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"The monstrance rebounded three times from the pavement; and as we were all, even the oldest troopers, standing with grounded arms, awed and horror-struck at the sight of a murder so foul and a martyrdom so heroic,' Amen!' cried a drummer-boy, and burst out laughing."

There is a certain melancholy pleasure in seeing how inadequately one's prose renders a poem of this kind. But it is a pleasure which may easily pall, and I shall not translate any portion of the Grève des Forgerons. That, again, is a dramatic monologue, such as Mr. Browning has accustomed us to, and deals with incidents equally tragic. The story, too, is told with equal power. An old iron-worker recounts to his judges the tale of the strike: how his grandchildren were starving; how he appealed to the committee to let him go back to work; how one of the club orators, living on the general subscriptions, gibed at his misery; and how he struck him down with his hammer. To deal with themes like these in fully adequate verse is to be a poet of high quality.

After the Grève des Forgerons came Les Humbles, to which I have already referred; and a few pieces written in 1870, during the siege of Paris; pieces, with the exception of the Lettre d'un Mobile Breton, by no means remarkable. Then followed a very characteristic volume of Promenades et Intérieurs. Its title may indicate the contents. This was succeeded by Le Cahier Rouge, a collection of disconnected pieces. This brings us to 1874. Les Récits et les Elégies appeared in 1878. It contains

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Lastly, after the Récits et les Elégies, came Contes en Vers and Poésies Diverses, whereof the two most notable are La Marchande de Journaux and L'Enfant de la Balle: the first being one of those stories of humble life in which M. Coppée excels, an old newspaper seller, to whom the rise and fall of political interests mean only the more or less of comfort for her little weakling grandson; and the second, the story of a child born in the theatre and bred among the footlights, who achieves upon the boards a success phenomenal in every sense, and dies a martyr to her triumph.

All these several volumes represent a large body of verse: love poems in considerable number, stories of history and legend, stories of every-day life," occasional" verses not a few, sonnets in profusion, a few dainty vers de société, and a small quantity of songs. The field has yielded a large and varied crop. What is to be said as to the quality of the grain?

Of the moral quality of M. Coppée's work I have already spoken. As to the literary quality, a few words are necessary. First I would say of M. Coppée's verse that it possesses the gift of spontaneity. It is not "art manufacture." Does that seem small praise and merely negative commendation? Such is far from being my view. Take, by way of contrast, the poems of M. Leconte de Lisle. M. Leconte de Lisle has learning, industry, an artist's real desire of perfection. But all his work" is full of labor; man cannot utter it." The sense

of effort chills the reader's pleasure. There is none of the seemingly careless excellence of absolute mastery. Every line bears the marks of the hammer and the anvil. With M. Coppée it is quite different. Here every poem seems to have sprung from a genuine inspiration. It has taken root one does not quite know how, and effloresces naturally. Of course this may not be really so. Coppée may produce with great difficulty, possibly with even more real pain than M. Leconte de Lisle; but so far as the result is concerned, - - and in all such matters one is concerned only with results, the younger alone is a spontaneous poet.

M.

Closely allied to this gift of spontaneity is a gift of interest. Does that, too, seem a slight thing? I fancy not, to those who are under any sort of professional compulsion to read even a small part of the thoroughly unreadable verse which is produced annually. If poets would only realize that one of the essential conditions of saying something is having something to say; that a necessary preliminary to all poetry is some thought, passion, emotion, that is worthy of poetry's brocaded vesture, some scene from the great drama of life that is fit to keep the stage! M. Coppée does not fall into the mistake of supposing that gossamer can be made imperishable. He takes care to weave with silk of sufficient substance. When he sings, it is because he has something to sing about; and the result is, as I have intimated, that his poetry is nearly always interesting. Moreover, he respects the limits of his art; for while his friend and contemporary, M. Sully-Prudhomme, goes astray only too habitually in philosophical speculation, and his immortal senior, Victor Hugo, often declaims, if one may venture reverently to say so, in a manner which is tedious, M. Coppée sticks rigorously to what may be called the proper regions of poetry. When he falls into prose, as he very occasionally

does, it is not because he has wandered out of the right path, but because he has faltered. Such lapses are rare. Habitually his step is as sure as it is easy and light.

"L'art pour l'art!" Does that mean that art is to exist for artists alone, and only those qualities in a work of art are to be considered which appeal to the artist's fellow craftsmen? If so, surely the message of art were singularly impov erished. Let art exist for artists, by all

means.

Let every technical excellence have full weight and value. It is scarcely possible to exaggerate the superb importance of workmanship. But beyond the artist lies the great mass of men. To them the technical side of art appeals only in a modified degree. They feel its insufficiency or absence. A sure and right instinct tells them, as I have already said, that if the poet is not an artist, he has scant reason of existence, whatever may be the worth of the message he has to deliver. Still, when this has been granted to the full, it remains that to the mass of men the message and its worth are the objects of chief attraction. Surely I am not contending that some direct ethical purpose should be the motive of every work of art. Far from it. The motive may be one of thought, or passion, or feeling, or fancy, or imagination, may, in fact, be of almost any kind. But it must be there. Nor, maugre M. Zola and his school, will sane and healthy ethics mar either the message or the form of its delivery. So long as we are men, and not beasts, the human, not the bestial, must be the best stimulants, must answer best to our needs. To these remarks M. Coppée's works, in their sum and totality, may most fittingly serve for illustration. He is an artist, and an admirable one. He possesses most fully the technique of French poetry. He plays upon his instrument with all power and grace. But he is no mere virtuoso. There is something in him beyond the executant. Of

Malibran Alfred de Musset says, most beautifully, that she had that "voice of the heart which alone has power to reach the heart." Here, also, behind the skillful player on language, the deft manipulator of rhyme and rhythm, the learned disposer of pause and cæsura, one feels the beating of a human heart. One feels that the artist has himself felt. One feels that he is giving us per

sonal impressions of life and its joys and sorrows, that his imagination is powerful because it is genuinely his own, that the flowers of his fancy spring spontaneously from the soil. Nor can I regard it as aught but an added grace that the strings of that instrument of his should vibrate so readily to what is beautiful and unselfish and delicate in human feeling.

Frank T. Marzials.

PENELOPE'S SUITORS.1

1639, Mo. 1, 1. Long time hath overpast since I arrived in the colony of the Massachusetts, and long neglected hath been the keeping of a certain resolve made when first I set foot upon these shores. As we came hither on the good ship Susan and Ellen, I had much discourse with Madam Richard Saltonstall, who claimeth a sort of kinship with brother Herbert, through his wife, the sometime widow Walgrave, by reason of which she showed me great civility and gave me store of wise counsels. Amongst the many was one to keep a journal of what notable things should befall in this new world I was coming to. I repent me that I have not more speedily followed her valued advice, albeit no very great nor tragic event hath yet transpired.

Touching my first impressions of this same new world, truly I am not like to forget my grievous disappointment. I had fair imaginings of something like

1 "The governor, Mr. Bellingham, was married. [I would not mention such ordinary matters but by reason of some remarkable accidents.] The young gentlewoman was ready to be contracted to a friend of his who lodged in his house, and by his consent had proceeded so far with her, when, on the sudden, the governor treated with her and obtained her for himself. He excused it by the strength of his affection." (Winthrop's History of New England, vol. ii.)

The young gentlewoman here mentioned was VOL. LIV. 49 NO. 326.

Arcady, but it seemeth not at all Arcadian on nearer view, while the poor little town of Boston filleth the beholder with neither awe nor admiration. I dare not declare my mind in this respect by reason of giving offense to the good people hereabout, who affect to find it a paradise. Sure I am that without the town it is indeed a very wilderness,

yea, and filled, too, with wild beasts and savages, as I am assured, and have indeed the proof of my own senses; for the former, I hear them roar o' nights, and for the latter, I have beheld them walking the streets, and profess myself in such deadly terror if one do but so much as draw near me that I can scarce forbear to cry out. I am told, and can well believe it, that they have no scruple of making a meal of an Englishman, if they can but once beguile him into the forest. They have here, moreover, numbers of blackamoors, which are kept for slaves; they are quite harmless

Penelope Pelham, sister of Herbert Pelham, who came to New England in 1638, and took an important part in colonial affairs until his return to England in 1647, being at one time treasurer of Harvard College, and at another one of the assistants. He became a member of Parliament after his return to England. Penelope was married to Governor Richard Bellingham in 1641, and survived him nearly thirty years, dying in Boston, in 1702.

and by no means of an aspect so terrible as the savages. But for all that, I care not for one of them to come too closely into my neighborhood, nor touch any thing I am to eat; nor can I be persuaded but that soap and water might alter their hue. For the Bostoners themselves, the leaders in this little world, are, for the most part, folk of some birth and breeding, and affect, as they may, a little state. "T is odd to see the modes still in vogue here that are long time bygones at home. Certain of my own gowns which I have esteemed in no wise noteworthy have, I hear, caused a great buzzing among the worthy dames of Boston.

On landing, brother John and I went straightway to brother William's plantation at Cambridge, which is three miles and over from the town. We found brother grown already to be a person of great consequence. They have here set up a small school, which they call a college, and have made Herbert treasurer thereof.1 He hath a large plantation and a fair house, with a troop of people, amongst which are several blackamoors. By reason of brother's influence I have received much civility from everybody. Many ladies of the best fashion from the town have waited upon me, and I have returned their visits; amongst them I have made several friends, and thus no longer feel like a stranger on these remote shores.

Mo. 1, 7. To-day I repaired to town with brother, on a pillion, to wait upon Madam Winthrop, wife of the governor. While I sat discoursing quietly with the governor's lady, on a sudden there arose a great tumult without, and anon came trooping into the house a horde of savages, with one of their most redoubted sachems at their head, Unkus by name. I had well-nigh swooned with terror but that Madam Winthrop seemed in no wise disturbed, and bade me not to fear.

1 A slight anachronism. Herbert Pelham was not made treasurer until 1643.

Indeed, when I had somewhat recovered I could not but remark the savages behaved with great decorum. The worshipful governor came presently downstairs to see them, attended by one of the magistrates. I know not what passed but that the sachem proffered some strings of Indian money, which the governor refused, by reason of some offense committed by the savages. Truly, the governor is a bold man who dare thus anger the heathen. When the powwow was over the governor came and spake graciously to me, and thereupon Madam Winthrop finished by craving a visit of several days. I could not refuse assent to such civility, and so 't is concluded I shall come this day week. Brother Herbert presently appeared at the door, whereat I mounted behind him, and after some words of leave-taking we set forth homeward.

Mo. 1, 14. Yesterday, about four o'clock post meridian, brother Herbert brought me hither to Madam Winthrop's, in answer to her gracious invitation. She welcomed me hospitably, and ushered me presently up to a large chamber, where I unpacked my portmanteau and set my dress in order. At supper the table was fairly set forth with store of good cheer, which I opine the worshipful governor loveth right well. There was I presented to the family, several daughters and sons, of whom Mr. WaitStill chiefly drew my attention, a grave and comely young man, who regarded me narrowly, and offered me divers civilities. The discourse was mostly of the weekly lecture, which took place today, for which I arrived not in time. I marveled to hear that the teacher, the Reverend Mr. Cotton, therein inveighed loudly against wearing of lace veils over the face, which is newly the mode. Master Cotton, it seemeth, spake bitterly of the practice as sinful and abominable, arguing a corrupt heart. At all this I was much perturbed, as I came hither with a smart new veil cast over

my tiffany hood; and though in my blindness I perceive not that my heart is more corrupt, yet may I be deceived, and this mayhap prove a snare of the devil to lure us through vanity on to sin. Alack, how countless are the wiles of the tempter! Nothing, surely, seemeth more innocent than this film of network; 't is pity if it be a sin, for it marvelously enhanceth the comeliness of an indifferent face.

Mo. 1, 20. I become acquainted with the family, and rest well content. Here is much more astir than at home, for besides that the governor hath divers visit ors upon ceremony and business daily, his dwelling is placed upon the chief street, where is much passing to and fro. It is a large house, quite plain without, but well-ordered within. Both the governor and madam are most gracious to me, and account themselves kinsfolk, it seemeth, with brother Herbert, through his wife. Yesterday Mr. Wait - Still came civilly and bade me forth for an outing. We walked upon the Centry Field, and thence by the seashore to Mr. Blackstone his garden, where we had good prospect of the sun's setting.

Mo. 1, 23. Dined to-day at Mr. Increase Nowell's; the governor and lady, cousins Saltonstall, Mr. William Hibbins and lady, Mr. Richard Bellingham, made the company. The latter sat by my side and discoursed with me, a man of majestic port and face most proud. He fixed upon me a pair of gloomful eyes, deep set beneath shaggy brows, whose glance seemed able to search out my hidden thoughts. I found myself in great awe, and sat with downcast eyes, stammering like a fool. Indeed, in everything I behaved rather like a raw rustic wench than a young gentlewoman of breeding, for which I was grievously ashamed; but truly I have never yet encountered a man, of whatsoever rank, who hath wrought upon me such an influence. Opposite at the table sat Mad

am Hibbins,1 a sister, 't is said, of Mr. Bellingham; she hath a shrewish face and keen eyes, which she kept, methought, more often than needful bent upon me, as marveling what qualities her brother could find in me worthy attention.

Mo. 1, 24. The Lord's Day. I was taken into the church on confession of faith, signing and accepting the covenants thereof. With me were one Mistress Elizabeth Allen and another. May the Lord Jesus Christ justify me through faith, and endue me with grace to keep his holy ordinances. Went thrice to meeting; strove sedulously to mortify the flesh and keep my thoughts on heavenly things. Bare in mind Mr. Cotton his words at the lecture, and left behind my veil, yet noted several in the congregation who seem not in awe of their teacher's wrath in this respect. Query whether it be sinful or no.

Mo. 1, 25. Madam Hibbins came betimes to wait upon me. Despite the sharpness of her visage and the keenness of her black eyes, she hath at call some honeyed looks, and these she spared not to bestow lavishly upon me. She hath engaged my attention withal more than any person I have yet encountered. She seemeth a woman of uncommon parts; her wit is admirable, and her countenance, once seen, not to be forgotten. I had much discourse with her, which truly is no great effort, as she maintaineth the chief part thereof. I noted Madam Winthrop grew somewhat grave and quiet in presence of this visitor. Madam Hibbins was dressed in more splendor than I have yet anywhere seen in the town.

Mo. 1, 26. To-day went with the governor and his lady to the lecture at Dorchester; afterwards dined with Mr. Dudley, the deputy, who hath a goodly house and a fine garden. Returning betimes, I wait upon Madam Hibbins, 1 Ann Hibbins, afterwards, in 1656, hanged as a witch.

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