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The Divided Horsecloth part 2

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With the opening of the Seventeenth Century the short story was overshadowed by the drama and the long-winded sentimental ro¬mance, although such writers as D`Alcripd, Tallement des Reaux, Camus, and Sorel assiduously applied themselves to the form.Toward the end of the century a new form was developed through the art of La Fontaine and Charles Perrault, whose fables and fairy tales are un¬surpassed.

The Eighteenth Century, with its new philosophy, its scepticism, and its preoccupation with literary form, saw the rise of the philo¬sophical and the moral tale. Fenelon began the Oriental, a variety of the moral tale, in the late sixteen hundreds. In England the same type was employed with success by Addison in the Spectator papers, and later by Dr. Johnson and Goldsmith.

In France Voltaire was the supreme master of the form. Marmontel developed his own type of moral tale, with its extreme sentimentality. It is toward the close of the century that, as in England and Germany and Italy, we detect the first symptoms of a radical change in subject-matter and method of treatment. The same spirit that affected Mrs. Radcliffe and Monk Lewis in England, operated upon certain French forerunners of the romantic-fantastic “school.” Influences from England and Germany were strong in the work of such writers as Gdrard de Nerval and Alfred de Musset.

Number of writers

With the dawn of the Nineteenth Century we come to the modern short story. The number of writers in France who assiduously applied themselves to the writing of short stories without ulterior motives or philosophical and moral purpose was enormous. In the hands of Balzac, Musset, Gautier, Vigny, Mdrime, Nodier, and a host of others, the short story became a pure work of art. To Balzac is due much of the credit for bringing about a complete break with the past in this respect. As the century progressed, the form was adopted by nearly all the great writers of fiction: Flaubert, George Sand, Adam, Anatole France, Daudet, Zola, Coppe, Maupassant, Richepin, and the rest.

The modern short story is one of the most highly perfected branches of French literature. There is something in the language that seems to make it a fit medium for the conveyance of this kind of fiction; at any rate the French short story at its best has never been surpassed.

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The Divided Horsecloth part 1

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France

There are probably more short stories, as there is assuredly a longer and more continuous development of the form, in the French than in any other literature of the world. In the earliest efforts of native writers, long before the close of the Middle Ages, are to be found the seeds of those lively and often beautiful forms that flourished from the Twelfth to the Sixteenth Centuries—Fabliaux, Lays, devotional and miraculous tales.

From the epic Chansons de geste, beginning with the Song of Roland, throughout the whole period in which these remarkable poems thrived, the trouv’eres and troubadours incorporated independent and unified anecdotes and episodes into their long romances of chivalry and gallantry. These were in effect romantic and religious stories, treating of war and love and wonder and pious devotion.

But the earliest examples of independent tales are found in the Fabliaux. Although these were written in verse, they were the delight of the middle and lower classes: the verse was scarcely poetry, it was only a medium for the telling of the story. Of the hundred and fifty examples that survive out of the many thousands written, the first Fabliau dates from 1159, and the last from 1340.

Divided Horsecloth

Most of them were anonymous, but among the few names of writers that have come down to us is that of Bernier, which is still remembered, because he wrote the exquisite Divided Horsecloth. The famous poet Ruteboeuf also wrote Fabliaux, but he is better known for his other productions.

For several reasons—still a matter of dispute among literary historians—the Fabliau suddenly disappeared about the middle of the Fourteenth Century. The other more or less’ similar forms—like the Lay, the Miracle and the Devotional Tale—still continued sporadically up to the end of the Middle Ages.

The trouv’eres and troubadours and minstrels who went over into Sicily and Italy and were instrumental in establishing there a verna¬cular literature, took with them their stories, which reappeared in prose form and in a more skilful guise some centuries later in the work of Boccaccio and his followers. Many of them were again treated by later French writers, Rabelais and Marguerite de Navare and Antoine de Saintrd, editor of the French Hundred New Tales. Rabelais was followed by imitators, like Noel du Fail, Bonaventure des Pdriers and Bdroalde de Verville, all of whom added their share to the de¬velopment of the story form.

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Guzman and my Lord Cardinal part 4

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Upon this the men of physic again consulted, and at length came to the resolution of pocketing their fees, “secundum artem.” Being all of one mind, we now begged to be ushered into the presence of the cardinal, and the surgeons then ordered me to be placed upon a couch, at the side of which they made an immense display of chirurgical instruments, dressings, etc.—again consulted, and after wrapping my leg in a great number of bandages, they desired that I might be put into a warm bed.

His excellency, meanwhile, was full of anxiety to learn the state of my health, and whether there were any hopes of recovery? “My lord,” replied one of the surgeons, “the patient is in a deplorable situation, gangrene has already begun; still, with time and care, there is a chance that he might recover, please God, but it will be a long affair.” “And he is fortunate,” said his coadjutor, “in having fallen into our hands; another day, and he was lost forever; but no doubt Providence must have directed him to the door of your excellency.”

Detect the slightest change

This account seemed to please the cardinal; it gave him occasion to display the truest Christian charity, and he desired that neither time nor skill might be spared in the endeavor to restore me to health. He also directed that I should be supplied with everything; and the surgeons on their part pledged themselves to do all that art could effect, and each of them to pay me a visit at least twice in the day; it being necessary to detect the slightest change that might occur in my present condition.

They then withdrew, not a little to my consolation; for I could not but regard them while present, in the light of two executioners, who might fall upon me at any moment, or publish my imposition to the world. So far from this, however, they made me keep my apartment for three months, which to me seemed like so many ages, so difficult is it to give up the habit of gambling—or begging, with the tone of freedom they seem to include. In vain was I daintily lodged and fed, like his excellency himself; the ennui I felt was intolerable. I was incessantly beseeching the doctors to take pity on me, and bring the farce to a close, until they were at length compelled to yield to my importunity.

They left off dressing my leg, and, on its being reduced to its natural size, they acquainted the good cardinal with the fact, who was in raptures at the performance, under his auspices, of so great a cure. He rewarded them handsomely, and came to congratulate me on the miraculous event; and having acquitted myself well in his frequent visits to me, in regard both to my opinions and my principles, he imbibed a real kindness for me; and to give me a further proof of it, he gave me the situation of one of his confidential attendants—a species of honor I was too deeply sensible of to be able to refuse.

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Guzman and my Lord Cardinal part 3

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Saksagan
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“You cannot be serious,” said the first speaker. “By St. Comus, I know something of ulcers; and here, I maintain it, we have a gangrene.” “No, no, friend,” replied the second, “we have no ulcer—we have a rogue to deal with—nothing is the matter with him. I know the whole history of his ulcer, and how it was made. It is by no means very rare; for I know the herbs with which the impostor has prepared it, and the ingenious method in which they have been applied.”

The other seemed quite confounded at this assertion; but, ashamed of owning himself a dupe, he persisted in his former opinion: on which a pretty warm colloquy would have ensued, had not the more ingenious of the two had the sense to recommend first to examine the leg, and to end the dispute afterwards. “Look a little deeper into the matter,” said he, “and you will see the fellow`s knavery.” “With all my heart. I will confess you are right, when I see there is no ulcer, or rather gangrene.”

Good cardinal`s fees fairly between us

“That is not enough,” replied his colleague. “In acknowledging your error, you must also admit I am entitled to at least a third more fees than yourself.” “By no means,” retorted the other. “I have eyes to detect imposture as well as you; and I am of opinion we ought to divide the good cardinal`s fees fairly between us.” The dispute now waxed warm, and rather than give up his point, each declared that he would make the cardinal acquainted with the whole business.

In this dilemma I did not hesitate a moment—there was no time to lose—escape was impossible. I rushed into the presence of the faculty, and threw myself at their feet. With well-dissembled grief I thus ad-dressed them: “Alas! my dear sirs, take pity upon an unfortunate fellow creature. Think, gentlemen, `homo sum; nihil humani,` etc.: I am mortal like yourselves—you know the hard-heartedness of the great, and how the poor and forlorn are compelled to assume the most horrible shapes in order to soften their hardness; and in doing this what risks and sufferings do we not encounter, and all for so small a remuneration.

Besides, what advantage will you get by exposing such a poor miserable sinner? You will certainly lose your fees, which you need not do if you will let us understand each other. You may rely on my discretion; the fear of consequences will keep me silent, and we may each benefit in our respective professions.”

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Guzman and my Lord Cardinal part 2

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Saksagan
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He was obeyed; and, oh, charity! how didst thou shame those lordly prelates who think Heaven in debt to them, if they do but look down on some poor wretch: while my good cardinal, not content with what he had done, ordered two surgeons to attend, recommending them to do all in their power to ease my agony, and to examine and cure my leg; after which they should be well recompensed. He then, bidding me be of good cheer, left me, to pursue his affairs; and the surgeons, to make the best of my case. They declared at once that it was useless, and that gangrene had already commenced.

So seriously did they pronounce this, that, though I knew the effect was solely produced by staining my leg with a certain herb, I almost felt alarmed for the consequence. They then took out their case of instruments, called for a cauldron of hot water, for some fine linen, and a poultice. While these were in preparation, they questioned me as to the origin of my disease, how long I had had it, etc., etc.?— moreover, whether I drank wine, and what was my usual diet?

Infinitely perplexed

To these, and to a hundred such interrogatories, I replied not a word; so great was my alarm at the terrific processes that appeared to be going on, in order to restore me to my pristine health and soundness. I was infinitely perplexed, not knowing to what saint to have recourse, for I was apprehensive there might not be a single one in heaven inclined to interfere in behalf of so thorough-paced a rascal. I recalled to mind the lesson I had so lately been taught at Gaeta, and had my misgivings that I might not escape even on such good terms as I had done there.

The surgeons ranked high in their profession; and, after having curiously turned round my leg about twenty times, retired into another room to discuss the result of their observations. I remained in a state of horror not to be described; for it had got into my head that they would decide upon amputation; to learn which I crept softly towards the door to listen, fully resolved to reveal the imposture in so dreadful an alternative. “Sir,” said one, “we may consult here forever, to little purport; he has got St. Anthony`s fire.” “No such thing,” replied the other, “he has no more fire in his leg than I have in my hand: we might easily remove,it in a couple of days.”

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Guzman and my Lord Cardinal part 1

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Mateo Aleman (1547 – 1614)

Little is known of Aleman, though it is stated that he was a native of Seville and was employed in the government service. He lived for a time in Mexico where he wrote certain works of no great importance. But he is remembered by his famous picaresque novel, Guzman de Alfara- che, which was published in 1599, and soon translated into all the languages of Europe. This romance depicts in vivid fashion the life of the underworld.

The present version is reprinted from Thomas Roscoe`s Spanish Novelists, London, no date. The translation is by Thomas Roscoe. The full title of the chapter in the original is How Guzman Excited the Compassion of My Lord Cardinal, and What Ensued.

Guzman and my Lord Cardinal

Having roused myself early one fine morning, according to custom, I went and seated myself at the door of a cardinal, concerning whom I had heard an excellent character, being one of the most charitably disposed in Rome. I had taken the trouble of getting one of my legs swelled, on which, notwithstanding what had passed, was to be seen a new ulcer, one that might set at defiance the most penetrating eye or probe of a surgeon.

I had not this time omitted to have my face as pale as death; and thus, filling the air with horrible lamentations while I was asking alms, I moved the souls of the different domestics who came in and out to take pity upon me; they gave me something; but I was yet only beating up for game—it was their master I wanted. He at length made his appearance—I redoubled my cries and groans— I writhed in anguish;—and I then accosted him in these terms: “Oh! most noble Christian; thou friend of Christ and his afflicted ones! have pity upon me, a poor wretched sinner.

Behold me cut down in the flower of my days;—may your excellency be touched with my extreme misery, for the sake of the sufferings of our dear Redeemer.” The cardinal, who was really a pious man, stopped; and, after looking at me earnestly, turned to his attendants. “In the name of Christ, take this unhappy being, and bear him into my own apartments! let the rags that cover him be exchanged for fine linen; put him into a good bed—nay, into my own—and I will go into another room. I will tend on him; for in him do I verily see what must have been the sufferings of our Saviour.`”

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The Selfish Giant part 4

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Saksagan
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“It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were going to market at twelve o`clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.“But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.“We don`t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.”“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he used to say.Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.”One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvelous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

Across the grass

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to wound thee?” For on the palms of the child`s hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.”“Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.”“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.”And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

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The Selfish Giant part 3

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Saksagan
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Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.What did he see?He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children`s heads.

Farthest corner

The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up, little boy,” said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.And the Giant`s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children`s playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what`he had done.So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giant coming.And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossoms, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant`s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring.

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The Selfish Giant part 2

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Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it, as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep.

Chimney pots down

The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. “Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all the year round.” The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. “This is a delightful spot,” he said; “we must ask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in gray, and his breath was like ice.“I can not understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.”But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant`s garden she gave none. “He is too selfish,” she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King`s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world.

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The Selfish Giant part 1

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Saksagan
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Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

Wilde was bom in Dublin in 1854, the son of distinguished parents. His mother, Lady Wilde, was famous for her volumes of Irish stories. Wilde went first to Trinity College, Dublin, and later to Oxford. His first published work was a volume of poems in 1881. From that time until 1895 he wrote plays, poems, essays, a novel, and several short stories and fairy tales. Wilde`s jewelled style was never employed to better purpose than in the group of tales from which The Selfish Giant has been selected. In 1895 he was sentenced to two years` hard labour as a result of a notorious trial. After his release he travelled in Italy and France, and died in 1900 at Paris.The Selfish Giant is reprinted, by permission of Mr. Philip Nutt, from The Happy Prince and Other Tales, published by Gerald Duckworth and Co.

The Selfish Giant

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant`s garden.It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach- trees that in the Spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. “How happy we are here!” they cried to each other.One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw children playing in the garden.“What are you doing there?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.“My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “anyone can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself. So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.He was a very selfish Giant.The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. “How happy we were there,” they said to each other.

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