Sancia singing:_)
To the maids of Saint Remy
All the gallants go for pleasure;
To the maids of Saint Remy--
Tripping to love's measure!
To the dames of Avignon
All the masters go for wiving;
To the dames of Avignon--
That shall be their shriving!
(_He goes to the Loggia as they gayly applaud. Then Lello cries:_)
_Lello._ Ho-ho! Petrarca! Pagan! are you in?
What! are you a sonnet-monger?
_Petrarca._ Ai, ai, aih!
(_Motions_ Gherhardo--_who goes_.)
_Lello._ Come then! Your door is locked! down! let us in!
(_Rattles it._)
_Petrarca._ No, ribald! hold! the key is on the sill!
Look for it and ascend!
(Orso _enters_.)
Stay, here is Orso!
(_The old servant goes through and down the stairs to meet them. In a
moment the tramp of feet is heard and they enter--_Lello_ between
them--singing_:)
Guelph! Guelph! and Ghibbeline!
Ehyo! ninni! onni! onz!
I went fishing on All Saints' Day
And--caught but human bones!
I went fishing on All Saints' Day,
The Rhone ran swift, the wind blew black!
I went fishing on All Saints' Day--
But my love called me back!
She called me back and she kissed my lips--
Oh, my lips! Oh! onni onz!
"Better take love than--bones! bones!
(Sancia _kisses_ Petrarca.)
Better take love than bones."
(_They scatter with glee and_ Petrarca _seizes_ Sancia _to him_.)
_Petrarca._ Yes, little Sancia! and you, my friends!
Warm love is better, better!
And braver! Come, Lello! give me your hand!
And you, Filippa! No, I'll have your lips!
_Sancia._ (_interposing_). Or--less? One at a time, Messer Petrarca!
You learn too fast. Mine only for to-night.
_Petrarca._ And for a thousand nights, Sancia fair!
_Sancia._ You hear him? Santa Madonna! pour us wine,
To pledge him in!
_Petrarca._ The tankards bubble o'er!
(_They go to the table._)
And see, they are wreathed of April,
With loving myrtle and laurel intertwined.
We'll hold symposium, as bacchanals!
_Sancia._ And that is--what? some dull and silly show
Out of your sallow books?
_Petrarca._ Those books were writ
With ink of the gods, my Sancia, upon
Papyri of the stars!
_Sancia._ And--long ago?
Ha! long ago?
_Petrarca._ Returnless centuries!
_Sancia._ (_contemptuously_). Who loves the past,
Loves mummies and their dust--
And he will mould!
Who loves the future loves what may not be,
And feeds on fear.
Only one flower has Time--its name is Now!
Come, pluck it! pluck it!
_Lello._ Brava, maid! the Now!
_Sancia._ (_dancing_). Come, pluck it! pluck it!
_Petrarca._ By my soul, I will:
(_Seizes her again._)
It grows upon these lips--and if to-night
They leant out over the brink of Hell, I would.
(_She breaks from him._)
_Flippa._ Enough! the wine! the wine!
_Sancia._ O ever-thirsty
And ever-thrifty Pippa! Well, pour out!
(_She lifts a brimming cup._)
We'll drink to Messer Petrarca--
Who's weary of his bed-mate, Solitude.
May he long revel in the courts of Venus!
_All (drinking)._ Aih, long!
_Petrarca._ As long as Sancia enchants them!
_Flippa._ I'd trust him not, Sancia. Put him to oath.
_Sancia._ And, to the rack, if faithless? This Flippa!
Messer Petrarca, should not be made
High Jurisconsult to our lord, the Devil,
Whose breath of life is oaths?...
But, swear it!--by the Saints!
Who were great sinners all!
And by the bones of every monk or nun
Who ever darkened the world!
_Lello._ Or ever shall!
(_A pause._)
_Petrarca._ I'll swear your eyes are singing
Under the shadow of your hair, mad Sancia,
Like nightingales in the wood!
_Sancia._ Pah! Messer Poet--
Such words as those you vent without an end--
To the Lady Laura!
_Petrarca._ Stop!
(_Grows pale._)
Not _her_ name--here!
(_All have sat down; he rises._)
_Sancia._ O-ho! this air will soil it? and it might
Not sound so sweet in sonnets ever after?
(_To the rest--rising._)
Shall we depart, that he may still indite them?
"To Laura--On the Vanity of Passion?"
"To Laura--Unrelenting?"
"To Laura--Whose Departing Darkens the Sky?"
(_Laughs._)
"To Laura--Who Deigns Not a Single Tear?"
(Orso _enters_.)
Shall we depart?
FOOTNOTE:
[71] Copyright, 1907, by McClure, Phillips and Company.
ROBERT M. McELROY
Robert McNutt McElroy, author of the best of the recent histories of
Kentucky, was born at Perryville, Kentucky, December 28, 1872. He took
the three degrees conferred by Princeton University; and since 1901 he
has been assistant professor of American history in that institution.
For the _Metropolitan Magazine_ of New York Dr. McElroy wrote an
excellent _History of the Mexican War_, but this work has not yet
appeared in book form. His _Kentucky in the Nation's History_ (New
York, 1909), gave him an honorable place among the younger generation
of American historians, and certainly a high place in Kentucky
literature. Upon his history of Kentucky Dr. McElroy labored for many
years, no sacrifice was too great for him to make, no journey too long
for him to undertake, provided a better perspective were to be
obtained at the end of his travels. He spent many months with Colonel
Reuben T. Durrett at Louisville, working in his library, and sitting
at his feet drinking from the well of Western history which the
Colonel has kept undefiled. This, too, was what so sadly mars his
work: he does in the discussion of several great questions, hardly
more than serve as amanuensis for Colonel Durrett and the late Colonel
John Mason Brown. Their opinions and conclusions are accepted
_carte-blanche_, and all other authorities are ruthlessly set aside.
Dr. McElroy accepts Colonel Brown's book upon the Spanish Conspiracy,
and writes a single line concerning Thomas Marshall Green's great
work! He brings his narrative down to the commencement of the Civil
War, which probably indicates that a second volume is in preparation
in order that the entire field may be surveyed. His work is most
scholarly, the latest historical procedure is sustained throughout,
and the pity is that he so slavishly followed one or two authorities,
though both of them were wholly excellent and profound, to the
exclusion of all others. Originality of opinion is what the work
lacks, a lack which it might have easily possessed with the author's
undoubted ability, had he not lingered so long in literary Louisville.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Dr. McElroy to the Author; _Who's Who
in America_ (1912-1913).
GEORGE ROGERS CLARK[72]
[From _Kentucky in the Nation's History_ (New York, 1909)]
It was at this critical moment that George Rogers Clark, the future
conqueror of the Northwest territory, took up his permanent abode
among the Kentucky pioneers. Clark had visited Kentucky, on a brief
tour of inspection, during the previous autumn (Sept., 1775), and had
been placed in command of the irregular militia of the settlements. He
had returned to Virginia, filled with the importance of establishing
in Kentucky an extensive system of public defence, and with the firm
conviction that the claims of Henderson & Company ought to be
disallowed by Virginia. His return to Kentucky, in 1776, marks the
beginning of the end of the Transylvania Company. In spite of his
youth (he was only twenty-four) he was far the most dangerous opponent
that Henderson & Company had in the province. A military leader by
nature, he had served in Lord Dunmore's war with such conspicuous
success that he had been offered a commission in the British Army.
This honor he had declined, preferring to remain free to serve his
country in the event of a revolt from British tyranny.
Shortly after his arrival, Clark proposed that, in order to bring
about a more certain connection with Virginia, and the more definitely
to repudiate the authority of the Transylvania Company, a regular
representative assembly should be held at Harrodsburg. His own views
he expressed freely in advancing his suggestion. Agents, he said,
should be appointed to urge once more the right of the region to be
taken under the protection of Virginia, and, if this request should
again be unheeded, we should "employ the lands of the country as a
fund to obtain settlers, and establish an independent state."
The proposed assembly convened at Harrodsburg on the 6th of June.
Clark was not present when the session began, and when he arrived, he
found that the pressing question of the day had already been acted
upon, and that he himself, with Gabriel John Jones, had been elected a
delegate to represent the settlements in the Virginia Assembly. Clark
knew that such an election would not entitle them to seats, but he
agreed to visit Williamsburg, and present the cause of his fellow
pioneers. Provided with a formal memorial to the Virginia Assembly, he
started, with Jones, for Virginia and, after a very painful journey,
upon which, Clark declared, I suffered "more torment than I ever
experienced before or since," they reached the neighborhood of
Charlottesville, only to learn that the Assembly had adjourned. Jones
set off for a visit to the settlements on the Holston; but Clark,
intent upon his mission, pushed on to Hanover County, where he secured
an interview with Patrick Henry, then Governor of Virginia.
After listening to Clark's report of the troubles of the frontier
colony, and doubtless enjoying his denunciation of the Transylvania
Company, Governor Henry introduced him to the executive Council of the
State, and he at once requested from them five hundred pounds of
powder for frontier defence. He had determined to accomplish the
object of his mission in any manner possible, and he knew that if he
could induce the authorities of Virginia to provide for the defence of
the frontier settlements, the announcement of her property rights in
them would certainly follow, to the destruction of the plans of
Henderson and his colleagues.
The Council, however, doubtless also foreseeing these consequences,
declared that its powers could not be so construed as to give it
authority to grant such a request. But Clark was insistent, and urged
his case so effectively that, after considerable discussion, the
Council announced that, as the call appeared urgent, they would assume
the responsibility of lending five hundred pounds of powder to Clark,
making him personally responsible for its value, in case their
assumption of authority should not be upheld by the Burgesses. They
then presented him with an order to the keeper of the public magazine,
calling for the powder desired.
This was exactly what Clark did not want, as the loan of five hundred
pounds of powder to George Rogers Clark, could in no sense be
interpreted as an assumption by Virginia, of the responsibility of
defending the western frontier, and his next act was most
characteristic of the man. He returned the order with a curt note,
declaring his intention of repairing at once to Kentucky, and exerting
the resources of that country to the formation of an independent
State, for, he frankly declared, "a country which is not worth
defending is not worth claiming."
This threat proved instantly successful. The Council recalled Clark to
their presence and, on August 23, 1776, delivered him another order
calling for five hundred pounds of gunpowder, which was to be conveyed
to Pittsburg by Virginia officials, there "to be safely kept and
delivered to George Rogers Clark or his order, for the use of the said
inhabitants of Kentucky."
With this concession Clark was completely satisfied, for he felt that by
it Virginia was admitting her obligation to defend the pioneers of the
West, and that an open declaration of sovereign rights over the
territory must soon follow. He accordingly wrote to his friends in
Kentucky, requesting them to receive the powder at Pittsburg, and convey
it to the Kentucky stations, while he himself awaited the opening of the
autumn session of the Virginia Assembly, where he hoped to procure a
more explicit verdict against the claims of Henderson's Company.
At the time appointed for the meeting, Clark, accompanied by his
colleague, Gabriel John Jones, proceeded to Williamsburg and presented
his petition to the Assembly, where again his remarkable personality
secured a victory. In spite of the vigorous exertions of Henderson and
Campbell in behalf of the Transylvania Company, the Virginia Assembly
(December 7, 1776) passed an act dividing the vast, ill-defined
region, hitherto known as Fincastle County, into three sections, to be
known as Kentucky County, Washington County, and Montgomery County,
Virginia. The County of Kentucky, comprising almost the same territory
as is contained in the present State of Kentucky, was thus recognized
as a political unit of the Virginia Commonwealth, and as such was
entitled to representation.
This statute decided the fate of the Transylvania Company, as there
could not be two Sovereign Proprietors of the soil of Kentucky County.
And so passed, a victim to its own lust of gain, the last attempt to
establish a proprietary government upon the free soil of the United
States; and George Rogers Clark, as founder of Kentucky's first
political organization, became the political father of the Commonwealth,
even as Daniel Boone had been the father of her colonization.
FOOTNOTE:
[72] Copyright, 1909, by Moffat, Yard and Company.
EDWIN D. SCHOONMAKER
Edwin Davies Schoonmaker, poet, was born at Scranton, Pennsylvania,
February 1, 1873. He removed from Ohio to Kentucky in 1886, and he
lived at Lexington almost continuously until 1904. Mr. Schoonmaker was
educated at old Kentucky (Transylvania) University; and in 1904 he
married a Kentucky woman, who has published a play and a novel. For
the last several years he and his wife have lived at Bearsville, New
York, high up in the Catskills. Mr. Schoonmaker's first book was a
verse play, entitled _The Saxons--a Drama of Christianity in the
North_ (Chicago, 1905). This was based upon the attempt on the part of
Rome to force the religion of Christ upon the pagans in the forests of
the North, and it was a very strong piece of work. His second work,
another verse drama, will appear in 1913, entitled _The Americans_.
It will be published by Mr. Mitchell Kennerley, for whom Mr.
Schoonmaker is planning two other plays. Mr. Schoonmaker has had short
lyrics in many of the leading magazines.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Arena_ (May, 1906); _Hampton's Magazine_ (June,
1910); _The Forum_ (August, 1912).
THE PHILANTHROPIST[73]
[From _The American Magazine_ (October, 1912)]
I neither praise nor blame thee, aged Scot,
In whose wide lap the shifting times have poured
The heavy burden of that golden hoard
That shines far off and shall not be forgot.
I only see thee carving far and wide
Thy name on many marbles through the land,
Or flashing splendid from the jeweler's hand
Where medaled heroes show thy face with pride.
Croesus had not such royal halls as thou,
Nor Timon half as many friends as crowd
Thy porches when thy largesses are loud,
Learning and Peace are stars upon thy brow.
And still thy roaring mills their tribute bring
As unto Caesar, and thy charities
Have borne thy swelling fame beyond the seas,
Where thou in many realms art all but king.
Yet when night lays her silence on thine ears
And thou art at thy window all alone,
Pondering thy place, dost thou not hear the groans
Of them that bear thy burdens through the years?
FOOTNOTE:
[73] Copyright, 1912, by the Phillips Publishing Company.
CREDO HARRIS
Credo Harris, novelist, was born near Louisville, Kentucky, January 8,
1874. He was educated in the schools of Louisville and finished at
college in the East. He settled in New York as a newspaper man and the
following ten years of his life were given to that work. In 1908 Mr.
Harris abandoned daily journalism in order to devote himself to
fiction. Only a few of his short-stories had gotten into the magazines
when his first book, entitled _Toby, a Novel of Kentucky_ (Boston,
1912), appeared. In spite of the fact that the author's literary
models were, perhaps, too manifest, _Toby_ was well liked by many
readers. Mr. Harris's second story, _Motor Rambles in Italy_ (New
York, 1912), was cordially received by those very critics who assailed
his first volume with vehemence. It is both a book of travels and a
romance, the recital being in the form of love letters to his
sweetheart, Polly, and also descriptive of the country from
Baden-Baden to Rome seen from the tonneau of a big touring-car. Mr.
Harris has a new story well under way, which will probably appear in
1913. He resides at Glenview, Kentucky, with his father, but his work
on _The Louisville Herald_ takes him into town almost every day.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. Letters from Mr. Harris to the Author; _The
Courier-Journal_ (November 30, 1912).
BOLOGNA[74]
[From _Motor Rambles in Italy_ (New York, 1912)]
Bologna! Home of the sausage! Does not your mouth water at just the
thought of it! I can see your pretty nose turn up in a curve that
simply screams "Disgusting"--but you have never been quite fair to
this relic of menageries.
To-day at luncheon our waiter first pranced up with a dish I did not
recognize. It has long been a rule of mine--especially in Italy--that
when I do not recognize a dish I wave it by. But rules are sent
broadcast before the Bolognese spirit of patriotism. Would I be
permitted to refuse this dish? No. He poked it still nearer and gave
me a polite look. "No," I said, "not any." He poked it still nearer
and his look became troubled. "No," I said again. This time his look
was indignant as he exclaimed: "But, signor, it is _mortadella_!"
Indeed, we found his persistence quite justifiable.
I could be satisfied to linger here. It is a pleasant mixture of
cosmopolitan and mediaeval, blending a touch of geniality which adds
much to its charm. The people are happier, perhaps it would be best to
say more smiling, in Bologna than farther north. If one can be
reconciled to the incongruity of living in a hotel that was a
fifteenth century palace overlooking the solemn tombs of jurists, and
then stepping to the corner for a twentieth century electric car, he
can steel himself to put up with many other temperamental
contradictions to be found in this capital of the Emilia.
But because of its cosmopolitanism I shall tell you little. In big
places like this there is so much to see, so much to digest, so much
to read out of guide books, that--what's the use? My letters are
permitted, you have threatened, only so long as I tell an occasional
thing which may serve you and the Dowager when you come through next
year by motor, and while I do not believe you quite mean this, or
would throw it down if you saw me heading toward the tender realms of
nothingness, your wish shall, nevertheless, constitute my aim. Should
I digress, it will be because my love for you is stronger than
myself--an assertion of doubtful value at the present time.
So if you want to know Bologna, read your guide books. Here, you shall
have only the more untrodden paths, which, if you follow as I have
done, you may be fortunate. For you must know that all I have seen has
been discovered by your eyes alone. Many a day has passed since you
brought and taught me the things truly beautiful in this world. Great
sculptures, rich paintings, magnificent architecture, are in the well
worn paths of every one's progress which those who pass cannot help
seeing, but a changing leaf, the sweep of a bird, a child's laugh at
the roadside, ah, those are the bounties your hands have poured into
my lap! Thousands pass along this way, piled high with perishable
treasures, and never dream that they are trampling a masterpiece with
every crunch of their bourgeoise boots.
FOOTNOTE:
[74] Copyright, 1912, by Moffat, Yard and Company.
HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES
Mrs. Hallie Erminie Rives-Wheeler, maker of mysteries, was born near
Hopkinsville, Kentucky, May 2, 1874, the daughter of Colonel Stephen
T. Rives. She is a cousin of Princess Troubetzkey, the celebrated
Virginia novelist. Miss Rives, to give her her old name, was educated
in Kentucky schools, after which she went to New York with her mother.
In 1896 Miss Rives's mother died and she and her father moved to
Amherst county, Virginia, which is her present American home. Her
literary labors fall naturally into two periods: the first, which
included five "red-hot" books, as follows: _The Singing Wire and Other
Stories_ (Clarksville, Tennessee, 1892), the "other stories" being
four in number and nameless here; _A Fool in Spots_ (St. Louis, 1894);
_Smoking Flax_ (New York, 1897); _As the Hart Panteth_ (New York,
1898); and _A Furnace of Earth_ (New York, 1900). Miss Rives's second
period of work began with _Hearts Courageous_ (Indianapolis, 1902), a
romance of Revolutionary Virginia, and continues to the present time.
This was followed by _The Castaway_ (Indianapolis, 1904), based upon
the career of Lord Byron; and the great poems of the Englishman are
made to swell the length of the story. In _Tales from Dickens_
(Indianapolis, 1905), Miss Rives did for the novelist what Lamb did
for Shakespeare--made him readable for children. _Satan Sanderson_
(Indianapolis, 1907), a wild and thrilling tale of today, one of the
"six best sellers" for many months, was followed by what is, perhaps,
her best book, a story set in Japan, entitled _The Kingdom of Slender
Swords_ (Indianapolis, 1910). Her latest novel is _The Valiants of
Virginia_ (Indianapolis, 1912), the action of which begins in New
York, but is transferred to Virginia. Miss Rives was married in Tokyo,
Japan, December 29, 1906, to Mr. Post Wheeler, writer and diplomat,
now connected with the American embassy at Rome. While none of her
novels is set against Kentucky backgrounds, several of her short
stories published in the magazines are Kentucky to the core.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The American Review of Reviews_ (October, 1902);
_The Nation_ (August 11, 1904).
THE BISHOP SPEAKS[75]
[From _Satan Sanderson_ (Indianapolis, 1907)]
Inside the study, meanwhile, the bishop was greeting Harry Sanderson. He
had officiated at his ordination and liked him. His eyes took in the
simple order of the room, lingering with a light tinge of disapproval
upon the violin case in the corner, and with a deeper shade of question
upon the jewel on the other's finger--a pigeon-blood ruby in a setting
curiously twisted of the two initial letters of his name.
There came to his mind for an instant a whisper of early prodigalities
and wildness which he had heard. For the lawyer who had listened to
Harry Sanderson's recital on the night of the making of the will had
not considered it a professional disclosure. He had thought it a "good
story," and had told it at his club, whence it had percolated at
leisure through the heavier strata of town-talk. The tale, however,
had seemed rather to increase than to discourage popular interest in
Harry Sanderson. The bishop knew that those whose approval had been
withheld were in the hopeless minority, and that even these could not
have denied that he possessed desirable qualities--a manner by turns
sparkling and grave, picturesqueness in the pulpit, and the
unteachable tone of blood--and had infused new life into a generally
sleepy parish. He had dismissed the whisper with a smile, but oddly
enough it recurred to him now at sight of the ruby ring.
"I looked in to tell you a bit of news," said the bishop. "I've just
come from David Stires--he has a letter from Van Lennap, the great
eye-surgeon of Vienna. He disagrees with the rest of them--thinks
Jessica's case may not be hopeless."
The cloud that Hugh's call had left on Harry's countenance lifted.
"Thank God!" he said. "Will she go to him?"
The bishop looked at him curiously, for the exclamation seemed to hold
more than a conventional relief.
"He is to be in America next month. He will come here to examine, and
perhaps to operate. An exceptional girl," went on the bishop, "with a
remarkable talent! The angel in the chapel porch, I suppose you know,
is her modelling, though that isn't just masculine enough in feature
to suit me. The Scriptures are silent on the subject of woman-angels
in Heaven; though, mind you, I don't say they're not common on earth!"
The bishop chuckled mildly at his own epigram.