The Little Schoolmaster Mark

He was seated in an easy-chair reading a small closely-printed sheet of paper, upon which the word "Wien" was conspicuous to the

"how findest thou thyself? Hast thou

en very kind to me, H

t out already. That is not so bad. I thought you two

re so clever and so strange. She say

unlikely. A

f the Princess and

test possible appearance of increased int

is a bad woman, and

formed opinions of her own, and to

es not mean the real devil. She says that the servente is a

th a kindly but strange far-reaching look, which struc

e," he said at last, "

rgotten the presence of the boy, who already wa

the Prin

," he said; "thou

by calling her 'Princess,' which she said only the little Princes should do; and I told her I wa

ared that this unexpected amuseme

es thee to say. So all will be well. Better teacher than thou my daughter could not have. I would wish her to be pious, within reason; not like her aunt, that would not be well. I should wish her to care for the poor. Nothing is so gracious in noble ladies as to care for the poor. When they cease to do this they lose tone at once. The French nobless

was so new to Mark that he required some time to grasp it. The visits of noble ladies

*

ghnesses as he had followed with the village children; that is, he set them to read such things as he was told t

g so much as hearing them again. Much of this pleasure, no doubt, was due to the intense faith and interest in them shown by Mark himself. He talked to them also much about God and the unseen world of angels, and of the wicked one; and, as they believed firmly that

d not for reward; but the strangest thing of all was, that in proportion as he was kindly treated-just as much as every one seemed to love him and delight in him-just so much did the boy become miserable and unhappy.

t it so much; but kindness and security on their part, see

ye. It is so beautiful and solemn to them. Truth is so true; they are so much in earnest that they cannot understand the complex feel

mostly added to his misery. They were extremely anxious that he should appear upon th

see what a trifle it is all about. The scene is in the garden of a country-house-during what in Italy we call the Villeggiatura, that is the month we spend in the country during the vintage. A lady's fan is found by an ill-natured person in a curious place; all the rest agree not to see the fan,

, which seemed born of no sense of enjoyment, but of an infinite insight, and of a mocking friendliness. He seldom wore anything but the dress of his part; but he wrapped himself mostly in a long cloak, lined with fur, for even the northern sunshine seemed chilly to the old clown. Wrapped in this ancient garment, he would sit beside Mark, listening to the boy's stories with his deep unfathomed sm

Mark had the effect of music upon his jaded and worn sense. But, indeed, there was beneath Carricchio's mechanical buffoonery and farce a sober and

day. "He says that life is a wretched masque, a miserable apo

" said Mark; "I neither know

, and full of force and power. But I tell him that some failure is better than success; sometimes ugliness is a finer thing than beauty; and that the best art is that

therefore silent. Indeed it is not certain whethe

did not go on talking, but was silent for some

st he

cannot quarrel. There is no art without life, and no life without art

a puppet-play

gs-we are life and we are art, in the burletta we are both. I often think which is which-which is the imposture and which is the masque.

y are not this divine art, they are not rest. They shrivel and wither the brain. The whole being is parched, the heart is dry in this sultry, piercing light. But when the stringed melodies steal in, and when the rippling, surging arpeggios and crescendos sweep in

ut as Mark said noth

her is human life, but what is this? Art? Ah! but a divine art. Here is no struggle, no selfish desire, no striving, no conflict of love or

, with open eyes. "The silence of

h a sad slowness in his speech, "is beyond me to