" B O B B O " 
 
 AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY OWEN WISTER 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1897 
 
Copyright, 1897, by HARPKR & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 - ; 
 - * .." * ; : 
 
UJV3 
 
 The Publishers of this volume desire to express 
 their thanks to the editors of the Atlantic Monthly, 
 of Puck, and of the Philadelphia Times for their 
 courteous permission to collect here certain pieces 
 which Mr. Wharton contributed to their pages. 
 
 340415 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 "BOBBO" * 
 
 THE LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE DI CEM- 
 
 BINO 55 
 
 RATU TANITO S WOOING 95 
 
 OLD AND NEW in 
 
 VERSES 125 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THOMAS WHARTON Frontispiece 
 
 ILLUSTRATED HALF-TITLE p. i 
 
 "HE HAD BEEN OUT VERY LATE 
 
 HIMSELF" Facing p. 4 
 
 " AND EVERY TIME THE PRINCESS SIGHS " " 8 
 
 THE MAGISTRATE " 10 
 
 "AND LOOKED DEVASTATION AT THE 
 
 MAGISTRATE" " 14 
 
 "PAUL PATUREAU RETURNED TO HIS 
 
 SENSES" " 50 
 
 THE FIRST MEETING " 62 
 
 IN THE GARDEN " 84 
 
 "SLEW HIM LIKE A TRAITOR" ... " 88 
 "AND THE POOR CHILD BROKE DOWN 
 
 AND CRIED" " 94 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS 
 WHARTON 
 
 THE first story in this book is al 
 most the last published by its author: 
 it is also the best that he ever wrote. 
 To those who knew him, it is doubly 
 sad that just as his long waiting for 
 success seemed really ended, just as he 
 seemed really to be coming to his own, 
 death should have removed him from 
 the world. He was not young, except 
 in heart he lived to his thirty-seventh 
 year. His writing, both prose and verse, 
 began in his boyhood, and continued to 
 the latest days with something more 
 than diligence. In the earliest days he 
 had always some new delicate or divert- 
 
 ix 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 ing rhymes to impart, some new literary 
 plan in his head, and in the final week 
 of his life it was the same ; only then 
 the plan was no longer unsubstantial, 
 but a contract with a prominent Lon 
 don and New York house for a volume. 
 This project itself postponed a collabo 
 rated romance, which a leading New 
 York weekly was ready to publish se 
 rially when it should be completed. 
 Even the proposed illustrator had been 
 decided upon. Thus the writer s hand 
 was not near, but had laid its first act 
 ual hold upon the success towards 
 which he had been groping for many 
 patient, dauntless years. 
 
 Thomas Wharton made the usual 
 beginnings of the writer who goes to 
 school and college. His verses were 
 soon taken by the journals of the insti 
 tutions to which he was sent ; and this 
 author s first appearance in print, at 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 fifteen, was (the case has been known 
 to happen before) a translation from 
 the Odes of Horace. It has in Whar- 
 ton s instance this point : first and last, 
 he was a scholar, an accurate reader, 
 an investigating student, delighting in 
 the world s literature, from Greece to 
 America ; possessed of a wholesome 
 catholic taste, because the grain of his 
 mind was civilized by inheritance and 
 acquisition. 
 
 The peculiar native thread of his own 
 imagination was slender, but it never 
 broke. For a time, however, it lost it 
 self in the multitude of books which he 
 admired, and Thomas Wharton often 
 wrote under the spell of his favorites 
 before he learned to write like himself, 
 and under his own spell alone. This, 
 and another thing presently to be men 
 tioned, hampered him in his first more 
 serious ventures. 
 
 2 xi 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 From the Horace Ode until, when 
 twenty - four, he attained the Atlantic 
 Monthly , his light verses were constant 
 in various more modest columns. He 
 wrote with remarkable ease, and almost 
 always with a certain crisp happiness 
 which distinguished these trifles of his 
 from those of his college literary con 
 temporaries. The undergraduate poet 
 is seldom so precocious at the mere 
 craft of his art. 
 
 His college days over, it seemed not 
 only traditional but also necessary that 
 Thomas Wharton should follow the law 
 indeed, had the choice not faced him 
 from without, it is likely he would have 
 made it readily enough. Yet his was 
 not the proper temperament for suc 
 cess as a modern advocate; besides, too 
 many other things were in his head. 
 In recording the merely mechanical in 
 cidents of his career, let it be said once 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 for all that he duly became a member 
 of the Philadelphia bar; that he was 
 later in a Trust Company, searching ti 
 tles and devising romance ; that in the 
 autumn of 1888 he went on the edito 
 rial staff of the Times, of which he was 
 Sunday editor at the time of his death. 
 Publishing verse ceased almost entire 
 ly when he began his study of the law ; 
 but in January, 1884, Thomas Wharton 
 brought out his first novel, A Latter- 
 day Saint. It was a satirical narrative, 
 the career of a girl who from a fashion 
 able school for young ladies comes into 
 good society "on the make," to use the 
 briefest expression. For a writer of 
 twenty-five it was better than credita 
 ble. Much of it was shrewdly observed, 
 most of it was well said. Though The 
 Confessions of a Frivolous Girl preceded 
 it, a comparison of these two clever 
 books will show Wharton s (in spite of 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 some shortcomings which the other has 
 not) to possess the keener and compact- 
 er power. The story is forgotten now ; 
 never was it widely known ; and its ex 
 piring upon its own door-step suggests 
 the second obstacle which met Whar- 
 ton. 
 
 When in Boston any fellow- citizen 
 paints a picture or writes a book, he is 
 approached and fostered for Boston s 
 sake and in Boston s name. We of 
 Philadelphia steer quite wide of this 
 amiable if hasty encouragement. We 
 seem to distrust our own power to do 
 anything out of the common ; and when 
 a young man tries to, our minds close 
 against him with a civic instinct of dis 
 paragement. A Boston failure in art 
 surprises Boston ; it is success that sur 
 prises Philadelphia. We are all guilty 
 of this extraordinary unheartiness tow 
 ards our own, and perhaps the best that 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 can be said for it is, that it is a prudent 
 method for escaping disappointment. 
 
 This chill fell upon Thomas Whar- 
 ton. It did not prevent his going on, 
 because he was a courageous fighter; 
 but it unquestionably began that isola 
 tion from his kind which lost him so 
 much sunshine as his years proceeded 
 into their deeper loneliness. His next 
 venture was upon a plane more ambi 
 tious. 
 
 Hannibal of New York was published 
 in August, 1886. It is a study of man 
 ners in Newport and Wall Street. In 
 it two magnates, their families, and their 
 fortunes, are pictured and contrasted 
 with much careful elaboration and with 
 many pertinent accessories. Most of 
 the scenes have interest, some of them 
 hit out straight with genuine power. 
 There is no lack of diverting talk, and 
 one or two descriptions reveal a charm 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 and a fancy which were the real Thomas 
 Wharton. This novel is better worth 
 reading to-day than many that had a 
 more popular success at that time. The 
 undertaking was too bold. Wharton did 
 not know his magnate with a knowledge 
 sufficiently ripe. Furthermore, he wrote 
 at his usual disadvantage of being under 
 the spell of a favorite. He suffered just 
 then, as it were, from a contagion of 
 Thackeray. His whole mesmerized nat 
 ure was bent on producing in this day 
 and generation the style and atmosphere 
 of that great master. Nobody saw more 
 plainly than Wharton himself came later 
 to see, how fallacious and perverting 
 such a method in Art must inevitably 
 be, how it destroys the spontaneous, how 
 it fabricates the artificial. Yet Hannibal 
 of New York is a far better, stronger 
 book than those who did not read it 
 would admit ; and a town must be rich 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 in distinguished men of letters to be so 
 easy in objection, so torpid in approval, 
 as was Philadelphia concerning Hanni 
 bal of New York. 
 
 During these years Thomas Wharton 
 wrote also occasional pieces of prose 
 and verse, mostly contributed to Puck, 
 and his account of a journey to Eng 
 land and back in the steerages of the 
 Oregon and the Alaska, published in 
 Lippincott s Magazine for February, 
 1885, is an admirable article. The chief 
 criticism of the neighborhood was, that 
 it seemed odd to go in the steerage. It 
 was at this time that Wharton s pecul 
 iar individual gift began to show itself, 
 though at first in unprofitable ways. 
 His very marked disposition for music, 
 of which mention has been reserved un 
 til here, took him constantly to the 
 opera and constantly to the piano. He 
 knew the Germans, the Italians, and 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 the French familiarly, and the opera co- 
 mique of the latter gave him a desire to 
 write libretti. Half romantic and half 
 humorous, he turned to the past to the 
 court of Charlemagne, to the temples of 
 Montezuma, and at length to the Paris 
 streets as Villon knew them. Spaniards, 
 Aztecs, and Paladins began to march 
 through his pages. The loves of Emma 
 and Eginhard were dramatized; conspir 
 acies and balconies abounded here ; here 
 Orlando shouted songs about Durandal 
 and Bayard. As the quality of Char 
 lemagne was Gothic and feudal, even 
 in its lightness, so did Wharton manage 
 to invest his Montezuma with a trop 
 ical atmosphere. Had he met with an 
 adequate composer, such as the au 
 thor of Fra Diavolo, or with a public 
 trained to the appreciation of true ope 
 ra comique, Wharton would have found 
 prosperity and distinction at once. As 
 
 xviii 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 it was, his delicate labors went for noth 
 ing, except to help him towards his ap 
 propriate path. 
 
 The newspaper work he began to be 
 busied over in 1888 was mistakenly 
 thought by his friends a disadvantage. 
 It gave him mastery of his ultimate 
 style at once compact, rapid, and sin 
 gularly graceful. For while in the col 
 umns of the Times he dealt with mat 
 ters municipal and editorial generally, 
 his fancy was asserting itself aside from 
 these as his pen became the readier. 
 Certain stories in Puck showed the new 
 departure he was taking, and by 1892 
 Wharton had learned what he could do. 
 A misfortune contributed to this knowl 
 edge of himself. The Times building 
 burned down, and his manuscripts per 
 ished. From his gayety after this you 
 might have imagined it was a joke to 
 him. But when one who had the right 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 to know more inquired particulars, Whar- 
 ton replied, simply and with his invet 
 erate stoicism : " Never ask me what I 
 lost there all I had!" He did not 
 seem able to speak the language of com 
 plaint. If he was aware that he de 
 served more recognition, a heartier hand, 
 from his native town, he never said a 
 word to make any one else aware of it. 
 From the ashes of the Times fire he 
 came out to make new manuscripts and 
 better ones. It is possible, it is proba 
 ble, that he could not bring himself to 
 rewrite the novel which had lain nearly 
 finished in his desk, nor The Enchirid 
 ion of Demoiselles, a diverting piece of 
 humor and fancy that appeared later 
 in different and briefer guise. He pre 
 ferred to strike out, leaving the old be 
 hind; and this, it certainly seems, help 
 ed him to find the field he was meant 
 for. 
 
 XX 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 He went forward from Charlemagne 
 and Montezuma. The manners of to 
 day, the modern novel, Newport and 
 Wall Street, were not for him. His 
 talent did not by nature wear modern 
 dress, but moved fancifully in costume ; 
 quaint, tender, romantic, satirical, or 
 merely facetious, as the case might 
 be, but in costume always, and always 
 graceful. He belonged to the rare 
 tribe that writes fabliaux ; and once 
 he had come to a knowledge of this, 
 he seldom touched Newport or Wall 
 Street again. Francois Villon, a ro 
 mantic opera in four acts, written in 
 collaboration, was his maturest work of 
 the dramatic order, and his lyric gift in 
 it throughout is certainly remarkable. 
 It is a pity that so many of these hap 
 piest verses of his require the context of 
 the situation, and are unavailable in any 
 other setting; certain ones, however, 
 
 xxi 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 are placed here to express this side of 
 the author s talent. 
 
 Thus, apart from his newspaper work, 
 Wharton came more and more to move 
 in a world of his own. None save his 
 few near friends knew about him, or his 
 hours, or his ways. His scant holidays 
 were generally spent remotely by or 
 upon the sea, for he loved the sand and 
 the salt-water, while nearer home his 
 recreation and chief touch with the 
 world of men was upon the cricket- 
 field : the world of boys, it should rath 
 er be said, for this manly soul lived and 
 died a boy at heart. Out on the colo 
 nial porches of the club, by the edge 
 of the flat, green grass, and in mirthful 
 communion with the white -flannelled 
 players as they loafed and gossiped, 
 you might see Wharton when office 
 hours were up. He would listen to the 
 cricket talk, impetuous in praise and 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 advice, hot in the banter, never laugh 
 ing more heartily than when the joke fell 
 upon himself. Or else, up-stairs, when 
 evening came and dinner-time, out on 
 the porch there with a book, to dine, 
 and to look over the green with sudden 
 ly absent eyes. Here often, when the 
 boys had gone to their homes, would 
 Wharton s lonely figure sit in the dusk, 
 and he would sip claret and dream un 
 til time for the office and the suburban 
 train took him away. 
 
 His wide reading, his music, his many 
 tastes, gave him, of course, an unusual 
 equipment for journalism ; and when 
 required he could write a notice of a 
 foreign book, or of a symphony con 
 cert, or of a Wagner opera, with more 
 poise and cultivation of judgment than 
 many, than most, of his brotherhood. 
 It is uncommon in journalism to find 
 any one man so well seasoned with va- 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 rious specialties. He did not have to 
 run to a book of reference, he wrote 
 from the familiarity of years. His taste 
 in painting was perhaps the least one 
 with him, and certainly the one least 
 attended to ; but here also his sound 
 mind and sound body helped him to 
 see straight, think clearly, and abstain 
 from nonsense. After an exhibition 
 of Impressionist pictures in New York 
 (whither he would often eccentrically 
 drift on his " day off " to see some op 
 era, or prize-fighter, or what not), he re 
 turned with a set of verses, of which 
 this was the final one : 
 
 "And if the purple curfew tolls the knell of 
 
 purple day, 
 And the purple herd winds lowing upon 
 
 the purple lea, 
 And the purple ploughman homeward plods 
 
 his purple way, 
 
 You may leave the world to darkness 
 but don t leave it to me." 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 Who that knew him cannot hear him 
 saying that? 
 
 His Bobbo, published in 1895, was the 
 sign he had arrived. Not only did Phil 
 adelphia rub its eyes and declare that, 
 after all, here was a good thing, but 
 much wider recognition than this came 
 to him. An American composer re 
 quested him to dramatize it for a light 
 opera; an English manager and play 
 wright cabled for permission to do the 
 same. It was played in England in the 
 provinces, but not in London, apparent 
 ly ; to what sort of music and how well 
 sung, no word has reached this side. 
 But honest money was paid for it. Fur 
 ther still, a well-known actress desired 
 that Bobbo be turned into a drama for her. 
 Wharton wrote it into a play, according 
 ly, and perchance in this third shape 
 the American stage may yet witness his 
 graceful and dainty piece of fancy. 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 At all events, here it is, preserved in 
 this small volume with The Last Sonnet 
 of Prinzivalle di Cembino. These two 
 fabliaux, in which the author s fantastic 
 gift declares itself outright and moves 
 outright in costume, are his last works 
 and his best. The rest gathered in these 
 pages does not pretend to be so com 
 pletely wrought ; but, verse or prose, it 
 is selected to show the peculiar vein of 
 talent that was Wharton s own, and to 
 the direct expression of which he came 
 so slowly but so surely. When the sud 
 den end overtook him he was full of 
 plans, as has been said, and the sky of 
 his world was clearing from its long day 
 of cloud. He is gone now where clouds 
 are not. But those who remember him 
 will like to remember him at the edge 
 of the cricket -green, laughing with the 
 boys in the white flannels ; or, when the 
 dusk had come, dining on the up-stairs 
 
 xxvi 
 
IN MEMORY OF THOMAS WHARTON 
 
 porch, alone with his book and his claret 
 and his dreams. 
 
 I am loath to leave speaking of Thom 
 as Wharton. What has not been said 
 is so much. But it cannot be said. Of 
 all the friends I have known, life brought 
 to him more hard knocks, and less balm 
 for them, than any ; and he fought it 
 out cheerily and in silence, like the loyal 
 heart that he was. 
 
 OWEN W1STER. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 1897. 
 
Other 
 I, Fancies 
 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 IT was Ash- Wednesday morning, and, 
 thanks to the carnival the night before, 
 the labors of Monsieur Anatole Doblay, 
 most respected of the magistrates of 
 Paris, seemed likely to be severe. True, 
 the prospect did not weigh upon the 
 mind of the worthy magistrate, who 
 customarily busied himself only with 
 his duty, and accepted that duty in 
 whatever form it was arrested and 
 brought before him, so to speak, by 
 the gendarmes. But the thought of a 
 long and harassing session was any 
 thing but refreshing to another func 
 tionary of the court the clerk, Paul 
 
AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Patureau. Half asleep and nodding 
 was Monsieur Paul as he sat and wait 
 ed for the hour of opening court ; his 
 head ached, and the riotous melodies 
 of the carnival still rang in his ears. 
 He had been out very late himself 
 oh, very late ! and this morning his 
 dearly despised official duties seemed, 
 like the vast court-room, more forbid 
 ding and gloomy than ever. 
 
 Now when a young man finds his 
 office gloomy in the morning and his 
 clerical duties irksome, that generally 
 means that he has a soul above routine, 
 and dissipation the night before only 
 aggravates his unrest. And as a mat 
 ter of fact, Paul Patureau deemed that 
 in being made a clerk he had arrived 
 at the wrong address : like most other 
 young Frenchmen, he thought he had 
 been directed " A la Gloire." And he 
 wished to be, instead of a clerk in the 
 4 
 
"HE HAD BEEN OUT VERY LATE HIMSELF" 
 

"BOBBO" 
 
 Correctional Court, a poet, a dramatist, 
 and most particularly a writer of libret 
 tos librettos that should make all 
 Paris laugh and sing and dance ; that 
 should go round the world, like the 
 Grande Duchesse or the Fille de Ma 
 dame Angot; that should bring him 
 fame and money and the friendship of 
 the Muse and it need not be said that 
 as yet he had not achieved his chef- 
 d oeuvre. Alas ! the dramatic ambition, 
 if it is only to write a play around a 
 tank, is the most torturing of all ambi 
 tions, for while there are theatres and 
 actors the appetite can never be con 
 trolled. As it feeds it grows and grows ; 
 it begins in the gallery and descends by 
 degrees to the orchestra stall ; some 
 times it may even conquer the green 
 room and the coulisse ; but thus to feed 
 unsatisfied is the bitterest vanity if the 
 ideas will not arrive. And that was the 
 5 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 difficulty with Paul Patureau. Ideas 
 cut him dead. 
 
 Except when he was asleep. For 
 when he was asleep and dreaming the 
 most striking plots revealed themselves 
 to him, whole dramas performed them 
 selves before him as author and sole 
 spectator; only, when he awoke he 
 could not remember a single situation. 
 It was a new demonstration of Fate s 
 unfailing and subtle irony that poor 
 Paul Patureau should nightly renew the 
 bitterness of his own conviction that he 
 deserved success, and daily exasperate 
 himself against his own unlucky mem 
 ory as being to blame for his inability 
 to command it. Yes, when he slept he 
 saw all kinds of plays, with characters 
 and motives, plots and stories, drawn 
 from every age and clime ; heroes more 
 romantic than Ruy Bias, more comic 
 than Figaro ; theatrical surprises more 
 6 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 thrilling than the horn in Hernani, 
 more clever than the scented glove in 
 Diplomacy ; and as for stage pictures, 
 he had but to close his eyes and they 
 crowded on his sight, magnificent in 
 their complex accuracy and perfection. 
 Yet what good did they do to him ? 
 None at all. Now, at this very mo 
 ment, should he yield to his overwhelm 
 ing desire to doze off, forgetful of the 
 criminals and the gendarmes and the 
 stuffy, evil-smelling crowd of spectators, 
 he would probably witness one of these 
 very productions, to be performed only 
 once, and then to be lost forever 
 which would leave him no better off. 
 Still, if he remained awake, the crim 
 inals and the gendarmes and the spec 
 tators would suggest nothing to him, 
 and he would in addition be bored, so 
 that there was some reason for going to 
 sleep. 
 
 7 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 " Indeed, I wish I could go to sleep," 
 he said to himself, and he folded his 
 arms and closed his eyes. Almost 
 every Frenchman looks as if he had 
 artistic possibilities, and with his pale 
 cheeks, the result of the carnival, and 
 thin, delicate, closed eyelids, the young 
 clerk was by no means a bad type of a 
 poet and a dreamer. "A pretty figure 
 I must be," he said, drowsily, to him 
 self, " to assist at the administration of 
 justice to unfortunate carnival -makers 
 who have been less cautious than my 
 self!" And he began to wonder how 
 he could best secure the magistrate s 
 clemency for some of those very unfort 
 unates in whom he was particularly 
 interested. Among the prisoners wait 
 ing their turn to appear before Mon 
 sieur Doblay were certain masquer- 
 aders, who, it was said among the 
 ushers, were well - known actors ; they 
 
 8 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 had been quarrelling among themselves 
 at a restaurant after the ball, and their 
 quarrel had grown so violent that the 
 whole party had been taken into cus 
 tody. It may be guessed with what 
 sympathy Monsieur Paul viewed their 
 incarceration. If he could have pass 
 ed upon their offence, their detention 
 would have been very quickly at an 
 end. 
 
 All of a sudden there broke out from 
 the adjoining room, where the prisoners 
 were in custody, a snatch of a chorus : 
 
 "And every time the princess sighs, 
 Her tearful subjects wipe their eyes." 
 
 Paul started up, instinctively crying 
 out "Silence !" and he heard the officers 
 calling for order ; but a few voices still 
 continued: 
 
 " They sorrow most because her griefs 
 
 Entail such waste of handkerchiefs." 
 
 9 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 " Outrageous ! What do they mean 
 by such a disturbance?" said a stern 
 voice behind him, and Paul turned with 
 an almost guilty realization of the dig 
 nity of the court and of Monsieur Do- 
 blay. To tell the truth, he had just lost 
 his own consciousness of official dignity 
 in the perception that the words of the 
 chorus were new to him, and that dis 
 covery never fails to set the nerve cells 
 of the amateur tingling. 
 
 He explained the situation to Mon 
 sieur Doblay. 
 
 " Actors, indeed ! They take great 
 liberties." 
 
 " They are a most picturesque col 
 lection," said Paul, longing to find a 
 good word to throw in on their behalf. 
 " There is a Punchinello, a Harlequin, a 
 Pierrot, a Pantaloon, a Domino Noir, a 
 Pierrette" 
 
 "The classics, eh?" growled Mon- 
 
 10 
 
THE MAGISTRATE 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 sieur Doblay. " They wish to turn my 
 court-room into a scene from Racine ?" 
 
 " Monsieur," cried Paul, suddenly il 
 lumed, " I have it ! They must be 
 singing from the new operetta at the 
 Folles-Farces ; it is the one operetta I 
 have not heard ; but only because I 
 had not time ; and perhaps this is the 
 cast." 
 
 " Have them in at once," said Mon 
 sieur Doblay, replying, it almost seem 
 ed, to Paul s unspoken wish. " Have 
 them in, and we will see how they ex 
 cuse themselves for their follies." 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, wait till you see the 
 Pierrette," said Paul. " She is a nymph 
 a true nymph! Oh, she is wonder 
 ful!" 
 
 It is always these old friends of ours 
 
 who are getting into trouble, thought 
 
 Paul, as the masqueraders were ushered 
 
 into the court -room, dishevelled, hag- 
 
 ii 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 gard, absurdly out of keeping with the 
 daylight in their carnival paint. The 
 Pierrot and the Punchinello led, follow 
 ed by all the other familiar figures a 
 Pantaloon, a Harlequin, a Columbine 
 (wrapped in a long fur cloak), a Domino 
 Noir, and two young men in dress-coats 
 and false noses ; their costumes gave 
 them all that droll, half -deprecating 
 look of conscious guilt which Punchi 
 nello and Pierrot wear before the Law. 
 And Paul, as he prepared to take down 
 their names with a stub -pen on stiff 
 court paper, felt himself a figure in the 
 comedy which the carnival and the 
 stage hand down unchanged, eternal 
 the comedy which shows man human, 
 weak, but therefore lovable. 
 
 And here a singular incident hap 
 pened. For while this red - and - white 
 procession was being marshalled towards 
 the seat of justice, to the immense de- 
 
 12 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 light of the habitues of the court-room, 
 an altercation was heard to arise next 
 door, in the room devoted to the pris 
 oners. " I will not accompany the rest 
 of the troupe," cried a woman s voice 
 a young and fresh voice. " I am the 
 prima donna, my good man, and I insist 
 on my entree !" 
 
 "You hear her? That is Adele," 
 murmured the Pierrot, as he lounged 
 forward, his eyes dropping with sleep. 
 He shrugged his sloping shoulders. It 
 was indeed Mademoiselle Adele, of the 
 Folles-Farces, as Paul all of a sudden 
 became aware ; and a hard time the 
 gendarme had to bring her out into the 
 court -room, flushed, frowning, muti 
 nous, long strands of her straight, glossy 
 black hair undone and falling over her 
 creamy cheeks and the white sleeves of 
 her Pierrette dress. The tall rebellious 
 androgyn tossed back her hair and put 
 13 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 her hands on her supple slim hips, and 
 looked devastation at the magistrate ; 
 but he was not nearly so much affected 
 as was Monsieur Paul Patureau as he 
 took the names down. 
 
 He thought it more appropriate to 
 set them out as a cast, as follows : 
 
 PUNCHINELLO MM. TAVERNIER 
 
 PIERROT BREBANT. 
 
 PANTALOON MUELLER. 
 
 HARLEQUIN GERVAIS. 
 
 COLUMBINE Mmes. JOLIFROY. 
 
 DOMINO NOIR GAUDRION. 
 
 PIERRETTE ADELE. 
 
 All of the Theatre des Folks- Farces. 
 In addition to these, M. Rebus of the 
 Matinee, and M. Obus of the claque. 
 
 Monsieur Doblay listened gravely to 
 the report of the gendarme. A case of 
 disorderly conduct, fracas, and defiance 
 of the authorities at the Cafe des Bla- 
 fards. Blows had been struck and fur- 
 14 
 

 "AND LOOKED DEVASTATION AT THE MAGISTRATE 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 niture broken. The women of the party 
 encouraged the participants. The de 
 fendants Brebant and Rebus had taken 
 no part in the fracas, but on the appear 
 ance of the authorities had interfered to 
 protect their companions. It had con 
 sequently been necessary to arrest the 
 whole party. 
 
 "And all," cried Mademoiselle Adele, 
 " because Tavernier cannot act Bobbo !" 
 
 " Silence !" cried the ushers. And ev 
 erybody stood aghast. 
 
 Monsieur Doblay pressed his fingers 
 together and looked over his spectacles, 
 not so much severely as reflectively, at 
 the rebellious Pierrette, so full of grace 
 and wild beauty. 
 
 " Upon my word," he said, at last, " I 
 should be glad to have some explana 
 tion why so many people of reputation 
 and intelligence have been engaging in 
 such a lamentable dispute. Is it only 
 15 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 because Monsieur Tavernier cannot act 
 Bobbo ? Pray, what is Bobbo ?" 
 
 " An opera bouffe, Monsieur le Juge," 
 said the actress, proudly inclining her 
 head, " composed for the Folles-Farces 
 by Monsieur, Brebant there, and the li 
 bretto is by Monsieur Tavernier himself. 
 And I am the Princess Lisa." 
 
 "You mean that you take that part 
 in the opera?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Juge. And Mon 
 sieur Tavernier has the title role." 
 
 " Which he sustains with the utmost 
 art," murmured Brebant. 
 
 Adele gave him a glance which might 
 have withered him. 
 
 " Which he does not sustain with art, 
 Monsieur le Juge oh, not at all. For 
 though it is an adorable little story, but 
 adorable, it does not draw the public ; 
 and why ? Because Monsieur Tavernier, 
 though a comedian not a little proud of 
 16 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 his own prowess, cannot carry out the 
 very part he has imagined for himself." 
 And here her slender limbs began visibly 
 to chafe under the oppression of keep 
 ing still. Her voice rang higher, but al 
 ways sweet. "And the Folles-Farces 
 is a new theatre, Monsieur le Juge ; 
 not a rich theatre. It is most impor 
 tant to us to draw the public ; and we 
 do not draw the public, monsieur, be 
 cause Monsieur Tavernier cannot act 
 Bobbo. And we shall all starve !" And 
 she looked daggers at poor Tavernier, 
 who twisted his hands together the 
 thick, short - fingered hands of a true 
 bouffe actor and drew a long sigh. 
 
 "And yet," said Monsieur Doblay, 
 gravely, " if there was a quarrel, made 
 moiselle, there must have been those 
 who diasagreed with you. Why did 
 the quarrel arise?" 
 
 " Because," cried Mademoiselle Adele, 
 B 17 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 " I frankly counselled Monsieur Taver- 
 nier to leave the cast. As a friend." 
 
 " That was the way of it, Monsieur le 
 Juge," said Brebant, who shrugged his 
 shoulders with languid cynicism. " She 
 frankly counselled my colleague, the 
 author of the operetta, part owner of 
 the theatre, stage-manager, and leading 
 actor, to leave the cast. I forgot to 
 add that it was to him she owed her 
 engagement." 
 
 " And when Mademoiselle Adele gave 
 this advice to Monsieur Tavernier there 
 was opposition ?" asked Monsieur Do- 
 blay. 
 
 " Pronounced," said Brebant. 
 
 "Vociferous," said Rebus. " Even 
 minatory." 
 
 " Upon which "Mademoiselle Adele s 
 eyes were blazing indignantly at Brebant, 
 but he persevered relentlessly " upon 
 which Mademoiselle Adele treated her 
 
 18 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 colleagues, particularly Mademoiselle Jo- 
 lifroy, to epithets of an injurious char 
 acter." 
 
 " Pray, if I might ask" 
 
 " I called them pigs of gallery-crush 
 ers," said Adele, impetuously breaking 
 in. 
 
 "The words were uttered in heat," 
 said Brebant, dryly. 
 
 " I do not withdraw them," said 
 Adele. 
 
 " And it was on this provocation that 
 the fracas arose?" said Monsieur Do- 
 blay, patiently. 
 
 "As if the words had been dyna 
 mite," said Rebus. 
 
 There was a moment s silence. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said the 
 magistrate, " I am afraid that I see 
 nothing for it but to fine you all. I 
 regret that there should be differences 
 among you behind the scenes, if I may 
 19 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 so express myself ; but the law really 
 cannot concern itself with the origin of 
 these differences." 
 
 " I would leave the cast willingly," 
 said Tavernier, whose heavy face look 
 ed so sad that his Punchinello s hump 
 seemed to belong to him, " but we can 
 not afford another actor." 
 
 " Monsieur le Juge," said Madame 
 Gaudrion, speaking with dignity from 
 the mysterious folds of her domino, " I 
 desire it should go on record as the 
 opinion of those members of the com 
 pany whose sentiments are in accord 
 with what has just fallen from the lips 
 of Monsieur Brebant, that the role of 
 Bobbo is perfectly sustained by Mon 
 sieur Tavernier, and that if any one s 
 acting is at fault it is Mademoiselle 
 Adele s." 
 
 " Mazette ! I believe you," murmured 
 the little Jolifroy. (Understudy.) 
 
 20 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 From Adele s eyes shot forth a flame 
 of contempt ; she spread her small 
 brown hands wide to the poles. " Lis 
 ten, Monsieur le Juge," she cried 
 "listen, and you will understand why 
 they all speak evil of me. I am alone 
 against them all, and last night they 
 would have driven me out of the thea 
 tre forever, except that Monsieur Ger- 
 vais, that good young man whom you 
 see there as Harlequin, Monsieur le 
 Juge, and Monsieur Obus, with the 
 false nose, like chivalrous and gallant 
 friends, constituted themselves my 
 champions and the resistance they 
 encountered was such that the gen 
 darmes were hurled upon us. It is 
 true, Monsieur le Juge it is true that 
 I act badly; that in my great scene 
 where I should laugh I want to cry 
 and thus I am so angry that I cannot 
 laugh at all and the whole scene is 
 
 21 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 spoiled, and the whole play is spoiled ; 
 and our happiness, and our business, 
 and my career, all, all are spoiled ! 
 But why? Because it is Bobbo who 
 should make me want to laugh, and 
 every night when I play it is Bobbo 
 who makes me want to cry !" 
 
 " Fudge !" said Madame Gaudrion, de 
 cisively, and quite loud enough to be 
 heard. 
 
 "You say that, madame " began 
 Adele ; but Monsieur Doblay silenced 
 her with a word. 
 
 " You are a firebrand, mademoiselle," 
 he said, and he turned to Ere" bant. " As 
 I am still in the dark, monsieur, per 
 haps you will explain a little further." 
 
 " Willingly, Monsieur le Juge," said 
 the Pierrot. " The fact is, Mademoiselle 
 Adele is convicting herself by her own 
 testimony, for Monsieur Tavernier s role, 
 admirably conceived, is one of those 
 
 22 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 which blend humor and pathos, and it 
 is the pathos which should make, not 
 Mademoiselle Adele, you understand, 
 but the Princess Lisa laugh. And if 
 Mademoiselle Adele forgets that she is 
 the Princess Lisa, and herself feels the 
 pathos of the scene, she is not an ac 
 tress, that is all." 
 
 " Ah !" said Monsieur Doblay, look 
 ing benignly wise. " The paradox of 
 acting." 
 
 " Exactly, Monsieur le Juge." 
 
 "But," cried Adele, in a transport, 
 " it is Tavernier who is not acting !" 
 
 "Not acting!" cried Bre"bant, Gervais, 
 and Mueller together. In fact, the whole 
 company turned to Adele with looks of 
 astonishment. 
 
 " No, he is not acting ! Do you sup 
 pose that I, an actress, cannot tell? 
 It is real with him; yes, I affirm it, 
 Monsieur le Juge, it is real with him ! 
 23 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 and that makes it real with me, and I 
 cry instead of laughing." 
 
 At this remarkable statement all eyes 
 were turned on Tavernier. His face was 
 doleful enough, but he only shrugged 
 his hump, as if to say, " I do not under 
 stand, but I will not oppose her." 
 
 Monsieur Doblay laid down his pen 
 in despair. " The further we go," he 
 said, " the greater is my perplexity. 
 Suppose, mademoiselle, I were to ask 
 you to give me a brief precis of the 
 plot, and then perhaps I shall under 
 stand. For really it has come to this, 
 that Monsieur Tavernier s acting is on 
 trial, and I feel it my duty to examine 
 into his case and pronounce one way or 
 the other." 
 
 It seemed to Paul Patureau as if his 
 ideas mysteriously communicated them 
 selves to his superior, and, what was 
 more remarkable, controlled him. 
 24 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 Adele stood forward. She made a 
 gesture of such grace and eloquence as 
 thrilled Paul Patureau to the marrow. 
 " Monsieur le Juge," she said, " I am 
 overcome by the honor oh, but over 
 come ! You ask me for the plot of Bob- 
 bo, Monsieur le Juge. Monsieur Taver- 
 nier s idea was charming, most charm 
 ing; and I should be the first to make 
 its eulogiums, for he honored me by 
 giving me the chief role after his own. 
 I, do you see, am the Princess Lisa. 
 The scene is laid in Italy at the time 
 they called the Middle Ages but how 
 did they know then they were the Mid 
 dle Ages, Monsieur le Juge ? and I am 
 very melancholy. Oh, I am the most 
 melancholy Princess that ever was 
 known ! They give fetes for me, balls, 
 tournaments, cavalcades, water parties, 
 illuminations all to no purpose ; they 
 might as well have paraded the funerals 
 25 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 of the town before me. Then they 
 have plays to amuse me, jugglers, 
 clowns, dancing dogs, acrobats, the 
 whole Folies-Bergeres ; worse and worse 
 I weep all day long, and I swear that 
 nothing can cure me. So my father, 
 the King, who is excellently played by 
 Monsieur Mueller, Monsieur le Juge 
 my father is in agonies ; for not only 
 am I his favorite child, but if I do not 
 marry, the kingdom must go to his 
 brother, whom he despises. And when 
 they talk to me of marriage I weep so 
 bitterly that even Madame Gaudrion, 
 my governess you understand, my 
 most aristocratic governess gives me 
 up. So the King has an idea. He offers 
 my hand to any one will make me laugh. 
 Is not that an idea worthy of a father ? 
 But, nevertheless, so stupid are men 
 that numbers of poor young princes 
 and counts and barons come and try to 
 26 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 win a smile from me, and they all fail, 
 and their heads are taken off by the 
 headsman Monsieur Gervais. Such 
 things happen, you know, in opera 
 bouffe in the Middle Ages. And of 
 course, as these repeated executions 
 happen, I go into convulsions of grief, 
 and grow more and more melancholy." 
 
 " Because none of the young men 
 succeeds ?" asked Monsieur Doblay, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Possibly," said Mademoiselle Adele. 
 " But of course," she added, with a sud 
 den and dazzling smile of her own " of 
 course I do not confess that to myself, 
 so there my poor father is at the end 
 of his resources ; and even my sister, the 
 Princess Beatrice (played by Mademoi 
 selle Jolifroy), confesses she does not 
 know what is to be done. And as a 
 last resource my father thinks once 
 more of Bobbo. Bobbo, Monsieur le 
 27 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Juge, is the most celebrated jester in 
 the world irresistible, enchanting, the 
 very soul of drollery and humor. It is 
 not only that his wit is so quick and 
 keen, but his features are the perfect 
 epitome of comedy. You die of laugh 
 ing just to look at him ; it is impossible 
 to remain grave in his presence. My 
 father would have brought him before 
 me long ago but for one unfortunate 
 circumstance Bobbo is attached to 
 the court of our young and hot-headed 
 neighbor the Prince Eugenius. Now 
 some time ago, before all these experi 
 ments that ended so sadly on the heads 
 man s block, the Prince personally asked 
 for my hand, and, as I declined to hear 
 of marriage, it was refused him. So he 
 vowed that if my melancholy were not 
 removed by the announcement of his 
 suit I might remain in my present state 
 of depression till the end of my days be- 
 28 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 fore he would lift a finger to prevent it. 
 Accordingly my father goes to war with 
 him, captures both him and Bobbo, and 
 brings the captives -back to court. For 
 he is a terrible man, my father, as the 
 Prince, who is Monsieur Brebant, finds 
 out." 
 
 " I begin to see the plot," said Mon 
 sieur Doblay, deeply interested. Court 
 officers and spectators too all hung 
 upon her words. 
 
 " Is it not too natural?" cried Adele, 
 her eyes sparkling. " What stupid be 
 ings fathers are, Monsieur le Juge ! 
 Why should the King suppose that I, 
 who have succeeded in my obstinacy 
 yes, I admit that it is obstinacy the 
 idea of weeping one s eyes out like that 
 for any other reason ! that I, who have 
 persisted in torturing my lachrymal 
 glands while any number of nice young 
 men were trying to entertain me, should 
 29 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 all of a sudden face about, dry my eyes, 
 and laugh like a cook at the antics of a 
 professional clown? Much he knows 
 about a woman ! Actually, when he 
 brings Bobbo before me, he is smiling, 
 for the first time in years. Poor man, he 
 is doomed to disappointment ! Perhaps 
 Bobbo is not over -confident, for he 
 knows what will happen to him if he 
 fails ; but no matter how he exerts him 
 self and in two minutes he has the 
 rest of the court rolling on their sides 
 on the floor Monsieur le Juge, I pay 
 absolutely no attention to him. He 
 says the wittiest, most excruciating 
 things ; I am deaf. He gambols and 
 capers so as to make you ill with laugh 
 ing; I scarcely lift my eyebrows. He 
 even makes sport of his master, the 
 Prince, for suffering himself to be capt 
 ured; I turn away indifferent. And 
 then what happens is that he loses his 
 30 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 courage, he falters, he stammers, he 
 wrings his hands, and finally falls on 
 his knees and begs pathetically to be 
 spared. Consequently my father or 
 ders him to be beheaded at once." 
 
 " He was wrong," said Monsieur Do- 
 blay, judicially. 
 
 " Very wrong, Monsieur le Juge ; 
 but, after all, see how fortunately it 
 turned out ! For, on hearing his sen 
 tence, Bobbo, in despair, turns to me 
 and sings a song begging me to inter 
 cede for him ; he joins his wrinkled old 
 hands together, and the tears run from 
 his poor old face, and his nose is red, 
 and his eyes are bleared, and his voice 
 cracks and creaks, and altogether he 
 looks so absurd and ridiculous, and he 
 is such a refreshing, delightful, irresisti 
 ble contrast to the terrified and unnatu 
 ral gayety which every one about me 
 has been forced to exhibit, that I burst 
 31 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 out into a good hearty fit of laughter, 
 the first in years. Bobbo has saved 
 me!" 
 
 Brava! There followed general ap 
 plause, which was at once suppressed, 
 but which did not seem to annoy Mon 
 sieur Doblay very greatly. He smiled 
 with satisfaction at the escape of Bob- 
 bo, and by the nodding of his head 
 appeared to congratulate the Princess 
 on the breaking of the spell that af 
 flicted her. As for Paul, his heart sank. 
 " There !" he said to himself ; " do you 
 wonder that it falls to the lot of others 
 to write libretti, and not to mine ? Ef 
 fectively ! They have ideas, while I " 
 
 " And so you marry the Prince ?" said 
 Monsieur Doblay, approvingly. 
 
 "Oh, not yet!" cried Adele, radiant 
 with her success. " Of course finally I 
 do ; but if it is ended now it would be 
 flat indeed." 
 
 32 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 Paul s heart sank again ; he had sup 
 posed this was the finale, and behold 
 he did not know the elements of con 
 struction ! 
 
 "What happens next is that I be 
 come serious once more, and swear that 
 as my father offered to marry me to 
 whomsoever should make me laugh, and 
 as Bobbo has been the one to succeed, 
 I will marry Bobbo. This, of course, is 
 meant to punish the Prince for his 
 pride ; yet, after all, I have a a little 
 feeling for Bobbo. But you may 
 guess," cried Adele, with a heightened 
 color, " how this resolve affects my 
 father and the court, and it is only a 
 very little while before they are all in 
 tears at my feet, begging me to re 
 consider my decision. And as they 
 are now the melancholy ones, I am 
 well amused, I promise you. If you 
 all snivelled till doomsday, I say to 
 c 33 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 them, you couldn t make me break 
 faith with my dear Bobbo. Poor Bob- 
 bo, you know ! ready to put his head in 
 a meal-bag and pull the strings. Well, 
 at last the situation is resolved but 
 you must ask Madame Gaudrion how." 
 
 "How, Madame Gaudrion?" 
 
 " Oh, very simply," replied that lady, 
 in her measured tones. " I am the 
 governess very aristocratic, as Made 
 moiselle Adele says and I have been 
 talking a great deal of my family pre 
 tensions, and setting my cap at the 
 King; and it turns out that Bobbo 
 is my husband." 
 
 Whereat there was a laugh. 
 
 "And everybody is made happy, ex 
 cept, probably, Bobbo," commented 
 Monsieur Doblay. " Let me compli 
 ment you, Monsieur Tavernier, on the 
 grace and charm of your little theme. 
 The springs of sorrow and happiness 
 
 34 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 lie very close together in our hearts, 
 and you have perceived this and made 
 excellent use of your penetration of 
 human nature." And he made a polite 
 yet magisterial bow. 
 
 " I beg you to believe, Monsieur le 
 Juge, that I know how to value such 
 compliments," said Tavernier, a little 
 flush of pleasure breaking out on his 
 anxious face. " But the story has gain 
 ed greatly from Mademoiselle Adele s 
 manner of recital." 
 
 " Doubtless she will answer that she 
 has gained her inspiration from the 
 story," said the courteous magistrate. 
 "But come now, Monsieur Tavernier, 
 here we are on the threshold of the 
 mystery ; let us examine it to the bot 
 tom. You are charged by this young 
 lady with singing your ballad in such a 
 manner as to prevent her from listening 
 properly in the character of the Princess 
 
 35 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Lisa. Now here I am about to throw 
 out a suggestion which may assist us. 
 Perhaps the difficulty lies in the ballad 
 itself, and I should be very glad if you will 
 repeat it, Monsieur Tavernier. Or, better 
 still, if any one here has a libretto " 
 
 Obus stepped forward, solemn -faced 
 leader of the claque. He drew a marked 
 libretto from the pocket of his paletot. 
 
 " You will pardon my critical remarks 
 on the margin, Monsieur le Juge," he 
 observed. 
 
 The magistrate found the place, and 
 adjusted his glasses. 
 
 " LE CHANSON DE BOBBO 
 
 " Oh, is it you, all youth and grace, 
 Who turn an unrelenting face, 
 
 And cruel send 
 
 Me to my death, so bent and worn, 
 So pitiable and forlorn, 
 So old a friend? 
 36 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 " Think! in the nursery, long ago, 
 A form like mine you used to know, 
 
 With curving back, 
 
 With painted cheeks, and staring eyes. 
 Look at me ! don t you recognize 
 
 Your Jumping Jack? 
 
 " You only had to pull a string 
 
 And he his arms and legs would fling 
 
 A dozen ways ; 
 
 And then you d laugh ah, yes, indeed ! 
 Twas easy for me to succeed 
 
 In those old days. 
 
 " You clasped me to your baby breast, 
 And cried, " Dear Jack !" and soothed 
 to rest 
 
 My clumsy head ; 
 
 And when they asked you which of all 
 Your toys the prettiest you d call 
 " My Jack !" you said. 
 
 " Yes, let my poor absurd grimace, 
 My crooked back and wizened face, 
 My pardon make. 
 
 37 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 O child, your childhood bring to mind, 
 And be to Punchinello kind, 
 For pity s sake! " 
 
 While Monsieur Doblay read this 
 aloud, slowly, and with the reserve of a 
 man who does not commit himself to 
 the support of his author, there was a 
 deep silence in the court-room. Then 
 Monsieur Doblay raised his head, and 
 it was not difficult to see that he was 
 disappointed. " I confess," he said, " I 
 do not find these verses in themselves 
 so affecting as to justify Mademoiselle 
 Adele s representations." 
 
 There was a little nervous profes 
 sional stir among the actors, but before 
 any one else could speak in behalf of 
 Tavernier s song, Adele was boldly 
 making her own special defence. " Mon 
 Dieu, Monsieur le Juge," she cried, 
 " they are not meant to be read like 
 38 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 verses in a book, you know they are 
 written for music and the stage effect. 
 Ah, monsieur, if you will ask Monsieur 
 Tavernier to recite them to you, you 
 will see ! Yes, Monsieur Tavernier, if 
 you really desire to clear yourself, re 
 peat them to the magistrate and let 
 him judge." 
 
 "You see, Monsieur le Juge, what she 
 exacts," was all Tavernier could say. 
 
 "After all," said Monsieur Doblay, 
 "she is correct." I am misconstruing 
 your verses, Monsieur Tavernier, and I 
 see that my doubt disposes of itself. If 
 the lines are written solely for the actor, 
 there is nothing intrinsically pathetic 
 in them there can be nothing." And 
 Monsieur Doblay smiled reassuringly. 
 "And now let me hear you repeat 
 them. Permit me to say that I antici 
 pate a great artistic gratification." 
 
 Tavernier looked over at Adele, and 
 
 39 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 murmured something no one could 
 hear. She, her face flushed, seemed 
 ready to spring upon him, take him by 
 the shoulders, and shake him into ac 
 tion, so eager was she to be proved in 
 the right. 
 
 As if fascinated, he kept his troubled 
 eyes fixed upon her, and began, in a 
 low voice : 
 
 " Oh, is it you, all youth and grace " 
 
 And as he spoke he betrayed all. 
 
 There was no mistaking the import 
 of his tone. The man had a voice that 
 should have made his fortune. Reso 
 nant, strong, full of feeling, and yet 
 dominated by a strange and overpower 
 ing timbre, a curious vibration, which, 
 though hard and masculine, was inex 
 plicably attractive, and even affecting 
 a perfect stage voice, intended by nat 
 ure for comedy and bouffe it aroused 
 40 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 not only instant carnal delight, but also 
 the obscure yearning that accompanies 
 the highest artistic sympathy. But 
 now it was quivering with the deepest 
 pathos. To hear him struck to the 
 heart. Tears sprang unbidden to the 
 eyes. It was an appeal, all conceal 
 ment thrown aside, to the beautiful 
 young girl who stood before him. It 
 told the whole story of their relations, 
 of his dumb despairing love and her 
 girlish obtuseness, perversity, and self- 
 love. The words fell slowly and like 
 sobs. They conveyed the yearning of 
 a life. 
 
 The surprise of his emotion deeply 
 disturbed his hearers. Brabant, in par 
 ticular, was visibly startled out of his 
 languor, and launched uneasy glances 
 at Adele. She alone appeared to see 
 in this sudden confession merely the 
 confirmation of her charge. Her eyes 
 41 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 sparkled with triumph ; her foot patted 
 the ground ; she could hardly wait until 
 Tavernier had finished. She did not 
 give Monsieur Doblay time to speak. 
 
 "You see," she cried "you see, all 
 of you, that I have told you nothing 
 but the truth and yet you would not 
 believe me ! He sings it himself and 
 not to the Princess Lisa, but to me. 
 He does not know how to sing it. 
 Hold ! I will show you how." And be 
 fore any one could stop her, she sud 
 denly pushed away Mueller and Obus, 
 clearing a little space for a stage, as it 
 were, and dropped her tall, supple form 
 into a hunchback s crouching pose and 
 began to sing. 
 
 It was a most amazing feat of mim 
 icry. Her head sank and rolled on her 
 shoulders, her arms hung long and loose 
 by her sides, her back was crooked 
 yet all these things were shown by the 
 42 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 lightest, swiftest indications, like the 
 heart-breaking falsetto in her rich, 
 splendid voice, which, with her fright 
 ened eye and trembling lip, showed the 
 poor Punchinello at his wit s end for 
 refuge. Sing it well? Not the greatest 
 comedian that ever lived, it seemed, 
 could have sung it better with all its 
 whimpering, its ridiculous, terrified gri 
 maces, its shaking fingers weakly claw 
 ing the air, its tottering knees and crack 
 ed comic voice, its absurd senile smiles 
 broken by swift spasms of terror as the 
 singer alternated between hope and de 
 spair. Adele subdued it all to her pur 
 pose, with the true bouffe touch so per 
 fectly bestowed that the very pathos of 
 it seemed a thing to laugh at, because 
 it so surely promised that happiness 
 was on the other side of the picture. 
 And, indeed, as verse succeeded verse, 
 smiles were running over all their lips, 
 43 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 as they stood breathlessly listening, 
 ready when she ended to break out 
 into laughter and applause. When all 
 at once, just as she was nearing the 
 end, perhaps overcome by some sudden 
 emotion, perhaps tired by the night of 
 confinement and the strain of the police 
 examination, perhaps at the end of her 
 artist s tether, since extreme were the 
 demands the song made upon her thus 
 to counterfeit a buffo at the height of 
 his art for whatever reason, she falter 
 ed, gasped, and, tottering against Muel 
 ler, who caught her around the waist 
 and supported her, burst into tears. 
 
 Then, heartlessly enough, but with 
 full professional enjoyment of her break 
 down, the actors raised a peal of laugh 
 ter, in which all joined except Taver- 
 nier. He stood apart, forgotten, watch 
 ing her with his burning eyes. But the 
 little Jolifroy was especially merry, and 
 44 
 
" BOBBO " 
 
 clapped her hands in an ecstasy of 
 mirth. 
 
 Adele leaped up, furious, angry gleams 
 darting from her eyes. " What do you 
 mean by laughing at me ?" she cried. 
 "You are all beggars, wretches, vile 
 travesties of actors, whom the public 
 will cover with shame!" That her tu 
 mult of wrath must have physical re 
 lief was obvious. It was the little Joli- 
 froy who suffered. Adele s glance fell 
 instinctively on her understudy s snig 
 gering face, and she smacked it. 
 
 A cry of horror rose gendarmes 
 sprang at the offender. Contempt of 
 court, lese-majeste what had not Adele 
 committed? She herself, at the reali 
 zation of her offence, paled and stood 
 trembling in the grasp of the military 
 police before the magistrate. 
 
 The only reason why Tavernier was 
 not scuffling with those same gendarmes 
 
 45 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 was that Brebant and Rebus, by a com 
 mon impulse, threw their arms about 
 him and restrained him. 
 
 Monsieur Doblay seemed for a mo 
 ment lost in consternation at the iniq 
 uity of the deed which his own lenity 
 had encouraged; then he roused him 
 self, and addressed the prisoner at the 
 bar. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, sternly, "in 
 sensible of the kindness with which you 
 have been treated here, you have per 
 mitted yourself to commit an outrage 
 upon the dignity of this court which 
 merits the severest retribution. And, 
 what is more, you have shown yourself 
 intolerant, unreasonable, unjust to a 
 brother artist, who, after all, can only 
 do his best, as his talent permits, and to 
 whom it would appear you are bound 
 in very gratitude to defer. Art is not 
 life, mademoiselle ; it is but a representa- 
 46 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 tion of life, and all the more, therefore, 
 perfection in it cannot be demanded or 
 hoped for. It rests with all artists to 
 give the public their best ; but having 
 done so, they must be satisfied. And 
 since this seems impossible to you, 
 since your ungovernable temper makes 
 you a firebrand among your colleagues, 
 the punishment that I must now im 
 pose upon you should be responsive to 
 this fault, that justice may prove reme 
 dial. I condemn you to prison, Made 
 moiselle Adele, for forty days and 
 suspend the sentence on condition that 
 you pass the whole of the ensuing Lent 
 in retirement, in good works and medi 
 tation, without appearing once at the 
 theatre. And that will teach you, per 
 haps, to control yourself." 
 
 " What, Monsieur le Juge leave the 
 stage?" 
 
 Then might you have seen Adele, 
 
 47 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 breaking from the gendarmes, kneel, act 
 ually kneel like a guilty sinner, before 
 the tribune, imploring mercy. To be 
 condemned for forty days to leave the 
 theatre to leave a successful play, to 
 see which the house was crowded every 
 evening she would be forgotten by the 
 public, by her friends her understudy 
 would supplant her and the theatre 
 was her life, her very being ! She 
 would die without it ; to do penance 
 would kill her ! 
 
 Would not Monsieur le Juge fine her 
 she could afford to pay a fine oh, a 
 heavy fine ! and let her go ? 
 
 And it did occur to Monsieur Doblay 
 that his scheme of poetic justice did not 
 consider the management of the Folles- 
 Farces ; and he said, "After all, I ought 
 not to visit the penalty of your misbe 
 havior on the theatre, and therefore a 
 fine" 
 
 48 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 To every one s surprise, here Taver- 
 nier interrupted. " No, Monsieur le 
 Juge," he cried, quite beside himself 
 with suffering, " I would rather let her 
 go!" 
 
 "Let me go?" exclaimed Adele, her 
 face suddenly growing white. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, turning on her, 
 his breast heaving ; " we cannot go on 
 like this one of us must leave the 
 Folles-Farces there is a limit to what 
 a man s heart can bear ; and since you 
 mean to break mine, since there is no 
 limit to your contempt, your disdain, 
 and your ill usage, I must protect my 
 self I must snap the chain in two. 
 God knows I would give you all the 
 theatre, my heart, my life, if you would 
 but accept them God knows I have 
 offered you both my heart and my life, 
 again and again, and you would not 
 take them" 
 
 D 49 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 " You have offered me your heart ?" 
 said Adele, with a strange sound in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes," he cried, in exaltation ; " every 
 night, in the song I sing to you, the 
 song I wrote to you, the song I cannot 
 sing because every word, every note, 
 breaks my heart when you will not 
 look at me or care for me. But why 
 should you? you, so beautiful, so 
 young " 
 
 He could not go on. 
 
 Adele drew a long, shuddering breath ; 
 her face was white. She choked as she 
 tried to speak. Finally she said, " I did 
 not know I did not know I was so 
 much to you." And after a pause she 
 added, " I have promised to marry Br- 
 bant." 
 
 Tavernier gave a cry, and then cov 
 ered his ghastly face with his hands. 
 Brebant looked at them both from 
 50 
 
PAUL PATUREAU RETURNED TO HIS SENSES" 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 under the dark, delicate lines of his 
 eyebrows, pulled at his mustache, and 
 said, " Fichtre !" 
 
 Nobody seemed able to speak, and 
 there was a long silence. 
 
 All at once Adele started, and turned 
 and looked at Brebant. He met her 
 look steadily, but without budging a 
 hair s-breadth from his attitude of pro 
 found, concentrated attention. Then 
 the blood surged back to her face again, 
 and she cried, in excited but clear and 
 resolute tones, " But as Brabant does 
 not love me I release him." 
 
 When we wake from a dream the eye 
 still sees distinct before it the mental 
 image which was the last impressed on 
 the retina of our imagination, and which 
 somehow seems the one which woke us 
 out of sleep. And as Paul Patureau re 
 turned to his senses and found the real 
 51 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 court-room again before him, and heard 
 the tread of the real Monsieur Doblay 
 echoing behind him on the tribune, 
 there hung for an instant clearly out 
 lined in his vision the miniature actors 
 of the supposititious theatre created by 
 his drowsy fancy as they disposed them 
 selves before their flight Tavernier 
 catching Adele to his breast ; Mueller 
 and Gervais and Rebus and Jolifroy 
 and all the rest grouped about in vari 
 ous attitudes of astonishment and de 
 light, or perhaps envy ; Brebant slow 
 ly vouchsafing the magistrate a glance 
 whose faint suggestion of relief was to 
 Paul Patureau the subtlest touch of it 
 all. How willing Paul would have been 
 to delay them just a moment longer, 
 to hear what Tavernier was saying to 
 Adele, or himself to have saluted the 
 bride ! But he saw them go without a 
 pang; for this once he recollected the 
 52 
 
"BOBBO" 
 
 plot of his operetta. He had at last 
 dreamed successfully. 
 
 And now he had nothing left to do 
 but write his libretto, get it accepted 
 by some popular composer, and pro 
 duced. Lucky Paul Patureau ! 
 
THE LAST SONNET OF 
 PRINZIVALLE DI CEMBINO 
 
THE LAST SONNET OF PRINZI- 
 VALLE DI CEMBINO 
 
 IT was in the year of the great Pazzi 
 plot that Prinzivalle di Cembino, whom 
 his fellow-Florentines called "the bird- 
 lover," wrote his last sonnet to Ma 
 donna Ghita, the wife of Ugo degli 
 Carrecci; and before the Pazzi rose 
 against the Medici no man expected 
 those sonnets to come to an end less 
 than did the ardent soldier, lover, and 
 poet who wrote them. Whether, if 
 the Pazzi had not risen, the sonnets 
 would never have been interrupted 
 is, of course, impossible to say. But 
 they did rise; and immediately there- 
 57 
 
"BOBBCTAND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 after, if not, indeed, in direct conse 
 quence thereof, Prinzivalle became the 
 hero of one of the most characteris 
 tic episodes in all the annals of love 
 the episode of the little fig -peck 
 ers. 
 
 There was once a great connoisseur 
 who declared that the classic examples 
 of wit were those which could only be 
 said in a certain century, of a certain 
 thing, to a certain man. Obviously this 
 is only a partial application of a prin 
 ciple, and it may be easily maintained 
 that these may be I do not say they 
 are the touchstones of all classic epi 
 sodes. But whether they are or not, 
 I have always deemed the episode of 
 the little fig-peckers worthy to be con 
 sidered a classic, because it could only 
 have happened about the little fig- 
 peckers to Prinzivalle di Cembino in 
 the Quattrocento. 
 
 58 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 And first the sonnet. Prinzivalle 
 called it 
 
 "ON THE SUMMIT 
 
 " When over us the awful peaks arose 
 
 I faltered, and upon me fell Love s eyes, 
 Divine and calm, and my soul s cowardice 
 
 Then did his deep sad look to me disclose. 
 
 He spoke not, nor reminded me of those 
 Vows wherewith I had made my lady glad, 
 To follow him, in pilgrim habit clad, 
 
 But onward went alone among the snows. 
 
 And bound there in the spell laid by my sin, 
 
 Long straining after him my tearful sight, 
 I watched him pass the glacier s distant 
 crown 
 
 And slowly to the very summit win. 
 
 But as he stood upon the silent height 
 I saw him at his bleeding feet look down." 
 
 The story of the growth o f Prinzi- 
 
 valle s love for his mistress is easily 
 
 told : it was in its essence that of any 
 
 Italian of the time for the lady on 
 
 59 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 whom fell the desire of heart and soul 
 at one in a mystic ecstasy over beauty, 
 and a miraculous power of expressing 
 surely the vividest type in which pas 
 sionate humanity has ever seen itself 
 struggling, battling, loving, and con 
 spiring. And yet among all the lovers 
 with whom those mediaeval centuries 
 burn, none ever compared with Prinzi- 
 valle for the devotion with which, while 
 his passion lasted and it was no fault 
 of his that it ended he bound himself 
 to his ideal of love, and lived in it and 
 through it and for its sake alone. He 
 was the type ; he was the perfect lover. 
 He was the man who was in deed, not 
 in word, all adoration, all hope, all con 
 stancy ; who gave everything, asked 
 nothing, submitted always ; whose love 
 was as ready as his submission, and 
 whom neither disappointment nor pos 
 session could in any manner change. 
 60 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 After all is said and done, this last is 
 the test infallible. What will not a 
 woman do for a man who, after six 
 long years, still sues for what she gives 
 him? 
 
 True enough, Prinzivalle s mistress 
 was one of those women who keep alive 
 the fable of fays and witches, and for 
 whom modern science itself finds no 
 words that are not just as superstitious. 
 Prinzivalle saw her first at a company 
 to which he had accompanied his wife, 
 Francesca, in the garden of Pico della 
 Fernandina, and there they fell in love, 
 ardently and unresistingly, at first sight. 
 Perhaps the fact that she was the wife 
 of an enemy of the Medici heightened 
 the attraction ; but that stimulus, at 
 most a minor impulse, could only have 
 been felt for a moment. The effect on 
 Prinzivalle was instant and complete. 
 Before they parted he was changed. 
 
 61 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 He had been a silent man, a dweller 
 among state polities and party secrets, 
 with no inner life of his own ; she open 
 ed the door of his soul for him, and he 
 stood and gazed at this new possession 
 as if he had been the first man to re 
 ceive a soul. He understood what it 
 meant, and what he might make of it, 
 and therefore he determined to make 
 of it an offering to Madonna Ghita. 
 
 Accordingly he began his love-making 
 directly, which was all a man thought 
 of in those days ; their morals were not 
 different from ours, morals being the 
 same in all ages, but their observance of 
 them was quite different. And Prinzi- 
 valle being already hostile to the Car- 
 recci, it was only a matter of swords, 
 which he did not fear at all. Indeed, 
 if he had a preference, it was that Ugo 
 should belie men s sneers and defend 
 his home. But Ugo did not. He was 
 62 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 a conspirator, to whom home and hon 
 or and love were counters in a gaming 
 bank, high counters, only to be played 
 when ill luck began to spread its black 
 wings and menace, like the devil that it 
 is, and not till then. Why, he had mar 
 ried Ghita di Montefeltro in order to 
 have just such counters in his bank 
 and now throw them away before his 
 time? Not Ugo! When he met Prinzi- 
 valle in the world he could easily look 
 at him with that hollowness behind the 
 eyes that you see in all gamblers and 
 political traffickers : and he was never in 
 the way of meeting Prinzivalle when his 
 wife s lover came riding to the Villa 
 Carrecci. It was very simple for Ugo. 
 
 But it was not simple for Prinzivalle. 
 He was one of those men to whom the 
 ethics of emotion are everything, and 
 when with these temperaments emo 
 tion does not declare itself strongly 
 63 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 until manhood, the course and conduct 
 of love become of a passionate impor 
 tance to which everything else in life is 
 not only subordinate, but subject, slav 
 ish ; and that love should be blurred by 
 the intrusion of the world s infamies 
 was as incomprehensible to him as it 
 was poignant. And probably if his own 
 self-control had not been so strong and 
 so practised, this very same dark, treach 
 erous complaisance of Ugo s would have 
 chafed and wrung him so that his pas 
 sion could not have endured. But he 
 could control himself ; and he presently 
 began to love Ghita so much that he 
 did. 
 
 He loved her very much. He loved 
 her as all women long to be loved 
 blindly, silently, unquestioningly, with 
 that way of containing a wild tumultu 
 ous strength for her sake, which some 
 how seems to woman man s supreme 
 6 4 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 demonstration of passion. This sort of 
 man, though he asks nothing, often 
 takes all ; yet Prinzivalle neither asked 
 nor took all, but waited, waited for ev 
 erything she gave him. They used to 
 meet in a garden of the Villa Carrecci, 
 which lies along the river below the 
 orchards, and is enclosed on its three 
 land sides by a cypress hedge with 
 clipped archways, and statues gleaming 
 in among the green. Oh, they were the 
 scenes for passion, those Italian gar 
 dens! for the infinite yearning and 
 straining of hearts whose fibres were 
 struck and thrilled and racked by vibra 
 tions so exquisite that we strive for the 
 perception of them now in vain: they 
 were the distant land of magic trans 
 planted to lie underfoot in beauty that 
 dazed, it was so commanding and so 
 ethereal, so lovely and so quivering 
 with the pain of enchantment. Even 
 
 E 6 5 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 to-day the heart is troubled among their 
 alleys, their fountains, and their cedars 
 troubled indescribably ; and how much 
 more in the day of Ghita and of Prinzi- 
 valle ! In his sonnets Prinzivalle came 
 back to the garden again and again, 
 describing it with that tense simplicity 
 which means so infinitely much more 
 than all our raptures ; and no wonder he 
 dwelt on the garden, for here Madonna 
 Ghita taught him to be a poet, and 
 taught him what she meant by love. 
 
 What did she mean by it ? Answer, 
 all who have been under the spell that 
 Prinzivalle suffered ; all who have listen 
 ed to that conjuration and felt the spirit 
 disengage itself from earthly covenants 
 and rise into a rarer, diviner ether, into 
 a place of neither pleasure nor pain ; all 
 who for one hour have known a woman 
 who could give substance to woman s 
 eternal promise of earthly paradise, and 
 
 66 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 make man seem actually to inhabit 
 therein. Answer! and remember that 
 in those days an old belief, to whose 
 fragments women cling to-day, could 
 still hold sway in women s minds the 
 belief the troubadours learned from 
 them and taught them in return the 
 belief that love is an existence of its 
 own. Whence Madonna Ghita derived 
 the strange other doctrines she mingled 
 in with this I cannot tell, nor does it 
 matter. Such mystic beliefs do not 
 need a source besides the agitation of 
 the soul which life itself imparts ; nor 
 do they need a soil besides the credu 
 lous, aspiring spirit that receives them. 
 Little by little, as Madonna Ghita slow 
 ly let her love pass into Prinzivalle s 
 keeping, did she expound to him that 
 ecstatic dream of perfection in love 
 which never wholly dies even in the 
 most material ages ; and then, later still, 
 67 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 added the counsels of discipline of spirit 
 which made of him Heaven knows what! 
 an adept, we should call him, maybe, 
 in our divinely assorted categories. 
 
 At least he believed that she inspired 
 him, and made him impervious to cold 
 and heat, oblivious of danger, strong 
 of counsel, patient of every disappoint 
 ment, almost a disembodied force. And 
 he delighted to ask difficult and hazard 
 ous assignments of the Medici, which he 
 discharged secretly to their utter grati 
 tude and admiration ; and then, return 
 ing from his nunciatures, the flush of 
 success burning on his brow, he would 
 go to Madonna Ghita, who sat waiting 
 for him, her chin in her hand. And 
 when he had told her what he had done 
 for her she would lift the other hand, 
 which had been hanging by her side the 
 while, and stroke his cheek ; and as her 
 look was speech in silence, so her touch 
 68 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 was fire in snow. These were traits 
 which might well set a man so sensitive 
 tingling with transcendental resolves ; 
 and the way she spoke, as if a spirit 
 were dictating to her, and walked with 
 out her feet being seen to move, and 
 looked long at him until her face grew 
 pale and seemed to fade away, and only 
 her eyes were left, which shone like fires 
 of illimitable depth it would be no 
 wonder if these things touched a yet 
 more primitive and superstitious chord 
 in him. And indeed, as Prinzivalle 
 meditated upon her day after day, pon 
 dering upon his love as he rode out of 
 the city with his troop, or went guard 
 edly about his mysterious missions, dis 
 coursing upon it under subtle coverings 
 with Lorenzo s court of poets and rhet 
 oricians, he began to think she was truly 
 a white spirit. She never seemed to err ; 
 she did not waver or change ; her beauty 
 
 6g 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 never faded ; grief, care, sickness, fatigue, 
 made no impress upon her ; she might 
 be mortal, but she showed no trace of 
 mortality. Was not this a eudaemonia ? 
 But what may possibly have had 
 most effect in convincing Prinzivalle of 
 Madonna Ghita s unearthliness was that 
 through all those years of passion she 
 still withheld something of her love, re 
 mained in part inaccessible. No matter 
 how he strove, no matter what he ef 
 fected in her name, there was still a 
 spiritual communion to be conquered. 
 And she withheld it in terms; telling 
 him she did so, promising that this com 
 munion should be his when his lesson 
 was at last learned and he had finally 
 accomplished his triple aim of love, loy 
 alty, and self-relinquishment. No doubt 
 during the period of his long spiritual 
 probation he often expected the guer 
 don to be his, and found himself doom- 
 70 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 ed to disappointment ; but he endured 
 with patience, and perhaps it will be 
 thought not the least proof of his en 
 durance that he did so, seeing that he 
 perceived how profoundly Madonna 
 Ghita had read him and counted on his 
 obedience. 
 
 Thus month succeeded to month and 
 year to year, and the great fact of their 
 love moved on with time, all other things 
 being either tributary to it or non-exist 
 ent. And Prinzivalle s devotion grew 
 every day more and more implicit ; he 
 went on aspiring, burning, asking noth 
 ing, striking a still higher note in his 
 sonnets, reaching still higher and more 
 transcendent regions of spiritual love, 
 and longing still more ardently for his 
 promised reward. And when six years 
 had thus been passed, the conspiracy of 
 the Pazzi broke out. 
 
 Such a dire event as this,with the mem- 
 71 
 
BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 orable and awful murder of Giuliano de 
 Medici in the cathedral, and the narrow 
 escape of Lorenzo from the same dread 
 ful fate, would naturally stir Prinzi- 
 valle s energies to the utmost. After 
 the blow had been struck it fell to his 
 share to direct certain of the measures 
 of vengeance, and it coming to his 
 official knowledge (as any one could 
 have guessed) that Ugo degli Carrecci 
 was one of the conspirators, he sent to 
 seize him. However, Ugo had fled, to 
 take refuge, it was thought, in Con 
 stantinople. This Prinzivalle reported 
 to Lorenzo among other news of the 
 conspiracy. On which Lorenzo ordered 
 that Ugo s estates should be seques 
 trated, and that an intendant should be 
 placed over them ; but he desired Prin 
 zivalle to direct the intendant, privately, 
 that the revenues should be paid to Ma 
 donna Ghita, and that she should not be 
 72 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 disturbed in her possession. And as he 
 was now growing stronger, he bade Prin- 
 zivalle, with a smile, convey this assur 
 ance to Madonna Ghita " since/ said 
 he, " she was born of a family friendly to 
 the Medici." Which was true enough, 
 for she was sister to the noble Giano di 
 Montefeltro, of Pisa. 
 
 Prinzivalle accordingly mounted and 
 rode by the circuitous route he had 
 been accustomed to take to come to the 
 river garden, because this was the open 
 route, and Ugo could always have seen 
 him had he wished it. And it was on 
 that memorable day that, after hearing 
 his news, Madonna Ghita at last declar 
 ed herself convinced of his absolute self- 
 surrender to the highest ideal of love ; 
 and, satisfied of his worthiness, told him 
 freely that she was his, singly and bless 
 edly, to the end of life. 
 
 She bade him esteem himself, not the 
 
 73 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 most faithful of men, indeed, for that 
 might lead to destructive pride, but a 
 man to whom patience and effort had 
 taught a true constancy. " The last let 
 ter of your name," she said, " is to-day 
 finally graven on my heart, and any one 
 who saw therein could read it complete, 
 like an inscription on a statue, which 
 remains unchanged through many cen 
 turies." And as she spoke there broke 
 into Prinzivalle s soul something like a 
 light, but so violent that it seemed a 
 new element. His chest labored, he 
 breathed with difficulty, his lips part 
 ed, and a divine joy struggled silently 
 upon them. He fell on his knees and 
 embraced the hem of her dress; and 
 Ghita laid her hand upon his head, and 
 he received, as never before, a compre 
 hension of the power of love. "You 
 have performed my bidding unquestion- 
 ingly," she said, " and I wish to tell you 
 74 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 this, that whatever you ask I will in 
 turn perform." 
 
 And now for the episode of the little 
 fig-peckers. 
 
 We had better pause to imagine the 
 scene the garden silent in the warm, 
 tender May air, the young leaves and 
 vines glistening in the sun, the cedars 
 purple -green and tall, the statues half 
 hidden in the untrimmed spring cypress 
 Madonna Ghita, dark-haired and dark- 
 eyed, with her divine, inscrutable look, 
 her arms that lay close to her side like a 
 bird s wings, and her slight, slow, infi 
 nitely graceful motions and Prinzivalle, 
 swarthy, deep-cloaked, and fiery. It was 
 a long time before he so much as spoke, 
 so great was the tranquillity that had 
 fallen upon him ; he only gazed into her 
 eyes as they sat side by side upon the 
 stone bench about the dial. At last, as 
 if a girlish timidity had been renewed 
 75 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 in her by the ardor of his gaze, she who 
 had so long imposed her commands 
 upon him trembled, and her eyes fell. 
 Oh, delicious, unspeakable moment, 
 when creation seems wholly subject to 
 man ! No doubt it was requital to Prin- 
 zivalle for all requital, and something 
 more. So much more that he deter 
 mined he would ask a favor of her at 
 last the first after all his servitude. 
 And as in asking some favor he should 
 not only requite her confidence, but 
 have the dear long-attended joy of a 
 pledge from her of his own devising, 
 what should it be ? 
 
 What first came into his mind was 
 characteristic enough of him. 
 
 It was in that particular spring the 
 custom for the Florentine ladies to wear 
 their dresses trimmed about the neck 
 with beccaficos feathers, and to see 
 Madonna Ghita sharing in this custom 
 76 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 was, Heaven knows, repellent to Prinzi- 
 valle. Not only were the cruelty and the 
 wantonness of it unsuited to her, but it 
 was the first note that had ever jarred 
 him in their intercourse. So he spoke, 
 glad of the confidence that granted his 
 petition before it was framed. 
 
 " Madonna Ghita," said he, " it will 
 seem but a slight thing that I have to 
 ask you, and perhaps only a longing of 
 the fancy. Yet it is of the heart ; for 
 my heart is always most tender towards 
 the birds, to whom God permits what he 
 does not permit to us, namely, to wear 
 wings, as the angels do. The favor I 
 ask you is that for my sake you will 
 cease wearing the feathers of the little 
 beccafico." 
 
 " The feathers of the little beccafico?" 
 said Madonna Ghita. 
 
 "Yes," said Prinzivalle. 
 
 At this she looked at him as if she 
 
 77 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 did not understand, and she said, softly 
 and curiously, "Why do you ask this, 
 Messer Prinzivalle?" 
 
 Then Prinzivalle explained to her how 
 the custom was one unsuited to fair la 
 dies, causing wanton slaughter among 
 the song-birds still feeding their young, 
 and not needed for imparting elegance 
 or grace to lovely women. 
 
 "Are you sure," she said, gently 
 " are you sure that these birds are slain 
 wantonly? For this was not my sup 
 position, Messer Prinzivalle." 
 
 Grateful for the assurance, he cried, 
 " Yet it is true." 
 
 " May it not rather be," she return 
 ed, " that they are killed for food and 
 their feathers sold, or that they are 
 killed by the farmers whose figs they 
 peck?" 
 
 So then Prinzivalle told Madonna 
 Ghita how the case stood in fact, that 
 
 78 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 killing the birds was a danger to the 
 figs, which would thus be left a prey to 
 the worms which were the beccaficos 
 food. 
 
 " For observe," he said, " that thaJni- 
 verse, with the firmament, being j/ orm, 
 as it were, a quadrate, whereif/liil things 
 uphold and support each other, there 
 can be nothing superfluous therein. 
 And there results a certain definite and 
 providential proportion, which when we 
 disturb, the harmony of the universe is 
 lost. Man s dominion, therefore, over 
 the beasts of the field and the birds of 
 the air, as over the rest of terrestrial 
 things, is not given to him that he may 
 destroy them, but that he may make 
 them perform their appointed functions. 
 And if he do not, he will suffer, through 
 the disturbance of the natural harmony. 
 Thus, when for the sake of fashion the 
 beccaficos are killed, man is punished 
 
 79 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 by the destruction of his gardens 
 through worms." 
 
 Madonna Ghita was silent for a while, 
 and then, looking on him with sorrowful 
 steadfastness, exclaimed, " How have I 
 been deceived !" 
 
 It seemed to Prinzivalle as though he 
 had been struck a blow. And he cried 
 out to her to know what was the matter. 
 
 " Is this really the request that you 
 make of me," she asked, "that I cease 
 wearing beccaficos feathers?" 
 
 " Surely," said he. 
 
 " Then it is true," she said, " since 
 you affirm it. And I have given my 
 love, not to the cavalier and poet, Messer 
 Prinzivalle di Cembino, but to a rustic 
 a boor who cannot climb with me the 
 heights of love, but remains on the earth, 
 intent on the yield of his fig trees." 
 
 "Virgin Mary!" he cried, aghast, 
 " what can you mean?" 
 80 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 " To-day," said Madonna Ghita, " at 
 the very flowering of my love after 
 these years of your service, what, oh 
 Heaven, must I hear ? Not of me not 
 of me has your heart been glad, but of 
 the price to be gained by selling the 
 fruits of your gardens." 
 
 " I have no gardens of my own," 
 quoth he, trembling. "It is but the 
 common concern of which I speak." 
 
 "The common concern," she said, 
 with a dejection of her body, yet her 
 eyes fixed on him. " The common con 
 cern," she repeated, in a lingering, wist 
 ful voice. And she turned her eyes 
 away. 
 
 Well, all that she said seemed unjust 
 and terrifying enough, yet her fixed look 
 and that low voice of sorrow of hers had 
 so long seemed to give him an insight 
 into a higher reason than that on which 
 our justice rests, that he contained him- 
 
 F 81 
 
BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 self as best he might, and in a moment 
 found voice to ask her wherein lay his 
 fault. 
 
 "Nay, I perceive no fault," she mur 
 mured, but ever with the same sad look. 
 
 He adjured her to answer him, of her 
 pity. 
 
 After a pause she said : " Is it for me 
 to say? Yet what of your constancy?" 
 
 " I inconstant !" was all he could 
 gasp. 
 
 "Are you not? For instead of devis 
 ing" some task which should do honor to 
 
 o 
 
 us both," she said, " you have preferred 
 ignoble concerns of daily life, imperti 
 nent to such an occasion and to such a 
 love as mine. Thus what should have 
 been transcendent has been degraded." 
 Here she broke off again, and turned 
 her face from him. 
 
 Alarmed, he bade her reflect that his 
 request was but born of the moment. 
 82 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 " Do you not give love the moments ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " It was an impulse !" he cried. 
 
 " An impulse to forget me ?" said 
 Madonna Ghita. 
 
 Hereupon he bent his head and pon 
 dered, and after pondering lifted his 
 head again and told her he desired she 
 would not think that what he had done 
 was unpardonable, for the request was 
 not in itself unmeet, only inopportune. 
 
 "And therefore," she said, gravely, 
 " worse than unmeet." 
 
 With a sinking heart he perceived 
 that this left him without reply, and 
 could only answer, expressing himself 
 in fit terms, that he hoped she would 
 not withdraw the high confidence with 
 which she had honored him. She re 
 sponded, looking at him now with sad 
 kindness, that it was not a matter of 
 her own control, but that if he had in 
 83 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 any way disturbed that confidence it 
 was her desire and hope that he would 
 restore himself without delay. And she 
 gave him her hand. 
 
 "And could you think," she said, 
 " that I would wear the feathers of the 
 beccafico, knowing that they were pro 
 cured by wanton cruelty?" 
 
 " No believe me," he answered, 
 warmly. " Never, dear lady !" 
 
 " I will no longer wear them," she 
 said, and looked at him with peculiar 
 sweetness. 
 
 He fell at her feet. 
 
 Presently she continued : " Yet, Prin- 
 zivalle, I must in candor tell you this, 
 that if I yield to your request herein, 
 the recollection of your inconstancy will 
 be ever present, and will delay, I cannot 
 tell for how long, the return of the su 
 preme communion of our spirits." 
 
 " Then," he cried, " if that be so, Ma- 
 84 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 donna Ghita, wear the beccafico feath 
 ers, I pray you, and wear them always ; 
 and not only for that reason, but in re 
 minder to me of the heights which my 
 spirit must have ever in view." 
 
 And to this she consented ; unless, 
 she stipulated, other ladies of Florence 
 should cease the custom, when to up 
 hold it alone might render her conspic 
 uous. Thus were her divine favor and 
 her sustaining aid renewed to him. 
 
 And as Prinzivalle knelt once again 
 before her, professing his devotion as 
 of old, Ugo degli Carrecci came swiftly 
 through one of the arches of the hedge, 
 and men-at-arms behind him, and from 
 the two other sides of the hedge came 
 other armed men. They ran in and 
 closed upon Prinzivalle before he could 
 escape to the river. Madonna Ghita 
 gave a loud cry, and he sprang to his 
 feet and struck out with his dagger, 
 85 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 wounding one man and inflicting a 
 more deadly thrust upon another ; but 
 his assailants quickly bore him to the 
 pround and bound him. When he was 
 
 o 
 
 secured he was carried to the house and 
 locked in an inner room practically in 
 a dungeon. 
 
 It was time for Ugo to play his high 
 stakes, and this was how he was playing 
 them. The flight to Constantinople was 
 a blind, of course ; he thought it much 
 safer to ambush at home and entrap a 
 hostage. As the practice of those times 
 went, it was no uncommon or imperti 
 nent policy always saving that one 
 point of honor by which Ugo set so lit 
 tle store. Having taken and bound his 
 enemy, Ugo wrote to Pico della Fer- 
 nandina. 
 
 But Pico sent a messenger accepting 
 the terms, and then followed with a con 
 siderable troop to receive the hostage. 
 
 86 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 And great formalities were observed; 
 and Prinzivalle was brought out from 
 his dungeon, pale, haughty, and darkly 
 silent ; and he and Pico embraced. 
 
 And Ugo thought his game was won. 
 But he was doomed to disappointment, 
 and that on that one point on which he 
 made so little account. For in a few 
 words, smooth, courteous in their phras 
 ing, but deadly in their significance, Pico 
 made it clear what men expected of him 
 he must defend his honor. 
 
 And Ugo saw that he had trapped 
 himself. 
 
 He tried a last card ; tried to provoke 
 Prinzivalle then and there, while his 
 eyes were still dim and his nerves un 
 strung from his dungeon. Pico inter 
 posed, but Prinzivalle, on fire with irre 
 sistible contempt and wrath, caught a 
 sword, set on Ugo, disarmed him with 
 a pass, and then slew him like a traitor. 
 87 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 They say that Madonna Ghita watch 
 ed the fight from a window, and when 
 Ugo fell, only said, " The world is rid 
 of a villain !" 
 
 After this Fernandina confirmed to 
 the intendant, who rode with him, the 
 orders Prinzivalle had received from Lo 
 renzo concerning Madonna Ghita, and, 
 leaving the intendant in charge, they 
 came away. 
 
 And as Prinzivalle rode homeward his 
 mind was full of his wife, Francesca, and 
 it seemed to him now that the darkness 
 of Ugo s dungeon, and the sharp touch 
 of Ugo s sword upon his own, had 
 taught him the worth of a love that 
 had never failed him, no matter how 
 long was his absence or how cruel his 
 neglect. Prompt as Fernandina was to 
 act, it was still several days before Prin- 
 zivalle s release came ; he may have lain 
 a prisoner in Ugo s house a week ; and 
 
 88 
 
m 
 
 J 
 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 during that weary se nnight, laid up in a 
 dark room with a wounded and aching 
 head, and doubting whether any attempt 
 to rescue might not result in his murder, 
 he had plenty of time for nervous reac 
 tion. And, indeed, as he meditated on 
 that scene in the garden, he could hard 
 ly help perceiving that, after all, Ghita s 
 offer to him had been voluntary and un 
 conditional, and that no refinement upon 
 the interdependence of spiritual aspira 
 tions could conceal the plain every-day 
 fact that as soon as he took her at her 
 word she withdrew it. Whether or no 
 her pride was properly hurt might be a 
 question ; but he had a right to hurt her 
 pride, if he did it in good faith. Look 
 at it how he might, he saw his idol tot 
 ter, and thought with bitterness of the 
 way he had been treated. And when he 
 began to draw contrasts, what did he 
 see? On the one hand his idol, Ghita ; 
 89 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 on the other, his wife, Francesca ; on the 
 one, danger, self-abasement, neglect of 
 home ; on the other, quiet, ease, repose ; 
 on the one, passion, heart-burning, servi 
 tude, and disappointment ; on the other, 
 affection, duty, and obedience ; on the 
 one, sonnets ; on the other, the domestic 
 hearth. A few hours solitary medita 
 tion upon the difference between the 
 two pictures must have brought him 
 very easily to the resolution which was 
 throbbing in his head by the time Fer- 
 nandina s coming relieved him, and in 
 which his dramatic, fatal, and inevitable 
 meeting with Ugo only strengthened 
 him. 
 
 For home he went at once to Fran 
 cesca. And she flew into his arms, of 
 course, and pressed him to her heart, 
 and laughed and wept over him, and 
 parted his hair with anxious fingers to 
 assure herself that his wound was heal- 
 90 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 ed, and felt his cloak to see if his dun 
 geon had done it harm, and tried to tell 
 him in a breath how she hated Ugo, and 
 how nearly she had died with fear that 
 her husband would never be returned to 
 her alive, and how dreadful had been 
 her anxiety during that terrible week of 
 suspense, when nothing, not even the pet 
 tiest concerns of the household, would 
 go right, and when she must have utter 
 ly broken down but for the kindness of 
 the Fernandinas, and how little Beatrice 
 had learnt to clap hands for Uncle Pico, 
 and how the reports from the vineyards 
 were already better, and how she had 
 such a good dinner for him. Ah, did 
 not Prinzivalle feel repentant then, and 
 choke, and catch her to his heart once 
 more, and call her his own true, loving, 
 long-suffering wife, from whom nothing 
 should ever part him again? I warrant 
 you! 
 
 91 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 After dinner, when they were sitting 
 in the twilight hand in hand, her head 
 on his shoulder and his arm about her 
 waist, and something of a silence had 
 fallen between them they had talked it 
 over now, and we may be sure that with 
 out exactly naming Ghita, Prinzivalle 
 had given his wife to understand that he 
 was cured for good and all of his poetic 
 follies, and was heartily glad that he had 
 returned to his senses all at once he 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, by-the-way, darling, I wish you 
 would do me a favor." 
 
 " Anything, dearest; what is it? 
 
 " I see you are wearing those dreadful 
 feather trimmings. Soul of mine, won t 
 you please leave them off, for my sake ?" 
 
 " Prinzivalle !" 
 
 " Oh yes, I am quite in earnest, cara. 
 Of course I know you are but following 
 the fashion, thoughtlessly, as all you 
 92 
 
LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE 
 
 women do. But it is such a cruel fash 
 ion, and so bootless. If you will but 
 stop to think, you will see that in ten 
 years time we shall not have a song 
 bird left in all Italy." 
 
 His wife tore her hands away from 
 his and sat upright and aloof from him, 
 her cheeks burning. " Shame on you !" 
 she cried. " What have I done to de 
 serve this, Messer Prinzivalle di Cem- 
 bino?" 
 
 "Good heavens!" said Prinzivalle. 
 " My dear" 
 
 " Do not speak to me !" she exclaim 
 ed, her breast heaving and her voice 
 quivering with an unborn sob. 
 
 " But, Francesca !" 
 
 " Have I not been a fond wife to 
 you ? Oh, pitying saints, what have I 
 not endured ? And I have been patient 
 and loving and forbearing and 
 kind and I have only thought of what 
 93 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 would please you as a wife ought 
 and I have never once complained and 
 now now when I have been nearly 
 dead with fear and you have been 
 wounded and in prison and Ugo might 
 have killed you just as easily as not 
 and I thought you had come back to 
 me and that I was to have you always 
 to myself, Prinzivalle the first thing 
 you do is to scold me when I try to 
 make myself p-p-p-pretty for you !" And 
 the poor child broke down and cried. 
 
 Prinzivalle essayed to console her. 
 She struggled mutely with him for a 
 moment ; then, freeing herself with a 
 sudden wrench, she rose. 
 
 " Go !" she cried. " Go bid Ghita 
 degli Carrecci plume or unplume her 
 self for you ! She knows better than I 
 what will please you." And she rushed 
 from the room. 
 
 After this Prinzivalle wrote his sonnet. 
 94 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 THE STORY OF THE MAIDEN EKESA 
 
 AND OF THE THREE TESTS OF 
 
 KING KATUBUA 
 
 RATU TANITO, son of the great King 
 Tui Katubua, dwelt in Viti Levu, which 
 some call Fiji. He was in stature like 
 to the tree mbaka, and a light shone in 
 his young eyes, so that his presence 
 could be known at night. His canoe 
 sped with the wind ; his dancing in the 
 war-dance brought forth a great shout 
 from the people; his arm broke apart 
 the strongest breakers; and men called 
 him "The King s Arrow. 
 
 Now when the meke was ended that 
 G 97 
 
"BOBBO-AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 they had danced on the eighteenth birth 
 day of Ratu Tanito, Katubua called his 
 son to him, and said : 
 
 " My son, shall my line end with 
 you ?" 
 
 Ratu Tanito answered : " Not so, my 
 father, for I will marry." 
 
 Then the king said : " Ratu Tanito, 
 choose a wife, observing these three re 
 quirements: First, that she be young; 
 second, that she be strong; and, third, 
 that she be obedient." 
 
 " My father," replied the young man, 
 "is it not also a requirement that she 
 be beautiful?" 
 
 The king answered : " Obedience is 
 beauty." 
 
 " Tui Viti," said Ratu Tanito, " I have 
 chosen a wife. She is young, for she was 
 born on the day I first stood erect. She 
 is strong, for she can abide the grasp of 
 my hand without flinching. She is obe- 
 98 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 dient, for she has honored her parents. 
 And she is beautiful as the day and love 
 ly as the night. When I see her my 
 heart is as a basin in which the springs 
 surge hotly up and fall back in tumult." 
 
 "Who is the maiden?" said the king. 
 
 " Her name is Ekesa," the youth re 
 plied. " She dwells in Vanua Levu, 
 and is the daughter of Savenaka, its 
 king." 
 
 "Have you spoken to her of love?" 
 the king asked. 
 
 " No," said Ratu Tanito. 
 
 " Go and speak with her concerning 
 her parents," said the king. 
 
 Tui Katubua having thus command 
 ed, Ratu Tanito departed by night in 
 his canoe to Vanua Levu. And on a 
 day he returned, and his brow was clear; 
 and he came before the king, and said : 
 " Tui Viti, I have performed your com- 
 99 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 mands, and have spoken with the maid 
 en Ekesa concerning her parents." 
 
 The king received the words of Ratu 
 Tanito, and, looking on his son, said : 
 " Abide now with me, and at the end of 
 seven days go again to the maiden, and 
 speak with her concerning war and com 
 bats with the shark." And Ratu Tani 
 to did as he was commanded, and re 
 turned with a clear brow, and said : 
 " My father, I have done according to 
 your commands." 
 
 And again the king commanded him 
 to abide for seven days, and, returning 
 to the maiden, to speak with her con 
 cerning the gods. And it was done as 
 he commanded. 
 
 Then said Tui Katubua, " Go now, 
 my son, and speak with the maiden con 
 cerning the government of men." And 
 Ratu Tanito departed, and came to 
 Vanua Levu. 
 
 100 
 
RATU TANITO S 
 
 But when he returned thence his brow 
 was clouded and his eyes were angry, 
 and as he reached his father s presence 
 he stepped with a firm step. " So now, 
 my son," said the king, "your canoe 
 has met with a mischance and has been 
 dashed against a rock." 
 
 " Not so," the young man replied ; 
 "my canoe is safe, O father." 
 
 " I grieve, O my son," said the father, 
 " that your safe departure has been op 
 posed by the King of Vanua Levu, and 
 that he has sought to make you a pris 
 oner, for our vengeance will fall heavily 
 upon his people." 
 
 " Savenaka, King of Vanua Levu, has 
 nowise impeded my departure from his 
 island," said the youth, " nor has he 
 known of my presence there." 
 
 " And yet anger sits above your eyes," 
 said the old king. 
 
 Then Ratu Tanito composed his feat- 
 
 IOI 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 ures, and said to his father : " Forget, 
 my father, that I have given way to 
 anger because of a trifle. Ekesa, the 
 maiden of whom I spoke, has said a 
 foolish thing, and, recollecting it, my 
 spirit was disturbed." 
 
 " And what said the maiden ?" 
 
 " Truly, she is of opinion that women 
 are of equal spirit and understanding 
 with men, and should divide the gov 
 ernment of human affairs with them. 
 I think such were her words, but of a 
 verity I heard not certainly, being much 
 provoked, and having driven my foot 
 against a root as we walked." 
 
 "Then you have quarrelled with the 
 maiden?" said Tui Katubua. 
 
 " No," said Ratu Tanito, " I am not a 
 woman. I forebore to answer her, and 
 after she had spoken for a time, and had 
 sworn she would marry no. man who 
 held himself her superior, I left her." 
 
 IO2 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 Then said Tui Katubua: "Go now, 
 my son, and take war canoes, and fetch 
 Ekesa before me !" 
 
 " The king commands," said Ratu 
 Tanito. " But, father, I no longer wish 
 to marry the girl ; and the gods forbid 
 that she should come to harm at my 
 hands !" 
 
 " No harm shall come to her," said 
 Katubua. " Do you as I command." 
 
 Accordingly, Ratu Tanito took war 
 canoes and went to Vanua Levu and 
 bore away Ekesa by force. And, re 
 turning to Viti Levu, he brought her 
 before his father, who sat in state, sur 
 rounded by his chiefs and priests. And 
 seeing this array about her, as though 
 to judge her, Ekesa s eye flashed, and 
 she looked defiantly at King Katubua. 
 " Mighty monarch," she cried, " do not 
 fear me ; do not surround yourself with 
 103 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 your chiefs. I mean you no harm, and, 
 indeed, have come here against my will, 
 being brought a prisoner by this youth, 
 one of your people. Set me free, and 
 chastise him, and my father Savenaka 
 will thank you and be your brother." 
 
 " It is my son, Ratu Tanito, who 
 brings you here," said Katubua. 
 
 "Are you Ratu Tanito?" cried the 
 princess, turning to the young man. 
 And she exclaimed, with double force : 
 " Then you are the greater traitor!" 
 
 "Maiden," said King Katubua, "be 
 assured. No harm shall befall you. Yet 
 it has come to our ears that in Vanua 
 Levu the women are the equal of the 
 men, and as this seems a strange thing 
 to us we have desired to see it, tested, 
 and especially to inquire whether the 
 women of Vanua Levu are the equals 
 of the men in Viti Levu. For that rea 
 son we have sent to bring you here. 
 104 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 And we will propose to you three tests, 
 which if you answer rightly and justly 
 you shall depart home in safety, and we 
 will offer you gifts ; and, moreover, you 
 shall lead my son home with you to be 
 your slave, as a reparation for the wrong 
 done you. This I swear to you ; and he 
 shall compete with you in the tests." 
 
 Whereat the princess cried out. 
 
 " He is ignorant what they are to be," 
 said the king. " Tis a fair match. Be 
 hold, he is as much surprised as you 
 are." 
 
 " And if if I lose?" said Ekesa. 
 
 " You shall marry him," said the king. 
 
 Then the king said : " Princess, are 
 you ready for the first test ?" 
 
 " But," said Ekesa, " I have not yet 
 accepted your conditions." 
 
 " Ratu Tanito," said the king, " be 
 hold your wife." 
 
 "Nay!" cried the princess, "I am in 
 105 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 your power. Propose to me your tests, 
 and let your son prepare for a life of 
 slavery." 
 
 Katubua thereupon caused two tur 
 tle s eggs to be laid before the princess, 
 and said : " Maiden, of these two eggs 
 which will bring forth a male turtle and 
 which a female? This is the first test 
 that we propose to you." 
 
 At this the princess crossed her arms 
 upon her breast and laughed scornfully. 
 " This is a test of folly, not of wisdom," 
 she said. " Not all the men in the world 
 could declare of which of these two eggs 
 should be born a male turtle and which 
 a female." 
 
 But Ratu Tanito stepped forward 
 quickly, and took the eggs into his 
 hand and crushed them. " Of neither," 
 he said. 
 
 Then Katubua said : " Maiden, though 
 106 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 in truth the question seemed idle, yet 
 the youth is right, for a man must know 
 when to act." 
 
 Next there were brought forth two 
 bowls, each covered with a mat of woven 
 grass. And Katubua said : " This is the 
 second test. Of these two bowls choose 
 that which is full of water." 
 
 Ekesa trembled, but quickly stretched 
 out her hand and laid it on the nearest 
 bowl, saying : "This is it." 
 
 " Choose you, now," said the king to 
 Ratu Tanito. 
 
 But Ratu Tanito crossed his arms 
 upon his breast and said : " Not so ; for 
 who shall say that both bowls are not 
 empty ?" 
 
 Then the king drew away the mats 
 of woven grass, and both bowls were 
 empty. " Maiden," said Katubua, " the 
 youth is right, for a man should know 
 when to speak." 
 
 107 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Then Ekesa bit her lip, and said, 
 " You juggle with me." 
 
 " Yet," said Katubua, " the youth has 
 detected our jugglery. But here is the 
 third test, and perhaps you will still win 
 him for a slave. Which loves a child 
 better his father, or she who bore 
 him ?" 
 
 Ekesa s eyes flashed, and she drew 
 herself up. " Of a truth, she who bore 
 him," she cried. 
 
 Ratu Tanito turned and looked upon 
 the girl, and slowly there came into his 
 flashing eyes a tender light, but he did 
 not speak. 
 
 At this Ekesa called to the king: 
 "Tui Viti, he does not speak!" 
 
 "And he is right," said the king. 
 " For a man should know when to be 
 silent." 
 
 Then Ekesa stamped her foot, and 
 cried aloud, in bitterness : " It was a 
 108 
 
RATU TANITO S WOOING 
 
 trap ! You have warned him what an 
 swers he should make, and have plotted 
 between you to shame me! Shame 
 rather on you, Tui Katubua!" 
 
 Ratu Tanito strode to her side and 
 caught her by the wrist and said : " Go 
 back to your people! I will none of 
 you. You have dishonored my father. 
 Go back to your people ! Make a way 
 there for the princess !" he shouted to 
 the crowd. " Make a canoe ready, and 
 set her on the shores of Yanua Levu." 
 
 But Ekesa s eyes fell, and she did not 
 move; only stood in her place trembling. 
 
 Then Katubua said : " Ekesa, my 
 daughter, the philosopher Raveniza has 
 asked : When should a woman disobey 
 her husband ? " 
 
 And Ekesa lifted her tearful eyes and 
 answered : " Never, O my father, save 
 when he bids her leave him !" 
 109 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 And of the union of Ekesa and of 
 Ratu Tanito was born the great King 
 Ratu Cakau, whom men called the Seat 
 of Justice, and also Vunivalu, the Root 
 of War. 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 " UPON my word," said Eugenia, sud 
 denly flushing up, " I should like to 
 know what you know about it." 
 
 " Eugenia," I cried, in surprise, " you 
 don t mean to tell me you are rang 
 ing yourself on the side of the modern 
 woman ?" 
 
 " I hope I belong to my century," said 
 Eugenia. 
 
 At this I laughed. It wasn t an un 
 pleasant laugh ; it was as glad and cheer 
 ful a laugh as any woman who doesn t 
 insist on humming-birds need ask. It 
 was a healthy masculine laugh. 
 
 " Why, my dear," I said, " I fell in love 
 
 H 113 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 with you because you were such a typ 
 ical old-fashioned girl." 
 
 Upon this Eugenia trained herself 
 upon me, so to speak, and in so doing 
 slapped the top of her parasol into a 
 cherry branch. She then spoke at point- 
 blank range. 
 
 " Please repeat your original proposi 
 tion," she said, incisively. 
 
 " It was merely a statement of fact, * 
 I replied. " I said that the modern wom 
 an didn t appeal to me. I may add that 
 I had some hopes that this sentiment 
 would appeal to you." 
 
 " Ah," said Eugenia, " will you please 
 look and see what has happened to my 
 parasol?" 
 
 " I trust," said I, disentangling it, " that 
 you don t intend to set up as a modern 
 woman to punish me." 
 
 The only answer Eugenia returned to 
 this was to say : " I believe you expect 
 114 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 me to expect you at ten to-morrow 
 don t you?" 
 
 This was ominous. But far above my 
 apprehension of coming danger rose my 
 sense of personal indignity. Of course 
 I knew as well as you do that the mod 
 ern woman was only a stalking-horse 
 that I might have lauded her to the 
 skies, and Eugenia would have been just 
 as much offended and that my real 
 crime, whatever it was, was something 
 entirely different. There are times, how 
 ever, when the contemplation of the fact 
 that the feminine system of justice is 
 neither retributive nor remedial becomes 
 irritating. I know nothing more demor 
 alizing than to be given a perfectly ir 
 relevant punishment for an absolutely 
 indefinite offence. For the moment I 
 felt a rebellious inclination to declare for 
 the modern woman and all her works, 
 provided only that business intercourse 
 "5 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 should be one of them. But I said noth 
 ing. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast I re 
 ceived a note from Eugenia. It was 
 couched in the sweetest possible terms, 
 and gave me to understand that the af 
 fliction of a blinding headache made it 
 impossible for her to go rowing with me. 
 At eleven, accordingly, I saw her driv 
 ing down Main Street, radiant, with 
 Philippus Foster. 
 
 " Come," I said to myself, " things are 
 not so bad as they seem, after all ! Now 
 I see my way to an explanation." 
 
 So I remonstrated with Eugenia, and 
 Eugenia opened her eyes very wide and 
 said, " But you must be mistaken. I was 
 in the house all day with a headache." 
 
 I gasped. " I am to disbelieve my 
 eyes !" I cried. 
 
 " Certainly, when I tell you to !" And 
 Eugenia stamped her foot and frowned. 
 116 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 When it is very clear I can see the sun. 
 " I obey," I said. Upon which Euge 
 nia smiled so charmingly that (I beg 
 your pardon, but the fact is necessary 
 to my narrative) I became bolder than 
 I ever had before, and to my utter sur 
 prise I found the atmosphere so benign 
 that I forgot about the explanation. 
 
 That evening, at the Kebo Valley 
 Club, Eugenia treated me as if I were 
 non-existent, and Philippus Foster as if 
 he were the central planet of the uni 
 verse. 
 
 So I said to myself, " If this is a game, 
 let us see if I cannot draw cards." And 
 I amused myself after the usual fashion 
 of retaliators. 
 
 The next day I received a note from 
 Eugenia, this time plaintive, asking why 
 I neglected her so cruelly. 
 
 The state of bewildered indignation 
 into which this threw me was not light- 
 117 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 ened by the sudden consciousness that 
 I was painfully anxious for the society 
 of the author of this outrage that it 
 was an imperative necessity that I should 
 see her at once. 
 
 I found her with her hat on and a 
 basket on her arm. 
 
 " I am going to visit the poor," she 
 said, with a sweet and serious look at 
 me. 
 
 "In Bar Harbor!" was all I could 
 gasp. 
 
 " And have we no duties in Bar Har 
 bor?" Eugenia said, turning her eyes 
 towards heaven. 
 
 "Yes; but where are you going to 
 find the poor ?" I cried, desperately. 
 
 "The oppressed, the untaught, the be 
 nighted Indians !" sighed Eugenia. 
 
 If you will believe me, she made me 
 escort her to the Indian village, where 
 she solemnly distributed jellies and med- 
 
 118 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 icines to those immemorial frauds upon 
 the conscience of the white man. And 
 when this ceremony was over, and I be 
 trayed a pardonable inclination for de 
 parture, Eugenia halted me. 
 
 "And are you going to give them 
 nothing?" she said, reproachfully. 
 
 I had nothing to give but money. 
 
 On the way home Eugenia was pen 
 sive. At last she turned to me and 
 said, thoughtfully, "And yet, can we 
 ever be sure that our charity is bestowed 
 on deserving recipients ?" 
 
 " We cannot," said I, grimly. " And," 
 I continued, " permit me to beg, Euge 
 nia, that you will inform me once for 
 all" 
 
 But Eugenia interrupted me. " Both 
 er the old Indians !" she said. And she 
 smiled an exquisite smile, and threw the 
 basket into a clump of huckleberry 
 bushes. " Now," she said, with irresist- 
 119 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 ible self-satisfaction, " let us talk about 
 Me." 
 
 The next move in this comedy, the 
 drift of which I was beginning dimly to 
 perceive, was that Eugenia sent a copy 
 of verses to the village paper, which 
 printed them over her signature, and 
 accompanied them by a flattering edi 
 torial. 
 
 They were addressed to Bald Porcu 
 pine, and began : 
 
 " Distant islet of the deep, 
 
 While I hymn thy praise, 
 Let me on thy rocky steep 
 Ever, ever gaze." 
 
 I forbear to quote further. But hav 
 ing perpetrated this indignity, she in 
 flicted on me a worse torture yet. Have 
 you ever seen Eugenia, that woman of 
 sense, affect the airs of a Lydia Lan 
 guish? The most amusing sight in the 
 
 120 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 world ; but, oh, it was death to me ! She 
 lisped the whole twelve verses of that 
 infamous production to Philippus Fos 
 ter at dinner at the Moxons , looking out 
 of the corner of her eye at me the while ; 
 and when he told her it was superior to 
 Milton, by heavens ! she took it seri 
 ously. 
 
 After dinner I said to her, in a hoarse 
 undertone, "Are you aware there may 
 be people in this world who don t un 
 derstand you are joking?" 
 
 " Hush !" said Eugenia. And she 
 brushed her hand against mine. "Take 
 me out on the porch." 
 
 I fell. I obeyed. I was putty in her 
 hands. The next day, if I had had any 
 sense, I should have gone up the coast 
 to Nova Scotia. Instead, I stayed away 
 for twenty-four miserable hours. Then 
 I wavered. 
 
 There was a gleam in Eugenia s eye ; 
 
 121 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 but she turned it out immediately, and 
 ordered me to accompany her to market. 
 At the provision store she floated up 
 to the counter, and in a heavenly voice 
 asked for a quart of mutton chops. 
 
 After the confusion occasioned by 
 this had subsided, she said, complacent 
 ly, " Now I shall go to bank." 
 
 She handed in a check to the cashier, 
 who asked her to endorse it. 
 
 " Why, isn t it all right ?" 
 
 The cashier explained. 
 
 "But it says, Pay to me," said Eu 
 genia, " and I think it is very strange. 
 We have been coming to Bar Harbor 
 for years, and my father will be very 
 annoyed really, you know, when one 
 has grown up here and it is only for 
 ten dollars." 
 
 I was as red as a beet, but Eugenia 
 looked so bewitching that the cashier, 
 in huge delight at being treated so con- 
 
 122 
 
OLD AND NEW 
 
 fidentially, prolonged his explanations 
 until even the little wretch herself grew 
 tired, and contented herself with endors 
 ing the check on the wrong end. Then 
 she turned to go ; shaking and in deadly 
 fear I accompanied her. Suddenly she 
 gave a scream: "A mouse!" she cried. 
 " There! there!" 
 
 With a bound I leaped forward and 
 planted my foot firmly on the empty 
 board. 
 
 " Where is it ?" cried the bystanders, 
 hurrying up. 
 
 I kicked the imaginary corpse under 
 the counter, and, leaving the gaping 
 crowd to search for it, hurried Eugenia 
 away. 
 
 " Eugenia," I said, sternly, " it is time 
 for this masquerade to end." 
 
 " I think I have had my fun out of 
 it," she said, laughing most abominably. 
 
 " I admit," said I, politely, " that you 
 123 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 have proved that the modern woman is 
 easier to get along with." 
 
 " Exactly," she said. 
 
 " But," I continued, " you have also 
 proved that the old-fashioned woman is 
 infinitely more intoxicating." 
 
 " Precisely," said Eugenia. 
 
 " Well, then," said I, triumphant, " will 
 you kindly inform me what you did 
 mean to prove ?" 
 
 " I meant," said Eugenia, dimpling, 
 "to show you how ignorant you were." 
 
 Since then I have taken what I could 
 get and been thankful. 
 124 
 
VERSES 
 
A VALENTINE TO A CHILD 
 
 SOME day, my dear Miss, I shall call 
 
 for you 
 In a light, light balloon just made for 
 
 two, 
 And drawn by three wild swans in a 
 
 row, 
 
 With golden harness on for show; 
 And the car will be painted a shim 
 mering green 
 
 With silver fancies all in between ; 
 There will be advertisements of our 
 
 ascension, 
 
 And glittering banners to call attention. 
 And just as the clock strikes twelve, 
 
 my dear, 
 On the very tiptop of the roof you ll 
 
 appear, 
 
 127 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 And stand in a flowery carpeted place, 
 Amidst the applause of the populace; 
 And there ll be complimentary bands 
 
 to play 
 
 As you step in the car and ride away. 
 And I shall be dressed like a fairy prince ; 
 I shall smell of bergamot, musk, and 
 
 quince, 
 
 With a scarlet cap and silken hose, 
 And a talisman hidden where no one 
 
 knows ; 
 I will rise with a smile and make you 
 
 a bow, 
 Then you ll courtesy as deep as the 
 
 car will allow ; 
 Then you ll shake out your skirts and 
 
 sit down beside me 
 On a jewelled seat, which will be sup. 
 
 plied me. 
 You will drive with a pair of silken 
 
 reins, 
 
 And not appear to be taking pains ; 
 128 
 
VERSES 
 
 And the swans will make three dips 
 
 and a bend, 
 And then fly straight unto the end. 
 
 PYTHIAS ON DAMON S BETROTHAL- 
 RING 
 
 AH ! magic circle, here we see 
 
 The symbol of eternity, 
 
 With no beginning and no end 
 
 An idle symbol, O my friend ! 
 
 Eternity begins to-day, 
 
 And ended only yesterday. 
 
 For our eternities are double, 
 
 The birth of joy, the end of trouble, 
 
 And each new day shall only add 
 
 Eternities both new and glad. 
 
BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 "OPEN, O GATES OF HORN!" 
 
 OPEN, O gates of Horn ! and let the 
 
 dream, 
 
 Timid as he who begs its aid, 
 Slip through, nor still delay its flight 
 
 To that unwakened maid 
 For whom I long; oh, give it chance 
 
 to try 
 
 If to her pillowed cheek it can 
 A tinge faint-flushing as the glimmer 
 
 bring 
 
 Of dawns Elysian, 
 As in her ear it whispers low the tale 
 
 Of how I love, and how I wake, 
 And how my heart will, till I see her 
 
 face, 
 
 No comfort take; 
 Or in her breath, soft watchman with 
 
 the night, 
 
 If unsuspected it may stir 
 130 
 
VERSES 
 
 A hastening sigh, unto her waking 
 
 dreams 
 
 To be my minister, 
 As with suggestions tender it beguiles 
 Her heart that now unguarded lies, 
 And weaves reproaching piteous im 
 ages 
 
 Into her closed eyes. 
 Open, O gates of Horn ! and if it fail, 
 
 If she untroubled wake at morn, 
 Silent it will steal back among the 
 
 mists, 
 Like me forlorn. 
 
 THE USUAL REACTION 
 
 CAN this be I who on the stool 
 Of silent meditation sit, 
 
 In all the club the only fool 
 Who frank confesses it? 
 131 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 And John, who quickly at my hand 
 
 The solitary beaker sets, 
 Does he my silence understand ? 
 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 Unheeded pass the gay and free 
 
 Who still bloom sportive on the 
 
 stem 
 I wonder is the change in me, 
 
 Or can it be in them ? 
 No longer in the window I 
 
 Among them book my little bets ; 
 They look on me with pitying eye 
 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 Is Raceland scratched? Is Tenny 
 
 lame? 
 
 In faith, I do not care a rap; 
 Alone I stand outside the game, 
 
 A melancholy chap. 
 Here fall together aces four, 
 
 There spin the ravishing roulettes; 
 132 
 
VERSES 
 
 Alas ! for me they spin no more 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 From her barouche on Union Square 
 
 A killing glance Carlotta threw, 
 And I could only dumbly stare, 
 
 Carlotta, dear, at you. 
 The light which shed such radiant 
 
 tints, 
 And shone round all you sweet pou- 
 
 Iettes 9 
 Seems somehow to have vanished 
 
 since 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 There was a day, there was a night, 
 They blended, and you reigned o er 
 
 both; 
 And bankrupt I could follow, light 
 
 Of heart and nothing loath. 
 To-day is only one day long, 
 To-day I send you my regrets, 
 133 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 To-day has one depressing song 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 too insatiate moral law, 
 
 Why thus upon my system act ? 
 Who swears to live without a flaw, 
 
 Need he do so in fact? 
 Yet from the rosy-fingered band 
 
 Not one appeal my fancy whets ; 
 
 1 can t forget I m married, and 
 I ve paid my debts. 
 
 From Puck 
 
 THALIA S VIEW OF IT 
 
 (WITH HOMAGE TO MR. ALDRICH) 
 
 A MIDDLE-AGED lyrical Poet is sup 
 posed to have taken final leave of the 
 Muse of Comedy. He has put on his 
 hat and gloves, and is walking slowly 
 away down a winding road without 
 134 
 
VERSES 
 
 looking back. She gazes wistfully after 
 him as she speaks: 
 
 "When were December and May- 
 Known to be happy together?" 
 
 That is what all of them say, 
 Each at the end of his tether. 
 
 Yes ! when too heavy the dew 
 
 Drops from the firs on the mountain, 
 
 Or the rhyme fails to fall true, 
 
 When noon laughs low by the foun 
 tain. 
 
 When once the lark pipes too long, 
 Or the lute too loud is thrumming, 
 
 Then things begin to grow wrong, 
 The poor Muse knows what is com 
 ing ! 
 
 Fearful his kisses grow tame, 
 Fearful his verses grow tamer ; 
 135 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Each at the height of his fame 
 Wakes Muse and Mistress to shame 
 her. 
 
 Ere she has time to protest 
 The pine shakes lonely above her, 
 
 And he is gone with the rest 
 Gone to grow old is her lover. 
 
 Since it is better to part, 
 
 I take his rose for my laurel ; 
 
 Treasure his face in my heart 
 Tis not with him that I quarrel. 
 
 O moil why cannot my kiss 
 Bestow the guerdon denied me? 
 
 All the rhymes gladly I d miss 
 To keep my lovers beside me. 
 
 Dear hearts ! their verses will live 
 That was what they made their 
 prayer for ; 
 
 136 
 
VERSES 
 
 That is the guerdon I give 
 But it is love that I care for! 
 
 Time, as he passes by me, 
 
 Cheats them because they are hu 
 man ; 
 Where is the one who will see 
 
 That I am only a woman ? 
 
 Where is the poet who will 
 
 Trust that I never can doubt him ? 
 Nor can Death conquer him till 
 
 I take my arms from about him. 
 
 Farewell ! no more to the grove 
 Your step turns willing and certain. 
 
 Farewell ! no longer we rove 
 
 Where night draws her purple cur 
 tain. 
 
 Farewell ! but Hist ! did you hear, 
 Clio, the doves in a flurry? 
 137 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 A stranger young fair draws near ! 
 Run, leave me, you goose ! hide ! 
 hurry ! 
 
 From the Times 
 
 A RECEIPT FOR AN IDYL 
 
 WHEN bosky June is at her height, 
 
 And various blossoms blooming, 
 Take a thick grove with wild flowers 
 dight 
 
 Adorned by beetles booming. 
 Induce therein a man and maid 
 
 He carrying shawls and wrappings ; 
 And neath some tree s convenient 
 shade, 
 
 Let him outspread the trappings. 
 
 She should be pretty, sweet and fond, 
 
 And given much to pursing 
 Of lips o er little thoughts she s con 
 ned, 
 
 And quaint conceits she s nursing, 
 138 
 
VERSES 
 
 He should be handsome, de bonnaire, 
 A trifle shrewd and witty ; 
 
 Of course aux petit s soins with the fair 
 No rustic, but from city. 
 
 There let them talk: throw in a spice 
 
 Of conscious affectation; 
 Flavor with flirting, speeches nice, 
 
 And bashful hesitation. 
 A little glove for her to twirl, 
 
 A rose for her to finger 
 He should her parasol unfurl, 
 
 And o er her bangles linger. 
 
 A bird is needed overhead, 
 
 A streamlet near them flowing; 
 Her cheek might be a trifle red, 
 
 His smile amused be growing. 
 Then, when at dusk the careless breeze 
 
 Fails with the light diminished, 
 As home they loiter through the trees 
 
 You ll find your idyl finished. 
 139 
 
BOBBO " AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 A SEQUITUR TO AN IDYL 
 
 A LITTLE headache in the morn, 
 
 A little pensive yearning, 
 As curl and blister slow the torn 
 
 And crumpled leaves she s burning; 
 She thinks she ll ne er get over it 
 
 Was he the only sinner ? 
 While through her head, grief-stricken, 
 flit 
 
 Consoling thoughts of dinner. 
 
 He puffs a pipe his wrath t assuage, 
 
 His hands deep thrust in pockets ; 
 He calls her jilt, and thinks with rage 
 
 On wasted flowers and lockets. 
 Thus dolefully the morning goes 
 
 For this poor frowning smoker ; 
 A friend drops in to hear his woes 
 
 They take a hand at poker. 
 140 
 
VERSES 
 
 O summer days ! O summer gales ! 
 
 Your whispers are deceiving ! 
 The vows we swear by ocean s sails 
 
 Are rarely worth believing; 
 The dryads in their leafy haunts 
 
 Hear oaths that never bind us ; 
 And when we go on summer jaunts 
 
 We leave our hearts behind us. 
 
 DOUBT 
 
 THE narrow teachings of a formal 
 
 school 
 
 Impugn my better self with carnal ill, 
 
 Dictating me unable to fulfil 
 
 A perfect nature but by stubborn rule. 
 
 My toil of reformation, then, must draw 
 
 To its conclusion on a beaten track 
 
 But who can pause in labor, and look 
 
 back 
 
 And joy to miss all blemishes he saw? 
 141 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 How can my soul eternity contain, 
 Perverted by this tarnishment of 
 
 earth? 
 And how can it possess a patent 
 
 worth, 
 By mortal touch so soon debased 
 
 again ? 
 Show me my soul, O Lord ! that I 
 
 may see 
 If truly it is fit to live with thee. 
 
 A REPUBLIC 
 
 DESPAIRING strength has left her si 
 lent limbs, 
 To gather reckless in those straining 
 
 eyes, 
 That search the dimpled ocean and 
 
 the skies, 
 
 Where autumn brightness in the azure 
 swims. 
 
 142 
 
VERSES 
 
 Ask her to gladden with each loosened 
 
 sail 
 
 That swells on her hereditary seas ? 
 Ask her to sing with every harvest 
 
 breeze 
 
 That blows fair increase to her peo 
 ple s pale, 
 While, fat and gluttonous, the shiny 
 
 Beast, 
 The loathly thing, Corruption, stark 
 
 and fell, 
 Rolling entanglement from nether 
 
 hell 
 Through easy deeps, will on her make 
 
 its feast? 
 O Freedom chained ! down dropping 
 
 to the wave, 
 
 No Perseus swings a Gorgon s head 
 to save! 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 NEW YEAR S DAY 
 
 THE old year goes. Could we delay it, 
 And respite of our future borrow, 
 
 With what affection would / stay it, 
 And linger with you here, 
 For Sorrow s sake, my dear, 
 For very sorrow ! 
 
 Alas I tis not the year that s from us 
 
 flying 
 
 Tis we that move ! 
 And must we leave old times a-dying, 
 While we to follow Time are trying? 
 Shall we new hearts new-mould for 
 
 newer sighing? 
 Shall we new pleasures with new life 
 
 be buying? 
 
 No ! let our hearts stay here, 
 For friendship s sake, my dear, 
 For very love ! 
 144 
 
VERSES 
 
 SONG. (From "CHARLEMAGNE") 
 Emma (on the balcony} . 
 
 YOUNG Time sprang up when the 
 
 world was made 
 Somewhere he had been waiting 
 And he looked with delight on the 
 
 world displayed, 
 Its joys anticipating. 
 He must outlive Life, for he held 
 
 Life s measure 
 He thought that he d outlast Life for 
 
 pleasure 
 So at once he began, on Life s first 
 
 plan 
 For the entertainment of beast and 
 
 man, , 
 By falling in love, as his first sands 
 
 ran, 
 
 With the two nymphs, Haste and 
 Leisure. 
 K 145 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 For they had been sporting on his 
 
 track, 
 
 While Leisure coy behind him 
 Crept slyly along, brisk Haste looked 
 
 back, 
 
 Appearing surprised to find him 
 So slow when his chances were just 
 
 beginning, 
 
 As if his hairs were already thinning ; 
 But Leisure s smile had a pleasing 
 
 wile, 
 So he slackened his pace for about 
 
 a mile, 
 
 Then tarried for a little while, 
 Bent on her kisses winning. 
 
 But Leisure thought that Time would 
 
 keep, 
 
 So she did as Nature told her: 
 She improved the occasion by going 
 
 to sleep, 
 
 While Haste began to scold her. 
 146 
 
VERSES 
 
 But Time thought otherwise back he 
 
 stepped then, 
 But the nearer he drew the deeper she 
 
 slept then ; 
 So somewhat hurt, he called her a 
 
 flirt, 
 He left the nymph with blessing 
 
 curt, 
 And seeing that Haste looked gay 
 
 and pert 
 To gain her side he leaped then. 
 
 But Haste responded to Nature s call, 
 
 And as soon as Time had started, 
 While Leisure rose to gain lost Time 
 
 Like a meteor Haste departed. 
 But Time was provoked at her rude 
 
 transition 
 
 It somewhat soured his disposition 
 So till this day, as people say, 
 He journeys straight the self-same 
 gait; 
 
 147 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 While Haste is dancing on before, 
 Still too impatient to wait, as of 
 
 yore, 
 Leisure can never catch up to him 
 
 more, 
 
 Yet goes on trying to mend her con 
 dition. 
 
 SONG. (From "CHARLEMAGNE") 
 Eginhard: 
 
 ONCE a maiden wandered where the 
 
 rushes thicken ; 
 Young she was, and sweet she was, 
 
 and coy was she, 
 Calling Father Time his lagging steps 
 
 to quicken, 
 
 So that she the sooner might her 
 lover see. 
 
 And it s hasten, Father Time ! 
 And it s hurry, Father Time ! 
 148 
 
VERSES 
 
 Time, you re always in the wrong, I m 
 
 sure ; 
 You make us lovers wait too long, I m 
 
 sure. 
 
 Emma : 
 
 Once a youth stood watching autumn 
 
 leaves a-falling; 
 Slow he was, and sad he was, and 
 
 fond was he ; 
 He held a little hand in his the while 
 
 he kept a-calling 
 
 To Father Time, who strode along 
 relentlessly. 
 
 And it s tarry, Father Time ! 
 And it s slower, Father Time ! 
 Time, you re always in the wrong, I m 
 
 sure; 
 
 You never give us lovers long, I m 
 sure. 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 SONG. (From " CHARLEMAGNE ") 
 
 Egmhard (under the window) : 
 
 To name the half of all that stirs 
 Beneath the ocean s changing tide, 
 
 To guess what strange created things 
 Within the earth do bide, 
 
 Such marvels Heaven alone can trace, 
 
 Inspired strains alone embrace. 
 
 So love has depths that none declare, 
 And breadths that mortals none 
 have spanned, 
 
 For it is deeper than the sea 
 And wider than the land. 
 
 Therefore, what marvels in it move 
 
 I cannot tell when I name Love. 
 
VERSES 
 
 SERENADE. (From " CHARLEMAGNE ") 
 
 I WILL not ask the wintry gale 
 
 In numbers to be sighing, 
 Soft as if April to my tale 
 
 A burden were replying ; 
 I will not ask that it shall take 
 
 To where my love lies sleeping, 
 This, this my song, until she wake 
 
 Its echo for her keeping. 
 
 I will not ask a dream to steal 
 
 Beneath those eyelids tender, 
 And to the sleeper so reveal 
 
 The message I would send her; 
 Messenger dream nor gale shall be 
 
 Swift to her pillow freighting 
 Because I know too well that she 
 
 Wakes, and is yonder waiting! 
 
BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 DIANA OF THE KNICKERBOCKERS 
 
 I 
 
 MOST mannish goddess, tailor-made 
 
 and straight, 
 Your classic limbs unclassically skirt- 
 
 ed, 
 
 With upright head, clear eye, and fear 
 less gait, 
 
 A bunch of roses at your breast in 
 serted, 
 
 II 
 
 You pace the city: from the groves 
 
 to you 
 Shepherds, pipes, pastorals, poets 
 
 have seceded 
 
 Like Liberty herself, you re parvenue, 
 Mistress, which means, like her, you 
 have succeeded. 
 152 
 
VERSES 
 
 III 
 
 Leaving what hills, why love you here 
 
 the flags? 
 Whence runs your blood, so cold, 
 
 and yet so splendid? 
 A huntress, you to dog-carts and to 
 
 drags, 
 
 Say, have the hamadryads all de 
 scended ? 
 
 IV 
 
 The anxious fawn from no cool spring 
 
 is fled 
 That fears your arrows in the chase 
 
 unerring, 
 When the red sun burns all the sky 
 
 to red 
 I doubt if quite so early you are 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 V 
 And yet the spring flows cold from 
 
 faucets, too, 
 White gleam your shoulders out of 
 
 tulle and laces, 
 As through the branches they should 
 
 gleam did you 
 
 Some day return to woods again, 
 and chases. 
 
 VI 
 
 I half expect it ; but you ll longer 
 
 stay 
 
 To ride, and fence, and play at ten 
 nis, won t you ? 
 Themselves the shepherds rise at break 
 
 of day 
 
 No more and you prefer the club 
 men, don t you? 
 154 
 
VERSES 
 
 VII 
 
 Yes, stay. Far be the quiver from 
 
 your back 
 Still wear dressed boots instead of 
 
 thongs and sandals, 
 Still chaff with actors, call Actaeon 
 
 "Jack," 
 
 And laugh I wish you wouldn t, 
 though at scandals. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Kind you may be, to whom the world 
 
 is kind, 
 And generous, who never lacked a 
 
 penny ; 
 I leave that score to any you may 
 
 find 
 
 Apologist for you the fools are 
 many. 
 
 155 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 IX 
 
 I don t apologize: the world must move. 
 I hate the things which most de 
 lightful strike you ; 
 My soul revolts at what you most 
 
 approve, 
 
 But, O Diana! oh, how much I like 
 you ! 
 
 From Puck. 
 
 AFTER CHURCH 
 
 UNDER lattice, arch, and gable, 
 Up and down the Sunday street, 
 When the congregations meet, 
 
 Much I love to follow Mabel. 
 
 Much I love the sunlight glancing 
 On the ranks of new top-hats, 
 And upon a figure that s 
 
 Close in front of me advancing. 
 156 
 
VERSES 
 
 From the columns of St. Peter, 
 From the arches of St. Mark, 
 -One would say each city spark 
 
 Had run headlong here to meet her. 
 
 Can you count how many roses 
 She has fastened in her dress? 
 Of the beaux that round her press 
 
 You may count as many noses. 
 
 Each succeeding congregation s 
 Way she does in turn obstruct ; 
 There should be a viaduct 
 
 Over Mabel on occasions! 
 
 All the new top-hats are doffing, 
 All the bonnets toss again ; 
 They are always tossing when 
 
 Mabel s sighted in the offing. 
 157 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Yes, an easy first she still is, 
 Still the girl to make a stir, 
 Much I love to follow her 
 
 And to walk, myself, with Phyllis. 
 
 REMEMBERED 
 
 I WROTE you rhymes in idle times, 
 In idle times you read them ; 
 
 In sober times you now forget 
 
 The rhymes the hand that sped 
 them. 
 
 Sober, alas ! but they will pass 
 
 No day outlives the dial. 
 The jocund years go quick? Well, so, 
 
 So go the years of trial. 
 
 And then at last, when these are past, 
 Come years of rest from sighing, 
 
 158 
 
VERSES 
 
 From laughing too and then the 
 
 rhymes, 
 Which now forgot are lying, 
 
 Will still beguile a fleeting smile 
 For girlhood lapsed and rusty 
 
 A quickening thought of younger 
 
 days, 
 Ere younger hopes grew musty. 
 
 So romance goes beneath the rose, 
 Still trifles please our folly ; 
 
 And still they please our wisdomed 
 
 heads, 
 Grown white beneath the holly. 
 
 And so life goes most like the rose : 
 
 When e en the thorn is blunted, 
 Some tattered leaf still shows the 
 
 bush 
 
 Has not been always stunted. 
 159 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 RONDEAU A LA MODE 
 
 Lui : 
 LOVE is enough! 
 
 Elle: 
 
 We first must buy 
 Or build a house with ceilings high, 
 With tapestries on brazen hooks, 
 Stained window-panes and cushioned 
 
 nooks 
 
 Our china must make artists sigh. 
 Wax candles light shall soothe the 
 
 eye, 
 
 Fitted in gleaming sconces high ; 
 Brass mirrors shall reflect our looks. 
 
 Lui : 
 
 Love is enough ! 
 160 
 
VERSES 
 
 Elle : 
 
 Venetian glasses twisted wry 
 We ll have, and rugs of Moorish dye, 
 And vellum bindings on our books 
 And oh ! we ll have Parisian cooks 
 To us no Irish need apply. 
 
 Lui (feebly) - 
 
 Love is enough ! 
 
 TO MRS. 
 
 Upon the Feast of St. Valentine 
 
 THE day appears, with sudden sighs 
 And telltale looks attended, 
 
 When yielding hearts are taken prize 
 That once were well defended. 
 
 The day appears, but you no more 
 Can dread its pleasant dangers ; 
 
 L 161 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Although you knew him well before, 
 The saint and you are strangers. 
 
 No longer can he charge the breeze 
 With whispers to detain you 
 
 He lost you from his devotees 
 When first he gan to gain you. 
 
 The trees may bud, but not for you 
 He starts the sap a-flowing; 
 
 Not your contentment to undo 
 He sets the west a-glowing. 
 
 You need not fear his tender wile 
 That other breasts engages ; 
 
 He rubbed your name out quite a while 
 Ago upon his pages. 
 
 But when he passes you to-day, 
 
 Despite your dereliction, 
 He ll pause upon his busy way 
 
 To breathe a benediction. 
 162 
 
VERSES 
 
 LAUDO MANENTEM 
 
 I PRAISED her while she stayed she 
 had my heart ; 
 
 I gave it her with all good-will. 
 Now she has left me, facile to depart 
 
 I praise her still. 
 
 VARIUM ET MUTABILE 
 
 SINCE Eve s departure from Paradise 
 
 Lost, 
 
 Tho fiery swords surround it, 
 The time of your sex has been given 
 
 up 
 
 To making men think they ve found 
 it. 
 
 Such honest atonement is only just 
 But why, I beg of you, ladies, 
 163 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 As soon as you ve soothed us with 
 
 that belief, 
 
 Do you give us foreknowledge of Ha 
 des? 
 
 THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH 
 CRICKETER 
 
 (At Philadelphia, 1880) 
 
 SURE the Philadelphy cricketers are 
 
 handy wid the ball 
 Ye know how the Quakers bowling 
 
 played the divil wid us all ! 
 An they batted us thremenjus ; we 
 
 were in a purty mess 
 Yet I d be whisperin to ye the rale 
 
 truth of our distress. 
 
 Ah, bedad ! it was unmanly. To be 
 certain of our stumps, 
 
 They hatched schemes I can t for 
 give um, though they thrated us 
 like thrumps. 
 
 164 
 
VERSES 
 
 Faix, they fetched a crowd of colleens, 
 brown and fair and tall and short, 
 
 All as charming as Aurora whin she 
 holds her rosy court. 
 
 And they ranged um round the crick 
 et-field and inthrojuiced us all 
 
 May the divil fly away wid me if I 
 could see a ball! 
 
 There was one swate duck in muslin, 
 who had hair like fine-shpun gold, 
 
 Waved her handkerchief at Colthurst, 
 and next minnit he was bowled. 
 
 Every man of us fell that way. There 
 
 was Trotter, first man in, 
 Had been blarneying a darlint till I 
 
 told him twas a sin, 
 And the fielders all were ready" Ah !" 
 
 saysee, "jooce take the match!" 
 And he walked out to the wicket and 
 
 popped up an aisy catch. 
 165 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 That s the way thim Quakers served 
 
 us div ye think, now, it was fair 
 To becloud our eyes wid petticoats all 
 
 wavin in the air? 
 To relax our sturdy sinews wid the 
 
 touch of gentle hands? 
 To confuse us till we fielded slower 
 
 nor lobsters on the sands? 
 
 Twas a thrick, and that I ll sware to ! 
 
 None the less, now, niver fear, 
 We ll spend all our time colloguing 
 
 with ache purty little dear, 
 But whin we play the Merion, mind, 
 
 that s Chewsday of this wake, 
 Not a gyurl gets in to watch us Mr. 
 
 Times, you hear me shpake ! 
 
VERSES 
 
 ARCHAEOLOGY 
 
 MEN find Time s keepsakes of an age 
 
 forgot 
 
 Hid in the nooks and crannies of 
 the earth, 
 
 A flint, a statue in a buried grot, 
 And hail with reverence their second 
 birth. 
 
 They hear, while standing with un 
 covered head, 
 
 Echoes of lives whose souls perhaps 
 are dead. 
 
 But we have chanced upon a won 
 drous thing ; 
 The sweetness of a life that, slighted 
 
 there, 
 Dreamed itself over from a bygone 
 
 spring, 
 
 An idyl fresh from Arcady the fair 
 167 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 Dear, from the Golden Age our love 
 
 is lent, 
 Its heart still young, its essence still 
 
 unspent. 
 
 " How do you think it understood our 
 
 speech ? 
 How did it know us as we loitered 
 
 by? 
 Do we remind it of those two whose 
 
 reach 
 It fluttered from?" So questions 
 
 she; but I: 
 " We woke it, dear ; a sleeping beauty 
 
 this, 
 That slept and waited for us both to 
 
 kiss." 
 
 From Atlantic Monthly, Oct., 1880. 
 
VERSES 
 
 AMALA S SONG. (From " MONTEZUMA ") 
 
 LONG years ago 4 
 
 In Mexico 
 
 An ancestress of mine 
 
 Amala was her name, the legend 
 mentions 
 
 By yonder lake, 
 
 Whose waters break 
 
 Where now the temples shine, 
 
 Declined, one night, a deity s atten 
 tions : 
 
 The god Quezalcoatl ! 
 
 In vain he pressed upon her his affec 
 tion ; 
 
 She could not stand his coppery com 
 plexion. 
 
 This to a god 
 Was something odd 
 169 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 In annals Mexican, 
 Especially from such a dusky lady : 
 And for his part, 
 As much to heart 
 
 As if he d been a man 
 He took the intimation he was shady: 
 
 The god Quezalcoatl ! 
 Exclaiming, " I ll return a blond," he 
 
 hied him, 
 
 And jumped into a crater close beside 
 him. 
 
 As soon as he 
 Had left her, she 
 
 Of course became dismayed 
 That she had been so deaf to his be 
 seeching ; 
 
 And though for days 
 To watch the place 
 
 She by the crater stayed, 
 He ne er returned, and still (they say) 
 is bleaching : 
 
 170 
 
VERSES 
 
 The god Quezalcoatl ! 
 
 But he will come with golden hair re 
 splendent 
 
 To claim (they say) her loveliest de 
 scendant. 
 
 SONG. (From " MONTEZUMA ") 
 
 IN peace or war, by night or day, 
 The steady step of Sorrow 
 
 Is ever treading on the way 
 That brings with her the morrow. 
 
 And when she names her children, then, 
 Whatever the path before them, 
 
 The mother of all mortal men 
 Stands on it, waiting for them. 
 
 Farewell, my sweetheart ! Darling, since 
 
 The perils that beset me 
 Bring me to die, I die a prince, 
 
 And as a prince forget me. 
 171 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 AT THE POMME DE PIN 
 (From " FRANCOIS VILLON") 
 
 1. Chorus of Taverners 
 
 HERE at the Pomme de Pin, 
 
 His friends among, 
 Jest, ballade, and quatrain 
 
 Made he and sung. 
 
 We, whom the gallows-tree 
 
 Has waited long, 
 Were all the friends that he 
 
 Gained by his song. 
 
 2. Chorus of Taverners 
 
 The vine that Noah planted 
 Has grown up to the sky 
 
 The grapes must be enchanted, 
 They hang so wondrous high ! 
 172 
 
VERSES 
 
 The thirsty world grows sadder, 
 
 So high they hang in air; 
 We ll climb up Jacob s ladder 
 
 And press the vintage there. 
 
 j. Song of Villon 
 
 Who in Paris streets is born 
 
 Naked neath the crumbling rafter, 
 Vagrant, needy, and forlorn, 
 
 They re his world forever after. 
 Ever after they shall be 
 
 Meat and drink to him, and rai 
 ment. 
 For of life they make him free, 
 
 And they take his soul in payment. 
 
 Who in Paris streets is born 
 
 Minstrel, with the wind for mas 
 ter, 
 
 He can hold a king in scorn, 
 While his ballads flow the faster 
 173 
 
"BOBBO" AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 As he sees before him move, 
 In their pageant never ending, 
 
 Human joy and human love, 
 Human passion, all transcending. 
 
 Of that pageant e er a part, 
 
 He by turns is prince and varlet. 
 Red s the blood that warms his heart, 
 
 Though his sins should be as scarlet. 
 Nursed by them in vice and want, 
 
 These alone can ne er deceive him, 
 And for all his shrift is scant, 
 
 While he lives tis life they give him. 
 
 Who to Paris streets returns 
 
 Minstrel, with the wind for master, 
 And once more their freedom earns 
 
 Is but to them bound the faster; 
 And his song with fire shall glow, 
 
 And his heart with love be burning, 
 Since the streets that bore him know 
 
 How to pardon him returning. 
 174 
 
VERSES 
 
 BALLADE OF THE SAINT ON EARTH 
 
 (From "FRANQOIS VILLON") 
 
 I 
 
 A SAINT on earth there was long syne, 
 
 Holy, chaste, and self-denying 
 On bread and water he would dine, 
 
 To prepare himself for dying. 
 
 To this fare himself applying, 
 He, with faculties collected, 
 
 Died at last, devoutly crying, 
 "How I ll dance when resurrected!" 
 
 II 
 But ere the judgment day could shine 
 
 All the land in sin was lying, 
 And from the grave, to be a sign, 
 He was raised, repentance crying. 
 Crack ! his thin old legs went flying 
 In such gambols unexpected, 
 175 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 All the sinners ceased from sighing 
 How he danced when resurrected ! 
 
 Envoi 
 Prince, you need not think I m lying, 
 
 Sinful lives may be corrected 
 But the saints, though sin defying, 
 
 How they ll dance when resurrected ! 
 
 LES DAMES DU TEMPS JADIS 
 (From " FRANgoiS VlLLON") 
 
 Song 
 SAY in what land is Flora, she 
 
 Whom once they loved at Rome? 
 And Thais, who her twin might be, 
 
 Where makes she now her home? 
 Let echo say, that aye by mere 
 
 And river answering goes, 
 Is beauty more than mortal? Where 
 
 Are last year s snows? 
 176 
 
VERSES 
 
 And Heloi se, the fair and wise- 
 Could Abelard foresee 
 
 That love and her enthralling eyes 
 Would bring such misery? 
 
 Where is she now? And fierce and 
 
 fair, 
 Where is the queen whose foes 
 
 The silent Seine closed over? Where 
 Are last year s snows? 
 
 Where is Queen Blanche, the lily 
 white, 
 
 That like a siren sung 
 The duchess that of Maine was hight, 
 
 Dame Alice, sweet and young ; 
 And Joan of Arc, in Rouen s square 
 
 Whose soul to heaven rose. 
 Ah, Mary, Virgin Mother, where 
 
 Are last- year s snows ? 
 
 M 
 
BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 PILGRIM 
 
 HEAVEN is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I cross the mountain? 
 
 You must climb over rock and craggy 
 
 stone, 
 And so you shall cross the mountain. 
 
 Heaven is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I cross the forest? 
 
 You must find your way by bush and 
 
 tree, 
 
 And so you shall cross the forest: 
 You must climb over rock and craggy 
 
 stone, 
 And so you shall cross the mountain. 
 
 Heaven is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I cross the river? 
 
 178 
 
VERSES 
 
 You must build your boat of the wood 
 
 thereby, 
 
 And so you shall cross the river: 
 You must find your way by bush and 
 
 tree, 
 And so you shall cross the forest. 
 
 Heaven is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I cross the desert? 
 
 You must fill your stoup with the 
 
 water of life, 
 
 And so you shall cross the desert : 
 You must build your boat of the wood 
 
 thereby, 
 And so you shall cross the river. 
 
 Heaven is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I pass the angels? 
 
 You must do good deeds as you tread 
 the road, 
 
 179 
 
"BOBBO-AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 And so you shall pass the angels : 
 You must fill your stoup with the 
 
 water of life, 
 And so you shall cross the desert. 
 
 Heaven is where I hope to go, 
 But how shall I find my Saviour? 
 
 You must lead by the hand a little 
 
 child, 
 
 And so you shall find your Saviour : 
 You must do good deeds as you tread 
 
 the road, 
 And so you shall pass the angels. 
 
 BEFORE GRADUATING 
 
 ONLY a few steps more 
 A breath, while I look back 
 Upon the bending track 
 
 I ve pressed in coming o er 
 1 80 
 
VERSES 
 
 The grassy fields of youth 
 The light stalks straighten up, 
 The cowslip lifts the cup 
 
 I scarcely brushed, in truth. 
 
 My way so soon forgot ? 
 The dust in that highway 
 Which I must tread to-day 
 
 Would longer keep the spot ! 
 
 Still to my mem ry cling 
 
 Dim shadows of regret 
 
 From where each flower was set- 
 Alas ! the idle spring ! 
 
 Its harmonies divine 
 
 Cheated the cares it brought, 
 And unawares I thought, 
 
 These are world-cares, not mine ! 
 
 181 
 
"BOBBO"AND OTHER FANCIES 
 
 And now the road is near 
 
 Where ceaseless thousands tread 
 The footsteps of the dead 
 
 To see their own appear. 
 
 And I shall join the throng 
 To struggle toward the hills, 
 Whose lowering silence chills 
 
 The first that near along! 
 
 Hush I will choke the sigh 
 Striving in sobs to swell ! 
 I do not sound the knell 
 
 When I my Future try 
 
 Of all my earthly joy 
 Yet as I longer pause 
 Ere I fulfil the laws 
 
 That change me man from boy, 
 182 
 
VERSES 
 
 And linger with the scene 
 That I must leave to-day 
 Again, again I ll pray : 
 
 Lord, keep my memory green ! 
 
 THE END 
 
"Bol 
 
 fanciei 
 
 otfii 
 
 340415 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY