Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 162.djvu/150

138 of them are the same to him, for not one of them has any personal relation to himself; and in that state of pure perception "it is all the same whether the perceiving eye belongs to a mighty king or to a miserable beggar." Hence, too, I think, the peculiar nature of the aesthetic pleasure we derive from the Shakespearian drama. It affects us like a remembrance of past events and distant scenes, in which we ourselves have once taken an active part, but to which we have no longer any active personal relation; so that when we contemplate them through the medium of memory, it is with a feeling that approaches to pleasure in the exact proportion of its distance from the pain of subjective sensation. In the same way Shakespeare presents to us our own passions and their penalties, our wills and humors, joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats, in a form that enables us to see what we are without the pain of too acutely feeling what we see. What gives a certain air of kinship to all the persons of the Shakespearian drama is not the individuality of the poet, but "the touch of nature which makes the whole world kin." For the Shakespearian drama is, indeed, a sort of epitome of that other stupendous drama of which we are ourselves the authors, actors, and spectators. What does it all mean? How has it come about? And what is to come out of it? These are questions which will never cease to haunt us; and, if it be impossible to answer them, it is no less impossible to suppress the desire to ask them. But after all, the only question that personally concerns any one is, "What is his own relation to the whole?" And that is a question which every one must answer for himself. Most of us know what parts we have to play, and many of us know how to play them, although not one of us knows why he must play any part at all.

Whatever the matter in hand, or the subject under discussion, Cato invariably came to the conclusion that Carthage was to be destroyed. Without being Catos, we all have our own cæterum censeo; and the first and last word of every man's life is. So, too, let the first word be also the last of this rambling causerie; which has led me round in a circle, by tempting me to consider nature as the original thought, and all creation as the original language. For, if I am asked to complete the analogy by saying what is the original style, I can only end as I began, Le style c'est L'HOMME.

From Blackwood's Magazine. MAGDA'S COW. CHAPTER IV. WEDDING CEREMONIES.

No; Magda had no lover as yet, as Filip had remarked, so there was nothing to prevent her from becoming his wife. It is true she had liked to laugh and joke with the handsome Danelo, and at the village merry-makings he had been her most constant partner; but no one, not even Magda herself, had taken these attentions to mean anything serious — in fact, nothing serious could be meant by a a lad who had not a penny of his own in the world. Living from hand to mouth, he earned his bread, in a careless lazy fashion, taking service wherever chance directed, now with one master, now with another, never long in one place. Often chastised by the men and turned out of doors for indolence and inexactitude, he was almost as frequently begged back into favor by the women. It was only the very oldest and sourest of the fair sex who failed to be won by the half-childish, half-impudent grace of the fair-haired youth, whose blue eyes had such a dancing light in them, whose smile was so irresistible. He was the handsomest lad in the village, as Magda was the bonniest lass, and if he singled her out in preference to the other maidens, it was but the mutual attraction of two bright young beings who feel their fitness for each other. It was an innocent and natural coquetry that made each of them aware that the other's beauty completed their own.

Neither Madame Wolska nor Filip Buska had for a moment contemplated the possibility of a refusal on Magda's part, nor did Magda herself contemplate refusing the honor thus unexpectedly thrust upon her. She was amazed, bewildered at this surprising turn of fate; but she would as little have thought of saying no, as would a beggar refuse a fortune which came in his way unawares. He was a peasant, and she was a peasant lass, yet for all that it was a very great marriage for Magda, for Filip was indisputably the first man in the village, and she, as his wife, would enjoy a position to which she would never have thought of aspiring. He was sure to be chosen wojt (village bailiff) before long, as everybody knew; for the present wojt, old Gregory, had taken to drinking, and his memory