever born. And that you can't deny. If I were a knight, I would fight you. You were in bed with a maiden in your arms--the most beautiful, most pleasing, the worthiest lady who ever lived--and you shouldn't have left her just because she begged you to or because she shed tears. And if she went there a virgin, I saw her leave a virgin--to your shame and confusion. The great error you committed will hurt me all my life. There is no lady or maiden in the world who wouldn't consider you the lowest of men if she knew what you have done. I don't want to talk about this anymore: I've already said enough. I only want to tell you that when the emperor sits down to dinner, you'll have to be there. I've just now come from your chambers, and here's the key to your room. I beg you to go there quickly. I brought the keys so that no one could read what you'll find written there." Tirant took the keys, and wanted to reply to what Plaerdemavida had told him, but it was impossible because the emperor was telling him to come right away. When he was there the emperor told him that he was to sit alone at the table. The emperor, the empress, the princess, and all the maidens waited on him. And there was no knight or lady who dared approach to serve him, because they were all in their seats waiting to hear what an old knight who was very experienced in arms would say. He was a very eloquent and great reader who began to recite all the chivalresque deeds that Tirant had performed. The men and women forgot to eat as they listened to the great honors that Tirant had achieved up to that day. When Tirant had finished eating, the knight stopped reading-- and his recitation had lasted more than three hours. When evening arrived, the dinner was as abundant as the afternoon meal had been. After the dancing there were farces and short plays, as were required at such festivities. These festivities lasted almost the whole night through, and the emperor did not want to leave until dawn. The princess was never bored at the celebration because she could see and talk to Tirant. And Tirant barely dared to talk to the princess for fear of the emperor who was very near, but he told her quietly: "My lady, last night was certainly more enjoyable to me than tonight is." Plaerdemavida quickly interjected: "My lord, your words are fine, but not your actions." Then, when the emperor saw that dawn was breaking he got up and wanted everyone to go with him to escort Tirant to his chambers. Tirant thanked him for the great honor he was paying him, and he wanted to escort the emperor to his chambers, but the worthy lord would not permit it. When Tirant was in his chambers he thought that because Plaerdemavida was so unhappy with him she had probably written him some letter, but when he went into his room he saw a heap of gold on the floor. He was astonished at the princess's great virtue, and he thought more highly of her good will than he did of the gift. He had Hippolytus come, and ordered him to safeguard it. When it was time for mass all the lords went, and Tirant found no way to talk to the princess, to thank her for what she had sent him, until after dinner. After eating they told the emperor that since he had slept so little the night before he should go and rest, and that when it was time for the festivities they would all return. As the ladies went back to the palace Tirant drew near to the princess and told her: "I haven't the spirit to talk, nor can my tongue express all the words of love that befit the works of honor that Your Majesty bestows on me every day." She quickly replied, although she did not dare to speak much because the emperor was passing by. She only said to him: "You are my lord; I am in your power. Decide what you will do with me: make war or peace. If I don't help you, who are my lord, whom would I help? What I do now is little, if you consider what I plan to do. But if you want more, the doors to the treasure are open for you, and closed for anyone else." With Tirant again thanking her, they reached the emperor's chambers, and the emperor went inside with the ladies. Only Widow Repose remained outside. She stood at the head of the stairs, waiting for Tirant. With her feminine malice she was prepared to commit an unspeakable crime. When she saw Tirant she put on a sympathetic face, and with graceful gestures designed to make him love her, she said: "I'm not surprised that you want to conquer the world: you've already captivated me. With the pity I have for your grace, I want to help you. So, my lord Tirant, if you'd like to be in a certain secret place after two o'clock, you'll be able to see everything I've told you about." Tirant said that was agreeable to him, and that he would be ready. The Widow left Tirant at once. Behind the garden she and a very old woman had a house already prepared, and she had her furnish it nicely with a bed, as would befit Tirant. When the raging Widow saw that the time had come, she went looking for Tirant secretly, and she made him swear at length, and then disguise himself. Then they went to the old lady's chambers. In the chamber was a small window overlooking the garden, and through it a person could see everything that went on in the garden; but the window was very high, and only by climbing a ladder could you see out. The Widow brought two large mirrors, and put one at the window and the other one lower, in front of Tirant, facing the first mirror. And everything that appeared in the top one was reflected in the lower one. When the Widow had done this and had left Tirant in the room, she went quickly to the palace, and found the princess sleeping in her bed. The Widow said to her: "Get up, my lady. My lord, the emperor, sent me to tell you that the doctors want you to get out of your bed and not to sleep so long. After you stayed up so late last night, and having eaten lunch, if you sleep now with this warm weather it could endanger your health." She opened the windows of the chamber so that she would not sleep, and the princess permitted her to because of her father's tender words. When she was up she put on a brocade tunic with the top completely unbuttoned, no kerchief over her breast, and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Then the Widow said to her: "The doctors think it would be good for you to go down to the garden and see all the greenery, and we'll entertain ourselves there with some games so that your drowsiness will pass. I have a costume for the festival of Corpus Christi that looks like your gardener. Plaerdemavida likes these things very much and she will put it on, and will tell you her usual witty things." The princess went down to the garden with the Widow and two maidens while Tirant was watching the mirror carefully. He saw the princess coming with the maidens, and watched as they sat down near a small stream. The Widow had foreseen everything, and she had sent the black gardener to the city of Pera so that he would not be in the garden. The Widow helped dress Plaerdemavida, and put the mask on her that had been made to look exactly like the black gardener; and she went into the garden wearing his clothing. When Tirant saw her coming he thought that it was in fact the Moorish gardener, carrying a spade over his shoulder. He began to dig, and soon approached the princess. He sat at her side, and took her hands and kissed them. Then he put his hands on her breasts and touched her nipples, and made overtures of love. The princess broke into great peals of laughter, and all her weariness left her. Then he drew her even closer and put his hands under her skirts, while all the maidens laughed, as they listened to Plaerdemavida's amusing words. The Widow turned toward Tirant and twisted her hands as she spat on the ground, indicating the loathing and pain she felt for what the princess was doing. Imagine poor, miserable Tirant, who the day before had been so pleased at having won a lady of such high rank as his betrothed, the thing he desired most in the world, and then to see his misery, his affliction and his pain with his own eyes. And when he began to think, he wondered if the mirrors were reflecting a false image, and he broke them and looked inside to see if they contained something evil made by the art of necromancy, but he found nothing of the sort. He wanted to get up to the window to find out if he could see more, and to discover how those games would end, and he saw that there was no ladder, because the Widow had been afraid that he might do this and she had hidden it. Tirant, finding no other recourse, took the bench from in front of the bed and stood it up. Then, taking a cord that he cut from the curtains, he passed it over a beam and pulled himself up by it. He saw how the black gardener had taken the princess by the hand, and was leading her to a hut in the garden where he kept his gardening tools and a bed to sleep on. Plaerdemavida led her into that room, where they looked through everything, including the clothing which the black man kept in a chest. After a time the princess came out, as the Widow and a maiden were walking near the hut. When they saw her, the Widow went over to the maiden and gave her a scarf. To go ahead with the game and make everyone laugh, she said to her: "Put it under the princess's skirts." When she was in front of Her Highness, the maiden knelt on the ground as the Widow had instructed her, and put the rag under her skirts. And the princess' naivete played into the hands of the Widow's malice. When Tirant saw such a heinous thing, he was completely aghast, and with a voice full of anguish, he began to lament: "Oh, fortune, enemy of all who want to live upright in this world: Now, when I had achieved such a marriage, you have let me be dishonored by a man of the most vile condition and nature that could be found. Oh, princess, my lady! I would never have believed that in a maiden of such tender years there could be so little shame and boldness that you would commit such an abominable sin." At this moment Widow Repose came in. She had waited a short time at the door, and when she heard Tirant's lament, she said: "Now all the things I have begun are coming to pass." When she entered the room she saw that Tirant was in great anguish, his pillow full of tears, continuing his lamentations. She sat down near him to see if Tirant wanted to say anything to her, and ready to do whatever he said. When the Widow saw that Tirant was not changing his tone, she said to him: "That lover of all dishonesty won't leave her abominable life, no matter how much you beg or threaten her. Her only desire is to satisfy her lust. What can I do, poor me? With these breasts," and she pulled them out so that Tirant would see them, "I nursed that lady." She let them hang out like this for a good while, pretending that with her lamentations she had forgotten to cover them. Then she added: "Lord Tirant, take comfort from me. Oh, Almighty God, Holy Trinity! With great anguish in my soul, with great anger and many tears, I revealed those thoughts that ran through my mind almost every day. But at night, alone in my room, I would find myself drying my tearful eyes--with sackcloth so that I would feel the pain even more." Tirant quickly replied: "Your love, Widow Repose, can't be compared to mine, because yours is diminishing: It grows smaller and smaller, while mine is increasing. But I have more reason to grieve than any lover because in one day's time I have reached the highest peak of love that fortune could grant me, and the next day I have been the most confused and downtrodden lover in the entire world. My eyes have seen a black Moor easily possess what I have not been able to have by supplications or by all the dangers and hardships I have endured. A man as unlucky as I should not go on living, so that he will not have to trust any maid or maiden." He got up from the bed as though to leave, and the Widow said to him: "My lord, rest a while. There are many people outside, and I value my life so much that I would not want anyone to see you leaving. I'll go to the window and tell your grace when it is safe to go." Tirant went slowly back to the bed, never ceasing to ponder his grief. The Widow went into the room of the old mistress of the house and quickly took off her clothing and dressed in a perfumed blouse, and a skirt of black velvet. With her blouse completely unfastened she went into the bedchamber and lay down beside Tirant very boldly and shamelessly, and said: "If you knew the hardships my soul endures for love, you could not help but have pity on me. Where will you find greater affection than mine in any woman? It would be more to your glory to have me always in your chambers or in your tents, serving you in every way that I can, than to love a false maiden who is given over to a black captive Moor. Take me as a servant and as one who loves you more than her own life." "My lady," said Tirant, "please don't torment my sad soul. I can't give an answer to anything you've said. I can only tell you that I could not forget Her Majesty any more than I could renounce my faith." The Widow said: "Since you don't want to love me, at least let me lie next to you a while, completely naked." She quickly removed her tunic, which was already unfastened. When Tirant saw her in her chemise, he leapt out of bed, flung open the door, and went back to his quarters with great pain. And the Widow was left with no less. When Tirant was in his room his emotion was so great that he did not know what to do, and as he walked back and forth tears flowed from his eyes. And so he did nothing for three hours but pace, lie down and get up again. Then he left the room full of anger. As secretly as he could he went in disguise to the garden gate, and in the orchard he found the black gardener who had arrived only shortly before. He saw him in the doorway of his room, putting on a pair of red pants. When Tirant saw him, he looked around, and no one else was in sight. Then he seized him by the hair, pushed him into the room and cut off his head. He returned to his room without anyone seeing him, because everyone was in the square where the celebration was taking place. Tirant then said: "Oh, just and true God! You who correct our faults, I ask of you vengeance and not justice for this lady. Tell me, pitiless maiden, was my disposition less agreeable to your desires than this black gardener? If you had loved as I thought you did, you would still be mine. But you never did love me." Let us leave Tirant in his lament now, and return to the emperor who, with all the ladies, was getting ready for the celebration. At this moment a message arrived, telling him about an unfortunate event that had happened in the camp three days previously. The Duke of Macedonia and the Duke of Pera were captains of the camp, and they often went out to do battle against the Turks. But the Turks were afraid of all the water that the Christians released. They often fought, and many men from both sides died. But for every ten Christians who died, three hundred Turks died. The reason for this was that when the Turks came into the city of Saint George, the Christians released all the river waters, and from the canals the ground was like clay so that the horses could not get out of it, and the men on foot could not escape. But one day the Turks decided to come four thousand strong, armed with spades and baskets, and picks, vinegar and fire to cut through the mountain so that the water would spread down the dry river bed, and would leave them free. Further on, a league from where the Turks were, was a large section of a toppled wall where there was no one. All the Moorish soldiers went there at night. The foot soldiers stayed in that deserted place while those on horseback went into a forest half a league away so they would not be seen. In the morning the spies came and told the captains that the Turks had arrived. They held council, and they all agreed to mount and ride against the Turks. First they sent out scouts, who came back with the news that the enemy was going to try to cut through the mountain to control the water. The Christians went there. As soon as they arrived the foot soldiers began skirmishes that lasted a long time, so that many men from both sides died. Finally, when it was nearly noon, the Turks found themselves too tightly pressed, and they abandoned their tools and took flight. The Christians quickly went to the pass half a league away, and there was so much water there that they could not cross it except at great effort and danger. Then, when they did make their way across, the others were at a great advantage. At a gallop the Moors left all the foot soldiers behind, with about five thousand men following them until they took refuge in the unpopulated village. But it was too heavily populated for the Christians! When the Turks regrouped at the broken wall, the Duke of Macedonia said: "Gentlemen, I don't think we should go any further. We don't know what kind of an ambush may be in store for us: the enemy is always thinking of how they can do us the most harm." The Duke of Pera, who was the other captain, was very envious, and he said maliciously: "Duke of Macedonia, you have very little experience in arms, and here you are telling us about the danger we could run into. Turn back and flee: you would be better off with women in the city than here!" The Duke of Macedonia did not want to create discord among the men, and have them start fighting among themselves. So he tried to hold his tongue, but he could not restrain himself, and he answered: "Duke of Pera, you would be better off if you kept quiet. Who has been honored in battle? I, the Duke of Macedonia, am known as a conqueror, while the Duke of Pera is held in low esteem because of the battles he has engaged in." The other knights and grandees interrupted the argument, and made them stop. Some wanted to advance and others to retreat. But in the end they had to go on, because the Duke of Pera said: "Whoever wants to come with me or go back is free to do so." And he started out, so all the others felt they had to follow him. When they reached the deserted village, the Turks on top of the wall defended it bravely. There was a ditch there, and they had to dismount and fight with lances, because they had no other arms. While they were doing this, the forces of the sultan and the Turk came out, some through one gate and some through another, and they caught them in the middle. There was a great slaughter, and they captured many of them. I can say about this sad adventure that everyone who dismounted was killed or taken prisoner, and only one knight was able to escape. With this victory the Turks returned to the city of Bellpuig and put their captives in strong prisons. This news reached the emperor while he was in the hall waiting for the ladies to come so they could go to the square for the celebrations. The emperor, in the presence of all who were there, cried: "Oh, disconsolate widows, lament, tear out your hair, scratch your faces, dress in mourning! For the flower of chivalry has died, and it will never be recovered." The crying, the wailing, was so great in the palace that it soon spread throughout the city. And the festivities turned into mourning and lamentations. Then the emperor sent for Tirant to give him the sad news and show him the letters he had received. When the chamberlain came to Tirant's door, he heard him crying out: "Oh, poor me! Oh, cruel fortune! Why have you done these things to me? To think that that excellent lady would give herself to a black Moor, the enemy of our faith. Would that I had never seen such a thing--the woman I loved most in the world and hoped to serve. Oh, you wicked Widow! I wish I had never known you, for you will be the cause of my death and destruction!" The emperor's chamberlain heard him talking and crying, but he could not make out the words because the door was closed. But to do the emperor's bidding, he called out: "Oh, captain! The emperor is calling you and wishes to see you." When the chamberlain returned to the emperor, he said: "Sire, your captain already knows about the terrible things that have happened. I heard him grieving piteously!" The captain came to the chamber and saw the princess lying on the ground with the doctors gathered around her. When he saw her like this, he could not help but exclaim, "Why are you allowing this lady to die without helping her? Even though her guilt cannot be excused, I still pray God that she will live longer than I." The doctors didn't understand him, and thought he was bewailing the bad news. And Tirant thought everyone was crying because of the princess. Then he turned and saw the empress who had torn all the veils from her head. At another side he saw the emperor sitting on the floor, still as a statue. He had the letters in his hand, and motioned Tirant over and gave them to him. When Tirant read them, he said: "It's worse than I thought." Then he began to console the emperor. At this moment the princess regained consciousness. She opened her eyes, and begged Tirant to come to her. The princess made him sit next to her and said: "Oh, my last hope! If you truly love me, don't let your life and mine be taken from this world until the day that all the dukes, counts and marquis are recovered who have been killed or placed in cruel prisons." While she was speaking, two men who had fled the camp came in, and she could say no more, nor could Tirant answer. They told them in detail about the destruction, and about the terrible argument between the Duke of Macedonia and the Duke of Pera, and how five thousand knights had been killed or taken prisoner. The emperor, his eyes brimming with tears and barely able to speak, began to lament: "Oh, unlucky captains! You, more willful than wise, have ignored my counsel. Find comfort in a cruel prison, thinking that you will never again see your emperor, for your actions have not been well thought out." The emperor got up from his seat, and went into a chamber, tears springing from his eyes, his head in his hands. When the princess saw how he was grieving, she lost consciousness. The wisest doctor of them all said: "I have little hope for this lady's life. She has fainted three times and now I cannot feel her pulse." When Tirant heard the doctor say these words, he quickly said: "Oh, cruel death! Wouldn't it be better and more just for you to come to me first, instead of letting me see her die? Even though she has deeply hurt me, I want to keep her company." And with extreme grief he fell to the ground and all the weight of his body fell on the leg which had been broken, and it broke again, and was even worse than before. Blood came out of his nose and his ears, and especially from his leg, and it was a wonder that he did not lose his life. They quickly went to tell the emperor, and he said: "It is not at all surprising, for of all his relatives there is not one left who is not dead or being held prisoner. But this is my consolation, because to get his relatives and friends out of prison he will perform admirable feats." The emperor began to go to Tirant when he saw his daughter lying half dead. And he said: "God help me, I don't know which of them to help first." But he had his daughter lifted up and placed in her bed, and then Tirant was put in a beautiful room. They quickly removed his clothing and treated his leg, straightening it a little. And he was completely unaware of everything they did for him, because he was unconscious for thirty-six hours. When he regained consciousness, he asked who had brought him there, and Hippolytus told him: "What, my lord! Don't you know what a great fright you brought us? You've been unconscious for two days, and haven't had anything to eat. Your body can't hold up that way, so please take what the doctors order you to have." "I don't want anything that will bring my health back," said Tirant. "I want only death." They quickly went to tell the emperor, and the princess overheard, for she had now regained consciousness. Then Tirant said: "Tell me how the princess is." Hippolytus answered: "Very well, my lord. She's recovered now." "I'm sure she is," said Tirant. "Her illness could not be great. A few days ago she had things she wanted a great deal, but now I don't think she will brag much about them. She's not the first to do this, nor will she be the last. I know very well that she's not made of iron. Oh, how painful it is for a man not to be able to share his grief." At this moment the emperor came in, followed by all the ladies with the empress, and they all asked him how he was. But he did not want to answer anyone. They were all astonished that he had not answered the greetings of the emperor or the ladies, and continuing to show his grief he began to lament: "Oh, Son of God, all powerful Jesus. I am dying of love, and You wished to die for love, to free mankind. You suffered so much pain, lashings, wounds and torments, and my pain was the sight of a black Moor. Outside of You, Lord, who can compare with my love? Lord, Your Holy Mother, and Our Lady, suffered great pain at the foot of the cross, and I stood with a cord in my hand, with two mirrors that represented, Lord, the greatest pain that any Christian has ever endured." The emperor and all the ladies were in the room, along with the cardinal and many other clergymen, and they were all astonished at the pious words they heard Tirant saying. Then Tirant lowered his head, and began to lament again, because death was calling him. The doctors ordered many things for him, but they did not help. Hearing of his illness, an old Jewess came to the emperor, and very boldly said: "Your Majesty sees that Tirant's life is near its end, all the doctors have given up hope, and I am the only one who can help him. Call the soldiers together, and have them start shouting and go into his chambers and beat their swords against their shields. When he wakes up and sees so many armed men and hears them shouting, and he asks what is happening, you can tell him the Turks are at the gates of the city. Then all those thoughts of his will disappear, and with that virtue he has and out of fear of being shamed, he will get up." The emperor sent for his doctors and his wise men and explained what the Jewess had advised. They all agreed that it would be worth trying. The shouting and the uproar were so loud in the city that Tirant heard it even before they came into his chamber. The Jewess, who stood at the head of the bed, told him: "Get up, my captain. Don't be afraid of death. Here are your enemies, the Turks, at the gates to the city, and they're coming to take revenge on you." When Tirant heard the old lady saying this, he said: "Is it true that the Turks are so close?" "They're even closer than you think," said the Jewess. "Get up. Go to the window, and you'll see what they plan to do to you." Tirant immediately called for his clothes, and he had his leg bound with towels. Then he put his armor on as best he could and mounted his horse, along with many other men. He was so ready and willing to fight that his illness went almost entirely away. The emperor and the doctor who were there told him to take some restoratives, and that would make him better able to do battle. He did everything they advised him, and then he realized that it had all been contrived to help him get over his illness. Tirant said: "Praise be to God: a woman has delivered me from the arms of death, for another woman had killed me." With all the noise the soldiers raised, the princess ran to her mother's chamber. They saw the emperor coming back with Tirant, and all the ladies looked out the windows to see what had happened. When Tirant was in front of the princess's window he lifted his head and put both hands over his face. The empress asked her daughter why Tirant had covered his face, because the only reason that was ever done was when a love affair had gone wrong. The princess answered that she didn't have any idea. After they had gone by and were at the palace door, the emperor dismounted, and Tirant begged his leave to go to his lodging. The emperor did everything he could to make Tirant dismount, telling him he would be given everything he needed in the palace, but Tirant insisted on leaving. The princess wondered why Tirant did not want to stay in the palace despite all the emperor's pleas, for he had wanted to many times before. She also wondered why he had covered his face. When Tirant reached his lodging, he immediately went to his room and called Lord Agramunt and Hippolytus. He begged them to arm and provision ten galley ships. They said they would, and leaving Tirant, they stocked the galleys. After Tirant had eaten, he arranged everything for his departure. He ordered all his men to go by land to the castle of Malvei, and said he would go by sea and they would meet there. When it was evening and the doctors had left, they told the emperor that Tirant was all right. When it was nearly the hour for prayer, the princess, upset that she did not see Tirant, asked Plaerdemavida and Lady Montblanc to go to Tirant's lodging to find out what was wrong. As the maidens were coming, one of Tirant's pages saw them and quickly went into Tirant's chambers and said: "Cheer up, my lord, two gallant ladies are coming with a message from the princess." "Go right away," said Tirant, "and tell them I am all right but that I'm sleeping." The page did what he was told, for Tirant did not want to see them. When the maidens returned to the palace with the reply, the princess insisted so much that her mother and the emperor went to Tirant's lodging, and when Tirant heard that the emperor was coming he gave two pages instructions about what to do. When the emperor was at the door to his chamber, the more clever of the pages said: "Your Majesty should not come into the chamber because of the captain's sickness. He has not rested for so many days that he is catching up on all the rest he needs now. He is nearly drenched with sweat, and it would be good for a doctor to come in without awakening him." Tirant quickly got into bed, and he moistened his face with a wet cloth and pretended to be asleep. The doctor came in, and when he left again he told the emperor: "My lord, it would be very harmful for us to awaken him now. Why doesn't Your Highness go now. Tomorrow morning you can come back and visit him." The princess could not take it calmly when she was not able to see Tirant, but she had to return with the emperor. When Tirant knew that they had all gone, he quickly got up and had all his clothing gathered and taken to the galley. At midnight he secretly went on board, and he would have liked to cast anchor then, but the ship was not ready. In the morning, when the sun came up, the emperor heard the galley trumpets giving the signal for the men to go on board. Tirant sent Lord Agramunt to the emperor as his courier, and when he was before him he gave him the following message: "Your captain has gone on board one of the galleys, and has ordered the ships to go to the port of Transimeno. He will go by ship to the castle of Malvei while the soldiers go there by land. I have been sent here to tell Your Highness about his decision to leave." The emperor answered: "Knight, I am very happy to have this good news, and I give many thanks to Divine Goodness for bringing health to our captain so that he can leave. This is what I wanted most in the world after the salvation of my soul." Lord Agramunt kissed his hand and begged his leave. Then he went to the empress's chamber and bade her farewell, and did the same to the princess. When the empress saw that Hippolytus would have to go, and the princess saw that Tirant was leaving, they shed bitter tears, especially the princess because Tirant was going without a word to her. They quickly went to the emperor's chamber to see if it was true that they were leaving, and the emperor told them everything. The princess urged the emperor to go to the water's edge so that she could go along, and the empress did not dally. The emperor reached the sea before they did, and he went on board the ship, begging Tirant to do everything he could for the empire. Tirant spoke to him very kindly, and said he would do everything he could, and the emperor felt very relieved. All the soldiers advised the emperor to go back on land quickly because a black cloud with thunder and lightning was coming their way. So the emperor went on land. The princess was sorry that she had not been there when her father went on the galley so that she could have gone too and talked with Tirant. By now the sea was so choppy that the women were not allowed on board, nor would her father have given his permission. The princess, sighing deeply, and with tears streaming from her eyes, had no recourse other than to beg Plaerdemavida to go on board the galley and find out why Tirant had left so secretly, without saying anything to her, and why he had placed his hands over his face as he passed by, and also why he had not wanted to stay in the palace--which he had wanted to do so many times before. Plaerdemavida understood exactly what her lady wanted, and she got on a boat with Hippolytus and some others who were with him. The pain that the empress felt as she saw Hippolytus going on board the galley cannot be described. When Plaerdemavida was on board, Tirant paid no attention to her. But she insisted, and said to him: "Oh, cruel knight! Who has turned your thoughts? To leave such a virtuous lady, who has more dignity and virtue than anyone in the world, without so much as telling her goodbye! If you want her life to be sad and to hasten her death, don't go back on land, and don't look at her. But if you want to restore her bitter life, let her see your lordship for a short time." When she had said this she could no longer hold back her tears, and she wrapped her cloak around herself, and moaned softly but would say no more. Tirant wanted to reply to what Plaerdemavida had told him, and very softly so that no one could hear him he said: "Her beauty and discretion so far surpasses all the others that only a madman could compare anyone else with her. But I saw this lady with the black gardener, Lauseta, and she was not thinking of me at all. First I saw them kissing, and I was offended by the sight. Then I was even more shocked when I saw them embracing like lovers and going into a chamber. When they came back out Widow Repose knelt down at her feet and put a silk scarf high under her skirt. Painful thoughts attacked my mind when I saw how he treated her. I don't know why I didn't kill someone right then, but the wall was in my way. But I could not take the terrible jealousy of the black gardener out of my mind, and I cut through his neck with my sword. Still the pain kept increasing so much that I was beside myself, and I went into my chamber, pretending to be terribly tired so I would be left alone. And now I want to be in the sea; I want my body to float, unburied, on the waves until it reaches the princess, so that she can dress me in my shroud with her delicate hands." Then he would say no more. When Plaerdemavida heard what was bothering Tirant and that the black gardener had been killed, and no one would know who did it unless she told them, she was very agitated. Still she forced herself to smile, and with Hippolytus there, she said: "Even if you did see it, it was all a game to cheer up the princess. Widow Repose got some costumes from the plays for the Corpus Christi festivals, and I dressed up like our gardener." And she told him everything that had happened. Tirant was astonished by it all, and said he could not believe it. The maiden laughed, and said: "My lord, the best thing would be for me to stay here while Hippolytus goes to my room. Under my bed he will find all the clothing of the black gardener. And if I'm not telling the truth, you can throw me into the ocean." Tirant told Hippolytus to take the keys and go, and to come back quickly because the sea was very choppy. Hippolytus did what Tirant commanded. When he came back with the clothing, the ocean swells were so high that Hippolytus could not board the galley, and Plaerdemavida could not go back on land. They threw a rope to the ship and tied the clothing of the black gardener to it so that it could be pulled up to the galley. When Tirant saw the mask and the clothing, he saw all the wickedness of Widow Repose. He then swore in everyone's presence that if he could go on land just then, he would have her burned before the emperor, or he would do to her what he had done with the black man. Then Tirant begged Plaerdemavida to forgive the bad thoughts he had had about the princess, and about her, and when she was with Her Highness to beg her forgiveness. Plaerdemavida agreed, very graciously. Suddenly the sea became so stormy that the people who saw the boat Hippolytus was on, began to pray that it would not sink. It headed back to land, and the men on it were drenched while the boat was half-filled with water. The wind and rain were so strong and the waves were so high that the galley's ropes broke, and they were swept out to sea. Two of the galleys remained there; the people on them were saved, but the ships were lost. The three galleys that found themselves in the middle of the tempestuous sea had their masts broken and their sails torn apart. A gust of wind threw one of the galleys into a small island, and its men took refuge there. Tirant's galley and the other one were leeward. They could not make it to the island, and Tirant's galley found itself with its rudder smashed. The other galley was nearby, and it split apart. The men on board fell into the bitter sea, and all of them drown. Tirant's galley continued toward Barbary, and the sailors lost their bearings and did not know what seas they were in, and they lamented loudly. Tirant heard the great cries the sailors were making, and he saw the galley's boatswain, who was the best of all the sailors, commending his soul to God because a tackle-block had fallen on his head. A galley slave got up and went to Tirant, and with a great effort he said: "My lord, order the men to bale out the water in the galley. Here is your staff of authority. Hold it in your hand and run through the galley: the boatswain is dead, and all the men see that they are very near death, and are fainting. Do everything you can to make them bale, because if we can get beyond the cape, we can save our lives. It is better for us to be captives of the Moors than to die." Tirant lifted his head, and said: "What seas are we in?" "My lord," said the galley-slave, as he pointed, "those are the seas of Sicily, and these are the seas of Tunis. And because you are a virtuous man I'm sorrier for you than I am for myself. It is Fortune's will that we shall perish on this Barbary Coast, and in a case like this every man should beg forgiveness of the others." Tirant quickly got up, although the dreadful sea was crashing about him so that he was barely able to stand. Then he brought out the best clothing he had, and he dressed in it. He took a sack containing a thousand ducats, and put a note inside that said: "I beg whomsoever should find my body to give it an honorable burial. I am Tirant lo Blanc from Brittany, and of that singular lineage of Roca Salada, High Captain of the Greek Empire." By now it was already past noon, and the further the galley went the more water it took on. The cries increased and death drew near. As they were near land the Moors saw the galley approaching, and they realized that it would run aground just where they wanted it, while the Christians knew that they could not escape death or being captured. The galley came close to land, and all the men threw themselves into the sea to save their lives. By this time it was nearly dark of night. When Tirant saw the sailors jumping overboard he decided not to leave the ship, no matter what might happen. And by then there was no boat, rope or oar that had not been lost. Tirant begged two sailors, faithful friends of his who had come on the ship with him when it was stocked in Brittany, to take care of the maiden. They took off all her clothes, and by this time nearly all the galley was underwater. Taking up a corkwood plank, the sailor tied it across her breasts while the other man helped her stand up. The sea sent a wave crashing into Plaerdemavida and the sailors, and hurled them about. The man carrying the plank drowned in order to save her. The other sailor helped the maiden as long as he could, and finally was forced to abandon her. It was her good fortune to find herself near land at night, and she could hear the loud noise the Moors were making as they captured the Christians. The maiden's feet touched bottom, and since she was all alone she stopped and decided not to go ashore. Instead she went closer to land so that she would not be in such deep water, but waves sometimes came crashing over her head. As she walked through the water close to shore, she moved away from the shouts, afraid that she would be killed. For she saw that the Moors were killing each other as each one tried to capture the most prisoners. And when lightning flashed, she could see the reflection of swords near the sea. She continued to walk in the water, completely naked, following the shoreline, and whenever she heard anyone she would duck underwater, and stay there until they were gone. CHAPTER X THE BARBARY COAST Poor Plaerdemavida, raw naked, continually called on Our Lady, the Mother of God, imploring her to bring her some good person who would help her. She continued to walk nearly half a league until she came upon some fishing boats. She went into a hut and found two sheepskins, and she tied them together with a thin string and put them on, one in front and one in back, and in this way she found some protection from the cold. Then she lay down to sleep a little while, for she was completely fatigued by her travails in the ocean. When she awoke, finding herself alone, she began to weep and lament, tears streaming from her eyes, which did harm to her eyes and her voice, making her so hoarse that she could barely speak. Then, with timorous steps, she began to search out the roads of cruel fortune. Dawn began to break and she heard a Moor coming along, singing. She hid near the road so that he would not see her, and when he had passed she saw his pure white beard and thought that perhaps this old Moor would give her counsel. So she approached the old Moor and told him all about her misfortune. The Moor was moved to compassion when he saw the maiden who was young and nice looking, and he said to her: "Maiden, I want you to know that long ago I was a captive of Christians in Spain, in a place called Cadiz. The lady who held me captive was pleased with the services I performed for her. It happened that she had a son whose enemies came to kill him. And if it had not been for me, they would have done it, because I lifted my lady's son from the ground, and with a sword in my hand I wounded two of them and made the others flee. Because of this, my lady gave me liberty. She provided me with new clothing, and gave me money for my journey, and as I wished, she had me taken to Granada. And because of the kindness that lady showed me, you will have a place at my side. I have a daughter who is widowed, and she will take you in with all the tenderness of a sister." Plaerdemavida immediately knelt on the ground and gave him many thanks. The Moor removed his cloak and gave it to Plaerdemavida, and the two of them went to a place near Tunis, called Rafal. When the Moor's daughter saw the maiden, so young and helpless, she felt great compassion. Her father begged her to be the best companion to her that she could, and he told her: "I want you to know, my daughter, that this girl is the daughter of that lady who gave me my freedom, and I want to repay my debt with this maiden." Because of the great love she had for him, his daughter took in the poor maiden with deep affection. She gave her a blouse and a Moorish garment with a head-dress. And anyone seeing her would think she was Moorish. Let us return now to Tirant who, shortly after Plaerdemavida was swept overboard with the two sailors in whose care Tirant had placed her, stayed with a sailor until the galley was completely filled with water and was going down. Then Tirant decided to jump into the sea with the sailor, and with the sailor's help he would be able to reach shore. Nevertheless, Tirant never thought he would be able to avoid death, because when the Moors learned that he was Tirant, the captain of the Greeks, who had done so much damage to the Turks, they would not leave him alive for all the treasure in the world. But with the aid of Divine Providence and the sailor, they made it to shore, for it was now night, and completely dark. Crawling quietly on their hands and knees, they drew away from the sounds of the Moors. When they had gone some distance, they no longer heard any people, and they went inland, away from the sea, and they came upon a vineyard that at that time was full of grapes. The sailor said: "My lord, for God's sake, let's stop here in this delicious vineyard, and we can take a look at the land, and tomorrow we can stay here all day long. Then tomorrow night, we can go wherever your lordship commands, for I will not leave you in death or in life." Tirant gave in to his entreaties. When their stomachs were full of grapes they saw a cave and went inside to sleep, naked as they were. When they awoke they felt very cold. They got up, and to get warm they carried rocks from one place to another. When the sun came out, Tirant's legs ached terribly. It happened then that the King of Tremicen was sending as his ambassador to the King of Tunis his best and most trusted knight. He was the captain-general of all his land, and everyone called him the commander of commanders. This ambassador had been there more than three months, and he and his men had been given lodging in a place that was lovely and abundant with animals to hunt. It so happened that that morning he went out for sport with falcons and greyhounds. While hunting, they pursued a hare which was very tired of running after being chased by dogs and falcons, and since it could find no other place to run, it went inside the cave where Tirant was. One of the hunters saw it go in, and he dismounted at the entrance to the cave and saw Tirant stretched out on the ground inside, with no desire to budge. The sailor helped him catch the hare. Then the hunter went directly out to the captain, and told him: "Sir, come with me. Inside a small cave there is a man whose body must be the most perfect nature has every formed. But, unless my eyes deceive me, he has been hurt badly, and he seems more dead than alive." The ambassador went toward the cave, When the sailor saw so many men coming, he left Tirant without saying a word, and fled very quietly, and the Moors did not see him. When the ambassador reached the cave, he stood looking at Tirant for a long while, and feeling pity for him, he said: "By our holy prophet, Mohammed, who has plucked you from such grave danger and has brought you into my hands: since nature has formed your body with such singularity, I am sure that He has given you many virtues. I have three sons, and you will be the fourth." He called his second son and told him: "Look on this man as your brother." Then he said to Tirant: "If you want to please me, tell me what brought you here. At the moment I am engaged in an undertaking for my eldest son. They are trying to take his betrothed from him, and I will not allow it, for she is a very virtuous maiden, and the daughter of King Tremicen. If Mohammed gives me success in this dangerous undertaking, do not worry about your loss, no matter how great it may be, for I will make you wealthy as soon as I return to my home." Tirant stood and replied: "Your Lordship, I am a gentleman, although I am not a prince or lord. As a young man I went to seek my fortune in the Levant. There I heard and believed the false and diabolical words of a widow. She had me enter an orchard at mid-day, and there she made me witness the most evil sight I would ever behold. I felt such unbearable suffering that with my own hands I took vengeance on the greatest enemy of my life. Then I boarded a ship and went to the Holy Land of Jerusalem to make amends for my sins. Sailing on a galley from there, you can see my misfortune. Saved by Divine Mercy from the stormy sea, I now beg your lordship's help." The ambassador said: "Take comfort. I have a great deal of land and am very wealthy. As soon as we get to my home, you will have everything you wish." His son then took off his jubbah and gave it to him. And they had him sit behind the son on the horse, and took him to their village, where he was dressed in fine clothing of the Moorish style. When Tirant found himself dressed so finely, and he had heard the kind words of the commander, he felt very comforted. They wanted to travel by night, and the sky was blue and the moon full and it lit up everything very clearly; so when the wind died down they started off. But the first step Tirant took as he left the house, he fell flat on the ground, his arms outstretched. Then all the Moors said: "This is a very bad sign. Since this Christian has fallen with his arms out to the sides, his life will not last long." Tirant got up quickly, and hearing what the Moors were saying, he said: "Your interpretation of this is wrong. I am called Blanc or White. And the moon is clear, white and beautiful at this moment when I fell. And the moon was straight over my head and arms, and it was pointing to the road that I have to take, while my hands were open and stretching out to the moon. And this shows that I, with Divine Power, must conquer all of Barbary." Then all the Moors burst out laughing, and they took it as a joke and proceeded on their way, and finally they came to a castle. Now the ambassador's son (the one betrothed to the King of Tremicen's daughter) was away; hearing that his father had sent him a very good Christian prisoner, he ordered them to put Tirant in chains. After two months the ambassador received the reply from the King of Tunis and returned to the King of Tremicen whom he found disconsolate. It happened that King Escariano's land was on the border of the kingdom of Tremicen, and he wanted the King of Tremicen to give him his daughter as a wife along with all his wealth, and after his death he wanted his kingdom. King Escariano was a very strong figure: He was completely black, and a giant compared to other men. A very powerful king, he had many men and a great deal of wealth. King Tremicen was weak in spirit, and he had sent word to King Escariano that his daughter was already betrothed to the son of his head commander. Furthermore, she was with child, and he felt that he would not want to raise another man's child in his house. However, if he was doing this only for his treasure, he was prepared to divide that with him if he would leave him and his sons in peace. Finally, they could not come to an agreement, and King Escariano had marched against him with all his forces: fifty-five thousand strong, on horseback and on foot. Now this King of Tremicen had only about twenty thousand warriors. Knowing that the other king was near and was coming still closer, he took up position in the mountains and waited for him. King Escariano came to a river, and as they forded it he lost many men. But once across, they went up the mountains and found the King of Tremicen at the highest part, and they besieged him in a beautiful valley. In this valley were three castles with large villas and very strong fortresses. This was where the King of Tremicen lived with his wife and sons. Two castles were on one side of the river, and one was on the other side, linked together by a huge stone bridge. King Escariano attacked one castle repeatedly, and finally took it. The King of Tremicen was in another castle that was much stronger, but he felt that all was lost. The commander had fled from the battle and came to his own castle where Tirant was. There he told his son: "You would be better off dying than to see your beloved who is of royal blood taken from you. Go to your lord and serve him as a good knight." The son agreed, and rode off to the castle where he heard and saw the battle. Then, very happily, he and fifteen of his horsemen, went into the castle where the king was. The commander of commanders had fled out of fear, and he went into the castle where Tirant was being held. After he had dismounted, he asked his son about the Christian prisoner. When he was told that Tirant was in a prison cell and being carefully guarded, the commander became very angry. He remembered what Tirant had said as he left and fell on the ground: that he would conquer all of Barbary. He had thought about those words many times, and he also considered that since Tirant was a Christian he must be skillful at arms. He went in to see him. Realizing that Tirant had more than enough reason to be angry with him, he smiled and said: "I beg you, valiant Christian, not to be angry if my son has treated you badly. I swear to you by the prophet Mohammed that it was not done by my command or consent. Instead, it was my intention to look on you as a son. I am hopeful that you will be able to help me. And don't be surprised if I make a request of you on behalf of my lord, even though you are a fugitive from battle. From your scars, I am sure that you, Christian, must know a great deal about weapons, and you must have been in many wars." Tirant replied: "I won't hide my past from you. In Spain I practiced the noble tradition of arms, and I can advise you and help you as much as anyone, and I will be one of the first to go into combat. Forgive me for praising myself, but my works will be their own best witness. If this king has your king under siege you should not be surprised, for that is the way with kings. If you are afraid that the bombards will demolish the castle, I will destroy every one they have." The commander was very pleased with what Tirant told him, and helped him get ready to leave. He insisted that Tirant take whatever materials he needed to destroy the bombards, and he also gave Tirant the best horse he had, and weapons, and plenty of money. Tirant bought some very old whale bile, and then he took quicksilver, saltpeter, Roman sulfate and other materials, and mixed them together to make an unguent, and he put it in a box. Then they left the castle as secretly as they could, crossed the river, and at night took refuge in the other castle. Now this castle was about one fourth a league from the one where the king was. When Tirant reconnoitered the land, he saw a stone bridge going across the river, and the enemy was positioned in the middle of the large orchard, so that no one dared cross over the bridge for fear of falling into the hands of the enemy. Then Tirant told the commander to give him a Moor who would not be recognized and who could be trusted, and to deliver two hundred sheep to the Moor, and they were brought immediately. Tirant then dressed in a shepherd's cloak, as though he were the Moor's servant. King Escariano knew that none of his adversaries could hurt him, and he had thirty-seven bombards, large and small, firing continually, three times a day; and they had already knocked down half the castle. The Moor and Tirant went up a good league toward the bridge with their sheep, and they came right into the encampment. They asked a great deal more for each sheep than it was worth so that they would not sell them quickly. They stayed there three days, leading the sheep close to the bombards. Tirant, under the pretext that he was simply looking, went near them, and spreading some of the unguent he had prepared over his hand, he put it on every one of the bombards. The unguent was made up of such ingredients that whatever metal it came into contact with would, in the space of three hours, turn to rust. So as soon as it was fired, any bombard or crossbow would break apart. The following day, when they fired on the castle, all the bombards broke apart, and not one of them was left intact. King Escariano was very surprised at this, and he took it as a bad sign. Tirant and the Moor went back to the castle where the commander was. Then Tirant ordered them to destroy one of the arches on the bridge, and there they put up a wooden drawbridge, with iron chains to raise and lower it. When that was done huge beams were placed on that part of the bridge and there they put up a palisade. When that was ready, Tirant armed himself well and mounted a good steed, and with a good lance in his hand he rode right into the enemy's camp, and he found five Moors enjoying the sun. Tirant rode toward them. The Moors were unconcerned, seeing that he was coming alone, and they thought it was someone from their own camp. And Tirant killed all five of them with his lance. There was a great outcry, and the entire camp rushed into action: they armed themselves and mounted their horses. Tirant concerned himself only with killing anyone in his path. When he saw that the men were armed and on horseback, and that they were coming against him, he retreated to the palisade while using his weapons continuously. Once he was in the palisade, he quickly dismounted, and the Moors came up to him. The men in the castle came down to help Tirant, and there was a great skirmish where many men died. The men from the enemy camp pressed on so forcefully that Tirant had to retreat, and they lifted the drawbridge for fear of the Moors. Then the Moors broke apart the palisade, and Tirant had it built again during the night. And so, every day, at all hours, they fought and many men from both sides were dying continually. One day Tirant said to the commander: "My lord, would you like me to rescue your king from the castle and bring him here to you, or to some other place where he will be safe?" The commander answered: "If you could do that for me, and bring my Moorish maiden and her betrothed to me, I would make you the lord of everything I own. And even if you forgot about the king, that would not matter a great deal to me." "Then, my lord," said Tirant, "have two horses prepared, and bring a page whose face is well known. Have them go under that pine tree a half league from here with someone who can guide them." It was quickly done. When day broke bright and clear, Tirant mounted his horse and with one hundred armed men he rode out of their stockade. The other camp saw them and rode toward them. The battle between the two forces was fierce, and that day almost no one was left behind in the enemy camp. Then Tirant said to the commander: "My lord, you stay here and show your face while I go where I have to." He dug in his spurs and galloped to where the page was waiting for him. When he got there his horse was spent. He dismounted, gave it to the Moor, and took the fresh one that he had. Then he and the page left, going through the orchard as cautiously as they could so that no one would see them. And he made the page go first because the people in the castle did not know Tirant. Finally they came so close that the betrothed recognized the page, his younger brother, and told the men not to fire. When they were inside the castle the king came out to the hall to see him and to pay him honor. "My lord," said Tirant, "you and your daughter mount our horses immediately. I'll take you to safety." The king took the page's horse, and had the betrothed climb on its back; Tirant had the maiden climb on the back of his own horse. Then they raced out of the castle, galloping all the way, until they were a league from camp. When night fell on them, they rode more quickly. The king knew the terrain very well, and he went directly toward his strongest city: Tremicen. When they reached the city of Tremicen there was great rejoicing because the people had recovered their king. The king had a fine room arranged for Tirant where he was well served. While he stayed there the king presented him with many gifts, and all the Moorish knights and others came to see him, and everyone was impressed with his agreeable manner. One day Tirant came to the palace to ask the king's permission to go back to his lord, the commander, because he had given his word that he would return. The king answered: "Virtuous Christian, do not leave me, I beg you. I've sent for your lord, the commander, and he will be here in ten days. Help me prepare the city, and I promise to ransom you and give you your freedom." Tirant kissed the king's hands and feet, and said: "My lord, I give you my word as a Christian that I will not leave you until I have killed King Escariano, or taken him prisoner, or until I've made him flee from your kingdom." The king's daughter, seeing the beautiful disposition of Tirant and the virtuous acts he had done for the king, her father, and for her, and the praises that were bestowed upon him in everyone's presence, wished that God would do her the favor of having her betrothed die so that she could take Tirant for her husband. After a few days had gone by, the commander of commanders came, and he was very happy when he learned that his son, and the king and his daughter, were out of that very grave danger. After bowing to the king, he praised Tirant highly. The king spoke to the commander, asking him to give Tirant his freedom. When it was done, Tirant kissed the king's hands and feet, and said: "Sir, I swear to you as a Christian that I will not leave Your Grace until I have killed King Escariano or taken him prisoner, or made him leave all your lands." The king and the others were very content. When King Escariano learned that the King of Tremicen had escaped, his surprise turned to anger, and he set out to conquer the entire kingdom. And with his great power there were no cities, villas or castles that did not fall to him. Hearing of this, the King of Tremicen often called his council together, and they reenforced the city, and gathered enough food to last them five years. One day, during the council, Tirant said to the king: "Sir, do this for me: let me go as an ambassador to see King Escariano, and I'll find out what sort of situation his men are in, and if we can somehow rout them." They all praised his advice, but most of the council were afraid he would cross over to the enemy camp, as many others had done. Tirant got things ready, and with many men he went directly to King Escariano. When he was in the king's presence, he explained his mission: "The King of Tremicen has sent me here because on several occasions he has heard people speak very highly of you, and he is certain that you are one of the wisest kings in the world. For that reason he is very astonished, and he wonders what has moved you to take up arms against him." The king immediately replied: "I want your lord to know that I have attacked him for a just reason. For no one, not your lord or anyone else, is unaware that long ago a marriage pact was drawn up between his daughter and me, signed and with the marriage date agreed upon. And now your king has treated the matter lightly, and tried to shame me. I have told you this so you will know that this maiden, whom I love and adore, is the cause for this war. And it will end with her and for no other reason. This is my reply to you." And he turned his back, wanting to hear no more from Tirant. So Tirant left and went back to his lord, the King of Tremicen, and told him of their entire conversation. Then the king asked Tirant if the enemy had many men. "In faith," said Tirant, "there are many, and more come to their aid every day. I wasn't able to see them all, but I would say more than eighty thousand." They held council, and decided that Tirant and the commander would take ten thousand soldiers to another city called Asinac. Because if that city fell, the entire kingdom would be lost. So Tirant went there and fortified that city well. The king stayed on in the city of Tremicen which was well supplied with everything he needed. And in this way they waited for the enemy to come. It happened one day that a Jew who lived in the city of Tremicen, and was the wealthiest man in the city, left secretly and went to King Escariano. Very cunningly he told him: "My lord, why are you plowing the sand? Everything you are doing is useless unless you capture King Tremicen first. Once he has fallen you will have power over the entire kingdom in two days. You would not have to travel the dangerous roads in fear; instead you and your men would be completely safe. If your lordship will reach an agreement with me I will give you a victory over your enemies, and I will also put the king and his daughter in your hands." When King Escariano heard him say that, he took it as a joke, and he answered: "How could you possibly do all that? But I'll tell you this: If you do arrange it, I give you my word as king to make you the most powerful man in my kingdom. But I can't believe that you could do what you said. It would be better for you to go back: instead of hurting them, you might bring me harm." The Jew quickly replied: "If Your Majesty will closely examine what I say, you'll understand that it's not a dream, but an infallible plan. If it will make you feel more secure, I will put my three sons in your power, and if I fail you are free to put them to a horrible death. I will do this for Your Majesty under the following conditions: I have a daughter, and I want her to have an honorable marriage (and I will give twelve thousand ducats as her dowry) with a Jew who sells oil in your camp. If you will arrange this for me, I promise to have you gain entry into the city of Tremicen. In my house there's a door that's next to the wall of the city, and it's under my care. I can put one hundred thousand soldiers into the city through there." So they agreed, and the king arranged with the Jew that they would be in front of the city of Tremicen on the seventeenth of the month, and at midnight they would go inside under the cover of darkness. At the proper time the king and all his captains were in front of the city of Tremicen, and the Jew did not forget the promise that was made concerning his daughter's marriage. He carefully opened the door of the Jewry, and the king rushed in with all his men. They went to the palace and fought, and finally they were able to get inside. They killed the King of Tremicen, his sons, and all the others. They took no prisoners except for the genteel lady. Then they attacked the castle, but they were not able to take it. King Escariano did not feel very safe there, so he left most of his men inside the city to guard it, while he left with the King of Tremicen's daughter who was crying over the deaths of her father, her brothers, and her betrothed. Then he put her in an impregnable castle. The cruel news reached the commander and Tirant, and the Moors cried bitterly. They felt that they were lost, and they began to say that they should surrender to King Escariano. Tirant told the commander: "Sir, that is not the thing to do. You have ten thousand soldiers here, and you still have some castles and towns under your command. We can defend ourselves well here." The commander agreed with Tirant's advice, but he still mourned the death of his king, and that of his sons even more. They wondered how the great destruction had happened, with the city being so well guarded. And they learned the truth from a man who had had his house looted, seven of his sons killed, while his wife and other children were being held under guard. He told them how the Jew had betrayed the city, and how King Escariano had then ordered all the Jew's possessions taken. Then this Jewish traitor was placed in prison and tied up. They removed all his clothing, cudgeled him, poured honey over him, and the next day had him quartered and left for the dogs to eat. For the king had said: Who can protect himself from a traitor? The treachery he had committed to his own lord, he could just as well do to him and to the entire city if need be. Tirant then learned that King Escariano had taken the King of Tremicen's daughter to the very strong castle of Mont Tuber. The new queen was now being held in this castle with seventy men to guard her. On a day following these cruel events, Tirant went to the city gate, worn with care. He was thinking about what had happened to his princess, and wondering what danger had befallen Plaerdemavida, and about how all his relatives were captives of the Moors. He did not know whether to leave, or even if the Moors would allow him to go. While he was thinking of all this, a Christian captive from Albania came out the gate, crying and lamenting because his master had cruelly whipped him, and was making him dig in an orchard of his near the city. Tirant knew the captive because he had talked to him several times, and considered him a discreet man. He felt pity for him, and thinking that there was no one else he could trust, he called the slave over, and said to him: "If you will do something for me, you will be given your freedom to leave, or to stay here if you wish. However, you will have to let yourself be whipped in our camp with a strap that will not hurt you very much, and you will have to have your ears cut a little. With your help, we'll be able to take the castle of Mont Tuber where the king is. If it turns out as I think it will, you'll be able to become a great lord. And if it does not turn out well, I will still make sure you are given your liberty, and that you have a good life." The Christian captive answered: "I want very much to have my freedom again, so I'll do what you're asking." Tirant thanked him, and said: "I give you my word as a knight that I will not eat until you have your freedom." Tirant immediately left the captive and went to talk to the commander. With the money he had, he ransomed the captive for one hundred ducats. One day it happened that the king sent two men who told Tirant's forces that if they would come to terms with him he would be very generous to them. The commander and Tirant told them that they were not interested in any proposition; instead they wanted to avenge the deaths of the King of Tremicen and his sons. After they had this discussion, Tirant had a meal brought out for them while the Albanian prepared to carry out the plan they had made. When the meal was over the Albanian went over to where the silver was, and stole a large, gilded urn made of silver. The guard began to shout so that Tirant, as he was talking with the men from the town, asked what all the uproar was about. Then everyone saw the Albanian running with many men behind him, and they saw them catch him and take him to the captain. The guard had hold of him by the hair, and he said: "My lord, I would like you to pass judgment on this thief. He stole this silver urn." Tirant wanted the commander to speak first, and he said: "My sentence is for him to be hanged." Tirant then said: "Commander, this is no time for us to be killing people unless it's in battle. I beg you to change the sentence, and have him whipped and his ears cut." So they did what he said in the presence of the men from the town. After they cut his ears they tied the urn to his neck and whipped him around the camp. The third time around, when he was in front of the town, he pulled away violently, untied his hands and began running toward the town. The guard who was running after him fell down purposefully so that the Albanian had time to go inside the town. The men on the walls defended him with their crossbows so that no one could catch him. The townspeople took him up to the castle where the king was, and when they saw him naked and whipped, with his ears cut and bleeding, they felt sorry for him. They gave him a shirt and other clothes, and the king had so much pity on him that he let him keep the urn, and received him into his household. Tirant pretended to be very angry at the Albanian's escape. He told the men there to ask the king to give the man back, and he said that if he would not do it, that he would cut off the hands and feet, nose and ears of every man they caught, and then he would kill them. The king answered that in no way would he give him back, and that if he could catch Tirant he would do worse to him than they had done to the captive. Tirant would listen to no more, and he left with all his men for the city they had come from. The Albanian then told King Escariano: "When I think of the cruel things they've done to me, and the infamy that could come to me if it becomes known, my heart cries out for revenge on that treacherous, mad captain who was starving us to death. If I committed a crime it was because I needed the money. But, my lord, if Your Excellency will give me permission to come and go, I will bring you news every day about what your enemies are doing, what they are planning and where they go. That way Your Highness can do the same thing to them that you did to that famous and illustrious King of Tremicen." The king said: "I will agree to that: You can come and go whenever you like." He ordered all the guards to let him pass by at will. The king asked some of his knights for advice concerning this matter, and they all told him: "My lord, this man has been hurt very badly by his own people, and he'll do anything to bring about their total destruction. But still, it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him." The Albanian left the castle by a back door so that no one would see him, and went directly to Tirant and told him everything that was said. Tirant gave him seven doubloons, three and one half reals, and some loose change, a sword and a basket of peaches, because there were none in that town since Tirant had had all the trees cut down to level the orchard around the villa. And Tirant told him: "Tell the king, in secret so that he'll be more inclined to believe you, that I am having a great deal of bread kneaded because I plan to be there in three or four days." The Albanian left Tirant, and when he was in the castle, King Escariano welcomed him. The Albanian gave the peaches to the queen, and the king was more pleased with them than if he had given her a villa, because he knew that the queen liked them, and he had not seen her laugh or smile since she had been with him. After the Albanian had given her the gift he showed the king the money he had, and said to him: "My lord, look at this money that I took from one of the men in the enemy camp. If I go there often I can bring many things, because a relative of mine is in the service of this wicked captain, and he secretly tells me everything he does. My lord, he told me that he is having a great deal of bread made and a large supply of food stored up in order to come here. You have time to get ready to attack and defeat him." The Albanian's words pleased the king a great deal, and he said: "Now I will see if your relative told you the truth." On the third day Tirant came and stayed in the same place that he had the other times. The king placed great faith in the Albanian's words and he decided to appoint him as one of the main guards of the castle. As companions, he gave him six very loyal men who had been in his service a long time. When it was this Albanian's turn to stand guard, he bought some sweetmeats and invited all the men who were with him to eat and drink. And he stood guard-duty every five days. Tirant returned after having been away for three days, and they continually discussed peace with the king, but Tirant drew out finalizing a treaty as long as he could. This lasted two months, and Tirant was always coming and going, and he seldom attacked anyone. The king often made the Albanian go to Tirant's camp so that he would bring back fruits and sweet-meats for the queen. One day he brought a mule loaded with wine, and a bloody sword. When he was before the king he said to him: "My lord, I learned that the captain was having a great deal of wine brought to the city, and when I heard of it I went out to the road. There, one muleteer fell behind the others. I hit him in the side with a stone, and he fell to the ground. Then I struck him so many times that I left him for dead. I took the sword and the mule from him, and it was loaded with the finest wine I have seen in many days. So I beg you, my lord, please give me permission to set up a tavern here, and when this supply has run out, I will steal or buy more, and I'll do all the harm, evil and dishonor to them that I can." The king was well pleased, and many Moors came to drink every day. And every night that the Moor stood guard he took a large cask of wine up to the tower, and gave his companions a good deal to drink, and all the Moors were very happy to have him there. Tirant talked with King Escariano and his men many times, going back and forth often with an escort of soldiers. When he saw with his own eyes how much King Escariano trusted the Albanian, Tirant had a round container made of iron and put some holes in it. When the night for the treachery arrived, and it was the Albanian's turn to stand watch, the Albanian put hot coals inside the container. The wind came in through the holes which were so small that the fire did not go out. Then he wrapped the container in a piece of leather and held it to his chest. When they were in the tower, standing guard, and his companions began drinking, the Albanian hid the container in a hole so that the fire would not go out. They had some large drums, and they stayed there drinking and beating them until it was nearly midnight. There were special liqueurs in the wine to bring on sleep. And with the pleasure of drink the guards slept so soundly that they never awoke. When the Albanian saw that the counter-round had gone by and the guards were sleeping, he took out the fire-box, and hid its light with his cape. Then he lit a straw, and put it in a niche in the wall that faced the camp. He did this three times. Tirant soon saw this signal which they had planned in advance, and he quickly left the camp with only a few men. All the other men stayed behind, ready and armed, waiting to be called, and the commander stayed with them as their captain. Because of all the water there, Tirant and his men had to pass near a tall tower, but the Albanian was making a great deal of noise with the drums, and when Tirant passed close to the tower they were not heard. When they were near and the guards called out, "All clear, all clear," they quickly ran ten or twelve steps, and when the guards were silent, they stopped. They kept this up until they had passed by the first tower and reached the other tower. Tirant made his men stop, and he went to the foot of the tower alone and found a cord that the Albanian had thrown down. He had tied the other end to his leg in case he fell asleep, so that when the cord was pulled he would wake up. But he never stopped beating on the drums, and when he felt the cord moving he quickly went near the tower and pulled up a rope ladder that he tied very tightly to the wall, and then he tied another. Tirant climbed the first one, and when he saw the guards sleeping he said to the Albanians: "What shall we do with these men?" "My lord," he answered, "leave them there. They're in no condition to do any harm." However, Tirant wanted to see for himself, and he found the six of them with their heads cut off, covered with blood. When he saw this he had his men come up, and he put one of them in charge of the drums. There were one hundred sixty men, and they spread out over the tower. Then, with the Albanian going first, they went down to the warden's chamber. When the warden saw all these men coming he got up, completely naked, took a sword in his hand and tried to defend himself. Tirant swung an axe down on his head and split it in half, and his brains fell out onto the ground. His wife began to scream, and the Albanian, who was nearest did the same thing to her that Tirant had done to her husband. Afterward they went through the castle, and shot the bolts on the doors to the chambers, and the noise of the drums was so loud that no one heard a sound. They went up to the towers and the guards there thought they were the watch, and said nothing to them. And when they came near they threw them off the castle through the merlons. One of them fell onto the barbican and into the moat, and was saved. Soon he got up and went shouting through the villa and everyone woke up. The news spread through the villa, but in the castle they still did not know, except for one man who was fishing. He heard the noise and opened the windows of his chamber, and he heard many people inside the castle. Then he began to cry out, and his shouts were heard by those in the castle, but when they tried to leave their chambers they found the doors bolted. The king, who had been sleeping in the main tower, barricaded himself there with the queen and a chamber-maid. When day broke they put many flags on the castle towers, and held great celebrations. All the outsiders in the villa fled. When the commander saw that the castle had been taken and saw the others fleeing, he attacked them and took many prisoners. When he returned, they stationed many men in the villa and others on the barbicans and in the orchards near the villa. When the commander went up to the castle he saw that none of his men had been killed or wounded, and he was the most astonished man in the world: he thought Tirant must be more angel than human, because nothing that he tried turned out to be impossible. They searched the entire castle and found it full of many kinds of food: millet and wheat, sorghum and panic-grass--enough to last seven years, with a sparkling spring of water that came out of a rock. That night the king took pity on the queen, and calling down from a window in the tower, he said: "Which of you is the knight I can surrender to?" "Sir," said Tirant, "here is the commander, and a very virtuous knight." The king realized that this was the ambassador he had talked with so many times, and he said to him: "Since you have been sent to me as an ambassador, give me your pledge of safety so that I can do my duty as a knight and a crowned king." Tirant answered: "I will guarantee your safety for a month after you surrender to me. I give you my word." The king felt as good about that as if he had been given absolute freedom. He came down from the tower, opened the door, and stood in the entryway, his sword in his hand. And he said: "Have them bring me that little child." (This was a boy of no more than five years of age, the son of a woman who baked bread.) When the boy was near him, he knighted the boy and kissed him on the mouth. Then, handing his sword to the boy, he placed himself in his power. The commander then seized the king and took him to a room where he had him put in chains. This made Tirant very angry, but he said nothing so that he would not offend the commander. When the king was in chains, they went into the main tower where they found the queen in tears. Tirant had one hundred thousand doubloons sent to Tunis to the commander's cousin who was magistrate of the king of that region. He begged him to release Lord Agramunt and all the others who were on his galley. The governor took them all out of captivity and sent them to Tirant. When they were taken on land they lost all hope of ever being freed--until they saw their captain. And don't think they felt only a small mount of relief when they saw him. Tirant immediately asked his cousin, Lord Agramunt, if he had seen Plaerdemavida. He answered: "Since that day we lost sight of the galley, I never heard anything about her again. I'm afraid she died in the stormy sea." It happened one day that the queen called Tirant to her chamber. Not knowing what she might want, Tirant went quickly. When he was there, the queen smiled and had him sit at her side. Then she said softly: "My eyes have found their lost light, and when I raise my head I see you as lord of the world, for heaven and earth and all things that God has created obey you. That night when you brought us out of the terrible prison, I found such pleasure in your virtuous appearance, so handsomely formed, that I detested my betrothed and could not continue to look at him. I beg you, sir, do me the honor of ruling this land at my side." Tirant was astonished, and he immediately replied: "It fills me with great love to serve you, but I must confess my sin: I have been in love with a maiden of high esteem for a long while, as she has been with me. If I should betray her love, it would be worse than death to me. And there is one more reason that I must not forget: you are a Moor and I am a Christian, and our marriage would not be lawful." With tears in her eyes, the queen replied: "You say that I am a Moor and you are a Christian, and that such a marriage is impossible. Let me tell you how it can be done: you can easily become a Moor, and then the marriage can take place. As for the maiden you say you are in love with, I believe that is simply an excuse, and the real reason is that I do not please you." Tirant reflected for a moment, and he saw a way by which Christianity would be exalted. He decided to show the queen great love so that she would decide to become a Christian. And smiling, he said: "My reason obliges me to keep the faith I have sworn. But I beg of you, my lady, to receive baptism in the holy and true Christian faith, and with my help you will regain your kingdom. And for a husband I will give you a young and virtuous crowned king. Although I cannot take you as a wife, since I already have one, you would always be my friend." The queen dried her tears and sighed: "Your wise words have led me to this decision: give me baptism quickly, for you are the flower of all those who are baptized." When Tirant saw that the queen wanted to become a Christian, he quickly had a gold basin and a pitcher brought from the booty they had taken from King Escariano. Tirant had the queen's head uncovered, letting her hair fall loose, and it was so beautiful that her face seemed more angelic than human. Tirant had her kneel down, and he poured water over her head from the pitcher, and said: "Maragdina, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Then she declared herself to be a good Christian, and there, in the presence of everyone, four ladies who served the queen received holy baptism. And they led very saintly lives. When King Escariano heard that the queen had become a Christian, he sent for Tirant and told him: "I tell you, Captain, since I see that my lady, the queen, has become a Christian, I want to follow her virtuous works. So I beg you to give me holy baptism, and to be my brother in arms for as long as we live, being friends of our friends and enemies of our enemies." After the queen had been baptized, and the king had been instructed about Christianity, Tirant took the king out of prison and had him go down to the city. There was a lovely square in that villa, and Tirant had ordered them to make a pretty cenotaph there, nicely decorated with brocade and satin cloths. The king sat on a beautiful chair covered with brocade on the cenotaph, and a large silver bowl filled with water was placed at one end of the cenotaph. Tirant had a very wide ladder constructed so that everyone who wanted to be baptized could go up and down. King Escariano's captains and all his men, peacefully and unarmed, left the camp on foot because they were very near the villa. When they came to the entrance, the captains and knights went in first, then the others followed them. When they were in the square before the king's cenotaph, they all bowed deeply to him, and asked what his lordship wanted of them. With a strong voice he said: "My faithful vassals, relatives and brothers: Divine Mercy has had pity on me and on all of you--if you wish it--for He has enlightened my soul and my understanding. I have received many favors from this captain: First, he has taken me out of prison and given me freedom. Second, he has instructed me about the holy Catholic faith so that I know for a certainty that the sect of Mohammed is false and wicked, and all those who believe in it are going to total destruction and condemnation. So I beg you and command you, as good vassals and brothers, to join me and receive baptism. Trust me: you will be receiving baptism for the salvation of your souls. Those who want baptism should not move; those who do not want baptism, empty the square and leave room for the others." After he had said this the king took off his outer garments in everyone's presence, remaining in his shirt. Tirant led him to the bowl, and pouring water from the pitcher over his head, he baptized him, saying: "King Escariano, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Then Tirant baptized almost all the prisoners, for most of them were close relatives of the king. Afterward two captains and all their lineage were baptized: one of their people was called Bencarag and the other Capcani. On that day more than six thousand Moors were baptized by Tirant. The others stayed there the next day and the following days until they were all made Christians. Few of them left, and the most vile were those who did not receive baptism. The news of all this was soon spread throughout Barbary, so that it reached the ears of the kings who were coming to King Escariano's aid. Very angry, they advanced as quickly as they could and took away his entire kingdom. They gave it to the King of Persia, and immediately crowned him king. While these kings were conquering King Escariano's lands, messengers came to him daily with the bad news that they were taking his entire kingdom from him, and that he had only three castles that were defending themselves and refusing to surrender. After King Escariano became a Christian, Tirant begged him to give all the villas and cities he had taken from the King of Tremicen back to the queen, to whom they belonged. The king very generously did this, but then he begged Tirant, as a brother in arms, to give the queen to him for his wife. So one day Tirant approached the queen, and said: "I beg you to take this king for your husband. He loves you very much. You already know him, and you would be much better off with him than with someone who may not love you." The queen listened to Tirant, and replied: "I have complete trust in you, so I am putting myself and my possessions in your power. I will do whatever you command me." Tirant knelt on the ground and gave her many thanks. He immediately sent for the king and the friar, and in everyone's presence they were betrothed. The following day they heard mass, because they were Catholic Christians. After the wedding, which took place with great solemnity--as corresponds to royalty--King Escariano took possession of the entire kingdom of Tremicen, as husband of the queen, and she was happy because it was at Tirant's command. The king loved Tirant above all others, and there was nothing that he would not do for him. And Tirant likewise loved the king and queen. While the king and Tirant were celebrating this new marriage, news reached the king daily that the Moorish kings would soon take the three castles, and that they would fall on him and on all the Christians, and would give them all cruel deaths. When Tirant heard of this, he said: "Sir, we need to think of how we can save our lives. Let's gather all our men and see how many are prepared to go into battle." "What?" said the commander. "Do you think you're the lord of the whole world? You ought to be satisfied with imprisoning this magnanimous king, and go on back to the land you came from. Let us live according to our own law, and let the new Christians forget about this so-called holy baptism. If these kings are coming with so many troops, and they find us adhering to their law, they'll have mercy on us." King Escariano turned to the commander in a rage, and he brought his bare sword down on the commander's head so hard that his brains spilled out onto the chamber floor, and he said: "Oh, you dog, you son of a dog, born into a wicked sect! This is the payment such a vile person deserves!" Tirant was very displeased at the commander's death, and he felt very angry. But he held himself back and did not reprimand the king because he was afraid of causing more trouble. Some people were glad the commander was dead, and others were not. But his death served to restrain many. Tirant mustered all the men to see how many there were, and they counted 18,230 horsemen and forty-five thousand foot soldiers. Tirant paid them all. Then they enlisted twenty-five thousand more. At the same time, four hundred forty horses and many arms arrived from Tunis where they had disembarked after arriving from Sicily. And now Tirant was unafraid of attacking three thousand enemy horsemen. The king and Tirant left the city with all their men to meet the enemy and see if they could resist them. When they were three leagues away from them, at the top of a mountain, the Christians could see all the Moorish forces that were coming. They set up their tents in view of each other, and many embassies were sent back and forth. The Moors sent word to King Escariano, telling him and Tirant and all the other Christians to convert to Mohammedanism, because if they did not, they would all die a cruel death. When Tirant heard this, he mocked them and would not give them a reply. Then the ambassadors became very angry with Tirant. They had conquered all of King Escariano's realm, and now they were going to attack him. Tirant said: "Sir, they've raised camp, so they'll be here tomorrow. Your lordship can stay here in the city with half the men while I take the other half, and we'll see how well organized they are." "Oh, Tirant! I would much rather go with you, and we can leave Lord Agramunt here as the captain." Tirant agreed, and made Lord Agramunt captain, telling him: "Keep your horses saddled, and your men armed. When you see a red flag with my arms painted on it, have all your men attack on the right, and we'll destroy our enemy." To reach the Christians, the Moors had to cross over a tall mountain that had many springs. During that night and the following day, Tirant went around the mountain and he could see all the Moors coming from a great distance. Tirant rode into a dense thicket, and he had all the men dismount and take their ease while he climbed a tall pine tree and watched the enemy come up the mountain. They set up their tents near the springs, and they were still a league away from the city. The ones who followed behind set up camp at the foot of the mountain where there were beautiful meadows and a canal. The men here had about four thousand horses. When Tirant saw that nearly half the enemy had dismounted, he and the king attacked their camp and killed so many Moors that the number of corpses stretched out on the ground were a wonder to behold. And there would have been even more if night had not fallen. The Moors up on the mountain heard the cries, but they did not think the Christians would dare come so close to their camp. The morning of the following day, as soon as the sun came out, King Meneador came down from the mountain, not suspecting that King Escariano and Tirant would be there. He thought, instead, that these must be thieving marauders. So he sent a messenger to them, telling them to convert back to the Mohammedan faith or he would hang as many of them as he found. Tirant told the messenger: "You tell your lord that I don't intend to answer his madness. But if he's a crowned king, and brave enough to come down the mountain with his men, I'll let him feel the strength of the one he wants to hang." The messenger went back to his lord with the reply, and the king was so enraged that he dug his spurs into his horse, and all his men followed. The battle was harsh and cruel. After they had fought for a time, and there were many deaths on both sides, King Meneador retreated toward the mountain, and he sent for his brother, the King of Lower India, to come to his aid. When he was there, King Meneador told him: "Brother, these baptized Christians are fighting so hard that I've lost most of my men, and I'm slightly wounded too. I won't hold myself as a knight unless I kill with my own hands a great traitor who is their captain. His armor and the vest he wears are damask green with three stars on each side. On one side they're gold and on the other side silver. Around his neck he wears a gold Mohammed with a long beard. And this Mohammed carries a small child holding onto his neck as he crosses a river. And that must be the one who helps him in his battles." The King of Lower India haughtily replied: "Show him to me. I will avenge you even if he has ten Mohammeds in his belly." His men quickly mounted their horses and bore down upon the Christians. Shouting wildly, like madmen, they went into battle, and soon you could see horses running around without riders. When Tirant broke his lance, he made use of his ax, and he wounded or gave death with every blow. The two kings drew up to Tirant and wounded him with the point of a sword. Finding himself wounded, Tirant cried out: "Oh, king, you who have dealt me a deadly wound according to the great pain I feel, before I enter hell, you will go before me as a messenger to open the gates, for I will send you there quickly!" He brought his ax down on the king's head, splitting it into two parts, and the king fell at the feet of his horses. When the Moors saw his body on the ground, they struggled to pick it up. This was the King of Lower India who had spoken so boastfully. When the other king saw his brother dead, he fought desperately. The other kings were told of his death, the King of Bogia in particular, for he had brought them together. Then they raised camp and set up their tents at the foot of the mountain. The Christians, seeing how many men they had and that Tirant was wounded and in great pain, decided to leave during the night. The following morning the Moors prepared to give battle, but they found no one. They followed the Christians' tracks and came to the city where they had taken refuge. Tirant had Lord Agramunt take his men out and do battle with them, and many men died on both sides. Then the Christians retreated back into the city while the Moors pounded on the gates with their lances. The following day Lord Agramunt led his men into battle, and many died on both sides, and again they retreated into the city. Tirant was troubled that he could not take part, and that they were losing men, and he told the king: "Sir, I don't think we should go out and do battle so often. We're only losing men." And so they waited until Tirant was healthy again. Then, when he was nearly cured, he put on his armor and mounted his horse, and with most of the men he attacked one side of the camp. The Moors, in a tumult, came out to fight the Christians. And that day, and many others that followed, Tirant came out the worst. When Tirant saw his men fleeing that day, and that he could not keep them in order, he went to the river. He saw the King of Africa riding toward him wearing a helmet with a crown of gold and many precious stones. His saddle was silver, and his stirrups gold, while his jubbah was crimson and embroidered with large oriental pearls. When the king saw Tirant's troubled face, he approached him and said: "Are you the captain of the Christians?" Tirant did not reply, but instead looked at his men who had left him, and all the dead bodies and banners scattered over the ground. That day, they had scarcely defended themselves against the Moors. In a loud voice that the Moors and the wounded could hear, he cried out: "Oh, poor men! Why do you bear arms? Oh, sad, vile men: you will be rightly condemned for this day on which you die so miserably, and your reputation will suffer greatly!" When the King of Africa heard him crying this way, he called out to his men: "I'm going to cross the river, and I'll put this Christian dog in chains or I'll kill him. If I need any assistance, come and help me." When the king had crossed over, he rode swiftly at Tirant, and struck him so hard with his lance that Tirant's horse sank to its knees. The lance passed through his brassard and his breast-plate, and slightly pierced his chest. Tirant was feeling such great pain for the dead men, and was thinking of the princess, and he didn't notice the king until he had been wounded. He drew his sword, since his lance had been broken at the outset. And they fought for a long space of time. The king fought valiantly, and when it had lasted a long while, Tirant thrust hard at the king, but he could not reach him because the king's horse suddenly turned. However, he caught the horse's head and cut it off, so that the horse and the king tumbled to the ground. The king's men came to his aid, and mounted him on another horse, even though Tirant tried to stop them. When Tirant realized that he could not hold out any longer, he seized a Moor and took away his lance. Then he wounded the first, the second and the third men he encountered, and knocked them to the ground; then he wounded the fourth, fifth and sixth and also knocked them down. The Moors were astonished at the way one lone man bore arms. Lord Agramunt was at a window in the castle, and he recognized Tirant by his coat of arms and saw that he was fighting alone. And he cried out: "Men, go quickly and help our captain. He's about to lose his life." Then the king went out with the few men he had. Tirant was wounded in three places, and his horse had been struck many times. For this reason Tirant was forced to retreat, but he did so against his will, and they pursued him right up to the gates. The doctors arrived and had Tirant's armor removed, and they found many wounds including three that were very dangerous. When the Moors saw that the Christians had withdrawn inside the city, they tightened the siege and crossed over the river. They brought so many oxen and camels that they could not be counted. They used these as an obstacle to the Christians in battle, for their horses could not run, and no one could enter or leave the city. Tirant was afraid they might mine under the castle. He ordered the men to make a countermine, and in all the lower rooms they were to place brass basins. This was done so that if a pickaxe was about to come through a wall in that room, all the brass basins would clang together and make a great noise. After the brass basins were set up, they began to work on the countermine. After a few days, when Tirant was well and ready to bear arms, a serving girl inside the castle was kneading flour, and she heard the basins moving around, making noise. She ran quickly to tell her mistress: "I don't know what it is, but I've heard folks say that when basins make a noise it's the sign of a storm or of bloodshed." The lady was the wife of the captain of the castle, and she quickly went to tell her husband, and he told the king and Tirant. Secretly, without making a sound, they went to the room, and saw that what the girl had said was true. They quickly armed themselves and went into a chamber, and not even an hour went by before they saw light in the room. The Moors who were digging thought no one in the castle had heard them, and they made the hole much bigger. Then they began to come out of the mine. When there were more than seventy Moors in the room, the men from the castle went in and slew and quartered everyone they found. The ones who could escape back through the mine certainly didn't stand around waiting for each other, but Tirant had many bombards fired into the mine, and everyone inside died. Tirant saw that his men were nearly faint from hunger, and he decided to do battle. He told the king: "Sir, I'll take half the men we have left, and you can take the other half. I'll go into the little forest there, and as soon as the sun comes up, you go out through the gate of Tremicen and go all around the city, and you attack the center of their camp while I attack from the other side, and we'll see if we can't confuse them. If we do, we can take over their camp. But what disturbs me most are the cattle: we'll have to go right through them, and every time we do, they'll kill many of our horses." A Genoese who had been a slave on Tirant's galley when the ship went down spoke up. His name was Almedixer, and he was a very discreet man and was knowledgeable about many things. He said: "Captain, do you want me to make all the cattle run off so that there won't even be a sign of one around? The Moors will go running after them to get them back, and that will be the time to attack their camp and fall upon them." "If you can do that," said Tirant, "upon Carmesina's name I promise to make you a great lord and give you villas and castles and a great inheritance." The king said to Tirant: "Brother, if that's what you're going to do, I beg you to let me go into the forest. And when I see the banner flying from the highest tower I'll attack the center of the camp." Tirant agreed, and ordered everyone to shoe their horses and repair their saddles. The Genoese took the hair of many goats, and mutton fat, and he crushed it all together and put it in shallow pans, and he filled more than seventy of them. Right at the hour of midnight the king went into the forest without any of the Moors seeing him. Almedixer took the pans of grease he had made and went out of the castle at dawn, and put them one next to the other. Then he set them on fire. When the flames were going well, the wind blew the smoke toward the cattle. And when they smelled the odor they stampeded through the middle of the camp, bringing down tents and injuring men and horses so that it seemed like all the devils in hell were after them. They even ran into each other so that hardly an ox or camel was left uninjured. Many Moors on foot and on horseback pursued them to make them turn back, and all the Moors were astonished, not understanding what had caused the stampede. When the oxen were gone, Tirant had the white and green flag raised. The king saw the flag and rode out of the forest, crying: "Long live the Christians!" As they had planned, Tirant also attacked from the other side. Then the terrible, cruel battle unrolled. Whoever saw it could tell the goings on of it all, for you could see thrusts of lance and sword being given and taken that brought awful grief, and in a few hours excellent knights were lying dead on the ground. All the battles came together and made such a noise that it sounded like the earth would fall in. You could see Tirant here and there, tearing helmets from men's heads and shields from their bodies, killing and wounding and doing the most astonishing things in the world in his ever-burning fury. King Escariano was doing very well, for he was a very good knight, young and courageous. As for the Moors, there were some very good and valiant knights, the King of Africa in particular who, because of the death of his brother, threw himself against the Christians most cruelly. The King of Bogia was also a very courageous knight. The battle was long and hard fought, and mercy was shown by none. Everyone was using their weapons, and it was a wonder to behold. We mustn't forget about Lord Agramunt, for he fought so well that the enemy feared him. It happened that the King of Africa recognized Tirant by his armor and rode toward him, and they ran at each other, and both the king and Tirant were knocked to the ground. But Tirant feared death and was the more spirited, and he got up first, while the king was still lying on the ground. He reached down to cut the straps of his helmet, but before he could do so the Moors saw their king on the ground, and it was a wonder that they did not kill Tirant. They pulled him off the king's body two times and threw him on the ground. When Lord Agramunt saw Tirant in such great danger, he rode over to him and saw that the camp commander was doing everything he could to kill Tirant. Lord Agramunt turned to the commander, and they engaged in such a hard fought battle that every blow intended to bring death--one of them to defend Tirant and the other to try to attack him--and both of them were badly wounded. Almedixer was near and cried out in alarm. King Escariano raced into the tumult and saw the King of Bogia standing over Tirant, about to cut off his head. These two kings were brothers, and King Escariano recognized his brother, but still, when he saw Tirant in that situation, he immediately thrust his lance into his brother's back so powerfully that it went right through his armor and came out the other side, piercing his heart, and the King of Bogia fell to the ground, dead. Then the battle grew more cruel than it had ever been, and on that day many men from both sides died. The battle went on very cruelly, throughout the day, but when night fell, they broke apart. The Christians went back into the city very happily, because they had been victorious on the field. They knew for a certainty that three kings had died in the battle: the King of Bogia, King Geber, and the King of Granada. Among the wounded, mention is made only of the King of Damascus and the King of Tana. That night the men and horses rested, and before dawn the Christians were armed and ready, and the Moors were surprised that they were eager to fight, because the Moors had not been able to bury their dead. The battle took place on the second day, and it was very cruel and bloody. Large numbers of Moors died, but not very many Christians: for every Christian, one hundred Moors died. The reason so many Moors were killed was because they weren't as well armed as the Christians, and their horses and trappings weren't as good. The battle lasted five days, and the Moors couldn't endure it any longer because of the stench from the corpses, so they sent messengers to the Christians, asking for a truce. King Escariano and Tirant felt very pleased, and they agreed willingly. The Moors then took their dead and threw them into the river, each with a note of identification attached so that downriver their relatives could bury them. But there were so many dead bodies that the river was stopped up, and the water had to change course. Then the Moors went up the mountain while the Christians went back to the city. During this truce the Marquis of Luzana arrived; he was a servant to the King of France. In Tunis he heard of Tirant's great victories, and he decided to go to him. The Moors decided to leave one night before the truce was over, and go to the mountains of Fez where they could defend themselves against the Christians. So, very unexpectedly, nearly at the hour of midnight, they broke camp and went on their way. Early the next morning the guards came running to the city gates to warn the captain that the Moors were leaving. When Tirant saw that they had gone beyond the pass, he set himself to conquering all the kingdoms and lands this side of the pass. After many days had gone by, Lord Agramunt said to the captain: "My lord, it seems to me that if we want to end this conquest quickly, I should go beyond the pass to conquer the villas, castles and cities there. After your lordship has taken over these kingdoms, you can go over to that land, and you will easily be the master of all Barbary." Tirant was pleased with what Lord Agramunt told him. He consulted King Escariano, and they agreed that he should leave soon. Lord Agramunt departed with ten thousand men on horseback, and eighteen thousand foot soldiers. When he had gone beyond the pass he learned that the kings had left, and each had gone back to his own land. Seeing that there were so few armed men in that land, Lord Agramunt began to conquer it, and he took over many cities, villas and castles, some willingly and others by force. They came near a city called Montagata which belonged to the daughter of the King of Belamerin (This king had died at the beginning of the war) and to her betrothed. When the people in the city learned that the Christians were so nearby, they held a council and decided to send the keys of the city to Lord Agramunt, and, very kindly, he took them and granted them everything they requested. But when they were near the city, the rulers changed their minds and decided that they would die before they would surrender. When Lord Agramunt saw that he had been mocked, he decided to go into battle, for he was as bold and hard as he could be. As he came close to a wall, they shot at him with a crossbow. The arrow hit him in the mouth and came out the other side. When his men saw him stretched out on the ground, badly wounded, they thought he was dead. They put him on a shield and carried him to his tent, and they fought no more that day. Then Lord Agramunt made a vow to God and to the holy apostles that because of the way they had deceived him and because of the great pain his wound was causing him, he would not leave until the city was taken and his sword had slain everyone: men and women, large and small, old and young. And he quickly sent word to Tirant. When Tirant received the news that his cousin had been so badly wounded, he and all his men went to the city. Before they could dismount he ordered them to attack the city, and the battle was so fierce and so harsh that they took a large tower--a mosque--attached to the city walls. When night fell Tirant ordered a halt to the fighting. In the morning the Moors sent word to the captain that they would surrender on condition that they be allowed to live by their own laws, and they would give them thirty thousand gold crowns every year, and free all the prisoners they held. Tirant answered that because of the act they had committed against his cousin they would have to go to Lord Agramunt, and whatever he decided would be done. When the Moors stood before Lord Agramunt, he would consent to nothing, no matter how much they pleaded with him. Then the town decided to send their lady and several maidens to see if they could reach an agreement with him, since many times a maiden's pleas are successful. At this point the book presents an incident to relate the deeds of Plaerdemavida. CHAPTER XI PLAERDEMAVIDA By the great mercy of God, Plaerdemavida was saved from the shipwreck and taken to the city of Tunis, to the house of a fisherman's daughter, as was related previously. Then, after two years had passed the fisherman's daughter took a husband near that city. And while they held Plaerdemavida captive there, she always lived very honestly, working gold and silk as the maidens of Greece are accustomed to doing. It happened one day that her mistress went to the city of Montagata, and left Plaerdemavida to watch the house. She had gone to the city to make some purchases, and while she was there she went to talk to the king's daughter, and she told her: "My lady, I've been told that you are planning to marry, and that you are supplying yourself with blouses embroidered with gold and silk and other things proper for maidens. I have a young slave who is able to do what I have taught her from the time she was an infant: to embroider all manner of things as befits young women. Here are some samples of what she can do. If you want her, I will give her to you for one hundred doubloons, even though I will be losing all the training I have given her." The princess, seeing the samples, wanted her very much, and she said that she would be happy to give her the one hundred doubloons. The Moor said: "I'll be glad to give her to you for that price, on one condition: you must tell her that I have loaned her to you for two months, because if she guessed that I had sold her, she would be so sad that she would fall into despair." Plaerdemavida was placed in her hands and she came to love the princess very much. It happened a short time later that the city was attacked, and the Moors took many Christians prisoner. Among the men they captured was a soldier who had been an oarsman on Tirant's galley when it was lost. Plaerdemavida recognized him, and she said: "Aren't you one of the Christians who were on Tirant's galley when it went down at sea?" "My lady," said the man "it's true: I was there, and I nearly drowned. I reached the shore half dead, and afterward I was beaten, and bought and sold. I went through great trials in those days." "What can you tell me about Tirant?" said Plaerdemavida. "Where did he die?" "By the Virgin Mary!" said the prisoner. "He is very much alive. He's right here. He's the commander, and he's using all his might to conquer this land." He also told her that Lord Agramunt was wounded, and then she asked him: "What became of Plaerdemavida?" "That maiden you're asking about," said the prisoner, "it's believed that she died in the sea, and our captain has grieved deeply over her." When she heard the news she ordered all the prisoners to flee. Hearing that Tirant was alive and so near, she also wanted very much to escape, but considering how Tirant had conquered so much of the Barbary Coast, and thinking of the victories that were told about the Christian captain, she was very happy. For she had known nothing about him and believed that he had drowned in the sea. She fell to her knees, raised her clasped hands to heaven and gave thanks and praise to God Our Lord for the great success He had given to Tirant and to the new Christianity, for he was making war on the enemies of Jesus Christ so bravely. She became very hopeful that soon she would be out of captivity, and all the suffering she had gone through up to then seemed to be nothing to her: the thought that she would see Tirant consoled her that much. On the day her mistress had to go and talk to the captains, she disguised herself so well that no one would recognize her. When the lady was before the captain, she was accompanied by fifty maidens, but Tirant would not listen to her and he sent her to his cousin, Lord Agramunt. And if he had replied badly to the ambassadors, he gave an even worse reply to the lady. Hopeless, they went back, crying and lamenting loudly. All that night, men as well as women did not cease their wailing and sighing. In the morning Plaerdemavida told her mistress and the honorable men of the city that if they would give her liberty to go out, she would talk to the captain, and would tell him such things that he would do anything she wished. They agreed that she should go, because they had lost all hope and had only that one day left. That day Plaerdemavida dressed as a Moor, and painted her eyes so that she would not be recognized. She took thirty well dressed maidens with her. At noon they left the city and went to the camp, and there they saw Tirant at the door of his tent. When he saw them coming he sent word that they should go to Lord Agramunt, and that he could do nothing since he had turned all his power over to him. Plaerdemavida answered: "Tell the captain that he should not refuse to see us, and even less to speak to us, because if that captain did such a thing he would be cruel and unjust. Since he is a knight and we are maidens, in accordance with the order of chivalry he must aid us, and give us his advice and his support." The chamberlain immediately took the reply back to the captain: "Upon my word, my lord, there is a maiden with those Moors who is very gracious. She speaks the Christian tongue most beautifully. And if your grace would like to do me a very great favor for the services I have performed for you, when we take the city I beg you to make her a Christian and to give her to me for a wife." "Have them all come here," said the captain. When they stood before him, they made a deep bow to him. Plaerdemavida, smiling, said: "My captain, your generous heart cannot fail to act according to its custom. Your nobility is full of mercy, and you must forget the great crime of the ignorant inhabitants of this city, who will fold their hands and kneel down and kiss your feet, begging you for mercy. Look, virtuous captain, I speak with the spirit of prophecy. Do you remember that fortunate day when you were given the honor of chivalry in that prosperous court of the King of England? And the singular battles you fought at that time and won with great honor, with no trickery? What should I say of Philippe, son of the King of France? In your great wisdom you made him King of Sicily, and now he possesses the daughter, the kingdom, and the crown. And when that blessed lord, who is of greater excellence than anyone in the world, the Emperor of Constantinople, heard of your fame, he had you come to the city of Constantinople. His high Majesty made you his captain, and you showed the Turkish enemies your strength and power, conquering them time and time again. I am a Moor who speaks by prophecy, and my heart cries tears of blood for those worthy knights, because now they are as good as dead. Cry, miserable people and lament the fact that Tirant lo Blanc has forgotten you! And it does not surprise me that he does not remember you, for he has forgotten a lady (I won't say who she is, but I can call her the greatest and best in all Christendom) in order to conquer this cursed land." Tirant was quite astonished when he heard these words, and he begged her to tell how she knew so much. "Oh Tirant, how little mercy you are showing. Go on pursuing those fleeing kings so that you can have all of Barbary in your lap, and let us live in blessed peace. Aren't you that prince of the line of Roca Salada who went into battle that pleasant night in the castle of Malvei with that most serene princess, the beautiful Carmesina? And if my heart hasn't gone mad or I haven't lost all my senses, it seems to me that I heard tell that Her Highness let you into her chambers at a very late hour. She put her father's crown--that of the Greek Empire--on your head, and accepted you as her universal lord, with the help of a sad maiden named Plaerdemavida. You have given so little thought to either of them, it's as if you'd never known them. Her Highness, with you forgetting about her, is more dead than alive in the Monastery of Santa Clara, always calling out the name of Tirant in whom she has placed all her hope. Oh, Tirant! How you have shed all kindness. You know full well that the Turks have overrun all of Greece, that all they have left to do is take the city of Constantinople and seize the emperor, his wife and the grieving princess." When Tirant heard the maiden say these things, he heaved a sigh from the depths of his heart as he remembered the lady he loved more than anyone in the world. He was so stricken that he fell to the ground, senseless. When everyone saw their captain lying there, his eyes filled with tears, they thought he had delivered up his spirit to God and his body to the ground. The doctors came and said: "Our captain must be very ill. He looks as though he is near death." King Escariano quickly had the maiden seized and her hands tightly bound. When Plaerdemavida saw herself treated so badly, she angrily said: "Let me go to the captain. I nourished him from my breast before you ever heard of him. Let me use the remedies I know, because I can see that these ignorant doctors don't know how to help him." The maiden quickly sat on the ground, unfastened her robes and the blouse she was wearing down past her bosom, uncovering her breasts. She took Tirant's body, placed it in her lap, and lay his head on her breasts. When the maiden saw Tirant open his eyes and sigh deeply, she was very happy, and she said: "Captain, my lord, for a long time you have been fighting us night and day. I don't want your grace to suffer such terrible hardships when I can free you from them. Begin with me. I am right here, a defenseless maiden, and your sword is very sharp. Now you can use your strong hand and bathe your sword with the blood of someone who, after God, wants to serve only you." Tirant answered as well as he could: "Maiden, it seems to me that you are like the bee that carries honey in its mouth and a stinger in its tail. I have heard things from you that have left me astonished. I want very much to know how news about that most serene princess has reached you. Tell me, I beg you, and you can count on this: In consideration of Her Majesty, I will do such things for you that you will all leave here highly satisfied." Plaerdemavida was very happy at the captain's reply. While they were talking, Lord Agramunt came into the tent in a rage, with a bare sword in his hand. He had been misinformed by King Escariano about how Tirant had fallen into a faint in the maiden's arms. When he saw Tirant in her lap and without noticing his captain's condition, with a fierce face and a terrible voice, he cried: "What is this poisonous woman doing here, this devil-worshipper? How can you all stand by, seeing how she's killed him, and not behead her? Since the rest of you won't do it, I will." He grabbed her by the hair and jerked back her head. And he put his sword by her neck to take away her life. When Tirant saw the sword so close to the maiden, and heard her cry, he seized the sword with his hands. Lord Agramunt, feeling the sword against something hard, thought it was the maiden's neck. So he slashed as hard as he could, and put a large gash in Tirant's hands. And according to the doctors Tirant was very fortunate that he was not badly injured. When Tirant saw that his cousin had shown him so little honor, he became very angry. King Escariano made Lord Agramunt leave, and Lord Agramunt lowered his eyes and became very ashamed. Then he bowed deeply to the king and to Tirant, and left the tent. And his humility and shame went a long way toward cooling Tirant's anger and making him feel pity instead. Then Tirant turned toward the maiden and asked her very kindly if she had been a captive in Constantinople, and he asked who had told her so many things about the princess. She quickly got up, and falling to her knees, she said: "What is this, captain! Have you lost your memory entirely? There is a great deal of truth in the fact that where there is no love there can be no remembrance. What! Aren't I poor, miserable Plaerdemavida who, for your lordship, endured so much pain and misery, and finally captivity?" Tirant's eyes flew open with recognition at once, and he would not allow her to say another word, realizing full well at this moment that she was Plaerdemavida. He knelt to the ground before her, and embraced her and kissed her many times over. After they had embraced for a good while, Tirant ordered a beautiful platform placed at the door of the tent, covered entirely with brocade cloth above, and with satin on the sides and floor. Plaerdemavida was seated at the top step of the platform, and covered with a mantle of crimson brocade lined with ermine--one belonging to Tirant that he had ordered put on her since she had completely torn her robes. The lady of the city was made to sit on the top step, and her maidens below, on the satin cloths. In this situation it seemed that Plaerdemavida was indeed a queen. Tirant had taken the head-dress off her head, and now her hair hung loose over her shoulders. He paid her such great honor that everyone thought Tirant was going to take her as his wife. He had a proclamation read throughout the entire camp that everyone should come and kiss Plaerdemavida's hand, under penalty of death. Then he had another proclamation made that everyone in the city, men and women, were pardoned, and that each of them could live under any law they wished, and that no one in the camp should dare harm anyone from the city. Afterward he had many dishes prepared, and held a general banquet so that everyone could come who wished. And the most singular celebration ever held in a camp took place there, lasting eight days. Plaerdemavida begged the lady of the city to be baptized, and she answered that she would do it. Then Tirant asked her if she would marry Melquisedic. Plaerdemavida also pleaded with her, and the others insisted so much that she consented. And the wedding was held with great celebrations. Tirant often spent his time talking to Plaerdemavida. One day, while they were talking about the princess and the emperor, Plaerdemavida scolded him, and asked him why he did not forget about conquering Barbary and help the emperor and his daughter. Tirant answered that he wanted to know for certain what the situation was in the empire before he moved. He begged Plaerdemavida to tell him what had happened to her after she was swept over the side of the galley. With tears in her eyes, Plaerdemavida said: "I beg you, lord Tirant, don't make me talk about it. Whenever I think about it I would rather die a hundred deaths than go on living." When Tirant heard her speaking so painfully, he said: "Rejoice, valiant maiden. I promise you, by the lady who has been the cause of your misfortune, that I will repay you. I will mix your blood with that of Roca Salada, and you will be reckoned among the women of Brittany, among whom you are certain to have the title of queen." There was a long argument between Tirant and this maiden about the marriage he had decided upon, which was between her and Lord Agramunt. He gave her many different reasons, citing very holy authorities, so that Plaerdemavida finally submitted to Tirant's will, and replied in a few words: "Your servant is here, Lord Tirant. Do with me according to your will." Tirant took a beautiful chain from his neck and placed it around Plaerdemavida's neck as a sign of her future marriage. He had brocade brought, and dressed her like a queen. Then Tirant sent for Lord Agramunt, and he begged him at length not to refuse what he would tell him, since he had already made a promise. Lord Agramunt answered him: "Lord Tirant, I am astonished that you would plead with me about anything. Just by commanding me you are doing me a great favor." Tirant said: "Cousin, I have decided to make you King of Fez and Bogia, and to give Plaerdemavida to you as your wife. You know how indebted all of us are to her for the work she has done for us. She is a maiden of great discretion who has lead a virtuous life, and it will be very good for both of you." Lord Agramunt answered: "Cousin and lord, I had no thought of taking a wife, but it is too much grace and honor for your lordship to entreat me to do a thing that I should beg you for. I kiss your hand and your feet." Tirant would not allow it. Instead he took him by the arm, lifted him up, and kissed him on the mouth. Afterward he thanked him, both for the kingdoms and for the new wife. Tirant felt more satisfied at having arranged this marriage than by all of his conquests in Barbary. He quickly had Lady Montagata's palace decorated with beautiful gold and silk cloth, and he had all the musicians from that area come, with every kind of instrument that could be found. Then he had many dainties and special wines brought to insure the success of the celebration. Plaerdemavida was very richly dressed, and her presence and appearance showed that she was a queen. She was taken to the great hall where King Escariano and Tirant were, with many other barons and knights, along with the wife of King Escariano and many other ladies of rank. After the wedding vows were exchanged there was a great celebration with dances of different types and very singular foods. While the celebrations lasted, Tirant had the table prepared for everyone who wished to eat, and for a week there was a great abundance of everything. CHAPTER XII CONQUEST When the celebrations were over Tirant had a large ship armed, and he had it loaded with wheat to send to Constantinople to help the emperor. He had Melquisedic, Lord of Montagata, brought to him, and he told him to go on that ship as a messenger to the emperor. He told him to become well informed about the emperor's condition, and how the empire was, and about the princess. He gave him instructions and letters of credence, and he had him embark, well outfitted and better escorted. Then Tirant ordered his men to break camp, and to get all the cavalry and foot soldiers ready. They filled the carts with food and all the supplies and weaponry necessary to fight the cities, villas, and castles. They went toward the city of Caramen, at the edge of Barbary and bordering on the black Kingdom of Borno. Because three kings who fled from the battle scene had taken refuge in that city, while the others had gone back to their own lands. So the great numbers of cavalry and foot soldiers went through the land, conquering castles, villas and cities. Some were taken by force, and others surrendered willingly. Many became Christian, while others remained in their sect, and they were not harmed or wronged in any way. Finally they reached the city where the kings had taken shelter. There, Tirant's forces set up their tents and encircled the city at a distance of about two crossbow shots. Tirant held council with King Escariano, Lord Agramunt, the Marquis of Luzana, the Viscount of Branches, and many other barons and knights in the camp. They chose a Spaniard from the town of Oriola to be their envoy. His name was Lord Rocafort, and he had been a captive on a Moorish galley until Tirant had freed him. They told him to observe how many men might be in the city, and what condition they were in, and they give him detailed instructions about everything he should do and say. After receiving assurances of safe-conduct, the envoy went to the castle where the kings were. These were the King of Fez, King Menador of Persia, and the King of Tremicen. This last king was nephew to the other King of Tremicen, and had been chosen king when his uncle had been killed by King Escariano. The other kings had died in the battles they had been waging. The envoy stood before the kings who had gathered to listen to his embassy, and without greeting them or showing them any reverence, he said: "I have come to you who were powerful kings on behalf of the most Christian King Escariano and the magnanimous captain, Tirant lo Blanc, to notify you of the will of their lordships. They say that you and your forces must leave the city of Caramen and all of Barbary within three days." King Menador of Persia gave the reply for the other kings: "You can tell that traitor and renegade, King Escariano, Mohammed's enemy and ours, and his friend Tirant lo Blanc, that we won't leave the city, much less Barbary, for them. And so that they'll know how great our power is, let them be ready for battle tomorrow because we'll come out of the city and give them terrible destruction." As soon as King Menador had finished, Tirant's ambassador turned his back and left without another word, and he went back to his camp. When he was with King Escariano and Tirant, he told them all about King Menador of Persia's reply. Tirant immediately called together all the barons, knights and captains of both cavalry and foot soldiers. When they were together, he told them to get ready because the Moors were going to do battle with them. The following morning the Moors put their forces together in a beautiful plain outside the city, and they began to move toward Tirant's camp. The Christians' spy saw the Moors coming, and ran to warn Tirant. Tirant had all his cavalry ready and his foot soldiers in order, and they went toward the Moors. When the battalions drew near each other, the trumpets and pipes began to sound, and the screams and shouts of both armies were so great that it seemed like heaven and earth would come together. Tirant ordered his first battalion to attack, and the good captain Lord Rocafort went into battle so fiercely that it was a wonder to behold. The King of Tremicen, who was captain of the first battalion of Moors also attacked so powerfully that the best knight in the world could have done no better, and they fought so fiercely against the Christians that the Christians were beaten back. Then the second squadron of Moors attacked very savagely, and one could see lances breaking, and knights and horses falling, and many men lying dead on the ground, both Christians and Moors. Tirant saw that the battle was going badly, and that his men were being beaten. So he had four squadrons attack together, his being the only one that held back. They attacked so powerfully that in a few hours, before the enemy realized what had happened, they had killed a great number of Moors. King Escariano came face to face with the King of Fez, and their horses clashed so mightily that they broke their lances. They both fell to the ground, and got up, fighting with their swords, like lions. When the two sides saw their king on the ground, they rushed in to help them, and in the harsh battle that followed, many men died. Then Tirant attacked too, with his men, and you would have had to see the great tumult and the terrible cries of the Moors who were not able to resist the Christians. King Menador of Persia, who had gone into battle like a raging dog, came against Tirant, and hit his head with his sword so hard that he nearly knocked Tirant from his horse. Tirant then raised his sword and brought it down so hard that he cut the king's arm completely off at the shoulder, and the king soon fell to the ground, dead. During the battle it happened that Tirant came upon the King of Tremicen, and gave him such a blow to the head with his sword, that he knocked the king to the ground. And if it had not been for the king's good helmet, he would have been dead. Tirant went on ahead, and the Moors picked up their king and lay him over a horse, taking him quickly back to the city. When the battle had gone on for a long while, the Moors could not stand up against the Christians, and they had to turn and flee. When Tirant saw the Moors running away, he cried: "The time has come, good knights, the day is ours! Kill them all!" They rushed after the Moors who were trying to take refuge inside the city. But with all their efforts, the Moors could not avoid the deaths of more than forty thousand of their men that day. With the battle won, Tirant immediately had a galley armed in the port of One, and he entrusted a knight named Espercius as its captain. This man was a native of Tremicen, and a good Christian. Tirant charged him to go to Genoa, Venice, Pisa and Majorca (which at this time was a great trading center), and to enlist as many ships, galleys, caravels, and all kinds of vessels, as could carry many men. He was to promise them a year's wages, and take them to the port of Constantine in the kingdom of Tunis. When Espercius was informed about everything he was to do, he embarked on his journey. When Ambassador Melquisedic left Barbary he had such favorable weather that he reached Constantinople in a few days. When the emperor was informed that a ship was in port, he immediately sent a knight to find out what ship it was, and what its purpose was in coming. The knight went to the port, boarded the ship and spoke with the ambassador. Then he returned to the palace and told the emperor that the ship had come from Barbary, that Tirant had sent it, stocked with wheat, to His Majesty, and that a knight was on it whom Tirant had sent as his ambassador. When the emperor heard this news he felt very relieved because of the straits they were in, and he gave thanks and praise to God, Our Lord, that he had not been forgotten. The emperor immediately commanded all the knights of the city to go and escort the ambassador that Tirant had sent, and they all went to the port, and had them disembark. The ambassador, accompanied by the people with him, came out, very finely dressed. When they were on land, they were received by the emperor's knights, who paid the ambassador high honors because of their great desire for Tirant to come. They took him to the emperor and the empress who were in the emperor's chamber. The ambassador bowed to the emperor, and kissed his foot and hand, and also the empress's hand. They received them, smiling, and showing great pleasure at their arrival. The ambassador explained his mission to the emperor and his council, and they were all astonished and comforted by Tirant's great prosperity in conquering Barbary. Then the ambassador asked permission to go see the princess. Hippolytus escorted him to the convent where she was staying, and he presented her with a letter from Tirant. She felt very comforted by his words, convinced that he would be coming to her soon. Then she asked the ambassador what news he had of Plaerdemavida: if she was dead or alive. He told about her adventure in detail, and how she had married Lord Agramunt, and how Tirant had promised to make her a queen. Then he took his leave of the princess and went to the lodging. A few days later the emperor had a letter composed to Tirant, explaining in detail the situation his empire was in: that the empire had been overrun by the Turks, and now all that remained was the city of Constantinople, the city of Pera, and a few castles. He had the ambassador come before him, and gave him the letter. Then he begged him earnestly to press Tirant to remember him and to have compassion on his old age, and on all the people who were in danger of renouncing the faith of Jesus Christ, and on the women and maidens who lived in fear of being dishonored unless they had divine aid and his aid as well. The ambassador took his leave, kissing his feet and hand, and likewise the empress's. Afterward the ambassador went to the convent where the princess was, and he told her that he had come to see Her Highness in case she wished to command anything of him. The princess told him she was very pleased that he would be returning so soon, for she trusted his goodness and gentility that he would do everything possible to make Tirant come quickly to free them from the great danger they were in. And she earnestly begged him to do this. Then she gave him a letter she was sending to Tirant. When their talk was over, the ambassador kissed the princess's hand, and took his leave of her. As the ambassador had carried out all the things Tirant had entrusted to him, he boarded the ship, and had the sails raised so they could be on their way. In a few days he reached the city where Tirant was, who received him very happily. Bowing, he gave him the emperor's letter. When Tirant had read the emperor's letter, he felt great compassion for him. His eyes filled with tears when he thought of his anguish, and he remembered the Duke of Macedonia and his other relatives and friends who were being held captive in the hands of the infidels because of him, and that they had no hope of escaping without him. He also thought about all he had conquered in the Empire of Greece while he had been there, and that it and much more had been lost in such a brief span of time. He asked the ambassador about all that he had seen, and he told him everything. He also asked him about the princess and how she was. He answered that he had found her in the convent of Santa Clara (for with his absence she had given herself over to the service of God) and about how she also wore a veil over her face and led a very holy life, and how she had received him very happily. "She asked me how you were and what had happened to you, and she begged me at length to plead with you not to forget her, especially now that they were in danger of becoming prisoners of the Moors. And that if she had ever angered your lordship, she begged you not to make her grieve for it. That, as you were merciful toward your enemies, you would treat her, who was your own, as well. That you should think of her as your own flesh, and not forget her." And he told him many other things that the book does not relate. The ambassador gave him the princess's letter, and it said the following: "After I read your letter, I was filled with infinite joy, and great happiness softened my sad heart. The greatest peace, calm and joy I have felt after I lost your presence is this outpouring of my words, as I feel myself coming back to you. For I have been, I am and will be your secret captive. I thank you with all my heart, for I know all that you have suffered because of me. And I forgive you for the false opinions you held about me, on the sole condition that the African soil find itself abandoned by you so that you will return to me and my deserted people. Let me bring to your memory the crown of the Empire of Greece that awaits you; and my virginity which you so desired, and that is now in danger of being stolen by some infidel; and I, your wife, who am in danger of being taken captive. I don't know what to say, I don't know what to show you! Until now my thoughts have been able to hold these deceptions: gazing at, kissing, adoring some jewels and things that were yours, and finding my consolation in them. Then, going to the doors of my room, saying: 'Here is where my Tirant sat, here he caught me, here he kissed me, here in this bed he held me naked.' And so, rambling most of the night and day, I ease my troubled mind. Let these thoughts cease, then, for they avail me very little, and let Tirant come, for he will be my true consolation, my end, the remedy and peace for my ills, and the redemption of the Christian people." When Tirant had finished reading the princess's letter, he felt great agony from the pain and compassion he had for the emperor and for the princess, and in thinking of the Duke of Macedonia, his cousin, being held prisoner, and of all his other relatives and friends. Tirant then told King Escariano that they would leave and go to Tunis. Before they left, he gave the kingdoms of Fez and Bogia to Lord Agramunt. Then all the men set out for Tunis. When the kingdom of Tunis learned that King Escariano and Captain Tirant were coming with such a mighty force, they sent word to them, begging them not to harm them. Since their lord had died, they would be happy to obey them and to do whatever they commanded. They willingly accepted, and entered the city of Tunis very peacefully. Tirant had them swear to accept King Escariano as their lord, and all the cities, villas and castles surrendered to him. While Tirant was feeling very content, the news reached him that six large ships had docked at the port of Constantine. He immediately sent Melquisedic, giving him many doubloons, and ordered him to load the six ships with wheat, and send them to Constantinople. Melquisedic departed and quickly carried out Tirant's orders, and in a few days they were stocked, and they set sail. Then Tirant had King Escariano take possession of the kingdom of Tunis, and they swore their allegiance to him as their king and lord. When all these things had been done, he felt like the happiest man in the world. He begged King Escariano to go with him to Constantinople, with all his forces, to recover the Empire of Greece that the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk had seized. And King Escariano told him that he would be very happy to carry out everything that he commanded. He also told Lord Agramunt, King of Fez and Bogia, to go to his kingdoms and to enlist as many men as could go with him. Lord Agramunt was very happy, and he left immediately. Then King Escariano wrote letters to the entire kingdom of Tunis, to all the captains and knights, telling them to be in the city of Constantine on a certain day with all their arms and everything they needed for battle. And in three months they were in the city of Constantine. There were forty-four thousand men on horseback and one hundred thousand on foot from the kingdom of Tremicen and from Tunis. Then came the King of Fez and Bogia, Lord Agramunt, with twenty thousand men on horseback and fifty thousand foot soldiers. While these men were coming, the galley of Knight Espercius arrived with many ships, galleys and other vessels, from Genoa, Spain, Venice and Pisa, and there were even more. When Espercius disembarked from the galley, he told Tirant that he had carried out everything he had been charged with. Tirant was very satisfied at all this. He quickly had the galley loaded, and he told Espercius that he wanted him to go as his ambassador to the King of Sicily, and he replied that he would do it gladly. Tirant gave him instructions about what to say to the King of Sicily, and Knight Espercius went aboard his galley and set out for Sicily. A few days after the ambassador had left, all the ships were together in the port of Constantine, and when Tirant saw that he had enough vessels, and that he would need no more, he paid for the fleet for one year. Then he immediately had thirty ships stocked with wheat and supplies from the Barbary Coast. When the ships were loaded, a day was set for all the armed men to meet. Those on horseback and those on foot, and all the people in the city and many others came to a beautiful spot in front of the city of Constantine. Tirant had a very tall cenotaph made there so that all the people could be around it. Then Tirant, King Escariano, the King of Fez and many other barons and knights went onto the cenotaph until it was completely filled. The others stayed down below, and when the people were silent, Tirant spoke briefly, and a friar gave a sermon. When the sermon was over, all the Moors who were not baptized cried out, asking for baptism. Tirant immediately had large basins filled with water, as well as conches, casks and tubs, and all the friars and clerics came, for Tirant had had many monasteries and even more churches built in the cities he had taken, and many clerics and friars had come from the Christian realms. Everyone was baptized--those who were leaving as well as those who were staying behind--and in three days three hundred thirty-four thousand Moors--men, women and children--were baptized. Afterward, Tirant went to talk to King Escariano, and he said to him: "I have been thinking, my lord and brother, that if it is to your liking, instead of going with us by sea you could return to your kingdom of Ethiopia, and enlist as many men as possible, foot soldiers and cavalry, and I will go by sea with these men. And with you on one side and me on the other, we will catch the sultan and the Turk in the middle, and we will destroy them." King Escariano said he would prefer to go with him, but that he understood how much aid he could give him with all his men, and he was content to do so. The book explains that this King Escariano was a very strong and valiant knight, and that he was totally black. For he was lord of the Negritos of Ethiopia, and was called King Jamjam. He was very powerful, owning many horses as well as great treasures, and he was well loved by his vassals. His kingdom was so large that it extended to Barbary, and the kingdom of Tremicen, and on the other side to the Indies and Abyssinia through which the River Tigris passes. Then King Escariano prepared to depart with five hundred knights, and he and the queen took their leave of Tirant, and the King and Queen of Fez, and all the other barons. Tirant accompanied him more than a league, and then he returned to the city of Constantine to give the order for the men to ready themselves with their horses and their entire army. Here the history ceases to speak of Tirant, and it returns to Ambassador Espercius who was going to the island of Sicily. After Ambassador Espercius left the port of Constantine, he had such favorable weather that in a few days he reached the island of Sicily. He learned that the king was in the city of Messina, and he went there. When he was near the port he dressed very well and had all his men put on their finery. Then he disembarked and went to the king's palace. When he was before the king, he bowed, and the king honored him and asked the reason for his coming. The ambassador answered: "Most excellent sir, Tirant lo Blanc sends me to Your Majesty as his ambassador." He immediately gave the ambassador a very fine room, and he had everything he needed brought to him. He also sent beef of an ox and pork and fresh bread to the galley for the men. On the morning of the following day, after the king had heard mass, he summoned his council, and when they were seated in a great hall he told the ambassador to explain his mission. The ambassador said: "Most excellent sir, Your Excellency is aware that Tirant lo Blanc was carrying on a war for the Emperor of Constantinople against the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk. It happened that they took from the emperor all the lands Tirant had conquered, and so he has decided to take the mightiest force he can to Constantinople. He begs Your Highness to go with him personally with all your forces, to help carry out the conquest of the Empire of Greece. And since he has so much confidence in your lordship he will be here very soon." The ambassador said no more. The king quickly replied: "Knight, it makes me very happy to know of the good fortune of my brother Tirant, and I am very pleased to be able to help him." The ambassador stood and thanked the king. When they left the parley, the king had letters drawn up to all the barons and knights of Sicily, and to all the cities and royal villas, that on a certain day they should send all their magistrates to the city of Palermo, because he had decided to hold a general parliament there. On the appointed day the king and all those who were invited were in Palermo, and when the parliament opened the king asked the entire kingdom for aid. They were all happy to give their assistance, and those who could decided to go with him. When the parliament was over, all who had decided to go quickly made ready, and in a short time the king gathered four thousand horses, and he had at his disposal a large fleet of ships and many provisions. Here the book ceases to speak of the King of Sicily, who is putting all his ships in order, and gathering all the provisions and the horses and arms, and it returns to the six ships Tirant had sent to Constantinople, loaded with wheat. After the six ships had left the port of Constantine they had such a favorable wind that in a few days they reached the Port of Valona, which is in Greece. There they received news that the sultan and the Turk had passed the Bosphorus with many ships and galleys that they had sent for from Alexandria and Turkey, and that they had laid siege to the city of Constantinople. The emperor was extremely concerned, and all those in the city prayed continually to Jesus Christ to send Tirant so that they could be freed from their captivity. At the same time they felt very confident because they were sure that Tirant was coming with all his forces. The princess returned to the emperor's palace to console her father, and she told him to gather courage, for Our Lord would help them. The emperor had made Hippolytus his captain-major, and every day he performed great acts of chivalry. If it had not been for him, the sultan would have taken the city before Tirant arrived. When the captains of the six ships learned that the sultan's forces were about to fall on Constantinople they sent a courier by land to the emperor, informing him that they were there, in the port of Valona, but that they did not dare go on to aid His Majesty out of fear of the Moorish army that was facing the city. However, they notified His Majesty that Tirant had already left the city of Constantine and that he was coming with great haste to assist him. In addition, they armed a brigantine and sent it to Tirant to warn him that the Turk and the sultan had laid siege to the city of Constantinople. The brigantine left very secretly and steered for Sicily, and it had such favorable weather that in a few days it reached the port of Palermo. As soon as King Escariano had left Constantine, Tirant ordered all the horses, the food supplies and the people brought together. The thirty ships stocked with wheat arrived, and he had them filled with men. When they were all on board, Tirant, the King of Fez and Plaerdemavida went on the ship, along with all the knights who had been on land with Tirant. When everything was ready, they sailed toward Sicily. When the brigantine that had come from the port of Valona saw Tirant's fleet, it sailed out of the port and steered toward them, asking for the captain's ship, and it was pointed out to them. When the brigantine was next to Tirant's ship they told him that the six ships were in the port of Valona and that they had not been able to pass by the sultan's fleet, and of the siege that had been laid against the city. This made Tirant very angry, and he sailed to the port of Palermo where he saw the ships of the King of Sicily that began to celebrate with trumpets and bombards. Those of Tirant answered them, and they raised such a din that it seemed as though the world was going to cave in. As soon as Tirant's armada was in port and had laid anchor, the King of Sicily came on board Tirant's ship and there they embraced and kissed. The King of Sicily honored all the barons and knights who were on Tirant's ship, and he kissed and embraced the King of Fez, and they all went on land together. Tirant ordered that no one on the ships was to go on land, since he wanted to leave the following day. The King of Sicily had his queen come to the sea, and she honored Tirant and the King of Fez and the queen, especially when she heard that she had been the servant of so virtuous a lady as the princess. They all went to the palace together, with a great multitude of ladies and maidens, and other people who followed them. When they were in the palace a splendid meal was prepared for them, and they ate their fill with great pleasure from all sorts of victuals. When they left their tables, Tirant and the King of Sicily went into a chamber. The Queen of Sicily and the King of Fez, along with his wife, remained in the hall with many ladies and gentlemen, and they began to dance and entertain themselves. Tirant told the King of Sicily about all the misfortunes he had suffered, and how afterward Our Lord had protected him and had given him a great victory, and how he had conquered all of Barbary. Then he told him of the condition the emperor was in, and that he needed their aid immediately. The King of Sicily answered him: "My brother and my lord, the horses and arms have been prepared, along with most of the men." Tirant answered: "My brother and lord, I beg you to have a proclamation sent out through the city that everyone shall gather, as you wish to depart this evening." The King of Sicily immediately sent one of his chamberlains, and the trumpeters went through the city commanding all those who were to leave to gather together, and it was quickly done. Tirant and the king went back to the hall with the queen, and there they found a little diversion. The Queen of Sicily drew apart with the Queen of Fez, and embraced her, asking her many questions about the princess, about her beauty and about the love between Tirant and the princess. The Queen of Fez praised the princess, saying she would never be able to tell of all her wonderful qualities. She passed lightly over the love affair with great discretion. Then she began to flatter the queen--an art at which she was a master--telling her that after Her Highness, the princess, she was without equal in the world; that she had never seen or heard of a lady with such a genteel mind or so much beauty as Her Majesty, and that she was very much in love with her and her singular qualities; and she told her many other things, all of which gave the Queen of Sicily great pleasure. After the party and celebrations had ended it was time to dine, and they ate with great satisfaction. When they had left the table, Tirant begged the King of Sicily to make ready quickly, and the king told him he would. They took their leave of the Queen of Sicily and of all those who were staying with her. The King of Sicily entrusted the regency of the kingdom to a cousin-german of the queen, who was Duke of Messina, a good and virtuous knight. He made him viceroy, and put the queen and his entire household in his charge. When everything was done that was necessary, the king and Tirant and all their company gathered together, and the entire fleet, Tirant's as well as that of the King of Sicily, set sail. At the port of Valona the six ships loaded with wheat were waiting, and they were very pleased when they saw Tirant's fleet. Here the book ceases talking about Tirant and continues with the story of King Escariano. As soon as King Escariano left Tirant, he and his wife, the queen, rode until they came to his land--the Kingdom of Ethiopia. After he had rested a few days, he called all the barons and knights of his kingdom to the city of Trogodita, and he told them: "It must have come to your knowledge that I was the prisoner of the captain of the Christians: Tirant lo Blanc. He is the best knight in the world, for he gave us our liberty and made us his companion in arms. Furthermore, he has given me as my wife the daughter of the King of Tremicen, along with that kingdom, and he has also given to me the Kingdom of Tunis. Now he must carry out the conquest of the Greek Empire for the Emperor of Constantinople--because the sultan and the Grand Turk have taken away his entire empire. So he has called on me, as his brother and servant, to help him with all my power. Thus, I beg all of you who are willing, to come with me to Constantinople." One by one, they each responded that they loved him with a great love, and that they would follow him and die for him, not only in Constantinople but to the ends of the world. King Escariano thanked them all. Then he sent messages to all the cities and towns of his kingdom that all who wished to put themselves at his service--both cavalry and foot soldiers, citizens and foreigners--should come to the city of Trogodita. When they had all gathered there, King Escariano found that as part of his army he had at his command twenty thousand horsemen, strong and able with weapons. The queen also made ready, and they left the city of Trogodita with their entire army. Here the book returns to Tirant lo Blanc's armada as they are going to Constantinople. When Tirant was at the port of Valona he sent a galley into the port and commanded the captains of the six ships to come out of the port and follow the armada. So they set sail and came out of the port and followed the fleet. When the armada was in the canal of Romania it set its course for the port of Gigeo, which is the port of Troy, and there they waited for the rest of the armada to join them. Tirant held counsel with the King of Sicily and the King of Fez and all the other barons and knights, for he knew that the sultan's entire armada was in the port of Constantinople, and that they had more than three hundred vessels. It was decided to send a man overland who knew the Moorish language, and who would go into Constantinople at night to inform the emperor that Tirant and his entire armada were in the port of Troy, a little more than one hundred miles from Constantinople. They did not want to give him any sort of letter, so that if he were taken prisoner by the Moors they would not have any warning. So they would tell him everything he should say to the emperor. When the council was over Tirant called a knight from Tunis who had been a Moor of the royal house. His name was Sinegerus, and he was a very ingenious and eloquent man, and a valiant knight. He had been a captive in Constantinople, and knew the area well. Tirant told him everything he was to say to the emperor and the princess, and he gave him his seal so the emperor would have faith in him. This knight dressed himself in Moorish fashion as a lackey. A brigantine picked him up, and at night they put him ashore a league from the Moorish camp that was laying siege to the city of Constantinople. The knight carefully turned away from the encampment and set out for the city, but before he could escape he fell into the hands of spies from the Moorish camp. He spoke to them very discreetly in their language, and told them he was one of them, and they let him pass. When he reached the city, the men who were guarding the gate seized him, thinking he was from the Moorish encampment. He told them not to harm him because he was Tirant's ambassador, and that he was coming to talk to the emperor. The guards immediately took him to the emperor who, at that moment, was getting up from the dinner table. When Sinegerus was before the emperor, he knelt and kissed his hand and foot, and gave him Tirant's seal. The emperor looked at it and recognized Tirant's coat of arms. Then the emperor embraced him, telling him he was very welcome. Sinegerus said: "Most excellent Sire, I was sent here by that great captain Tirant lo Blanc who commends himself in grace and mercy to Your Majesty, for soon, with the help of God our Lord, he will free you from all your enemies. In addition, he begs you to put all your cavalry in order, and have the city well guarded, for tomorrow morning he will attack the Moorish armada, and he fears that when the Moors see their squadron lost they will mount a powerful attack against the city. Tirant is coming with enough might to take them and kill them all, and of this Your Majesty should not have the slightest doubt." "Friend," said the emperor, "we feel very relieved by what you have told us. May our Lord grant us the grace that it will be as you have said, for we have so much trust in the great virtue and chivalry of Tirant, that with the help of God he will fulfill our good desire and his own." The emperor immediately summoned Hippolytus, his high captain, and when he was before him he said: "Our captain, you know that Tirant is in the port of Troy with a great squadron. He has decided to attack the Moorish army tomorrow morning, and so it is very important that you quickly call all the cavalry in the city and all the constables and captains of the foot soldiers, and that you have your men ready in case the Moors decide to attack the city." After the ambassador, Sinegerus, had explained his mission, he asked the emperor's permission to go pay reverence to the empress and the princess, and the emperor gave his consent. When he had received permission he went to the empress' chambers where he found her daughter with all the ladies. The knight bowed to the empress and kissed her hand, and then the princess's hand. Then, kneeling, he said: "Ladies, my captain and lord Tirant lo Blanc sends me to kiss your hands. And he offers to come here very soon to pay his respects to you." When the princess heard that Tirant was coming and that he was so close, she became so happy that she nearly fainted. For some time she seemed delirious with happiness. When she had recovered, the empress and the princess rejoiced with the ambassador. They asked him about many things, especially what men were coming in Tirant's company. The ambassador answered that the King of Sicily was coming with him with all his forces, and the King of Fez with all his forces and with his wife, the queen, whose name was Plaerdemavida. And all the barons of the kingdoms of Tunis and Tremicen were coming. Many other knights who had accepted payment for their services were coming from Spain, France and Italy because of the great fame and renown of Tirant. And also that magnanimous King Escariano, the lord of Ethiopia, was coming overland. "He is coming with a mighty army of men on foot and on horseback, and he is bringing his wife, the queen, with him. She is very desirous of seeing Your Excellency, Princess, because of the great beauty she has heard attributed to you. For this queen is one of the most beautiful women in the world, and possesses all virtues." He also told them how Plaerdemavida had married Lord Agramunt, and that she was coming so His Majesty the emperor and the ladies would honor her for the wedding. He explained to them at length how Tirant had carried out the conquest of Barbary, and how he had given away all that he had conquered and won, and had kept nothing. And that everyone who saw him or heard of him adored him. He told them many other virtuous and praiseworthy things about Tirant, which neither ink nor words would suffice to describe. When the empress and the princess heard about all Tirant's virtues and singular acts, they were astonished at the great grace that God, our Lord, had given him so that he was loved by everyone. And they wept with happiness when they thought that he would be the restorer and defender of the crown of the Empire of Greece. For they were already beyond hope, and each of the women thought they would be made captives and dishonored by the enemies of the faith. And they were very pleased when he told them about the coming of the Queen of Ethiopia, especially the princess, because they had told her she was very beautiful and virtuous, and she wanted very much to have her friendship. And they talked late into the night. The empress remained in her chamber and the princess went to her own. The ambassador took her by the arm and accompanied her, and she asked him why he had kissed her hand three times. He answered that it was by his lord Tirant's command, who begged her to please pardon him, for he would never dare come to her because of the great error he had committed. The princess answered: "Knight, tell my lord Tirant that where there is no error, there is no need for forgiveness. But if he feels he has wronged me, I beg him to correct it by coming here quickly, for it is the thing I desire most in this world." The ambassador took his leave of the princess and went to the lodging that the emperor had prepared for him. That night Captain Hippolytus had a careful watch set up throughout the city, and no one slept at all with their great fear of the Moors, and because they were looking forward to the battle Tirant would give the Moorish army. Here the book stops talking of the emperor who is having the city well guarded, and goes back to tell about Widow Repose, alias the Devil. When Widow Repose heard that Tirant was coming and that he was already so nearby, she was stricken with such fear that she thought she was going to die, and she said that her heart felt terribly ill. She went into her chamber, and there she lamented loudly, crying and striking her head and face, for at that moment she felt she was dead, and she truly believed that Tirant would deal a cruel sentence against her. Since she knew that he had been informed by Plaerdemavida, she thought that if the princess knew of the heinous crime she had accused her of, how could she possibly face her? On the other hand, she was still terribly in love with Tirant, and thus she was driven mad. She spent the entire night this way, fantasizing and struggling within herself, for she did not know what to do. And it was not something she dared tell to anyone, nor could she ask for advice, because if she did they would all be her enemies. Finally she decided to poison herself in such a way that her wickedness would not be known, so that her body would not be burned or given to the dogs to eat. She immediately took some arsenic that she had for making a depilatory, and she put it in a glass of water and drank it. She left the door to her chamber open, undressed and lay down on the bed. Then she began to cry loudly, saying that she was dying. The maidens who were sleeping nearby heard the loud cries and quickly got up and went to the Widow's chamber, and there they found her screaming continuously. The empress and the princess got out of bed, and there was a great uproar in the palace. The emperor got up quickly, thinking the Moors had broken into the city with their weapons, or that his daughter might have unexpectedly become ill. He fainted, and the doctors were summoned. When the empress and the princess heard that the emperor had fainted, they left Widow Repose and went running to the emperor's chamber where they found him more dead than alive. Then the princess began to wail loudly, and it was terrible to see her anguish. The doctors came quickly and immediately tended to him. As soon as he regained consciousness he asked what had caused all the disturbance, and if the Moors had entered the city. They told him no, but that Widow Repose was having great dizzy spells, and that she was crying terribly and was very close to death. The emperor ordered the doctors to go, and to do whatever they could to save her. The doctors went immediately, and at the very minute they reached her chambers, she surrendered her soul to Pluto's realm. When the princess learned that Widow Repose had died, she wailed loudly, because of her great love for her, for she had been nursed by her. She had them place her in a beautiful coffin, because she wanted her to be given a very honorable burial. In the morning the emperor and all his court, the empress and the princess and all the magistrates and honorable men of the city, escorted the body of the Widow to the great church of Santa Sofia, and there they held a very solemn funeral. Then the emperor and all the people went back to the palace. Here the book leaves off speaking of Widow Repose and returns to Tirant. After Tirant had put the knight Sinegerus ashore so that he could warn the emperor, he had his entire fleet make ready. He commanded his vessels to attack the ships, and the galleys to attack the galleys. At the same time he ordered all the captains, when they attacked the Moors, to create a tremendous noise with trumpets, pipes and horns, and the others with bombards and terrible cries to frighten them to death. When everything was ready he gave the order to set sail. All the ships very quietly left the port of Troy at daybreak and sailed all day and the following night. Our Lord favored them so much that the entire day was foggy and misty and neither the Moors nor the people in the city could see them. They came upon the Moorish fleet two hours before daybreak while the Moorish armada was completely unsuspecting. Then they attacked the Moorish fleet mightily, with a great explosion of trumpets, pipes and horns and loud cries, and many bombards that they shot simultaneously. And the noise they made was so loud that it seemed as though the earth and the sky would cave in. They built great bonfires on each ship that lit up the heavens. When the Moors heard such a loud noise and saw the light and the ships bearing down on them, they were so frightened that they did not know what they were doing, for they had been caught sleeping and unarmed. All the ships were taken with little difficulty since they were so alarmed that they gave no resistance. And there was such a slaughter that it was a sight to see, for they beheaded every man they found on the ships and spared no one. Those who threw themselves into the sea and swam ashore carried the bad news to the sultan and the Turk. When the Moors in the camp learned that all the ships had been seized and all the men were dead, and they had heard the noise and seen the fires, they did not know who had done it and they were frightened. They all armed and mounted their horses and prepared for battle, because they were afraid they would be tricked as the ships were. They went down to the water's edge so that no one would come ashore. When Tirant saw that all the Moorish ships had been taken, he was the happiest man in the world, and he knelt down, and with great devotion he said: "Great Lord, full of infinite mercy and grace, I give thanks to Your immense goodness for all the help You have given me. Without losing one of my soldiers You have let me take three hundred ships." This victory was won so quickly that when they had finished taking the ships it had barely turned daylight. When those on the city wall heard the loud noise of the bombards and the trumpets and shouting near the port, and saw so many lights, they were astonished, for it seemed that all the might in the world was there. They realized that it was Tirant's armada that had attacked the Moorish fleet, and they were surprised that at that moment the Moorish camp had not attacked the city. And everyone in the city became excited when they realized that Tirant was attacking the Moorish ships. The emperor heard the noise, got up quickly and mounted his horse, along with the few who were in the palace at that time. He went through the streets asking all the people to be ready to defend the city if necessary. The Moors were so upset by the lost ships and afraid of a landing that they paid little attention to the city. They were trapped and could not turn back, and they thought they would all be dead or taken captive. They carefully watched the shoreline so that no one from Tirant's armada could come ashore. When the day was bright and clear, Tirant had his men board all the ships that he had taken from the Moors, then they raised their sails and the entire armada left the port of Constantinople and made for the Black Sea along the Bosphorus. Tirant thought that if he cut off their way by land he could do whatever he wanted with them. So he pretended to be leaving with the booty, taking all the Moorish ships. That day Tirant sailed toward the Black Sea until, in the evening, the Moors lost sight of the ships. Tirant did this so that the Moors would think he was leaving and would not try to stop them when they went ashore. When the night was dark, Tirant had his entire squadron turn back toward land. He touched land four leagues from the Moorish camp, and the men disembarked with all the horses and artillery they needed, and enough food for their encampment. The Moors were completely unaware that they were there and they left their ships well supplied. When all the men were ready and on horseback, they took several mules and went at least half a league from their ships along the basin of a river, until they reached a large stone bridge. Here Tirant had all the men set up camp at the head of the bridge next to the river. They had the river between them and the enemy so that the Moors would not fall upon them during the night. Tirant had his tent set up on the bridge so that no one could go past, and he had many bombards installed on the bridge so that if the enemy came they would be well met. He also sent his spies toward the Moors' camp so that he would be forewarned if anyone came. As soon as they were settled, Tirant took a foot soldier and dressed him like a Moor to deliver a letter to the emperor in Constantinople. The letter told about his victories over the ships of the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk. It said they had captured three hundred ships filled with food, and that he wanted to send the food to the emperor. And finally it asked the emperor how much food the city had. When Tirant had finished the letter he gave it to the man he had chosen to go to Constantinople. His name was Carillo, and he was Greek, a native of Constantinople, so he knew very well how to get there. By night he took back roads to the city so that the Moors in the camp did not see him. When he was at the gate the guards seized him and took him to the emperor. He bowed, and kissed his hand and foot, and gave him Tirant's letter. The emperor was very happy to get it, and he read it immediately, and then praised God for His mercy. He called the empress and his daughter, the princess, and showed them Tirant's letter, and they were very pleased that Tirant had captured the Moors' ships. The emperor summoned his captain, Hippolytus, and showed him Tirant's letter. Hippolytus immediately left the emperor and with other men a search was made, and they found that they still had provisions for three months. Hippolytus returned to the emperor and told him: "Sire, we have enough supplies in the city to last three months, or even four, if necessary. So, my lord, before we use up these supplies, Tirant will have lifted the siege of the city." The emperor called his secretary, and had him write a letter to Tirant, explaining in detail what he had decided. Then he called Sinegerus, and said: "Knight, I want you to take this letter to Tirant, and also to tell him everything you have seen." He replied that he would. When the ambassador Sinegerus had taken the emperor's letter, he kissed his hand and foot and took his leave. Then he went to say goodbye to the empress and the princess, and he found her in her chamber. She begged him to tell Tirant about her, and she hoped he would think of her. She wanted him to think of how many hardships they had suffered since she had seen him. In any case, she wanted to see him as soon as possible, and if she couldn't, she was sure she would die. The knight answered that he would do everything she commanded, and he kissed her hand. The princess embraced him, and he bowed and left the palace. He dressed as a Moor and took Carillo, who had brought the letter to the emperor, as his companion. They left the city at twelve o'clock midnight, and took the same roads by which Carillo had come secretly, and no one in the Moorish camp saw them. At dawn they reached the bridge where Tirant had his camp. When the guards recognized them they let them pass, and they went directly to Tirant's tent and found him already up. Tirant was very happy to see them, and he asked Sinegerus for news about the emperor and the empress, and his heart, the princess. He told him about everything he had seen, and what the emperor told him. He also told him what the princess had said. When the sultan and the Turk discovered that Tirant had disembarked and that he had set up camp on the stone bridge, they were sure they were lost, for they saw that they could not escape by sea or by land without falling into Tirant's hands. At the same time, if they stayed there long they would die of hunger, because they did not even have enough food to last two months since their ships had not been able to unload their cargo. When they saw the fate that was to befall them, like bold knights and without showing the least faintness of heart they held council to see what could be done. In this council there were terrible arguments. Some advised them to attack the city: if they could take it they could hold fast there until they received aid, for they could not imagine that the city would not be well supplied. Others said they should set up battle stations in front of Tirant's camp, because he was such a valiant knight that he would be certain to do battle. And they had so many excellent cavalry that they could not help but defeat them. And even if they did not, it was better to die as knights than to let themselves be trapped like sheep. And if fortune smiled on them and allowed them to be the victors in battle they could go past safely and stay there until they had taken the city. Others were of the opinion that it would be better to send an embassy to Tirant so he would grant them a truce and let them go past. They would all go to their land and leave the Empire of Greece behind, and they would also give back all the fortresses they had taken, and all the prisoners and captives. At the end of the council they decided to send an embassy to Tirant, and if he would not let them go by, then they could take other measures: First they could attack the city, and if they could not take it then their last recourse would be to die like knights with their swords in their hands. So the council ended, and they chose as their ambassadors the son of the Grand Caramany and the Prince of Scythia, who were very knowledgeable about war. They told them to estimate how many men Tirant had and how many were ready and armed, and they gave them instructions about everything they were to say and do. With the ambassadors went two hundred unarmed men on horses. Before they left they sent a messenger to Tirant's camp to ask for safe passage, and it was granted to them. The ambassadors then set out on the road to the camp. Meanwhile, Tirant called the Marquis of Lizana, his admiral, and told him to pay what was due to the hired ships. And he was to divide their provisions into three parts, taking some to the castle of Sinopoli, and others to the castle of Pera, and the last to the city of Pera, along with five hundred soldiers. Then the ships could return to their home ports. He also commanded him to arm the ships that had been taken from the Moors and his remaining ships, and to supply them well, and that were to go to the city of Constantinople. "And after they have unloaded their cargo, let them appear constantly in view of the Moors' encampment and bombarded them and cause them as much harm as they can." The admiral did this, and also ordered two well armed galleys to remain in the river, near Tirant's camp, in case he needed to send them somewhere. Then Tirant went to the tent of the Queen of Fez, and told her: "My sister, I beg you to go with these ships to Constantinople, so that you can console the lady who holds my soul captive. I am afraid that during this time, while I'm not able to go to her, some harm may befall her, and that would be worse than death for me." The gracious queen would not allow Tirant to speak. Instead, with a kindly face and soft voice, she said: "My brother, to me your requests are commands. I am deeply in your debt because of the great benefits and honors I've received from you." Then Tirant embraced her and kissed her on the cheek, and said to her: "My sister, I cannot thank you enough for the great love I see in you." The queen tried to kiss his hands, and Tirant would not allow it. Later, the morning of the following day, the queen went to depart with all her maidens; and the King of Sicily, along with Tirant and five hundred armed men, accompanied her to the sea. When the queen had boarded a ship they took their leave of her and returned to camp. The admiral had all the ships set sail, and they started on their way to Constantinople. Then the Moorish ambassadors reached Tirant's camp, and were astonished at all the horses and men there. In Tirant's tent the son of the Grand Caramany explained his mission: "You know, great captain, how many people are lost in battles of this sort. And many more would be lost in this one where graves are prepared for so many soldiers. So, to avoid all that inhumanity we, ambassadors of our lord the sultan, and the Grand Turk, have come to learn what your lordship's intention is in this matter. If it please you, we would ask for a truce of three or more months, and if your generous person should wish it, a lasting peace for one hundred and one years. They will be very happy to be friends of your friends and enemies of your enemies, in brotherhood. If this is done they will leave the empire of Greece, restoring to your dominion all cities, castles, towns and lands within the boundaries of Greece. In addition, they will free all Christian prisoners held in our power, and they will comply with any other reasonable demand. But if you do not wish to come to an agreement with them, you may be certain that they will very quickly give you a terrible lesson with cruel weapons." And that was the end of his speech. Tirant saw immediately that he had finally achieved the glory he desired so much. But with great discretion he did not agree at once; he told them to rest, and that he would soon give them a reply. So they took their leave, and Tirant's knights took them back to their tents with honor. Like a virtuous captain, Tirant sent word for his illustrious kings and dukes and noble chivalry to come to his tent the next day, for after mass he wanted to hold counsel concerning the embassy. And as they all loved Tirant deeply, they quickly went to his tent. After they had heard mass they each sat down according to their rank, and when there was silence in the council, Tirant said: "Most illustrious and magnificent lords, your lordships are aware of the embassy sent by the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk, asking us for a truce. In the first place we must consider that they are in bad straits. We know that we have them in a position where they need food and other things necessary to survive. My opinion is that we could not give greater service to His Majesty the emperor than if we did not grant them a truce or any agreement at all. Instead we should have them place themselves in our power with no assurances concerning their property or their lives. And if they do not agree to this, let them do all the harm they can, for we are certain we can make them perish from hunger. Furthermore, if we want to do battle with them it is in our power, because we are much more powerful than they. However, I believe it would be great madness for us to battle them, for they are desperate, and we could lose many of our own men and put the entire country in danger. My lords and brothers, my opinion is this: we should give them no reply at all without consulting His Majesty, the emperor, so that if anything of the sort should happen, we would not be blamed. So I beg all your lordships, my brothers, to advise me about the reply that should be given." And he finished his speech. *** In the meantime the fleet left Tirant's camp to go to the illustrious city of Constantinople, and the wind and weather were so favorable that on that same day, two hours before Phoebus ended his journey, they reached the city. The noble citizens and the townspeople, hearing the cries of happiness, ran to the wall to see the help they wanted so much. The fleet came in, flying the flags of His imperial Majesty and the valiant captain, Tirant. There was no less happiness inside the city, as they rang the bells and praised divine Providence. When the princess saw Plaerdemavida, her servant, coming so triumphantly as a queen, she dismounted in order to pay her honor. The queen threw herself at her feet to honor her, but the lady would not allow that, and instead kissed her many times on the mouth as a sign of her great love. The night the virtuous Queen of Fez arrived at Constantinople the princess wanted her to sleep with her so they could talk at their leisure. When they were in bed the princess said: "My virtuous sister and lady, my heart has been very anxious all the time you were gone. I couldn't write down all the reasons for this, for I loved you more than all the ladies and maidens in the world. I found it impossible to live without you, especially when I thought that because of me you had died a frightening death at the terrible hands of the sea. I beg you, my sister and lady, please tell me how I offended virtuous Tirant who so cruelly left the one who loved him more than her own life. And don't think that I am the way I was when you left me, because love has won over me so that I am beside myself. And I'm afraid that if I don't see my Tirant soon my life will not last long." The lady ended her pitiful words, weeping uncontrollably. The virtuous queen comforted her with tender words, and when the princess had recovered, the queen said: "My lady, Your Highness should rejoice at one thing: you are not at all to blame. I told Tirant everything. When he knew the truth he was very confused and ashamed, and through me he asks Your Majesty to pardon him. My lady, Your Highness should forgive him because he was deceived by someone who was deeply trusted, and Your Majesty is unaware of her cruelty. Trust me, my lady, I have never failed you when you needed me. I will soon have him come here to pay you homage, for I know that he truly has no other desire than to honor you and offer his services to Your Majesty." "My sister," said the princess, "I can see now that in the past when you were in my service, you gave me good advice and I didn't realize it. From now on I will do what you advise me." When the princess had finished, the queen said: "My lady, if Your Highness will do this I promise to fulfill your desire very quickly--even more than you wish." And with these words and others like them, they spent most of the night. The princess took great pleasure in the queen's words, for it had been a long time since they had seen each other and they had a great deal to talk about. The queen said: "My lady, let us give ourselves up to the night so that Your Highness will not grow tired." And they did. *** When virtuous Tirant held council with the great kings, dukes, counts and barons about the reply they would give to the ambassadors of the sultan and the Turk, the council decided unanimously that His Majesty the emperor should be consulted. Tirant thought he had reached the end he so much desired to have a justifiable reason for going and paying homage to the lady who held his heart captive. Thinking that this business was of great importance, and that it affected his honor more than it did the others', he decided to go alone, secretly, to the noble, beloved city to talk with His Majesty, the emperor, and to know his decision. In that way peace could be brought to the Empire of Greece, and he could enjoy restful tranquility in the arms of his lady. When darkness of night fell, he spoke to the King of Sicily and the King of Fez, and left the camp in their hands. Then he went on board a galley and sailed to Constantinople, which was some twenty miles from Tirant's camp. When Tirant reached the port and the galley was anchored, it was ten o'clock at night. He ordered the ship's commander not to leave. Then he disguised himself, and disembarked, and when he was at the city gates, he told the guards to open them, that he was a servant of Tirant who had come to speak to His Majesty, the emperor. The guards let him pass, and he went to the emperor's palace. When he was inside they told him that the emperor had gone to bed. Tirant went to the Queen of Fez's chamber and found her praying. When the queen saw him she quickly recognized him and ran to embrace him and kiss him, and she said: "Lord Tirant, I can't tell you how happy I am that you are here, and now I have even more reason to thank God for hearing my prayers. Come, my lord, so worthy of glory. It is time now for you to receive the payment for your honorable deeds in the arms of the lady who is your real happiness. And if you don't do what I tell you to this time, I swear that you'll never have my help again. Instead I'll go back to my land as quickly as I can." Tirant did not let the queen go on. He said: "My lady and sister, if I have disobeyed you in the past, I beg you to forgive me. I promise and swear to you, on the order of chivalry that I hold, that there will be nothing in the world that you will command of me that I will not obey, even if I am certain it will bring me death. For I am very sure that you always gave me good advice, if only I had taken advantage of it." "Now then," said the queen, "we shall see what you are able to do. You will have to go into a list in a closed field of battle, because I won't consider you a knight if I don't see you as the victor in a delicious battle. Wait here, and I will go talk to the princess. I'll ask her to come here tonight to sleep with me." The queen quickly left Tirant and went to the princess's chamber, and found her ready to go to bed. When the princess saw the queen, she said: "What has happened, sister, to bring you here in such a hurry?" The queen pretended to be very happy, and she put her head close to the princess's and said: "My lady, please come sleep with me in my bed tonight. I have many things to tell Your Majesty. A galley has come from Tirant's camp, and a man came ashore and talked to me." The princess very happily told her she would do it, because she had slept with her other times, and the queen had also slept in her bed. They did this when they wanted to talk freely without awakening the suspicion of the empress and the maidens. The princess took the queen's hand, and they went to her chamber. They found it in good order and well perfumed, as the queen had prepared it. The princess quickly got into bed because of her great desire to have news about Tirant, and her maidens helped her undress. When the princess was in bed, they bade her a good night--which they did not know was already prepared for her. When the maidens had left the bedroom the queen bolted the door herself and told her maidens to go to sleep because she was going to pray a little while, and she would go to bed later and did not want anyone there. All the maidens went into another chamber where they slept. When the queen had dismissed them all she went into the sitting room and said to Tirant: "Glorious knight, strip yourself to your nightshirt, and go lie beside the lady who loves you more than her own life. Apply the spurs strongly and without mercy, as befits a knight. And don't come to me with any squeamishness, because I swear to you on my word as a queen that if you don't do it now you'll never get another chance to have this much glory for the rest of your life." When Tirant heard such beautiful words from the queen he knelt down on the floor and kissed her hands and feet. Then he said: "My lady and my sister, you've bound my liberty with strong chains. What you are doing for me is so great that, even if I were your captive for the rest of my life, I don't believe I could repay what I owe you." "My lord, Tirant," said the queen, "don't waste time. Take your clothes off right now." The virtuous Tirant flung his clothes into the air, and in a trice he was naked and barefoot. The queen took him by the hand and led him to the bed where the princess was. The queen said to the princess: "My lady, here is your adventurous knight whom Your Majesty loves so much. Be a good companion to him, your grace, as one would expect from Your Excellency. You're not unaware of how many trials and hardships he has gone through to win your love. Make wise use of him, for you are the discretion of the world, and he is your husband. And Your Majesty should think of nothing but the present, because one never knows what the future will bring." The princess answered: "False sister, I never thought you would betray me like this. But I have confidence in the virtue of my lord, Tirant, who will make up for your great lack." And don't imagine that during this conversation Tirant was idle; instead he applied himself to his labor. The queen left them and went to a bed in the chamber, to sleep. When the queen had gone, the princess turned to Tirant who was pushing forward in his battle, and she said: "Calm yourself, my lord, and don't try to use your bellicose strength, because the strength of a delicate maiden is not so great that she can resist such a knight. Upon your mercy, don't treat me like this. The struggle of love doesn't require great force; it is not won by strength, but by ingenious flattery and sweet deception. Stop your insistence, my lord; don't be cruel: don't think that this is a camp or list of infidels; don't try to conquer someone who is already conquered by your goodness. Let me have part of your manliness so that I may resist you. Oh, my lord! How can something which is forced give you pleasure? Oh! Can love allow you to harm the thing that is loved? Restrain yourself, my lord, upon your virtue and nobility. Wait, poor thing! The arms of love should not cut, nor should the enamored lance break or wound! Have pity, have compassion on this solitary maiden. Oh, false and cruel knight! I will cry out! Wait, for I want to scream. Lord Tirant, will you have no compassion on me? You are not Tirant. Wretched me! Is this what I desired so? Oh, hope of my life, here is your dead princess!" And do not think that Tirant refrained from doing his work because of the pitiful words of the princess, for in a short time Tirant was the conqueror in the delicious battle, and the princess gave up her arms and swooned. Tirant jumped out of bed, thinking he had killed her, and he went to call the queen so that she would come and help him. The queen got up quickly and took a jar of water and sprinkled it on the princess's face, and rubbed her temples. She recovered her senses, and giving a deep sigh, she said: "Even if these are the signs of love, they should not be used with so much force and cruelty. Now, lord Tirant, I must believe that you did not love me with a virtuous love. If only you had waited for the day of solemnity and the ceremonial festivities to lawfully enter the doors of my chastity." The queen did not wait for the princess to say any more, and with a smiling face she said: "Oh, my blessed lady! How well you know how to act like you're hurt! A knight's arms do no harm to a maiden. May God give me a death like the one you pretend he's giving you! May I be attacked by the illness you're talking about if by morning you don't feel completely cured." The princess was not entirely consoled at the loss of her virginity, and since she did not want to answer the queen's insane words, she kept quiet. The two lovers spent the entire night playing that happy sport that lovers play. CHAPTER XIII THE WEDDING During the night Tirant told the princess about all the misfortunes he had suffered because of her love. Then he took great pleasure in telling her about his prosperity and victory, but finally he told her that he felt less glory in any of it than he did in conquering her illustrious person. When she had gathered her strength and her sweet anger was over, she told Tirant about the life she had led while he was gone, and how during this time she had never seen anyone laugh or take joy in anything. Withdrawn from all delights, alone in continual prayer, deep in religion because of her love, she had been able to survive until they brought her the happy news of his arrival. And they exchanged many other delicious words, full of loving sighs. The queen, who was responsible for this affair, saw that daylight was near, and she realized that when people in love have some pleasure, they do not think of anything that would disturb them. She got up from her bed, anxiously, and went to where the lovers were. She told them that since their night had been good she hoped God would give them a good morning. They returned her good wishes very graciously, and she found them very happy, taking joy in one another. The queen said to Tirant: "Lord of the Empire of Greece: Get up, it's already day. You must leave as secretly as you can so that no one will see you." Tirant would have liked that night to last a year. Many times, while kissing the princess, he begged her to forgive him. The princess answered: "My lord Tirant, love obliges me to forgive you, on the condition that you come back soon, for I cannot live without you. Now I know what love is, and before I did not know." The lady had barely uttered the last syllable of her loving words when Tirant said: "Your Highness will see how short the war will become so that I, your captive, can wait on you with loving service." And with a kiss of deepest love they parted. The queen took him by the hand and led him through a back door into the orchard. Saying very courteous words, they each went their way. Tirant went to Hippolytus' quarters, and the queen went back to the princess, and took Tirant's place in the bed. And there they slept peacefully until well into the day. Hippolytus' happiness was by no means slight when he saw his master and lord Tirant. With the great love he had for him, he threw himself at his feet, attempting to kiss them. Tirant would not allow it, and lifted him from the floor, and embraced and kissed him. They greeted each other at length, for they had not seen each other since fate had carried off Tirant. Tirant told Hippolytus to go to the palace and tell the emperor that he had come and wished to speak with him secretly. Hippolytus quickly went to the emperor and told him of Tirant's arrival. The emperor thought Tirant must have come because of very important matters, and he told Hippolytus to have him come immediately. Hippolytus went to his quarters and told Tirant what the emperor had said. The two relatives left Hippolytus' lodging in disguise and went to the palace. They found the emperor in his chamber as he was finishing dressing. When Tirant was before His Majesty he threw himself at his feet, to kiss them. The great lord would not permit it, and instead took Tirant by the hand, lifted him from the floor and kissed him on the mouth. Tirant kissed his hand, and the emperor took his hand and led him to another chamber where he made him sit at his side. Tears ran down the emperor's cheeks because of his great happiness, and because of all the losses he had suffered--which he knew well would not have happened if Tirant had been there. Tirant said: "Most excellent Sire, the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk have sent me on this mission which has many conditions that affect Your Majesty. Since it would be very presumptuous of me to give a reply without the express license of Your Majesty, I entreat your grace that it be examined carefully in the council and a decision be reached about what is to be done, so that if it should be brought up in the future, I would not be held to blame. The Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk are asking Your Majesty for a truce of three months, or for longer if Your Majesty wishes. And if you want a lasting peace for one hundred one years, they will be happy to form an alliance with Your Majesty to be friends of your friends and enemies of your enemies." The emperor answered: "Our virtuous captain and son: We hold you in such high esteem and trust that we would have accepted whatever you decided. But to please you, I will hold counsel on the matter." The great emperor ordered the council to meet quickly so that Tirant could return to camp. Taking his leave of the emperor, Tirant went to pay his respects to the empress and the princess. He found them together in the princess's chamber because she was pretending to be sick, and the empress had come to be with her. The empress was very glad to see Tirant. The princess pretended to greet him coldly so as not to arouse suspicions about what had happened the night before. They spoke of many things, and the princess especially asked Tirant if he had any news about the arrival of the Queen of Ethiopia. Tirant answered: "My lady, three days ago I received a letter, by messenger, from King Escariano. He asked me not to do battle with the Moors until he arrived. And he assured me that he would be here in two weeks." The princess answered: "Captain, there is nothing I desire more than to see this queen. I hear that her beauty is greater than that of anyone in the world." Tirant answered: "My lady, they told you the truth. After Your Majesty I don't think a more beautiful or more virtuous woman can be found anywhere. She has the same desire you do: her only reason for coming here is because of all the perfection she has heard about Your Majesty." While Tirant, the empress and the princess were speaking, Stephanie, Duchess of Macedonia, came into the chamber. With the absence of her husband, she had entered religion and did not want to leave it until that fortunate day when she hoped all her troubles would end. She threw herself at Tirant's feet and cried aloud, tears flowing down her cheeks. Tirant would not allow the duchess to kneel. He took her arm and raised her from the floor. Then he embraced her and kissed her, and said: "I promise you, on my order of chivalry, that before a month has gone by the Duke of Macedonia and all the others will be out of prison and they will be here. That is the sole reason I came." When the Duchess of Macedonia heard Tirant's words, she threw herself at his feet, wanting to kiss them. Tirant would not allow it, and lifting her from the floor he kissed her again. Then, taking her hands, they sat down and told each other about their past difficulties. While the captain was entertaining the ladies and consoling the Duchess of Macedonia, the emperor called for a council meeting and explained the mission that the sultan and the Turk had sent Tirant on, just as Tirant had told it to him. When all the council members learned the good news there were arguments and disagreements among them. Finally, after much deliberation, they sent for the emperor and said to him: "Your Majesty, we advise you to make a lasting peace with the sultan and with the Turk and with all the other great lords in their company, with the stipulation that they put themselves in Your Excellency's power as your prisoners. And they must not be released until they have carried out all their promises, and the other Moors have left, unarmed and on foot." The emperor was very happy with this decision since it was such good advice. He went to the princess's chamber where he found Tirant, and taking him by the hand, he had him sit by his side in great friendship, and told him what he wanted. "Tirant, my captain and son, our council has come to the decision we mentioned. So, I beg you to depart as quickly as you can to give reply to the embassy." Tirant said he would do as he was ordered, and he took his leave of the emperor. He went to the empress and the princess and bade them farewell, and they begged him to do everything he could to liberate the Empire of Greece. Tirant replied: "My ladies, may Our Lord grant that it be done as quickly as Your Excellencies wish." He took his leave of the princess, and the queen accompanied him to the door of his chamber to tell him that as soon as it was dark he should go through the orchard door and come to her room where he could talk to the princess. Tirant said he would do as she commanded. After Tirant had left the ladies he went to Hippolytus' room to wait for the dark of night so he could have his heart's desire. Alone and in disguise, when the time was right he crept softly through the familiar orchard toward the queen's chamber, and there he found the princess, with the queen, waiting for him. The princess greeted him with great happiness, and the three of them went into the chamber. Tirant gamboled with the princess and they passed the time in amorous solace and delicious chatter until it was time for bed. The princess got into bed first, and the queen dismissed all the ladies and put valiant Tirant at the side of his lady, who treated him with more love than she had the night before. After the queen had placed them in the list and they were in delicious battle, she left to go to sleep, trusting that they would be in such agreement that the battle would never come to an end. Tirant did not sleep the entire night, like a brave knight who understands that one who is valiant in battle must be valiant in bed. As day drew near Tirant said to the princess: "My lady and my life, I must go. I promised His Majesty the emperor that tomorrow, at break of day, I would be in my camp." The princess answered: "My lord and my love, your departure grieves me deeply. If it were possible I would never let you out of my sight. If I felt pain before, now it will be a thousand times worse. Do me the grace, my lord, not to delay your return unless you want to cut short my life, for I cannot live without you." When Tirant had her permission he got up from the bed and dressed, and with kisses of deep-felt love along with tears he left the princess. Going out the back gate of the orchard, he went to Hippolytus' lodging. Hippolytus got up, and quickly escorted Tirant to the city gates so they would be opened for him. Tirant went to the ocean and boarded the galley that left the port secretly and rowed to the encampment. The sun had been up scarcely an hour when the galley was in sight of the camp. The entire camp knew the captain had returned, and the King of Sicily and the King of Fez rode with their men to escort Tirant, and they took him to his triumphal tent with great honor. Tirant explained to them everything His Majesty the emperor had decided, and they were all very content. The morning of the following day the captain asked the kings and grandees to come to mass. They all quickly went to his tent with many knights. After mass he sent word to the ambassadors of the sultan and the Turk to come, as he wanted to give them an answer. The ambassadors were very glad to receive the news. Dressed in Moorish fashion, and accompanied by many noble knights from Tirant's camp, the great lords went with great pomp and gravity to the tent of the valiant captain. Before they left their tent the ambassadors put their mounts and servants in readiness so that when they had the reply from Tirant they could return to their camp. When the ambassadors were in the presence of the valiant captain they bowed deeply to him and Tirant paid them as much honor as he thought they deserved. When they were seated before him, Tirant gave the following reply: "Do not be astonished that the answer has been so long in coming, for I wanted to consult His Majesty, the emperor, about your embassy. He, with great benignity and clemency, has had compassion on you. As you well know, your life or death is in our hands. So that you may know how great is the humanity and clemency of the emperor, he is content to spare your lives and grant you mercy in this fashion: The sultan and Turk, with all the kings and lords in your camp, will place themselves in the emperor's power as prisoners. There you will stay until such a time as you have restored all the lands you have taken from the empire. At the same time you will bring to him all the prisoners and captives in the lands of the sultan as well as the Turk. And His Majesty the emperor is willing to let all the Moors leave who are in your camp, but on foot and unarmed. And if you are not satisfied with the emperor's mercy, you can all prepare to die, for I promise you that not one of you will be spared." On the morning of the following day the Moors held council regarding the reply they should give to Tirant, and the council decided to acquiesce to everything Tirant asked for. The ambassadors delivered the reply to Tirant, saying that the sultan and the Turk, with the counsel and will of all the rest, were content to do everything his lordship had asked. Soon all those who were to be hostages rode in, and there were twenty-two in all, all titled and of high nobility. I will not give their names here so that I will not take up too much space, but I can tell you that because of their great hunger they were hardly slow in coming down the road. They all presented themselves to Tirant, and bowed deeply. Tirant welcomed them, paying them great honor, and gave them a magnificent banquet. After the banquet, Tirant put all the prisoners on two galleys, and then he went on board himself to go with them. The two galleys sailed away from the camp, and quickly reached Constantinople. When the captain was near the port of Constantinople, and the people in the town heard that Tirant was coming in triumph, bringing the highest lords of the Moorish people as prisoners, they were the happiest people in the world. Everyone ran to the ocean to see the prisoners. An immense crowd gathered, both men and women, shouting: "Long live our blessed captain! May God protect and prolong his life, for he has freed us from so much misery!" Tirant refused to leave the galleys until the emperor sent Hippolytus along with other knights. When Hippolytus was on the galley with Tirant, he told him: "My lord, His Majesty, the emperor, has sent me to your lordship, and he begs you to come on land." Tirant said he would be happy to do what he commanded. The captain quickly had the galleys draw near to land and they lowered the ladders. Then Tirant had all the prisoners disembark with him. When they were on land they met all the officials and magistrates of the city who received them with great honor, and Tirant with great reverence. They all left the shore together and went to the emperor's palace, and the populace followed them. When they were in the palace square they saw the emperor up above on the cenotaph, seated in the imperial chair, with the empress to his left, and the princess to the right of the emperor, but a little lower, as a sign that she would be the successor to the empire. When Tirant and the prisoners were in view of the emperor, they all knelt to the ground; then they went up to the cenotaph where the emperor was. They made another deep bow, and Tirant moved to the front. When he stood before the emperor he threw himself at his feet to kiss them, but the emperor would not allow it. Instead he took him by the arm, lifted him from the ground and kissed him on the mouth, and Tirant kissed his hand. The Turk and the other great lords did the same. The emperor received them with great humanity, and ordered them taken to the other cenotaph. The tables were prepared immediately, and each was seated according to his station. The emperor wanted Tirant to eat at his table, and the five of them ate there: the emperor, the empress, the princess and Tirant, and the Queen of Fez. The emperor ordered the prisoners to be served with great honor and reverence, for even though they were infidels they were still men of great dignity and station. And it was all done well, with a great abundance of precious foods and wines of different kinds. They were astonished, and they said that the Christians were more experienced than the Moors in eating. When they had eaten, Tirant asked the emperor's permission to go to the Moorish camp and have the Moors sent to Turkey. The emperor agreed. Tirant took his leave of the empress and the princess, and he withdrew to the galleys, and sailed to the fleet in front of the Moorish camp. When the admiral saw Tirant approaching he commanded the trumpets, pipes and horns to be blown, and they greeted the captain with loud cries. The admiral went on board the captain's ship and said to him: "Sir, what does your lordship require?" Tirant answered: "Have all the ships come near shore, and all the Moors will go to Turkey." The admiral said he would carry out the order. He returned to his ship and gave the signal for all the ships to draw in to shore. And it was done very quickly. Tirant had a man that he had brought from the sultan put ashore, and he told the Moors to go aboard the ships without fear, and that they would go to Turkey. The Moors, who wanted nothing else in the world because of their great hunger, quickly gathered and left behind their horses and arms, with their tents still standing, containing all their booty. When the ships were loaded with Moors, they carried them over to their land: It was very near as they only had to cross the Bosphorus; then they returned for more. You can imagine how many men there were, for four hundred vessels, including ships and galleys and other vessels made ten crossings. When the men of Tirant's camp learned that all the Moors were gone, they all ran as fast as they could to take a share of the booty. After the men on the vessels had taken the Moors across, they went ashore and they still had time to take part of the booty. It could truly be said that that camp was the richest one there had ever been, for they had captured and robbed the entire Empire of Greece, and they had it all right there, and a lot of good it did them! And the men who found themselves with that booty were rich for the rest of their lives. When the entire Moorish camp had been sacked, Tirant ordered all the men back to their camp. He kept only the King of Sicily and the King of Fez with him, along with some other barons who wanted to pay homage to the emperor. They left the Moors' camp and went overland to the illustrious city of Constantinople, while the ships sailed into the port of the city. After the emperor had left the table and the prisoners had eaten their fill, he ordered Hippolytus to take all the prisoners to the top of the palace towers which were prepared for them. Hippolytus went to the cenotaph where the prisoners were and told them to go with him. They came down from the cenotaph and followed Hippolytus as he led them up to the towers. Hippolytus put the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk in a beautiful chamber. Then he told them: "Sirs, His Majesty the emperor commands your lordships to rest here, and to be a little patient if you are not being treated as befits your worthiness." The sultan replied: "Virtuous knight, we are grateful to His Majesty the emperor for the great honor he is doing us, because he is not treating or regarding us as prisoners, but as brothers. We are deeply obligated to him for this, and when we are given our liberty and our power again, we shall serve him in everything he commands." Afterward Hippolytus ordered the four pages never to leave the chamber, and to serve them with all respect in everything they commanded. Then he ordered guards to keep watch over the tower. Hippolytus took the rest of the prisoners and placed them in the other towers where they were given very nice chambers and servants to serve them, and they were very content. And he gave them good guards so that they would be well served and well guarded. The emperor went to the palace with all the ladies and gave orders that nothing on the square should be touched, because he had been advised by Tirant that the King of Sicily and the King of Fez would be coming to pay him their respects. He ordered Hippolytus to arrange for good lodgings in the city, and Hippolytus, who was virtuous and discreet, carried out everything the emperor commanded him. A few days later the emperor was told that Tirant was coming with the King of Sicily and other lords, and that they were a league away from the city. The emperor had Hippolytus and all the officials from the city, along with the nobles and knights who were there, go out to receive them. When they were at the palace, Tirant, the King of Sicily and the others dismounted. The new guests were astonished at the great beauty of the ladies, especially of the princess. After they had entertained the ladies, the emperor was told that the dinner was ready. Later they cleared the tables, and the dances began. The square was full of people from the city who were looking at such a beautiful celebration. Others were dancing, and it was lovely to see such a victory celebration. In the city there were also other kinds of dances and games, for the emperor had ordered celebrations held for a week. Tirant would not leave the side of the King of Sicily during all these festivities. Instead they slept and ate together continuously-- the better to cover up what had taken place between him and the princess. The others spent the eight days celebrating. Every day Tirant told the princess of his love, and begged Her Highness to arrange the marriage so that they could enjoy its delights without fear. The princess answered: "Oh, most virtuous of all men! Don't beg me for the one thing I want most in the whole world, and don't think me so ungrateful that I've forgotten what your great nobility has brought us. Please, my lord, do not become angry because you have to wait for the culmination of our happiness, for you have already won a glorious victory over me. Just think how it has been to your glory and that of your men that you have recovered the entire empire, and conquered and killed so many Moorish kings and lords. Now the only thing your lordship lacks is to have dominion over all the empire as part of your matrimony. Since you have returned to me, and you are the mainstay of my life, I promise to renounce the crown in your favor, and to complete our wedding vows with you as emperor since my father, being advanced in years, wants me to rule in his stead." Tirant would not allow the lady to continue, and with a loving heart he said: "Even if I could, I find it difficult to accept your gracious and generous offer. May the Divine Power not permit me to commit such great folly as to take the crown of the empire during the emperor's lifetime. I only ask His Majesty to keep me as a son and servant, and the captive of his daughter. I want nothing else in this world." When Tirant finished these words of love, tears sprang from his lady's eyes. Throwing herself into his arms, and clinging from his neck, she kissed him many times. After a moment she said: "My lord and my life, no tongue could express the perfection and virtues of your noble person, and now I truly understand that you are unique in all the world. May you long possess the crown of the Greek Empire, and may I be able to serve you all your life." And they departed with many words of mutual love. Tirant spent the night in amorous thoughts, waiting for Phoebus to arrive in the east, spreading its luminous rays over our horizon. At the proper time the captain went before the emperor, and said: "Your Majesty remembers the promise given by the sultan and the Turk to Your Excellency, of restoring to your power all the lands they occupy in the Greek Empire. So, great lord, if Your Majesty will grant me permission, I will leave to take possession of them for Your Majesty. If fortune favors us, Sire, Your Excellency will command all the land that your predecessor, the emperor Justine, commanded." The emperor answered: "We are well aware of the many services and honors you have done for us and for the entire empire, and we are greatly indebted to you. We would therefore like to give you and your people the entire empire while we are still alive, and furthermore we wish to give you our daughter Carmesina as your wife, if you will accept her. For we are at such an age that we are no longer able to rule, much less to defend the empire." When Tirant heard the emperor's kind words he threw himself at his feet and kissed them with great humility and love, and he said: "My lord, may heaven never permit Tirant lo Blanc, Your Majesty's humble servant, to commit such an error as to allow Your Highness to lose the command of your empire during your lifetime; before that should happen I would rather die. But Sire, if you would do me the grace of giving me something that is worth much more, as Your Majesty has offered, I would value it more than if you gave me ten empires." Seeing his great gentility, the emperor took him by the arm, lifted him from the floor and kissed him on the mouth, and Tirant kissed his hand. The emperor took Tirant's hand and led him to the chambers of the princess, who was with all her ladies, entertaining the King of Sicily. When the great emperor came into the room everyone stood up and bowed to him. As the emperor sat down he made the princess sit at his right, Tirant at his left, and the King of Sicily in front of them. The emperor then turned to his daughter, and said: "My daughter, you're aware of the great service and high honors Tirant here has bestowed on us. And that he has liberated the entire empire from all the hardships that the Moors have inflicted on us. As we realize that we do not have enough to offer him for all he has done for us, we have decided that we have nothing dearer or of greater value or that we love more than you yourself. So we have offered you to him, and I beg and command you, my dear daughter, to take him as your husband and lord: that will be the way you can best serve me." The lady answered with a gracious and modest continence: "Most merciful and kind lord, it is to my glory that Your Majesty has placed me in such high esteem that I am a worthy reward for all the services and honors which valiant Tirant has done for Your Majesty and for everyone in the empire. Even though I am not worthy to remove his shoe, when one thinks of all the unique qualities and virtues he possesses, I hope he will accept me as his servant and his captive, for I am ready to do whatever Your Majesty or he commands me." The emperor sent for the archbishop of the city to betroth them immediately. And this gracious union was a matter of no slight happiness, for during a long while Tirant and the princess could not speak, so inflamed with true love were they. As soon as the archbishop arrived, the emperor ordered him to betroth his daughter and Tirant, and he did so. When the betrothal was completed, there was much celebrating and great happiness throughout the city. A marvelous feast was prepared as suited such a betrothal, and music was performed by many groups from the towers and through windows of the great halls. The foreigners and everyone in general took great pleasure in this betrothal, for they had faith that the bold spirit of Tirant would allow them to live in peace. And the celebrations, both in the palace and in the city, lasted a week. The emperor sent a proclamation throughout the city, with many trumpets and drums, that they should all consider Tirant his successor and the Caesar of the empire. And he made them swear that after his death they would hold him as their emperor and lord. And from that time forward the new Prince Tirant was named Caesar of the Greek Empire. CHAPTER XIV DEATH Tirant decided to leave as soon as he could in order to recover all of the Greek Empire, and put it in the emperor's power. At the same time it hurt him to think of being away from the princess, for life without her was impossible. He was tired of war now, and he wanted peace and tranquility. When he received news that the magnanimous King Escariano was coming with many men, and that he was in Pinxenais which borders on Greece, and is ten days journey from Constantinople, he decided to go out to meet him. After he had taken his leave of the emperor, the empress, and of his princess and wife, he left the city of Constantinople, and went to his camp with grandees and other nobles. When the Caesar reached his camp he had the trumpets blow for the camp to be raised. Everyone got ready, and the following morning they left the bridge and went toward the place where King Escariano was. As the powerful army was going along, many castles and villas delivered themselves over to the Caesar (We omit their names to avoid being prolix.). Finally they reached the city of Strenes where King Escariano's army was resting. When King Escariano knew that his dear friend and brother at arms was coming, he rode out with his grandees and met him on the road. They dismounted quickly, embraced and kissed very warmly. Tirant told King Escariano that the King of Sicily and the King of Fez were with him. King Escariano went to the other kings, and embraced and kissed them very courteously. Then they mounted their horses again and went toward the city. When they reached King Escariano's tents, Prince Tirant and the kings dismounted in front of the tent of the illustrious Queen of Ethiopia who welcomed them, and embraced and kissed them all. They decided to send the beautiful queen to the city of Constantinople, and five hundred soldiers made ready to go, accompanied by many nobles and knights. The illustrious queen took leave of her lord, King Escariano, Tirant, and the other kings and lords who escorted her for a league. Then Tirant and the others bade the queen farewell, and she continued on to Constantinople while Tirant and the others returned to the city. Tirant and King Escariano immediately commanded their camps to be raised and each of them put their men in order. They left the city and went toward the province of Thrace. They reached a city called Stagira, which is surrounded by walls adorned with beautiful towers. The city immediately opened all the gates to them. After all the renegade Greeks had been made good Christians again, they swore fidelity to the emperor. And all the Moors who did not want to be baptized were thrown out of the city. It was in this same city that the great philosopher Aristotle had been born, and he was considered a saint. While Prince Tirant had his tents set up in this city and was resting, he sent two Moorish ambassadors through the outlying territories, and to all the cities, castles and villas of the neighboring provinces. They delivered up their keys and rendered homage to Prince Tirant, and he replaced the captain of every city, villa and castle. They then left the city of Stagira and headed for Macedonia, stopping at a city called Olympus. This city takes its name from a nearby mountain, one of the highest in the world. Here they were better received than in any of the places they had been, because they knew that the Caesar was the cousin of Diafebus, their duke and lord. The prince left the duchy of Macedonia, and they went to the city of Trebizond which delivered itself over immediately. They brought all the knights who were held prisoner here, and with them was Captain Diafebus, Duke of Macedonia. Prince Tirant asked for the Duke of Macedonia, and he was brought to him. But he was so changed that Tirant would never have recognized him: His beard had grown down to his waist, and the hair on his head reached past his shoulders; he was thin and discolored, and his appearance was very different; he wore a yellow cloak, with a blue turban around his head. All the other knights were dressed the same way. When the Duke of Macedonia was before the Caesar, he threw himself at his feet, wanting to kiss them. The Caesar lifted him up, and with tears running from his eyes, he kissed him on the mouth. Soon the Marquis of Saint George presented himself before Tirant, and kneeling, he thanked him for freeing them. Prince Tirant, with great affection, lifted him from the ground and kissed him on the mouth. After the marquis, came the Duke of Pera, his brother, and the prior of Saint John, and all the other knights. The Caesar received them with great love, and honored them as they deserved. After the illustrious Queen of Ethiopia left the city of Strenes, she journeyed quickly to the renowned city of Constantinople. When the queen stood before the princess, she began to kneel, but the princess caught her by the arm, raised her up, and kissed her warmly three times. Then she took her hand and made her sit at her side. The princess was astonished at the queen's great beauty. At the same time the Queen of Ethiopia was startled by the beauty of the princess. Everyone in the court was impressed by the queen's beauty, and they whispered about Tirant's great virtue in turning down such a beautiful lady, for they were sure that she had asked him to be her husband and lord of the kingdom of Tunis and of all Barbary, and he had left it all for love of the princess. After the Caesar had held celebrations for the Duke of Macedonia and his companions, he gave them their leave. They left the city of Trebizond and went to the illustrious city of Constantinople. There they were welcomed with honor by His Majesty the emperor, by the empress and all the ladies. And the Duke of Macedonia was especially welcomed by the duchess, his wife, who loved him more than her life. With the arrival of the prisoners, great celebrations were held in the court. After the Duke of Macedonia had left the city of Trebizond with all his companions, Tirant quickly had all the others break camp, and he had King Escariano and all his men, and each captain with his squadron, depart. So one squadron left after another, in an orderly fashion, and they went to the land of Bendin, six days journey away, and when the Caesar arrived there with his entire army, they surrendered to him by order of the sultan and the Turk. When the captains had been placed in the city and in the fortress, they advanced and recovered the entire province of Blagay and all the land of Brina and all the land of Foxa and all the land of Bocina, for each of these is a large province with many cities, castles and villas, and they all surrendered willingly to the Caesar. They were accustomed to being subject to the Greek Empire, and they wanted to be so again because of the bad treatment they had received from the Moors. The Caesar left these provinces and recovered many other cities. From here he went to the Kingdom of Persia, and he took it by force of arms, for it did not belong to the sultan or the Turk and it had its own king. The virtuous Prince Tirant conquered many other provinces and lands, and joined them under the dominion and power of the empire with such great triumph and victory that it would be tiring to tell it all. He recovered all of Greece, Asia Minor, all of Persia, all Selonich (which is Galipoli), Morea, Arca, the Cape of Arca, Valona. And by sea he sent the fleet he had in Constantinople to take the islands, with his admiral, the Marquis of Lizana, as its captain. And he took all the islands which had belonged to the empire: Calistres, Colcos, Oritige, Tesbrie, Nimocha, Flaxen, Meclotapace, and many other islands the book does not mention to avoid prolixity. After the admiral had conquered all the islands that once formed part of the empire, he had his entire fleet return to Constantinople, and they entered the city firing their bombards and shouting their greetings to the illustrious city. The townspeople ran to the sea wall to greet the fleet with joy. The admiral disembarked, accompanied by many well dressed knights and noblemen, and they went to bow to His Majesty the emperor who received them very cordially, and they all kissed his foot and his hand. Wanting to reward many nobles and knights who had been released from their imprisonment, he gave them over in matrimony to maidens of high station, all of them servants of the empress and the princess, and he also gave them large estates so they could live out their lives honorably. When the engagements had been made, their weddings were postponed until the day Prince Tirant would be wed to the princess. But Fortune would not permit a mortal body to have so much delight and glory in this world. For God did not create human nature to reach bliss and glory in this world, but instead to enjoy the glory of paradise. No one ponders this: everyday virtuous men perform illustrious acts worthy of immortal memory, as did this magnanimous and virtuous prince and valiant knight, Tirant lo Blanc. For with his great skill at arms and high degree of intelligence, he conquered so many kingdoms and brought uncountable numbers of people in Barbary and in Greece into the Holy Catholic faith. And yet, he was unable to see the finality of all that he had so desired and labored for. Among so many other sorrows, I find it impossible to free my weary hands from setting down on white paper how fortune lets man go unrewarded. This, despite the fact the glorious actions of Tirant bring me renewed anguish, for they did not bring him the prize he so richly deserved. So then, after the Caesar had defeated and recovered the entire empire, and subjugated many other nearby provinces, he started back in great triumph to the city of Constantinople. In his company went the magnanimous King of Fez and many other kings, dukes, counts, and marquis, and innumerable knights (who came with him to share in the enormous celebration that would take place upon his return, and out of love for King Escariano, and to celebrate Tirant's wedding), and no one would leave his side. When the emperor received word that he was coming, he prepared an enormous celebration. When Tirant was one day's journey from Constantinople, in a city called Andrinopol, he stopped because the emperor had sent word to him not to come to the city until he should tell him. While the virtuous Caesar was enjoying himself in that city, finding sport and pleasure, and strolling with King Escariano and the King of Sicily at a river's edge which ran alongside the walls of the city, he felt such a great and powerful pain in his side that they had to take him in their arms and carry him back into the city. When Tirant was in his bed the six doctors who accompanied him came to him--the best in the world--and four of King Escariano's. They gave him many kinds of medicine, but these brought no relief to his pain. Then Tirant realized he was dying, and he asked for confession. They had the confessor who accompanied him come quickly. He was a good priest of the Order of Saint Francis, a teacher of holy theology, and a man of great knowledge. While the Caesar was making confession the King of Fez sent an urgent message to the emperor, giving His Majesty to know that the Caesar was very ill, and that his doctors could not help him. He begged his grace to send his own doctors very quickly, as he had great doubts that they would arrive in time. After the Caesar had confessed, he had the precious body of Jesus Christ brought to him. He looked at it with great devotion, and with tears in his eyes he prayed: "Almighty Lord, humble, sweet and benign! How can I thank You for all the love You have shown to me, a weak creature? I give You infinite thanks, Lord, for all Your gifts. And I humbly beseech You, Lord, since You have saved me so many times from danger (and You are now giving me death, which I accept most obediently, since it is Your holy will, in remission and penance for my weaknesses), that You will grant me, Lord, forgiveness of my sins in order to have Your absolution and mercy." After he had said these words, he received the holy body of Jesus Christ. And the people in the room with him whispered that he did not seem to be a knight, but rather a holy man. When he had given restitution to his soul, he had his secretary come, and he gave his last will and testament in the presence of all those who were with him. "I, Tirant lo Blanc, of the lineage of Rocasalada and the House of Brittany, knight of the Garter, and Prince and Caesar of the Greek Empire, with an illness from which I fear I will die, but with full knowledge, and firm and manifest word: with my lords and brothers at arms present, King Escariano, the King of Sicily, and my cousin-german, the King of Fez, and many other kings, dukes, counts and marquis, in the name of my Lord Jesus Christ, I do make and leave the following final will and testament. "I name as executors of this testament the virtuous and most excellent Carmesina, Princess of the Greek Empire and my wife, and my dear cousin-german Diafebus, the Duke of Macedonia. "I wish that one hundred thousand ducats be taken from my estate, and be distributed according to the wishes of my executors. Moreover, I encharge the said executors to take my body to Brittany, to the Church of Our Lady, where lie all those of my lineage of Rocasalada. "I also desire and command that from my estate one hundred thousand ducats be given to each of the men of my lineage who are here. And of all my other property and rights which I have gained with Divine help, and which have been given to me by His Majesty, the emperor, I make as my beneficiary my servant and nephew Hippolytus of Rocasalada. It is my wish that he take my place, and be my successor." After Tirant had made his testament, he told the secretary to write a note to the princess with these words: "Since death is so near to me, I want to write to you, dear lady, my last, sad farewell. "Fortune has not allowed me to have you--the prize for my deeds. And death would not be so painful to me if I could have ended my life in your arms. "But I beg Your Highness to go on living, so that you will keep the great love that I have had for you. "And since fortune has not allowed me to speak to you or to see you--for I believe you would have cured me and saved my life--I have decided to write you this letter, because death will not grant me more time, so that at least you will be certain of my great love. I cannot tell you more, for the great pain I am suffering will not allow it. I only beg of you to take in your charge my relatives and servants. "Your Tirant, who kisses your feet and hands, commends to you his soul." After Prince Tirant had made his testament, he begged King Escariano, the King of Sicily and the King of Fez to carry him to Constantinople before his life ended. For the greatest pain he felt was that he might die without seeing the princess. And he was of the belief that if he saw her she would give him health and life. The doctors gave their approval because, since they considered him as good as dead, they thought that with the great consolation he would feel if he saw the princess, whom he loved deeply, nature could have a more beneficial effect than all the medicines in the world. They quickly put him on a litter, and he was carried on men's shoulders very comfortably. He was accompanied by all the kings and grandees, with only five hundred soldiers. All the others remained in the city. When the emperor received the King of Fez's letter, he fell into deep anguish and concern. As secretly as he could he sent for his doctors and the Duke of Macedonia and Hippolytus. He showed them the King of Fez's letter, and begged them to ride there quickly. The Duke of Macedonia and Hippolytus left the imperial palace without a word to anyone, and went off with the doctors, for the emperor feared that if the princess heard of it she would faint and it could be very dangerous for her. When the Duke of Macedonia and Hippolytus, along with the doctors, were half a day's journey from Constantinople, they met Tirant on the road. They dismounted, and the litter was laid on the ground. The Duke of Macedonia went up to Tirant and said: "Cousin, my lord, how is your lordship?" Tirant answered: "Cousin, I am most pleased that I have seen you before I died, for my life is ending. I beg you to kiss me, you and Hippolytus, for this will be the last farewell I shall have from you." The duke and Hippolytus kissed him, crying openly. Then Tirant told them that he commended his soul to them, and that he wished them to hold more love for the princess, his wife, than they did for himself. The duke answered: "My lord and cousin, is a knight as valiant as your lordship growing weak hearted? Have faith in Our Lord, that He, in His mercy, will help you and bring you back to health." As he was saying these words, Tirant cried out, loudly: "Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me! Virgin Mary, guardian angel, angel Michael, defend me! Jesus, into Your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit." And with these words, he delivered up his noble soul, while his beautiful body lay in the arms of the Duke of Macedonia. The tears and wailing were so great from all who were there, that it was a pity to hear them. For Prince Tirant was loved by all. After they had cried for some time, King Escariano called the King of Sicily, the King of Fez, the Duke of Macedonia, Hippolytus, and some of the others, and they held counsel about what they had to do. They all agreed that King Escariano, along with the others in his company, should accompany Tirant's body to the city, but that they should not go in, for as King Escariano had not yet seen the emperor, it was not the time or place for them to meet. In addition, they decided to embalm Tirant's body, for they had to take it to Brittany. They departed with Tirant's body from the place where he had died, and made their way toward the city of Constantinople. By the time they arrived it was well into the night. They gathered at the city gate, and King Escariano took his leave of the King of Sicily, the King of Fez, the Duke of Macedonia and Hippolytus, and he returned with his men to the city he had come from, lamenting loudly, for King Escariano loved Tirant deeply. The others placed Tirant's body in a house within the city, where it was embalmed by the doctors. After they had embalmed it, they dressed it and took it to the main church of the city: Saint Sofia. There a very large and tall cenotaph was prepared for him, covered entirely with brocade, and on the cenotaph was a large bed. There they placed Tirant's body, stretched out on the bed, with his sword at his side. When the emperor learned that Tirant was dead, he rent his royal garments. Coming down from his imperial seat and lamenting over Tirant's death, he said: "Today is the day when our scepter is lost, and I see the crown taken from my head and dashed to the ground. Let everyone dress in deep black mourning, let all the bells ring at once, and let everyone wail over this loss, which is so terrible that my voice is scarcely able to speak of it." The emperor spent the greater part of the night lamenting, and when day came he went to the church to pay him honor, and to make a large tomb for him with the funeral rites that are normally given to great lords. When the princess saw everyone crying she was very surprised. She wondered what the people in the palace and her maidens were crying about. She thought her father, the emperor, might have died, and she got up quickly, dressed in her chemise, and looked out the window. She saw the Duke of Macedonia, crying and tearing at his hair, and Hippolytus and many others clawing at their faces, and hitting their heads against the walls. "By the one God," said the princess, "I beg you to tell me the truth. What is the cause of all this uproar and sadness?" The Widow of Montsant said: "My lady, it is inevitable that you will hear of it at any moment. Tirant has passed from this life to the other. At midnight they took him to the church to give him a holy funeral as he deserves. The emperor is there, crying and bemoaning his death, and is inconsolable." The princess was left numb: She did not cry, she could not speak. She could only moan softly and sigh, and after a moment she said: "Give me the clothes my father had made for my wedding." They were quickly brought. When she had them on, the Widow of Montsant said: "But my lady! At the death of such an admirable knight who died in the service of His Majesty, the emperor, and of yours, are you going to dress that way, as if you were going to your wedding? Everyone else is dressed in mourning and sadness, because they cannot stop crying, and Your Highness, who should be the saddest and for whom it should mean the most, has dressed yourself in an unheard-of way." "Don't worry yourself, Widow," said the princess. "You will know the meaning of this when it is time." When she had dressed, the sad lady of the imperial palace came down with all the ladies and maidens, and with steps hastened by the anguish she felt, she went to the church where Tirant's body lay. She stepped to the top of the great cenotaph, and when she saw Tirant's body she felt her heart would break, and yet passion lifted her spirit and she went over to his bed with warm tears flowing from her eyes, and threw herself upon Tirant's body. The suffering woman kissed his cold body. Everyone who heard her weep shed great tears of grief. Then she said: "I want to go looking for the soul of the one who was my Tirant in the blessed places where it rests. And I do so want to keep you company in death since in life, where I loved you so much, I have not been able to serve you. Oh, you ladies and maidens, do not cry! Save your tears for a more opportune time. It's enough for me to cry and lament, since these are my sorrows." When she had said these words, she fell upon the body in a faint. She was quickly lifted away from the body, and the doctors helped her regain consciousness. When she had recovered her senses, the lady again threw herself upon the body, kissing Tirant's cold mouth. She tore at her hair and clothing, along with the skin of her breasts and her face, this sad lady, more grievous than any other. Stretched out on his body, she kissed his cold mouth, mixing her warm tears with Tirant's cold ones. She wanted to talk, but could not, and she knew no words sad enough to express her grief. With trembling hands she opened Tirant's eyes which she kissed first with her mouth, and then filled with all the tears flowing from her own eyes. And it seemed as though Tirant, while dead, was crying for the grief of the living Carmesina. And she was crying blood, for she had exhausted all her tears. So she cried over his body-- she who had lost everything to him who lost his life for her-- and with words that would be enough to break precious stones, diamonds and steel itself, she cried grievously: "Don't think, my soul, that I will keep you from Tirant for long. I will give burial to your body and to mine. The dead bodies will be embraced in one grave, and together we will share the same glory in heaven." The emperor, distressed by his daughter's words, said: "My daughter's sorrow and tears will never end. My good knights, pick her up, and take her to my palace, and leave her in her chambers, either with her consent or by force." And so it was done. Her father, desperate, went with her, saying: "My daughter, you are the lady of all I possess. Do not go to such an extreme, for your grief is death to me. Stop your crying and put on a happy face for the people to see." The princess answered: "Oh emperor, my lord, life-giver of this miserable daughter! Your Majesty truly wants to console my grief! Oh, poor me, I cannot hold back my tears!" When the poor father saw his daughter and the other women crying, he could not bear to remain in her chambers, and with his terrible anguish he left. Then the princess sat on the bed and said: "Come, my faithful maidens, and help me undress, for there will be time enough to cry." And she prepared her body in the most comely way she could, and said: "I am the infanta who hoped to rule over the entire empire of Greece. It is my duty to move everyone here to grief and compassion for the death of the virtuous and blessed knight, Tirant lo Blanc. Oh, my Tirant, out of grief for your death let our right hands wound our breasts and tear at our faces so that our misery will be so much greater, for you were our shield and the shield of the whole empire. Oh sword of virtue, great was the sorrow that was prepared for us! And don't think, Tirant, that I have wiped you from my memory: As long as I am alive I will weep for your death. Now, my dear maidens, help me to cry this short time that is left of my life, for I cannot remain with you long." The crying and wailing was so great that it made the entire city resound. When they saw the princess nearly more dead than alive, they cursed fortune which had brought them such anguish. The doctors came and said she had all the signs of a dying woman: She felt such grief for Tirant's death that blood was coming from her mouth. The grieving empress came into the chamber, knowing that her daughter was not well. When she saw her in that state she suffered such a shock that she could not speak. When she had recovered, she said: "Oh, my daughter! Is this the joy and happiness I hoped to have from you? Is this the wedding your father and I and all the people hoped to be consoled by? Everywhere I turn I see nothing but grief and sorrow! I see the poor emperor, lying on the floor; I see the ladies and maidens, their hair unkempt, their skin covered with blood, their breasts uncovered and scratched, crying throughout the palace, revealing their grief to everyone. I see the knights and grandees, all in mourning, all lamenting, twisting their hands, tearing the hair from their head. What a bitter day, so filled with sadness! I see all the orders of friars coming with pain in their voices, and not one of them can sing. Tell me, what kind of celebration is this for everyone to run from it? Scarcely anyone can talk without a grieving face. Oh, sad is the mother who bears such a daughter! I beg you, my daughter, be happy and put an end to all this sadness. This way you will give consolation to your old and grieving father, and your sad, unfortunate mother who has raised you so delicately." And she could say no more, such was the grief that held her. "How can Your Excellency tell me, my lady, to find consolation and rejoice if I have lost such a knight who was my husband and lord, and had no equal in the world? Have my protector, my father and lord, come so that he can see my death and my end, and so that part of his daughter will be left for him." When the sad father was there, she begged him kindly to sit at one side and the empress at the other. With her between them, she said these words: "I beg you all to have my father confessor come quickly." When he was there the princess told him: "Father, I wish to make a general confession in the presence of all who are here." Then the confessor had her make a general confession, and afterward he absolved her of all punishment and guilt. When absolution had been granted the princess asked that the precious body of Jesus Christ be brought to her, and with great devotion and contrition she received it. And all those in the chamber were astonished at the great constancy and firmness of spirit the princess had, and at the many prayers she said before the Corpus. There was no heart of steel in the world who, hearing her words, would not burst into tears. When the princess had given restitution to her soul she had the emperor's secretary come, and turning to her father, she said: "Father and lord, if it please Your Majesty, I would like to dispose of my possessions and my soul." The emperor answered: "My daughter, I give you my leave to do whatever pleases you. For if I lose you I lose my life and all good things on this earth." The princess thanked him, and turning to the secretary, she dictated her will: "I make, as executors of my will, Diafebus, Duke of Macedonia and Stephanie, his wife. And I beg and command them to place my body together with Tirant's in the place he will be buried. For, as we were not able to remain together in life, at least in death our bodies will be united until the end of the world. "In addition, all my clothing and jewelry shall be sold, and the proceeds will be given to my maidens for their weddings. As for all the other rights I have in the Greek Empire, I make the empress, my mother, the successor in my place." When the princess had put her possessions and her soul in order, she said farewell to her father, the emperor, kissing his hands and his mouth again and again, and she did the same to her mother, the empress, asking their forgiveness and their blessing with great humility. "Oh unfortunate and miserable me!" said the princess. "I see the emperor more dead than alive because of me. On the one hand the death of Tirant pulls me, and on the other my father's death pulls me: Each of them is winning me over." Her miserable father, his face wet with tears, saw that his daughter was ready to die and could barely speak. He heard her say such painful words, and saw all the wailing that was going on in the chamber and throughout the palace. He felt greatly disturbed and was beside himself. He tried to get up from the bed to go out, but he fell to the ground, senseless. They picked him up, unconscious, and put him on a bed in another chamber, and there he ended his days before his daughter, the princess. Because of the emperor's death there was loud wailing, and the news reached the empress and the princess. The empress ran as quickly as she could, but the emperor had already passed from this life. Imagine how the poor lady must have felt: to see her husband, her daughter, and her son-in-law all dead! And don't ask me what grief there was in the palace. So much tribulation--all in one day! The princess said: "Help me sit down on my bed, and you will hear my words. You all know that with the death of the emperor, my father, I am the successor to the Greek Empire. And so my knights, I command you, by the allegiance you owe to His Majesty, the emperor, and now to me, to bring my father's and Tirant's body here to me." And they had to do it. The emperor was put on the right, and Tirant on the left, while she was in between them. She kissed her father many times, and Tirant many times more, and she cried in a miserable voice: "Look, knights, you who suffer from love. Take note of me and see if I am not fortunate! On one side I have an emperor, and on the other the best knight in the world. Look and see if I should not go into the next world happy, for I will have such good company. Come to me, my loyal sisters and companions, and kiss me, one by one. Then you will feel a part of my misery." And they did. First came the Queen of Ethiopia, then the Queen of Fez, then the Duchess of Macedonia, and then all her other maidens and her mother's maidens. They kissed her hand and her mouth, and they sadly bade the princess farewell, shedding many tears. She had them bring her the cross, and looking at it steadfastly, she said these words with great devotion: "Receive the soul of Your servant, oh Lord, and free me from infernal bonds and pains. May I feel, oh Lord, the blessed rest of heaven and of eternal light, and may I deserve to have, among Your chosen saints, everlasting life and glory. Oh God, full of pure love and goodness. You Who know only how to forgive. Grant me, oh Lord, that my soul, drawn apart and stripped of earthly vices, may be placed in the company of those redeemed by You. I give myself to God Who created me." Saying these words, the princess gave up her spirit to her creator. CHAPTER XV AFTERMATH The destruction of the very last of the lineage of the royal house of Greece was complete. After going through so much past misery with all its trials and hardships, they would have obtained a happy peace--if fortune had allowed it. And so, no one should depend on worldly prosperity, for it fails when it is most unexpected. When the princess had passed on from this life, the wailing and crying in the palace was so loud that it echoed throughout the entire city. And the heartache felt for Tirant and the emperor was renewed and redoubled. The poor empress fell into such a deep faint that the doctors could not revive her, and Hippolytus beat his head and face, believing that she was dead. Finally, with all the remedies they tried, after more than an hour, she seemed to awaken slightly. Hippolytus remained steadfast at her side in great anguish, rubbing her wrists and wetting her face with rose water. When she regained consciousness, they picked her up in their arms and carried her to her chamber, putting her on a bed. Hippolytus was always at her side, comforting her, and kissing her often to bring to mind the love they had continually had for each other. The empress loved him more than her daughter and herself because of the great kindness and genteelness she had found in Hippolytus who had always obeyed her every wish. And don't think that at that moment Hippolytus was feeling great pain, for as soon as Tirant was dead he realized that he would be emperor, especially after the death of the emperor and his daughter, for he had great confidence in the love the empress had for him. Putting aside all shame, she would take him as her husband. After the empress had spoken a short while with Hippolytus, and their pain had been somewhat alleviated with kisses, she said to him: "My son and my lord, I beg you, as lord here, to order funerals held for the emperor, my daughter, and Tirant, so that afterward your desire and mine can be carried out." When Hippolytus heard such loving words he kissed her hand and her mouth, and said he would do everything Her Majesty commanded. Hippolytus went to the princess's chamber where the three bodies were lying, and on behalf of the empress he ordered them to take Tirant to his cenotaph in the church immediately. And it was quickly done. Then he ordered the surgeons to embalm the bodies of the emperor and the princess. Hippolytus had another cenotaph put up in the Church of Saint Sofia, much more beautiful and higher than Tirant's, and he had the emperor's body brought to the cenotaph. He had the princess put in Tirant's bed, on his right hand side. He ordered a proclamation read throughout the city that all those who wished to dress in mourning should go to a certain house in the city, and there mourning cloth would be given to men as well as to women. In the space of one day everyone in the palace and the city, and all the foreigners were dressed in mourning. In addition, Hippolytus decreed that all the clergy--friars, chaplains and nuns--within two days journey from Constantinople should come to participate in the funerals of the dead, and one thousand two hundred were counted. They decided that the burial should take place two weeks after the emperor's death, and all the barons of Greece were summoned, so that they could be present for the emperor's funeral rites. Then he sent a message to King Escariano on behalf of himself and the empress, inviting him to come and honor the burial of the emperor and his daughter, and his dear friend and brother Tirant. For, since he had not been able to honor their wedding he would be able to honor his burial. King Escariano sent word to him that he would do so, but that he had hoped to enter Constantinople with happier news. And he left for Constantinople with one hundred knights. While the people were arriving, Hippolytus had the King of Sicily, the King of Fez, the Duke of Macedonia, the Marquis of Lizana, and the Viscount of Branches and some others gather in a chamber. Then he said to them: "My lords and brothers, your lordships are not unaware of the great danger that has befallen us with the death of our father and lord, Tirant. He expected to be emperor, and he would have ennobled and enriched all those of our lineage. Now that there is no hope of that, we must take counsel about what should be done. Your lordships realize that the entire empire is in the empress's power. Although she is advanced in years, some great lord will be very pleased to marry her, and he will find it very agreeable to be emperor. After her death, he will be the ruler, and he may treat foreigners (which is what we are) badly. I am of the opinion that we should make one of us emperor, and all of us should help him; and the one who is elected will enrich the others very well. Now, I beg you, let each of you give your opinion." Then the King of Sicily said he felt it was a good idea that one of them should be made emperor, and that they should select whoever was willing. The King of Fez spoke, because he was the eldest of their line, and he said: "My lords and brothers, it seems to me good advice that one of us should be chosen emperor. But it is my opinion that we should follow the dictates of Tirant's will, then the princess's, and with these two wills we shall see who among us is indicated." Everyone agreed with what the King of Fez had said. They sent for the secretaries of Tirant and the emperor, and had the wills read. When they had read them, they made the secretaries leave the room, and the Duke of Macedonia spoke: "My lords and brothers, as I see it, our selection is very clear and cannot be disputed. I see that our good relative and lord leaves as recipient of all the rights he has earned in the Greek Empire, Hippolytus here. Further, I see that the princess has bestowed the entire empire on her mother. So from what I see there is no other action we can take, considering the friendship we all know Hippolytus has with the empress, than for him to take her as his wife. In that way he will become emperor, and he will keep each of us in our station, for he is our relative." Then the Marquis of Lizana spoke: "Lords, I find the Duke of Macedonia's advice to be good, and praise it, for we all have wives, and furthermore it is Tirant's command." All the rest praised him and agreed that Hippolytus should be chosen emperor and husband of the empress. When Hippolytus saw the gentility of his relatives, he praised them, and gave them many thanks for their great love. And he made a vow before God and Our Lady that if God granted that he become emperor, he would repay them in such a way that they would all be very happy. And they decided that after the funeral rites were held for the dead, they would raise him to the status of emperor, and would hold the wedding for him and the empress. Tirant's relatives agreed, and the following night King Escariano entered Constantinople, dressed in mourning, with all his men. He was received with great honor by Hippolytus, and by his wife, the queen, who was very happy to see him. Hippolytus placed him in the emperor's palace, in a beautiful apartment. The King of Sicily, the King of Fez, the Duke of Macedonia, and many other knights came to see him, and a great celebration was held. After this, King Escariano took his leave of them, and taking the queen, his wife, by the hand, he went with Hippolytus to pay honor to the empress. When they were in her chamber, King Escariano bowed before the empress, and she warmly embraced him. She took him by the hand, and had him sit at her side. Then King Escariano said: "I left my land in order to help Tirant lo Blanc recover the empire, and the queen, my wife, came only to attend the wedding of my brother Tirant and the virtuous princess. Their deaths have made me both sad and angry. Now that they are gone, I am ready to serve you for the rest of my life." The empress hesitated, and then said softly: "It is great glory for me that so magnanimous a king should say such words to me. I thank you very much for coming, and even more for helping us put an end to this conquest. But with it I have lost three of the best people in the world, and because of this the rest of my life will be filled with sadness." The empress could speak no more, and tears sprang from her eyes. King Escariano also began to cry. That night Hippolytus went to sleep with the empress, and he told her about his conversation with his relatives, and what they had all decided: "That I should take you as my wife. My lady, I know that I am not worthy of being your husband, or even your servant. But I trust in Your Highness' love and virtue, and I hope that you will accept me as Your Majesty's captive. And trust me, my lady, to do well. I will be so obedient to you that you can command me more than ever before, for I never wanted anything but to serve you." The empress answered: "Hippolytus, my son, you know how much I love you, and I will be very pleased if you will take me as your wife. But remember, my son and lord, even though I'm old you will never find anyone who loves you as much as I do." Then Hippolytus knelt to kiss her hands and feet, but she lifted him up and embraced him and kissed him. And they spent that delicious night with little thought about those who were lying on the cenotaphs for burial. In the morning, before Phoebus had spread its shiny rays over the earth, the knight got up, full of new joy, for that night Hippolytus had entertained his lady very well. He arranged everything that was necessary for the burial. On the appointed day all the barons and knights who were invited went to the city of Constantinople. On the first day they buried the emperor with the most beautiful sacramental lights ever given to a prince. To exalt the occasion there were many kings, dukes, counts and marquis, and many noble knights. All the people from the city were there, lamenting over their good lord, and the clergy performed the ceremony, singing so that all were weeping. And on that day the emperor's body was solely buried. The second day was reserved for the princess's burial, and the third for Tirant's. There was so much wailing and lamenting during those three days that no one felt like crying for the rest of the year. When the funeral rites for the emperor were over, the emperor's body was placed in a beautiful tomb which the emperor had ordered made some time before. The bodies of Tirant and the princess were placed in a wooden coffin, for they had to be taken to Brittany. When this was done, the King of Sicily, the King of Fez, and the Duke of Macedonia went to King Escariano and told him all about the council they had held with Tirant's relatives, and how they had decided to raise Hippolytus to the status of emperor. King Escariano said: "I am very pleased by your decision. I think Hippolytus is a good and virtuous knight, and he deserves to be emperor." Then they asked him to go with them and carry the news to the empress, and he was glad to do so. The three kings left with the Duke of Macedonia, and it was the noblest embassy that had ever been made to a man or a woman. They entered the empress's chamber, and she welcomed them with great honor. She took the hand of King Escariano and the King of Sicily, and they sat down in the imperial throne room, with the empress between the two kings. They had agreed that King Escariano should explain their mission, and he began: "As we deeply appreciate the honor of your illustrious person, we hope it will be agreeable to you to take a husband. And we beg Your Majesty not to be angry at what I am going to tell you. Your Majesty knows what good condition the Greek Empire is in because of that singular knight, Tirant. You know the rights that His Majesty, the emperor, granted to him, and you know that he left those rights to his nephew, Hippolytus. And so we beg and advise Your Majesty to take Hippolytus as your husband and lord. He is such a virtuous knight that Your Majesty will be greatly loved and revered by him, and he is such a knight that he will be able to rule and defend the empire, which has been reconquered through so much effort." The empress then said very graciously: "Great lords, I realize that you are my brothers, and I trust that you would never advise me to do anything that would be harmful to me or my honor. So I freely place myself in your lordships' hands to deal with me and my empire as though it were your own." They all bowed deeply to the empress and gave her many thanks. And they left, very satisfied with the empress' reply. The three kings went with the Duke of Macedonia to Hippolytus' chamber, and he received them very warmly. They told him about the entire conversation they had had with the empress, and how she had agreed to do everything they wanted. Hippolytus knelt, and thanked them, and he was very happy. They quickly took him to the empress's chamber, and then had the bishop come from the city and marry them. In attendance were the Queen of Ethiopia, the Queen of Fez, the Duchess of Macedonia, and all the ladies of the court. They were all very pleased because of all the hard times they had had, and which they were afraid would continue. The news that the empress had married Hippolytus ran through the city, and everyone was glad. They all gave thanks to God for giving them such a good lord. Everyone in the city liked Hippolytus because in times of need he had been their captain, and he had treated them very well. Soon afterward the King of Sicily departed, and the emperor entreated the King of Fez and the Viscount of Branches to carry the bodies of Tirant and the princess to Brittany. They said they would do it very willingly out of love for His Majesty and Tirant. The emperor commanded the admiral to put forty galleys in order so they would go in his honor. And they were quickly armed and put in order. The emperor had ordered a very beautiful wooden coffin made, all covered with gold, and decorated so that it looked like the sepulcher of a great lord. And he had the bodies of Tirant and the princess placed inside, all dressed in brocade, with their faces uncovered so that they seemed to be sleeping. He had the coffin put on board a galley with all of Tirant's weapons and flags on it so that they could be placed upon the sepulcher where Tirant would lie, to serve as a perpetual memorial. And the emperor gave the King of Fez two hundred thousand ducats so that the sepulcher of Tirant and the princess could be made in Brittany in accord with their great merit. When everything was in order the King of Fez and the Queen set sail, and they had such good weather that in a few short days they reached Brittany very safely. The King of Fez, the queen, and the Viscount of Branches, along with many noblemen and knights, made port in a city called Nantes, and here they were well received and entertained by the Duke of Brittany, and the Duchess. They took the coffin with Tirant and the princess, and with a great procession of many clerics, friars and monks they carried it to the high church of the city, and it was placed in a tomb held up by four lions. This tomb was worked in a very clear alabaster, and molded in fine gold were these words: The knight who in arms was phoenix And the lady most beautiful of all, Lie dead in this tomb, While their living fame resounds throughout the world: Tirant lo Blanc and noble Carmesina. And above the tomb these three verses were sculpted in gold: Cruel love that united them in life And has taken their life in great pain, After their death, encloses them in the sepulcher. Words could not express the mourning that took place in Brittany. There was great mourning over his death by the Duke of Brittany and the Duchess and all Tirant's relatives when they learned of the actions of everlasting renown he had performed and the great prosperity he had achieved. The King of Fez had large amounts of money given in charity for the souls of Tirant and the princess. He spent the two thousand ducats the emperor had given him very well. And he decided to return to his homeland, for he had stayed in Brittany six months to carry out everything the emperor had encharged to him. The King and Queen of Fez took their leave of the duke and duchess and all the relatives who were very sad to see them leave. And the Viscount of Branches also took his leave of everyone. They embarked on the galleys and set their course toward the lands of the King of Fez. Our Heavenly Father gave them such good weather that in a few days they reached the port of Tangier. And the King of Fez and the Queen disembarked with all their people. The Viscount of Branches returned to Constantinople with the forty galleys, and was well received by the emperor who was greatly desirous of knowing what had happened in Brittany. The Viscount of Branches very discreetly told the emperor about everything that had been done, just as it had been directed by his majesty. The emperor was highly pleased, and immediately bought the county of Benaixi, which belonged to the princess, for three hundred thousand ducats, and gave it to the Viscount of Branches as a reward for his works, Then he gave a large inheritance to all those who had married servants of the empress and the princess so that they could live well and honorably, each according to his station, and all were very happy. Then he arranged marriages for all his other knights. Fortune favored Emperor Hippolytus so much, and he was such a virtuous knight that he greatly increased the Empire of Greece, and he added to it many provinces that he conquered, and due to his great diligence he amassed a very large treasure. He was deeply loved and feared by his subjects and also by the neighboring lords who lived near the empire. A few days after he was made emperor he had the Moorish sultan and the Grand Turk released from prison, along with all the other kings and lords who had been imprisoned with them. They made peace and a truce for one hundred one years, and they were so content that they said they would come to his aid against the entire world. Afterward the emperor had them go to Turkey aboard two galleys. This Emperor Hippolytus had a long life. But after the death of her daughter, the empress lived only three years. After a short time the emperor took another wife, who was the daughter of the King of England. This empress was extremely beautiful, humble, and a very virtuous and devout Christian. The genteel lady bore Emperor Hippolytus three sons and two daughters, and the sons were exceptional and valiant knights. The eldest son was named Hippolytus, like his father, and he lived his entire life a magnanimous man and performed singular acts of chivalry which this book does not relate, but defers to the books that were written about him. But the emperor, his father, left all his relatives and servants well provided for before he died. And when the emperor and the empress passed from this life they were very old. They both died on the same day, and were placed in a very luxurious tomb which the emperor had ordered made. And you may be sure that because of their excellent rule and their good and virtuous life they are in the glory of paradise. DEO GRATIAS Here ends the book of the valiant and singular knight, Tirant lo Blanc, Prince and Caesar of the Greek Empire of Constantinople, which was translated from English into the Portuguese language, and afterward into the Valencian tongue by the magnificent and virtuous knight, Johanot Martorell who, because of his death, was able to finish the translation of only the first three parts. The fourth part, which is the end of the book, was translated at the behest of the noble Isabel de Loris by the magnificent knight Marti Johan d' Galba. If any defect should be found he wishes it to be attributed to his ignorance, and may Our Lord Jesus Christ, in His great goodness, grant him the glory of paradise as a reward for his works. And he protests that if he has put some things in this book that are not Catholic, he retracts them and submits them to the correction of the Holy Catholic Church. This work was printed in the city of Valencia, the 20th day of the month of November in the year of the Birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ 1490.